by Ginny Aiken
A sob rose and broke past her lips. She brought a fist to her mouth to stifle the next one, and then the next.
“Oh, Father God. How could you have let me fail?”
Ever since Reverend Alton had left, Eli had done nothing but think about their conversation. By the time Cooky served supper, myriad images of Olivia Moore had alternated with those of Victoria in his thoughts. Could Reverend Alton have been right? As much as Eli wanted nothing to do with marriage, he couldn’t deny his children’s need for a mother.
He also knew no better candidate than their nanny.
Each time he reached that conclusion, his stomach roiled. Since his late wife’s betrayal, he couldn’t bear the thought of making himself, and by extension, his children, vulnerable again.
Supper had been a silent affair. The children had had little to say, which had suited Eli just fine. Each glance past Olivia toward them had left his cheeks warm and had made a dozen what-ifs shoot through his mind.
By the time he’d finished the surprisingly good dried apple fritters Cooky served after another bland chicken fricassee, he’d nearly run from the table and ensconced himself in the parlor after closing the pocket door. The children knew better than to disturb him when he did that, so he’d known he could count on peace and quiet for a few hours before he went to bed.
He’d pulled out his pipe and tamped down a bowl of his favorite cocoa-flavored tobacco, opened his Bible, and immersed himself in the heavenly Father’s Word.
A while later, when he went upstairs to bid his children good night, the peaceful hush in the house soothed his nerves as little else had that whole day. While praying, he’d come to a decision. Problems didn’t solve themselves by ignoring them. He had to talk to Olivia. He kissed his children, and then walked to the end of the hallway. To his surprise, when he knocked on her door, Olivia didn’t answer. He tried again, this time louder, with the same lack of response.
She hadn’t been in either of the children’s rooms, so he thought she might have gone to the kitchen for something to tide her over until breakfast the next day. He hurried down, hoping he’d find the right words to express what lay heavy on his heart.
He found the kitchen dark and empty; neither woman was there. He checked the dining room, and while he’d left the parlor only minutes earlier, he even looked there
No sign of Olivia Moore.
Dread knotted his middle. He’d thought things had improved with the children, and Cooky had seemed less distant toward Olivia since she’d returned after tending to Katy. Had he only seen what he wanted to see?
Had she given up and left? If so, how had she gone home, in the dark and in the cold?
She couldn’t have. It made no sense, and Olivia struck him as an eminently sensible woman. Before he let himself worry, or think the worst, he had to search the house more thoroughly.
Parlor, dining room, kitchen, larder—nothing. He tried upstairs. Randy’s room, Luke’s, Cooky’s—even his own, although he couldn’t imagine she’d be there. Once again, he knocked on her door.
Silence.
Again.
He tried the cook’s door. She opened, pale and worried. “Mr. Whitman, sir! Oh, dearie me. Is it my Katy-girl again?”
“Not at all.” He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I can’t find Miss Moore. I’ve looked everywhere in the house, but there’s no sign of her. I don’t feel right going into her room, and I’d appreciate your help. Could you check there?”
“Sure, and I’m glad to help.” She shook her head. “Where could that child have gotten off to? This isn’t one bitty-bit like her, no sir, and it isn’t.”
“I know, Cooky. I wouldn’t have troubled you if I weren’t concerned.”
She grasped the doorknob, paused, and gave him a comforting smile. “Ah, Mr. Eli, sir. Let’s not be a-fretting yet. Maybe she’s sleeping real hard-like. Some folks are like rocks, you know.”
He nodded, not at all convinced.
When the older woman entered the room, she gasped. “It’s empty! Miss Olivia’s not here. Oh, dearie me—”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Are you a-thinking she’d up and go for good? Surely not. I’m sure, and she wouldn’t do such a thing. I’ve gotten to know her mama a little—from church and such, you know? I can’t be imagining Elizabeth raising a girl who’d leave the children just like that, and all.”
“Did she take her things?” he asked.
“Well… I didn’t get a good look, or nothing such. I’ll be after looking again.” She slipped into the room a second time.
When she came out, she wore a puzzled look. “You can be resting easy, Mr. Whitman, sir. Her nightgown’s all folded-like on the bed, and all. Plus her hairbrush is on the bureau. No self-respecting woman’d leave that behind, I’m a-telling you, I am.”
“Since you’re a woman, then where might she be?”
She laughed. “I’m after telling you, these young girls these days leave me a-scratching my head, sir, they do. Can’t be figuring a thing out about a one of them.”
Frustrated, he thanked her. “I suppose all we can do is go to bed and pray she appears by morning.”
“If you find her, don’t you be a-keeping it to yourself, you hear? You come and tell me or send her to do so, and right quickly, at that. A body can’t be sleeping too good, all worried-like.”
“I’ll make sure you know the moment I see her, if you don’t see her first—”
“I’ll be a-telling you if I come acrosst her first.”
“We’re agreed. You’d best catch some of that sleep you need to be up as early as you rise every morning.”
“Good night, Mr. Eli, sir.”
“ ’Night, Cooky.”
Although he was reluctant to let things stand as they did, he didn’t know what else to do. Eli locked the front door then went out back to use the privy.
As he approached, unusual noises—rough, choking sounds—came from the small structure. He groaned.
It never ended well when an animal found itself stuck inside the privy. Still, he had to take care of it. Holding the oil lamp high over his head, he reached for the door and found it stuck in place.
A gasp came from inside.
Eli froze.
He pulled on the door, harder this time, and called out, “Olivia—Miss Moore?”
“Mr. Whitman! I’m so glad you’ve come out. Please help me. I can’t open the door. And I—I don’t know why.”
When he lowered the lamp he noticed two large rocks wedged against the bottom of the door. He kicked them away.
She tumbled out, hair disheveled, eyes huge in the lamplight. He caught her in his free arm to keep her from falling.
“I’m afraid I do know, Miss Moore, and the two culprits will face quite a punishment. It’s cold out here tonight, and you could have come down with some kind of grippe.”
She frowned. “Oh, no, sir. Please don’t punish them. I’m trying to win them over, and punishment will only set me back.”
“I understand, Miss Moore. Believe me, I do. But this time, they’ve gone too far. Silly pranks like grasshoppers in drawers and honey on a seat don’t normally hurt anyone. This, on the other hand, could have had a much worse outcome. They’re fortunate I found you when I did.”
She bit her bottom lip, a gesture he was coming to know as a sign of her discomfort. Moments later, when they stepped into the kitchen, his hand holding her arm to lend her support, she shrugged.
“I’ll defer to you, sir, since you’re their papa.” As soon as he closed the door, she stepped away. “Thank you for your help, but now, I’d better get in bed and warm up. Good night, Mr. Whitman.”
“Good night, Miss Moore.”
Once she’d left and he headed to alert Cooky as to the outcome of his search, Eli had only one thought in mind. Grippe and influenza were deadly. She could have come down with either one. They could have lost her because of a prank. Just wait until those two came down for breakfa
st in the morning.
Just wait.
After a night of tears, restlessness, and prayer, Olivia rose late, for the first time since she’d come to the Whitman home. She rushed through her morning toilette, then went down to the dining room.
No one was there.
In the kitchen, she found Cooky. “Where are the children?” she asked.
“Oh, my dearie-girl!” Cooky bustled over and wrapped Olivia in a spice-scented hug. “Mr. Eli told me what those two hooligans were after doing to you last night. It’s happy, I am, to see you’re fine today.”
“Thank you, but… where is everybody?”
“Oh, Miss Olivia, you shoulda heard that man, I’m after telling you. He gave the hoodlums a tongue-lashing fit to blister the whitewash right off the privy walls—” She covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Can’t believe I said that today of all days.”
Olivia smiled. “That’s fine. But, where are they?”
“When he was done telling them how bad this one was, and how he would not be standing for any more of these shenanigans, or such again, he was after telling them they had to shape up or he’d be shipping them off to boarding schools, and—and—and then he marched them to school.” She gave a firm nod, which set the knot of snowy hair at the crown of her head to bobbing. “Gave me orders to let you sleep to your heart’s content, he did.”
Olivia’s middle sank near to the floor. Surely now, after last night and her failure to come down in time to take the children to school this morning, Mr. Whitman would be sending her back.
The only question that remained was how soon he would do so.
That evening, Olivia hurried back to the parlor after she’d listened to Randy’s prayers and tucked Luke into bed. Mr. Whitman had asked her at supper to meet him once she finished with the children.
She’d already made sure her belongings were ready to return to Mama’s satchel before walking the children home from school. Both had the grace to look chastened. They returned home in silence, and once in the house, both children ran directly to their rooms.
Olivia had slipped inside her own, collapsing on the bed and letting loose the tears she’d fought all day.
Now, everything in Olivia feared what might happen next.
Her stomach a knot, she breathed a prayer as she walked down the hallway, knowing full well he’d probably decided to let her go.
Then where would she be?
Not only would she become a burden to her parents once again, but if she had to leave the Whitmans, Olivia knew a hole would open in her heart. The family had built a nest there, and she doubted she’d fill it again anytime soon.
Gathering what courage she could muster, Olivia entered the cozy room. “I’m done with the children, sir. How can I help you?”
Mr. Whitman leaped to his feet. “Please take a seat, Miss Moore. I’m sure you’ve had a long day and wouldn’t mind the chance to rest a bit.” He gestured to the side table next to his armchair, where a coffeepot, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and two cups and saucers had been set out. “I had Cooky make us coffee. How do you like yours? Unless you want tea, that is. In which case, I’ll have her bring you some instead.”
To her admittedly inexperienced ears, the banker seemed somewhat nervous. Olivia had never heard him ramble before. Her anxiety grew.
“Coffee will be fine.” If she had to pack after their conversation, she’d need help to stay awake.
He gestured her toward the comfortable sofa as he poured the fragrant brew. “Sugar?” he asked. “Cream?”
“A bit of both, please.”
Once he’d given her the cup, he sat in his well-upholstered armchair, stirred his beverage again, took a sip, placed the saucer back on the table and the cup on the small plate. Only then did he look Olivia’s way.
“How do you like living here with us, Miss Moore?”
Such a peculiar question. “I—ah… like it fine, sir.”
“I understand you and Cooky get along.”
Olivia smiled. “We’re becoming friends. I’m finding I even enjoy working with her. More important, as you must know, she loves the children, and they’re just as fond of her.”
He nodded as he took another sip. “After last night, how do you feel about the children? They are a handful, I’m afraid.”
Again, she smiled—nervously. “Nothing I can’t handle, sir. Last night was an exception. Things have been going quite well. They’re wonderful, bright, lively youngsters. I’ve grown to care for them. I hope they haven’t had complaints about me.”
“In spite of last night, they tell me they’re quite taken with you.”
“Really?” And how about you?
The thought sprang to life before she could catch herself. At least she hadn’t blurted it out. That would have been awful, improper, embarrassing. For both of them.
Still, Olivia had often wondered how Mr. Whitman felt about the stranger in his home. But it wasn’t the night for questions like those.
“Well then, sir,” she went on, “I have to wonder if you have any complaints with my work.”
“None whatsoever.” He set down his cup and saucer with great deliberation. “In fact, Miss Moore, your influence on my family is why I’ve asked you to join me tonight. I must say,” he added, “you remind me of your father. Stephen Moore has always shown himself to be a fine, decent man who knows his mind, is fair, and prefers to bring negotiations to a close in a way that benefits all parties involved. If you are as much like him as you appear, I believe we will work very well together.”
Pleasure ran through Olivia. “That is the loveliest compliment anyone has paid me. I’m proud of my parents, and can think of nothing better than to be considered like either one of them.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’re a credit to them. I suspect, since you’re so like Stephen, that you just might be the right woman for this season in our family’s life. I’m mighty glad you were clever enough to think of this arrangement, and then come seek me out.”
This time, the blush on her cheeks came from pure pleasure.
“Which leads me straight to the reason we’re here. I’ve… a proposition for you.”
“How intriguing, Mr. Whitman. I must say, this is most unexpected. I thought perhaps you’d decided you didn’t need my services any longer.”
He stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace the room. “Not at all. I’d be a fool if I were to let you go. It’s a rare thing for a man to come home to a peaceful supper at the end of the day without a thing to worry about. For the most part, you’ve made a difference in my children’s unacceptable behavior—again, in spite of last night—and it’s a pleasure when a man can spend quiet evenings at home without having a fight on his hands to get his youngsters to mind their manners.”
His words painted a sad picture. She knew the difficulties had existed for a while, but for how long? Had there perhaps been trouble between him and the late Mrs. Whitman?
It was possible. And possibly painful. For all of them.
It was also none of Olivia’s business.
She chose her words with care. “I’m glad my services have been satisfactory, sir. I’ve appreciated every minute I’ve been here.”
He grinned and arched a brow. “Every minute? Even the grasshopper greeting? How about the honey?”
Olivia laughed. “I expected pranks, since I knew they’d given their previous nannies trouble.”
“I’m surprised by how few objections my scoundrels actually have put up.”
A touch of hope for her future began to glow. “I suppose children do need a woman’s touch, sir.”
His blue, blue eyes latched on to her face like the beam of light from an oncoming locomotive. Olivia’s breath caught in her throat.
“A woman’s touch…” His voice echoed pensive, his attention still fixed on Olivia.
She felt the urge to squirm under that scrutiny. Somehow, she resisted.
“A woman’s touch,” he repe
ated, “is indeed what we’ve lacked around here. You’ve brought it to us, with excellent results. As a businessman, I’ve learned to spot a good bargain, and you, Miss Moore, are one far better than even a windfall. I suspect you’re more along the lines of a godsend, and I’d be a fool if I didn’t recognize it. Which I do.”
From his formidable expression, she recognized there was more to his comments than met the eye. She couldn’t guess what that more might be, but the statement puzzled her.
Still, Olivia recognized a compliment when she heard one. “Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Whitman.”
He resumed his pacing. “As I said, I’d be a fool if I let you go. That’s why I’ve come up with what I think will be an excellent business arrangement for the both of us.”
Now she was downright bewildered and at a complete loss. “A business arrangement?”
“Indeed.” He stopped in front of her, his relentless stare on her face. “When you came to my office you said you needed employment. I assume you, or rather your family, is still suffering the effects of our drought and grasshopper disasters.”
She winced. “I can’t begin to put it into words.”
“You’ve done well by hiring yourself out as a nanny—companion, right? Since I don’t imagine the financial situation will change much in the immediate future, I expect you’re interested in a permanent situation.”
Relief filled Olivia with a sense of calm. But not for long. Those intense blue eyes did strange things to her. They made her feel as though her every nerve ending had just awoken, as though her every sense had just become more exquisite in its sensitivity. While unexpected and uninvited, Mr. Elijah Whitman’s gaze made Olivia feel more feminine, more a woman than she did in his absence.
She feared her unusual awareness spoke of danger. Not some kind of bodily danger, since no sensible woman would ever fear the gentlemanly banker, but rather danger of the riskiest sort. Olivia feared her response to her employer might speak of danger to her feelings.
