“Because I care for you, and I want you to know that you’re loved.”
“You’re not our mother,” Louisa said, then rolled onto her side, putting her back to Polly.
“No, I’m not,” Polly said softly. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t love you. It doesn’t mean that God doesn’t love you.”
Clara reached up and hugged her. “None of our other nannies loved us.”
“Well, I’m not like them,” Polly said, hugging her back and kissing her on top of the head. “Now off to sleep with you, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”
Then, as she always did, she tucked the quilts firmly around the children, saying the familiar prayer her mother had always said when she tucked her in.
“May the Lord be with you, and in your dreams, show you the love He has for you, so that in the morning you wake, full of His love and everything you need for a glorious day. Amen.”
She thought she heard Louisa snort, but Clara whispered something softly, something that, if Polly had to guess, sounded an awful lot like “amen.”
The wounds these children carried were not something Polly could fix, but if they allowed Him into their hearts, the healing they needed could follow.
Polly exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. She tiptoed through the rest of their home, blowing out the lamps, then banking the fire so it would keep them warm the rest of the night. Though the spring weather was warm during the day, evenings and early mornings still held a chill that needed to be kept at bay.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Polly returned to the bedroom where Isabella slept. She quickly changed into nightclothes and snuggled in with the tiny girl. Another benefit of sharing a bed was that it was already warm when she got in.
She’d just begun to enter the hazy almost dreamlike state when a crash startled her. Polly’s heart leapt into her throat as she sat up in bed.
A scraping sound, then another crash.
Muttered words of anger.
At home, Polly would have lain in bed and prayed that Pastor Lassiter, or Will, or someone, would have dealt with it. Or that it was one of the boys, having fun. But here, alone in this place with these children, she knew it was up to her.
Hands shaking, Polly pulled her wrapper around her nightgown, then grabbed the pitcher from the dresser. It wasn’t much, but at least if the intruder got close enough, she could use it as a weapon.
“Please, Lord,” she prayed, “don’t let the intruder be armed.”
Her prayer did little to quiet the rushing sound in her ears or calm her unsteady hands.
Polly eased open the door, then peered out. A large mass lay on the ground, muttering in pain.
She held the pitcher above her head. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our home?”
For a moment, she thought about sending it crashing over the intruder’s head, which would incapacitate him long enough for her to get help, but her hesitation gave the intruder time to speak.
“Polly, it’s me, Mitch.”
Her heart continued to thunder in her chest as she lowered the pitcher, then clutched it tight against her.
“You nearly frightened me to death.”
“Why didn’t you leave a lamp lit?”
“I had no way of knowing you were coming home tonight. One would think you would have kept me apprised of your circumstances so that I had something to tell the children. Had I known you were coming, I would have been better prepared.”
“Point taken,” Mitch said, his voice sounding like he was smiling as he spoke. “Could you light a lamp? It seems the furniture has been rearranged in my absence and I tripped over a chair. I think my shin might be bleeding.”
Polly took a deep breath, trying to steady her still-frantic nerves. “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have done that sooner.”
She lit a lamp, then looked down at Mitch, who was rubbing his leg. The damp spot on his pants indicated he’d probably cut it open. “I’ll get some bandages.”
Polly quickly gathered the supplies she needed, lighting a few more lamps along the way, then returned to the sitting room, where Mitch had made himself comfortable on the sofa.
“You’ve done a nice job rearranging things. It’s much more open, yet cozy in here.”
As she knelt in front of him, Polly gave him a smile. “Thank you. I found that it’s easier to give the children their lessons if I can see the older ones working at the table, and I can help the younger ones here. It’s so hard for Isabella and Thomas to sit still, so having some open space for them to move around in makes it easier.”
As she spoke, she’d rolled up his pant leg to find a deep gash. “You’ve got quite the injury here.”
He smiled down at her, warming her in a way she hadn’t expected. Like a sudden burst of sunlight through the clouds.
“Like my children, I suppose I don’t do anything halfway.”
She couldn’t help but smile back. “I don’t suppose any of us do.”
Polly dabbed at the wound, trying to ascertain its depth.
“You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice. In the mining camps, there aren’t many doctors, if any, so you have to learn a lot on your own. I can tend most injuries, deliver a baby and, if things get truly desperate, I’ve taken a bullet out of a man.”
She could feel his gaze on her. “A refined young lady like you? But how?”
Meeting his gaze without taking pressure off his leg, she shrugged. “What you see is the product of a lot of hard living, a few refinements here and there, and a good dose of God’s grace. I mentioned how Pastor Lassiter’s involvement in our lives changed everything for us. Before that, we spent our days in mining camps, doing whatever it took to survive. You couldn’t wait for someone more qualified to come do a job if you were the only body around to do it. I’ve been helping deliver babies since I was ten years old. There aren’t too many womenfolk in the camps, and you learn pretty quickly to stick together.”
Which is how Polly knew that marriage wasn’t always a picnic. She hadn’t just experienced her mother’s pain, but watched as the other women in the camps struggled as well. She neglected to mention to Mitch that she’d learned to treat a gunshot wound after a woman in camp was shot in the arm by her drunken husband. He hadn’t meant to shoot her, of course, but he’d been drunk and... Polly shook her head. It didn’t matter.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” The warm look Mitch gave her made her squirm. Amazing? Her stomach flipped, not in an unpleasant way, but in a way she couldn’t explain. Didn’t want to explain, because it meant...
Polly shook her head. “Thank you, but in all honesty, I just did what I had to do. You and anyone else would do the same in a similar situation.”
* * *
Mitch wanted to argue with her, to let Polly know that there was something more to how wonderful she was, but he couldn’t find the strength to put it to words. Besides, how could he start thinking of a nanny as being wonderful?
“How are the children?” he said instead, as she finished bandaging his wound.
Her smile filled her face, lighting her eyes. When had anyone smiled giving a report on his children?
“They’re doing quite well, all things considered. They miss you terribly, but we’re getting along. It would have been easier had you at least sent word.”
He’d forgotten about how readily she spoke her mind. This was the second time in a matter of minutes she’d taken him to task as if he were one of the children instead of her employer. As much as he should remind her of propriety, he knew her chastisement of him came from a place of caring for his children.
Yet the gleam in those blue eyes told him she wasn’t finished with him yet.
“My lawyer was in contact with my brother. I b
elieve he kept you apprised of the situation.”
“Apprised?” Polly’s voice rose slightly, but then she lowered it again, looking over her shoulder at the bedrooms. “If by apprised, you mean he let us know you were alive, then yes. We were apprised of the situation. However, when one engages a nanny and tells her of the scandal of his wife’s death, he should also apprise the nanny of the fact that he is considered a suspect.”
Polly was right, of course. He should have told her. But he hadn’t realized his arrest was so imminent. He’d already known that getting anyone to care for his difficult children was challenging enough, but then to have his extenuating circumstances on top of that...it seemed like madness.
“My lawyer has advised me not to speak to anyone about the case. It didn’t occur to me that they would arrest me like that.”
She frowned at him. “The press perhaps, but the person entrusted with your children should know what to expect. You should have at least informed me of the potential issues and how you’d like me to address them with the children.”
Mitch let out a long sigh. Right again. But Polly didn’t understand what was at stake here. He’d sheltered the children from the truth about their mother for years.
“I haven’t known what to say,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands. He’d always tried to be strong for his children, and yet now, when they faced the biggest challenge they’d ever faced, he had no idea what to do.
“They just lost their mother, and now their father has gone off without word and I’ve had no explanation for them. You have to say something.”
Mitch’s heart clanged to the bottom of his stomach, threatening to pull him under. How did a man tell his children that their beloved Mummy was dead, and everyone thought their father did it?
He didn’t look up at her. Couldn’t really, considering that he already felt the weight of her eyes on him, and to have to face them would be too much. Why was Polly affecting him this way? She was practically a child, and yet the wisdom and experience coming from those eyes...
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, repeating his earlier words, looking forlorn, still not meeting her gaze.
“How about letting them know you didn’t do it and that you’re working to find the real culprit?”
Her words hung in the air between them, and it should have been easy enough to agree with her.
But then Polly spoke again, so quietly, it was almost indecipherable. “Unless, of course, you killed her.”
Had she tossed a red-hot coal and hit him squarely in the chest, it would not have burned as hard as her words. Mitch jumped up from his chair and stood, towering over her, where she knelt.
“Get out!”
Polly calmly picked up the supplies she’d used to bandage his leg, then rose. “And who will watch your children the next time the deputies come for you?”
Even the accusations from the investigators hadn’t stung so much. They’d spewed horrible, disgusting details about Hattie’s death, and never had he felt so violently toward them.
“How dare you?”
“How dare you?” Polly stepped into his space, mere inches from him, bringing her face as close to his as possible, given that she stood nearly a head shorter than he. “You hire a woman to care for your children, get arrested for a grisly murder and don’t have the courtesy to tell her the truth about what happened. At least be so good as to declare your innocence.”
The sparks flying from her eyes only served to stoke the fire in him. “I told them when they arrested me that I didn’t do it. What more do you want?”
“No,” Polly said, taking a step back. “You told them that they knew you didn’t do it. It’s not the same as telling me what’s happening, and to reassure me that you did not, in fact, kill your wife. It’s not the same as telling your children that you didn’t kill their darling Mummy.”
Everything in Mitch’s body burned. But as he thought of the only answer he had, he suddenly went cold. “I shouldn’t have to.”
He walked toward the fireplace, putting his hands out for the dying embers to give him some warmth. Something to chase away the ice that had seized his heart. “I’ve never been anything but honorable in all of my dealings. In how I treated Hattie and the children. How could anyone think...”
Memories washed over him. All the times he and Hattie fought, with Hattie storming out and him not hearing from her for months. The scandals Hattie always found herself in, and him, stoically standing by, saying nothing, because he didn’t want the children to think ill of their mother.
No, he had never said anything. The papers had always said enough, and regardless of whether or not their stories were true, they said it anyway. What was there for him to say?
Mitch turned back toward Polly. “I didn’t kill Hattie,” he said quietly. “I hope that satisfies you. But that is all I will say on the matter, and should you require any more information, I suggest you find other employment. For I will not speak of it.”
His threat, as much as he’d like it to have more power, floated on the air. Losing someone who cared for his children as much as Polly would be a blow. But already the rumors and innuendos swirling about were too much for Mitch to handle. All were complete lies, of course, but he’d seen how good friends had already closed their doors to him, not wanting to be involved with something so scandalous. And with the way the investigators had already twisted his words and actions, his lawyer had told him that the less he said to anyone, the better. One of the “witnesses” was Mitch’s former housekeeper, who’d told the investigators about the violent last argument he’d had with Hattie.
The argument had been violent. But it had been Hattie who’d thrown the lamp at him. Hattie who’d screamed obscenities. Hattie who’d slapped him so soundly it had made his cheek bleed from where her nails had scratched him. She’d stormed out, slamming the door behind her, and he hadn’t heard from her since.
Absently, he rubbed the spot on his cheek. The scratches had faded, leaving only invisible scars that left him wondering how he’d gotten caught up in the madness in the first place.
Polly remained standing where she’d been, the shadows too dark for him to see her eyes, and he was glad. He’d just begun to get to know her, just gotten to like her, and now he was driving her away.
Mitch cleared his throat. “I’d also like to make it clear that I won’t have you gossiping about my family. If anyone asks, a reporter shows up or anything of the like, you will say nothing. I was arrested based on rumor, and I will not have anyone in my employ who is prone to idle talk.”
“I would never gossip about anyone,” Polly said quietly.
“Perhaps,” Mitch said slowly. “But just as you needed to hear that I didn’t kill my wife, I need to hear that you won’t be talking to anyone about my family.”
Polly nodded. “You have my word.” Then she hesitated. “But...my family...”
“I would rather you not share with them.” Who knew what, even in innocence, might be shared. And, with all the comings and goings in the parsonage, what would be overheard and misconstrued.
She didn’t say anything, but instead, walked over to him and placed her hand on his arm. Then, with those eyes that seemed to probe deeper into his soul than he was comfortable with, she spoke softly.
“It must be incredibly lonely keeping yourself so closed off. As much as they make me crazy sometimes, I don’t know what I would do without my family to talk to. I understand that it must be difficult to talk to someone you barely know, but I hope you know that you don’t have to go through this alone.”
Mitch’s throat clogged with anything he might have said in response. What did Polly know of his life? Of the difficulties he could not, would not, share?
Then she squeezed his arm, sending a current through him that seized his heart. “Even if you reje
ct my friendship, please at least consider opening up to your brother. He cares for you deeply, and I know he wants to help even more than he has.”
He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe. Andrew was the last person he’d confide in. Yes, he loved his brother, but how could he let his brother know just how bad things were? How could he disappoint him so?
Polly’s soft lilac scent filled his nostrils. She was the one he wanted to confide in. Wanted to wrap his arms around her, and have her tell him it was going to be all right. But then he would have to admit to feelings that he didn’t have the right to have.
Mitch took another deep breath. “I have everything under control,” he said, pulling away. “We should both turn in for the night. Morning will be here before you know it, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the children are early risers.”
“Of course,” Polly said, bowing her head. She seemed to understand without him having to tell her that theirs needed to be a more formal relationship. There would be no confidences shared, no...none of the things that sometimes crossed his mind. He couldn’t afford to have his heart so ensnared again.
He started for his bedroom, but Polly stopped him. “If you’ll just give me a moment, I’ve been sleeping in there with Isabella. It seemed easier to be closer to the children.”
“It’s all right. I’ll take the other bedroom. After the nights I’ve spent in a cell, any bed has to be more comfortable.”
Another dip of the head. “As you wish.”
No, nothing was as he wished. But as he watched Polly retreat back into the bedroom, he knew it was the only way to keep his heart safe.
Chapter Five
The children were already eating breakfast when Mitch entered the kitchen, hair tousled and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Polly had hoped he’d be able to sleep in, but with the room just off the kitchen, and the ruckus that always came with mealtime, she should have known his peace wouldn’t last long.
The Nanny's Little Matchmakers (Love Inspired Historical) Page 5
