Especially when he reminded himself how hard his daughters worked to eat the food he cooked for them. Further, they’d taken to sleeping in the tiny corners of their beds that weren’t piled high with toys and clothes awaiting washing. The house was a mess. Their meals were a disaster.
Miss Macauley would have to stay. The girls needed her. He would put up with a great many things for his girls’ sake.
He pushed the wheelbarrow from the barn and out to the dump pile. A storm was brewing overhead. He watched the dark, churning clouds. They would be pounded with rain, he was absolutely certain.
What was taking Ian so long?
Joseph wanted his girls home before the storm broke. Little Ivy’s health wasn’t always good, and a thorough wetting might lead to lung inflammation.
A gust of wind snapped the open barn door back and forth, pulling his eyes in that direction. Miss Macauley had left her battered traveling bag and violin case there.
Joseph grabbed her belongings and made his way to the house. It seemed as good an excuse as any to check on his new housekeeper. He hesitated a moment on the porch before shaking his head at himself. This was his house. Why should he second-guess his decision to go inside? He’d never done so with the last housekeeper.
He turned the knob and gave the door a push, his hands full. The wind did the rest of the work for him, flinging the door completely open. Miss Macauley stood near the stove, a startled expression on her face as she looked at him. Leaves and dust blew in as the wind rustled loose tendrils of hair in her face. In that unguarded moment, she looked almost approachable, not at all like the shrew she’d seemed out in the yard.
“You left these by the barn.” He held up the carpetbag and fiddle case.
“Thank you, sir.”
He inwardly cringed at hearing himself addressed that way. The servants who had worked in his home during the years he was growing up had scraped and bowed and sirred his father through nearly every waking moment. Father required their subservience as his due. Mother kept them in line with threats of dismissal and looks of haughty superiority. His distaste for such palpable class distinctions was one of the things that had driven him west.
Still, he’d argued with his new housekeeper enough that day. He could let a sir or two pass without comment.
He closed the door and crossed the kitchen, setting her things beside the door in the wall opposite the stove, the door to her bedroom. He looked back at Miss Macauley. She stood in front of the stove, watching it with her hands on her hips. The stove sat cold, nothing being prepared there as far as he could see.
“Are you having difficulties with the stove?” He moved toward her.
She shook her head. “I hadn’t lit it yet is all.”
“But you do know how?” It would be just his luck to have hired a woman who couldn’t even light the stove.
“Of course.” Miss Macauley pulled her dignity around her and looked down her nose at him. “I’ve worked as a servant nearly all my life. I believe you’ll find me quite competent in all areas of household management, sir.”
There was that sir again. “Let’s begin there, shall we?” He heard the annoyance in his voice. It likely showed in his eyes as well.
She looked instantly wary. They were not making a very good beginning.
“I would rather not be called sir,” he said. “Especially not at the end of every single sentence. Mr. Archer or Joseph will be fine.” He gave her a final nod for emphasis, then made his way to the kitchen window. The girls weren’t home yet.
“I will remember that, Mr. Archer.” Miss Macauley spoke from her position near the stove. “And I would ask you to call me Katie, as I far prefer that to Miss Macauley.”
“If that is what you want.” His gaze remained on the window. He hoped she would set herself to cleaning it soon. The grime had doubled many times over since he’d last had a moment to scrub the glass.
Miss Macauley didn’t sound as though she were seeing to the meal. A glance in her direction confirmed that. The stove still wasn’t lit.
“Were you planning to cook dinner?” Surely she understood that was a basic requirement of her employment.
“You were expecting to eat, then?”
He gave her an uncertain look. “Yes.” The word emerged like a question.
“And this is something you’ll be wanting on a regular basis, is it?”
Her sarcastic tone spoke volumes. He had offended her. “I did not intend to question your competency.”
Miss Macauley—no, Katie; she preferred Katie—gave a brief nod, as if acknowledging he had ceded an argument to her. Yes, this new housekeeper of his was going to be difficult.
“I’ll see to your meal, Mr. Archer, just as soon as I’ve found enough clean dishes.”
He looked briefly toward the window, not liking the increase he heard in the wind. Where was Ian? Of course, at the rate Katie was going, the stove would still be cold and the girls would go hungry.
“Would it speed things along if I lit the stove?”
She held her chin at that defiant angle she continually assumed. Perhaps he should have made “an accommodating disposition” one of his requirements for the job.
“I will light the stove,” she said crisply. “I am certain you have plenty of your own chores to see to.”
Her professional pride might take a bit of a beating, but he fully intended to see that his daughters were fed. Despite her look of surprised displeasure, he took the box of matches from the shelf.
“Sir.”
He looked back at her even as he hunched down beside the stove. “I do not answer to sir.”
She watched him closely as he lit the match, brow creased deeply, mouth set in a tight line. Did she think he wasn’t capable of lighting a stove? He couldn’t cook worth anything, but he could certainly manage a fire.
“I thank you for seeing to that, Mr. Archer.” Her tight tone told him clearly that his efforts grated on her and she thanked him only because she felt she must.
He stood and faced her. “I know how irritating it can be to have someone looking over your shoulder while you work. I’ll leave you alone while you see to your tasks.”
A bit of the defensiveness left her posture and snapping eyes. She even managed the tiniest, fleeting hint of a smile. Maybe that would be the key to a peaceful coexistence. He would simply avoid her whenever possible.
“Thank you, Mr. Archer. I’m a little nervous about my first day, I suppose. Things didn’t begin well.”
“I know.” He could give her that much. “I’ll just be out on the back porch if you can’t find something or need anything.”
She nodded and turned back to the pile of potatoes and carrots and such she’d set on a hastily cleared corner of the table.
Joseph walked to the back door. He opened it, letting the storm in once more. Heavy drops of rain joined the burst of wind. The temperature had dropped. They’d be under a deluge soon.
“Come on, Ian,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him. “Get my girls home while you still can.”
Time crawled as he stood waiting. He never could be easy while Emma and Ivy were away. He liked having them nearby where he could see they were healthy and happy. He needed them there.
How would Katie treat the girls? He had envisioned their new housekeeper as something of a grandmother or at the very least a matronly aunt, someone who would adore them and give them the tender affection they both needed so much. Katie didn’t seem the type.
He couldn’t very well fire her for being less cheerful than he’d expected. They’d have to make the best of things. So long as she didn’t mistreat the girls, they could get along.
From out of sight came the sound of hooves and wheels splashing through the gathering puddles. Joseph leaned out into the rain. The silhouette of an approaching wagon. That would be the girls. At last.
The wagon pulled into the yard directly in front of the barn. He stepped out into the rain to meet it. Ian tipp
ed his hat. Joseph returned the silent greeting with a quick nod of his head.
“Quickly, girls,” he called up to the wagon bed. “You’re soaked through.”
Emma reached down for him first. He lowered her to the ground. Tiny Ivy came next. Even for five years old, she was very small. Joseph hugged her to him and rushed toward the porch, quickly catching up to Emma.
The sounds of Ian’s wagon pulling back out could barely be heard over the increasingly heavy rain. Thank the heavens the girls had reached home before the full downpour.
He opened the kitchen door and pushed the girls inside, thankful for the warmth radiating from the stove. Katie stood at the stove, stirring something in the steaming pot and watching their entrance.
Joseph watched her as well. How would she treat Emma and Ivy? What if she was as stern and snappish with them as she’d been with him? He wouldn’t put up with it, she would quickly discover.
He set Ivy on her feet beside Emma, who clung close to his side. They were both dripping from their ride in the rain.
“There’s a fire in the stove, girls. Stand near it and warm up.”
Neither girl moved at all. They watched Katie with obvious uncertainty. Katie didn’t look any more at ease than they did.
“This is Miss Katie Macauley. She will be looking after the house and the meals.”
“And looking after us, Papa?” Emma asked.
Surprise touched Katie’s expression, though Joseph wasn’t sure just what struck her as odd. Why could he not have found a housekeeper who was as uncomplicated and contented as Mrs. Jones had been?
Joseph pulled his thoughts back enough to answer Emma’s question. “Yes. She’ll be looking after the two of you.”
At that, Katie turned back to her pot, a look of unhappy contemplation on her face. He braced himself, knowing almost instinctively that the situation was about to go from bad to worse.
Chapter Five
Katie’s lungs froze in shock. These were his very own children. None of Mr. Archer’s telegrams had mentioned that. Not a one. Katie would have remembered. Indeed, she had been struck by the fact that he didn’t have children. She’d considered herself fortunate for finding a position that didn’t involve children. An absolute miracle, she’d told herself. His lack of children was the primary reason she’d expected him to be stooped and elderly.
Had she known children were part of the bargain, she would never have applied for the position. She would have told the housekeeper in Baltimore to stop reading immediately and tear the telegram into tiny pieces. Had children been even hinted at, Katie would never have come.
She could clean a house, milk a cow, throw together a meal in a trice, even cross an unfamiliar continent on her own. But tending children was another matter entirely. The last time she’d been placed in charge of a child, that child hadn’t lived to see morning.
Katie looked from one girl to the other, her mind frantically trying to determine what to do. The littler one held her attention longest. She couldn’t have been more than five years old, the age her sister, Eimear, had been when she died. This girl even had brown eyes and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. ’Twas like looking into her own past directly at a face she’d spent eighteen years trying to forget.
Something had to be done.
“’Twill be a moment before your dinner is ready, Mr. Archer. Might I jaw a piece with you while you’re waiting?”
“She doesn’t even speak English, Papa,” the older girl said.
Why was it Americans had such trouble understanding her? She’d had to repeat herself to more people than she could count since coming across the ocean. “I’m wanting to talk with you just a bit before your meal, sir.”
Her words surprised him. “Is that really what you just said?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Hmm.”
She hadn’t the slightest idea what to make of that.
“Would you grant me a moment of your time?” Katie asked once more. “Alone, if you please.”
He motioned in the direction of the back door. Katie hadn’t expected a conversation out in the weather, but she’d not argue. The difficulty had to be seen to. She simply couldn’t be left in charge of children.
They stopped beneath the roof of the back porch. Mr. Archer pulled the door shut behind them. Katie studied his face a moment, wishing to know his state of mind. The man’s feelings, however, were impossible to decipher. He’d been that way from the first moment she’d met him. His mouth pulled in a stern line, his eyes watching her closely. His posture was rigid and unbending.
She’d best hit at the heart of the matter and resolve things quickly. “I was only wanting to know why it is you didn’t think to mention your daughters in the wires you sent.”
That brought confusion to his expression. “I did most certainly mention them. I was quite thorough, in fact, including in my description their names, ages, temperaments.”
He spoke very formally, his accent as refined as any of the fine ladies and gentlemen she’d served in the hotel in Baltimore. Her confidence flagged a moment. Clearly this man was no simple farmer.
Rally yourself, Katie. This difficulty must be seen to.
“No.” Katie shook her head. She’d listened quite closely as Mrs. Hendricks, the housekeeper at the hotel where she’d worked, read the telegram explaining the job opportunity. “I remember clearly what you wrote of this position. Cooking, mending, laundering, cleaning. You said it was a small town in the middle of nothing. You gave instructions on trains and stations. But there was no mention of children nor needing to look after them.”
“Does it seem likely to you that I would hire someone to tend my children without mentioning them at the very least?” His tone rang with impatience.
It didn’t seem at all likely, and yet Katie knew she’d been told nothing of children.
“Perhaps you should reread my wires, in case there’s anything else you missed.”
He was talking slowly, as though he doubted her intelligence. Her throat tightened as embarrassment tiptoed over her. She was not stupid, no matter her lack of education.
“Have you any other children, sir?”
A tight sigh escaped him. “Mr. Archer or Joseph but not sir.”
Katie nodded. “I’ll try to remember, Mr. Archer.”
“The two girls are my only children.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Have they names?”
“No, I opted not to name them.” His voice was dry as a hot summer day. “It simplifies things.”
He meant to become sarcastic, did he? “No need to sharpen your tongue on my back, Mr. Archer. I’m only trying to sort this all out.”
He offered no apology and didn’t look repentant. Behind him rain fell hard and steady in the yard, the view appropriately bleak.
“The older one is Emma and the younger one is Ivy,” he said. “They are nine and five, respectively. Shall I itemize their personalities next?”
He obviously was reciting the very information he’d written to her. Confessing she hadn’t read the telegrams, couldn’t read them, would only further convince him she was not very bright.
“I’ve no experience with children, Mr. Archer. I wouldn’t have the first idea how to see to them or meet their needs. I’d be as turned about as a ship in a gale.”
That admission hung heavy in the air between them. Katie’s hair and skirts whipped around her, more than a few drops of rain wetting the side of her face.
“Didn’t you grow up with any siblings to look after?” he asked, his gaze still boring into her.
Katie shook her head. “Only older brothers, sir.” The familiarity of the lie didn’t make it easier to hear. A lie was a lie, no matter how necessary. Telling the truth meant confessing her only sister had died and that she bore the guilt of that. She’d never once admitted to anything related to her sister in the years since she’d died, not even her very existence.
“And you don’t think yours
elf capable of keeping an eye on two relatively quiet, sweet-tempered girls?”
Quiet and sweet-tempered. Would the similarities never cease? Katie couldn’t bear it. Though she felt she’d changed in the years since Eimear’s death, Katie nearly panicked at the idea of the girls left solely in her charge.
“I don’t know that it would be the best arrangement.”
“Very well.” Had he no intention of trying to talk her round? “I said earlier you couldn’t stay. It seems that is more true than ever.”
The man meant to let her go. Katie hadn’t expected that. A change of duties, perhaps, but not dismissal.
“Mr. Archer?”
“I have offered a large salary because I expect a great deal of work. That includes looking after the girls. If you feel yourself unequal to that task or unwilling to take it on, then I will simply have to keep looking.”
He actually looked relieved. Suspicious, that. Had he been hoping for a reason to fire her again?
What a day she was having. A rather horrid and awful day.
If Mr. Archer truly let her go, she’d be without a job, without a roof over her head, without a means of earning her way back home. Katie grasped the sides of her skirts in her fists, a heavy weight settling in her chest.
Mr. Archer left her on the porch. She stood, attempting to choose a path. After twenty years of working, she’d have the money she needed in a year at the salary he’d offered her. She’d have what she needed to go home at last. How could she turn away from that opportunity?
“One question remains, Katie,” she whispered to herself. “Can you be trusted?”
Trouble was, she didn’t know the answer. Surely she could see to it that the girls didn’t come to any harm. Katie closed her eyes and breathed slowly, forcing back the memory of her sister’s lifeless body. The situation was different, she told herself. She was only a child herself the day she killed her sister. With age had come some bit of wisdom. Further, Mr. Archer would be nearby. And the girls would look out for each other.
She needed the job. But to accept a position she felt herself unequal to, one that involved the welfare of innocents . . .
Longing for Home: A Proper Romance Page 4
