by Ginny Aiken
“Allow me to apologize for my children. And please let me help you up.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitman.” A blush brought a rush of color to her cheeks. “I realize you’re trying to make amends for what’s happened, but it’s not necessary. And…” She turned even redder. “Well, sir, it’s not proper at all, you being a gentleman and me… well, it’s just not. I’ll take care of myself.”
Only then did he realize how inappropriate the moment was. He excused himself and stood, determined to get to the bottom of this latest prank. As he made his way to Luke’s room, Cooky’s door flew open.
“And just what, pray tell, is a-happening in this madhouse now, Mr. Whitman, sir? Can’t a body be getting a lick of rest around this place anymore?”
The plump older woman made quite the picture of indignation. She’d flung a scarlet wrap around her white nightshirt, and her long white braid flopped over one shoulder, bristling all its length with strands escaping their bounds. Her frown made Eli stand straighter, glad he’d left his lovely nanny’s side before the cook found them in a possibly more compromising position than it already was.
“I was on my way to learn precisely that.” Heat flooded his cheeks, as well. “It appears Luke has quite a bit to learn yet.”
The boy’s door opened with a bang against the wall. “Nuh-uh! It weren’t just me, Papa. Randy’s the one with the idea. She jist wanted to make Miss Olivia look clumsy now that you’re home. She said clumsy ladies can’t be good nannies. I told her a lady who can stick a worm on a hook’s the best kind of nanny ever!”
Eli rubbed his forehead. Clumsy ladies… worms on hooks… nothing made sense at this hour of the morning.
Best to send everyone back to bed, and try to get to the bottom of this in the morning. “I think, son—”
“She’s too clumsy to care for anyone,” Randy said in her most disdainful voice. “Why, she can’t even make her way around a couple of itty-bitty empty pails.”
As tired as he was, he couldn’t just let Randy’s unpleasant assessment pass. “I imagine in the dark anyone could trip on a booby trap. I don’t suppose Miss Moore set it for herself, now did she?”
“No, sir,” Luke said, his voice earnest. “Randy made me find her empty pails. Then when Miss Olivia went—” His eyes popped open wide and his mouth formed a large O. “Well, when she… um… needed to… er… use the—oh, you know, Papa. That’s when Randy set the pails in place. And it’s dark. And Miss Olivia didn’t expect them.” He pointed at Randy. “She’s the one. She made me help her.”
Eli turned to his daughter. “Is he right, Miranda Marie?”
Randy gave a sniff, turned, and marched back into her room, closing the door with great precision.
“If you think this conversation’s over,” he said in a louder voice, “then you’re much mistaken. We will handle this in the morning. Now, everyone, back to bed.”
As he tried to fall asleep, however, the only thing in his mind was the vulnerability he’d seen in Olivia’s eyes. It touched him in a deep, private place he thought he’d shut tight two years ago.
In the morning, Miss Moore surprised Eli. She was waiting for him outside the dining room when he went downstairs for breakfast.
“Could I have a moment with you, sir?” she asked.
The sinking feeling went all the way to his toes. She was leaving. What would he do now? He’d tried all along to avoid sending his children to boarding schools back East, but if he couldn’t find anyone who would stay in spite of their antics, he’d have no alternative.
“Of course, Miss Moore. What is the problem—aside from last night’s deplorable disaster? Please rest assured I’ll take care of those two wild—”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to address this morning.”
Here it comes. Eli braced himself. “I’ll understand if you wish to leave.”
What looked like fear flashed in her eyes. “Oh, no, sir. I don’t want to leave. I wanted to plead with you to let me handle Randy. I’d like to work with her to reach a reasonable discipline, but without turning her against me any further. I’m afraid if you appear to punish her harshly that she’ll be more determined than ever to fight me.”
He frowned. “Are you sure? After all, I’m her father.”
“Of course, Mr. Whitman. But you’ve hired me to work with your children. It appears to me I won’t ever succeed if I can’t find a way to smooth things between Randy and me. I’ve made progress with Luke, even if last night was a step backward. Please, sir, I would greatly appreciate another opportunity to reach out to your daughter.”
Her earnestness touched him. None of the other nannies, those with the long lists of recommendations and years of experience caring for children, had ever voiced interest in, as Miss Moore said, reaching out to his children. Besides, her plea meant she was still willing to stay. A relief, since he couldn’t afford to let her go.
“Very well,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do with her. Goodness knows, I’ve been unable to do much in a sadly long time.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. “I’ll keep you updated, Mr. Whitman. I wouldn’t want to do anything that might go against your wishes.”
Her zeal impressed him. So did her interest in operating within his preferences. “Very well, I’ll go along with your plan, and I appreciate your interest in keeping me informed. But if matters go like this much longer, I’ll have to intervene. I cannot allow my children to risk injuring you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll let you know if I need your assistance.”
Breakfast, to Eli’s surprise, went by in relative peace. Randy appeared unusually subdued, and Luke chattered to Miss Moore about, of all things, fishing and worms. It struck him that perhaps he’d found a woman cut from very different cloth. As young as his new nanny was, and as delicate as she looked, she seemed nonetheless made of far sturdier stuff than the others.
Perhaps he’d found the one that would last. He hoped so. For his children’s sake, as well as his own.
That afternoon, on the way home from school, Olivia told the children she needed to stop by Metcalf’s Mercantile. Neither responded as she’d hoped.
“Do we hafta?” Luke asked.
Randy stuck her nose up in the air and glared.
“I won’t be long.” Olivia hoped once Randy saw the reason for the stop she would change her attitude.
Luke donned what Olivia had come to think of as his I’m-coming-up-with-trouble expression. He grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes. “C’n I go see Papa at the bank? He does let me, Miss Olivia. You can ask him tonight.”
By tonight it would be too late, but since Randy didn’t say a word, Olivia had to assume it was something Luke had done before. If Mr. Whitman was busy, she was sure he’d send the boy home. And she’d hear about her mistake later that evening.
“All right. But please meet us here in ten minutes so we can all go home together. Understand?”
“Yessss!” His footsteps pounded against the wooden sidewalk as he ran off.
Randy sniffed. “Such a child.”
Olivia decided the better part of valor would be to ignore the comment. “Let’s hurry,” she said instead. “That way we’ll be ready to leave once he joins us again.”
Although Randy hadn’t commented on the stop, she did seem curious about the reason for it. And since punishment hadn’t been meted out after the pail incident the night before, Olivia figured the girl felt she’d gotten away with the prank.
Not at all.
“Let’s look at the linen Mr. Metcalf has,” she said.
Randy strolled ahead, clearly familiar with the dry goods side of the store. “Here it is,” she said. “Together with the muslin and a stack of bolts of dimity. In all kinds of lovely colors, too.”
Aha! Olivia had guessed right. “Hm… you’re right. But I don’t need the dimity right now. I’m after some good, plain linen to do some needlework. Embroidery, you know.”
Randy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s boring.”
Exactly what Olivia thought the girl would think. “Oh, I don’t know. Every lady must know certain things, and fine needlework is one of them. My mama taught my two sisters and me how to embroider when we were little. How about you?”
A tiny wrinkle appeared between her brows. “No. My mama didn’t do anything like that. She wore pretty things and she took trips to visit family and… well, she scolded us a lot, too.”
It sounded like a less-than-lovely situation for children. It was way past time someone taught Miss Miranda Whitman a few ladylike arts. “I see. Well, it strikes me as just the perfect time to learn. You seem to have far too many empty hours, and they give you the opportunity to concoct schemes that are less than exemplary. Mama always said idle hands were the devil’s playground.”
Randy’s relatively open expression shut down like a curtain. “I don’t have too many empty hours. I’m fine just as I am.”
Olivia slanted the girl a measuring look. “It seems to me it took you a good amount of free time to think up and carry out your tin pail trap.”
She had the decency to blush. “Not that long. Luke found the pails.”
“But you asked him for them, right?”
Randy turned to the dimities. “He found the pails.”
“And, Randy, how about my undergarments? Did Luke sew my bloomers shut and cut open my petticoat?”
The girl blushed a furious red. “Shh! A lady doesn’t mention her”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“unmentionables in public. Don’t you know that?”
“In fact, I do. And that’s the reason I didn’t speak of that episode with your father. I’m sure he’d rather not have to hear such an embarrassing tale, don’t you think?”
Randy crossed her arms and frowned even more.
“So, then, how about if we agree to cooperate? I can teach you a few ladylike accomplishments, and keep you busy that way. I can assure you, there won’t be much time to think up scrapes that do nothing but bring your papa a great number of headaches. We will keep that matter between the two of us, agreed?”
With a shrug, Randy flounced to a display of vanity sets.
It appeared this would be all Olivia would extract from her charge at the moment. Still, she’d learned enough to know she was on the right track, even with the stubborn Randy.
She asked Mr. Metcalf for a yard of the nice, sturdy, cream-colored linen, and then chose an assortment of J & P Coats embroidery thread. Mr. Metcalf put the items on her brand-new account, which she would cover once Mr. Whitman paid her.
With the package tucked under her arm and the moody Randy at her side, Olivia went out to wait for Luke.
A few minutes later, they made their way home without incident.
That was how Olivia intended to keep things.
With the Father’s help.
The next evening, when everyone sat for supper, another issue came to the fore. Cooky brought in the inevitable white tureen, and when Mr. Whitman took off the lid, it became more than obvious that she’d made her trademark potatoes and dried meat—pork, this time. At one side, the older woman had a large bowl of cooked cabbage, and when one set it next to the putty-toned potatoes and meat and bread, it made for a somewhat off-putting meal.
Olivia, who’d never had reason to turn down food, came close to rising and going upstairs with an empty middle. But since she wasn’t fond of a growling stomach, and as she didn’t want to present a bad example to the children, she served herself modest quantities of the day’s Cooky Special, as she’d come to think of supper.
Randy had no such qualms. “No!” she cried when Cooky had left the room. “I’m not eating this… this sticky stuff. Can’t she ever make something good?” She marched out, leaving the room under a pall.
Mr. Whitman rubbed his forehead, sighed, and then glanced at Olivia. “I’m sorry, Miss Moore. This has been an ongoing issue with Randy—”
“I don’t want it either,” Luke said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll go hungry and starve and that’ll show Cooky.”
Olivia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Then she caught her employer’s frustrated expression. Her stomach sank.
She hadn’t really made that much progress managing the dreadful situation with his children. She still had to prove herself. In no way did she want Mr. Whitman to send her back home to Mama and Papa, as much as she missed them.
“I’ll make sure to save the children something for when they’re hungry later on.” She offered a silent prayer for heavenly help in meeting her goal.
“But that’s making more work for you,” he countered. “And it’s letting them misbehave.”
“Not really. I remember it was a powerful way to learn about consequences in my family. Luke and Randy get the same food later, only colder and even pastier, since it has sat around for so long. Believe me, they’ll eat. Children rarely go so far to make a point as to make themselves any more uncomfortable than necessary.”
Her comment elicited an interested look. “I suppose you speak from experience with your brothers and sisters.”
“And my own.” She made herself smile even though inside she felt the strain of worry. “I once refused to eat, and Mama held my food aside. It was dreadful to eat that cold mess once the grumbling in my middle came to bother me later on. I didn’t pass up supper again.”
Although he seemed skeptical, Mr. Whitman agreed, and they finished the meal in silence—an awkward silence. As soon as she was done, Olivia excused herself, hurried to let Cooky know her plans, and then went to supervise the children’s schoolwork and the rest of their evening routine.
Before too long, however, both Luke and Randy returned to the kitchen and consumed portions of the congealed concoction they’d refused in the first place. When they tried to voice complaints again, Olivia reminded them they’d been the ones who’d chosen to wait.
“This is what happens when food sits around,” she told Randy, who’d asked again for something different to eat. “Perhaps you’ll remember next time you decide the meal is too boring for you.”
With a glare, the girl tucked in, while Luke continued to mutter about Cooky’s uninspired offerings. Olivia felt sorry for the children. She agreed in that regard, and deep inside knew she could remedy the situation. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to do so without erasing the slight progress she’d made with the cook.
It would take prayer and a kindhearted approach to come up with a solution. But she had to do it soon. She had to find a way to become indispensable to the Whitman household if she was to keep her position. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t go back home.
This was her opportunity, the time to succeed. With God’s mercy and the Holy Spirit’s wise guidance she could do it.
She had no other alternative.
Chapter 8
Saturday morning, Olivia sent Luke to scrub the back steps. While she did everything she could to avoid the appearance of a punishment, she knew that was how he viewed the chore. She, on the other hand, knew she had to keep him busy, otherwise he’d find trouble sooner than not.
As soon as she set him up with a pail of hot water and melted yellow soap, and a stiff-bristled brush, she hurried inside to snag Randy before the girl found her own kind of mischief.
“Do I really have to do this?” she asked when Olivia set out scissors, the length of linen, and the embroidery floss on the dining room table.
Olivia breathed a prayer for that ever elusive but always desired wisdom only God could provide. “No, of course you don’t. But young ladies do need to master certain arts, and needlework is one of them. Surely you’re interested in fashionable clothing, but I wonder if you know enough to discern the difference between quality goods and lesser pieces. Learning to use needle and thread will help you do that.”
While Randy didn’t argue, her expression didn’t show any great enthusiasm, either. Olivia persisted.
&nb
sp; She blocked out letters on the linen cloth for a basic sampler. “What would you like to put in this space?” She indicated an empty spot above the alphabet.
“What do you mean?”
“Mama always had us draw something we liked on our samplers so that we could learn fancier stitches. I drew one of the trees near our house. One of my sisters drew the house. The other one, a horse. What would you like?”
“I would like one of the lovely hats at Mrs. Selkirk’s Millinery, with flowers and ribbons and feathers, too.”
Now, there was a challenge, but Olivia couldn’t back off. She’d offered and would find a way to come up with a reasonable copy of the confections the newly established lady constructed.
To her surprise, the endeavor captured Randy’s interest, and the girl put her heart into her project. A couple of hours sped by. Before Cooky had to set the table for the midday meal, Olivia gathered up the supplies with a satisfied smile. She’d just taken another step in the right direction.
As they ate the dishes of applesauce they’d been served as dessert, pounding on the front door broke the calm. Olivia saw Cooky run to answer, her cheeks flushed, a kitchen towel in her hands, a prayer wafting behind her.
Anxious voices came through, even though Olivia couldn’t understand what they were saying. She didn’t, however, need anyone to elaborate on the cry Cooky let out.
Mr. Whitman stood. “Please wait,” he told the children and Olivia. “This does sound serious.”
A glance at the children revealed pale faces and fists clutching the table. It struck her then that the alarming situation out front could be a vivid reminder of their mother’s death. She had no idea how the late Mrs. Whitman had met her end, but as young as she must have been, it could have come about as a result of an accident or an unexpected ailment.
She had to help. “Cooky sounded quite upset. Would you both like to do something for her?”
Despite their disdain for the woman’s cooking, both children nodded, still intent on listening to what might happen next out front.
