Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (5 page)

It seemed a bit grand to be used as a storage room, but it wasn't his place to question her choice. “Thank you. I'll get one of the boys to help me carry the trunk in here later.” He could also store Miss Fredrick's things here.

She looked around. “I apologize for the state you find it in.”

Other than a bit of a musty feel, he didn't see anything that required an apology. “No need. And I certainly don't expect you to go to any trouble on my account.”

She nodded and continued to stare at the room as if picturing it differently. Was she remembering her husband seated in here? Did she still mourn him? The temptation to move to her side to comfort her was strong. He'd actually taken a step forward when she suddenly straightened.

“If that is all,” she said, “I have a few matters to attend to.”

Not sure if he was more relieved or bothered that she'd unknowingly forestalled his impulse, he gave a short bow. “Of course. I'll get the last of the baggage cleared from your entryway.” As they shut the door behind them, he added. “I'll encourage the children to either nap or entertain themselves quietly in their rooms for the next hour so you shouldn't be interrupted by any of them.”

She gave another of her regal nods and they retraced their steps in silence. When they arrived back at the foot of the stairway she excused herself and headed into the parlor. Was she still thinking of her deceased husband?

Simon watched her go—elegant posture, graceful movements, unhurried pace. He should have told Molly that yes indeed, a queen
did
live in this palace-of-a-home.

But he had the feeling that Eileen Pierce was a very sad and lonely ruler of her faltering domain. The question was, did she realize it, and if so, did she want to change things?

Chapter Five

E
ileen sat in the parlor, working on a bit of embroidery. Stepping into Thomas's study had conjured up memories not only of her husband but also of all her past sins. How could she have been so blissfully blind to what she'd been doing to him, of how much her extravagances had cost him, not just in money, but in his integrity and sense of honor? He had paid with his life. Her justly deserved penance was to have been brought low.

The house had grown quiet at last—there'd been no sounds from upstairs for the past ten minutes and even Mr. Tucker and Dovie had disappeared into their own rooms.

So far, things appeared to be working out moderately well. It had been hectic for a while but the children had responded appropriately to her authority. Now that she'd set the proper tone, perhaps the worst was behind them. As long as Dovie and Mr. Tucker took most of the responsibility for actually dealing with the children, and she was left to just play hostess, she was certain they could get through these next few days just fine.

She stilled. What was that noise? Had Mr. Tucker decided to come back down? This unexpected zing of anticipation she felt whenever he was near, or she even believed he was approaching, was new to her. And it was affecting her ability to maintain her impassive facade.

Then she heard the sound again and she realized it had to be one of the children. Ignoring the little stab of disappointment, she set her sewing aside. She couldn't have the children roaming around her home unattended. Then again, what if the child needed something? Would she be up to handling whatever it was on her own?

But she was the lady of the house and she had responsibilities to her guests. Rising, Eileen moved into the hall and stopped when she saw the youngest child—Molly, was it?—coming down the stairs. The little girl was dragging her doll forlornly behind her and had her right hand on the banister.

As soon as she saw Eileen, she stilled.

Eileen stared at her uncertainly. “Shouldn't you be taking a nap?” she asked.

Molly pulled her doll forward and hugged it tightly. “Gee-Gee always rocks me before I go to sleep.”

Why did the child think it important to tell her this?

“But Gee-Gee is sick,” the little girl added in a mournful tone.

Eileen felt her heart soften. “That's right. And I'm certain, when she gets better, Gee-Gee will be happy to rock you again.”

The little girl studied her with disconcerting intensity. “Will
you
rock me?”

Eileen was both touched and thrown off-kilter by the child's request. What did she know about such motherly activities? But something inside her ached to try. Then common sense reasserted itself. “I'm sorry, but I don't have a rocking chair,” she told the child. “Why don't you just go on back up to your room and lie down. I'm sure—”

“I want to be rocked.” The little girl's mouth was now set in a stubborn line.

Eileen looked around. Where were Dovie and Mr. Tucker? They were so much better equipped than she to handle an obstinate child. “I told you, I don't have a rocking chair. But—”

“I want to be rocked.” There was almost a wail in Molly's voice this time and she rubbed her eyes with her fist.

Gracious, was she about to
cry?
That just would not do. Then Eileen remembered the porch swing. It wasn't a rocking chair but it might serve to calm her down.

“All right,” she said quickly. “I think I have a suitable compromise.”

The little girl's expression changed from pouty displeasure to uncertainty. “What's a com-prize?”

“Com
pro
mise,” Eileen corrected. “It means I don't have a rocker but I have something I think will work just as well.” She nodded toward the front door. “But we'll have to go outside.”

“Okay.” Molly, now all smiles, came down the last three stairs and held out her hand.

Surprised by the trusting gesture, Eileen hesitated for just a moment, then accepted the girl's small, pudgy hand into her own. Together they exited the house and Eileen led her to the porch swing.

When Molly saw it, she giggled in delight. “A big rocker swing. I like your com-prize.”

“Compromise,” Eileen corrected again, but more gently this time. She sat down on the swing and the little girl scrambled up into her lap.

As Eileen set the swing gently into motion, Molly snuggled down more comfortably in her lap, leaned her head against Eileen's chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth again. A happy sigh escaped her as she cuddled her rag doll.

Placing her arms around the child, Eileen felt something deep inside her stir to life.

* * *

“This is my fault. I shouldn't have fallen asleep.” Fern's eyes were wide, her tone bordering on hysteria.

“You were tired.” Simon kept his tone matter-of-fact, trying to keep her from panicking. “And I'm sure Molly hasn't gone far.”

“That Mrs. Pierce lady scared her. I don't think she even wants us here.” Fern was obviously looking for someone to blame. “Maybe we should find someplace else to stay.”

He was surprised by how strongly the urge to defend Mrs. Pierce kicked in. “Fern, this is Mrs. Pierce's home, which means she's allowed to make the rules. She's just not accustomed to being around children, especially as large a group as we have. Give her time to get used to you all and she'll come around. Besides there
is
no other place, unless you want everyone to be split up.”

Simon ushered the agitated girl out of the bedchamber and toward the stairs. He'd checked in on all the kids a few moments ago, just to assure himself they were settling in okay, when he'd discovered Molly's bed was empty.

He'd crossed the room to see if Molly was hiding somewhere. Unfortunately Fern, who was the toddler's roommate, had awakened. And now she was blaming herself. Truth was, Simon knew this was his fault. He should have made certain they all knew to stay in their rooms until the clock chimed the hour.

“Maybe we should just call out for her,” Fern suggested. “Sometimes she likes to hide.”

Simon shook his head. “Not yet. I don't want to wake the others and get them worried unless we need to. I'm sure she hasn't gone far. Let's just look around a bit first.”

He and Fern checked the corners and niches on the second floor then headed downstairs. “Can you think of something she likes to do or someplace she likes to go that would give us a clue where to look?” Simon asked. Regrettably, he didn't know enough about Molly or any of these kids to figure it out for himself.

“She might try to find the kitchen if she was thirsty.” Fern's tone was doubtful.

“All right. You check the kitchen—down that way I believe—and I'll see if Mrs. Pierce is still in the parlor to find out if she's seen her.”

Fern nodded and took off at a sprint.

He'd already turned in the opposite direction, How would the widow feel about the interruption? Would she help in the search or lecture them on discipline? Not that he minded squaring off with her under less troubling circumstances—getting a rise out of her was actually quite entertaining.

When he looked in the parlor he found it disappointingly empty. He even checked behind the sofa and softly called Molly's name to make sure the little girl wasn't hiding.

When he stepped back out in the hallway he noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Molly was too small, of course, to open the heavy wooden door. But if someone else had left it open...

He quickly crossed to the entryway, pushed open the screen door and stepped out on the porch. He could see the front gate was closed, which eased one worry at least. Perhaps she—

A movement he'd caught from the corner of his eye grabbed his attention.

There, on a porch swing that he hadn't even noticed when they arrived earlier, sat Mrs. Pierce with a sleeping Molly cuddled on her lap. And the widow had the sweetest, gentlest smile on her face, for all the world as if Molly were her own beloved child. The soft expression transformed her, turned her from an ice queen to an achingly sweet image of maternal devotion.

Then Fern came up behind him and he heard her quick intake of breath. Before he could stop her, the girl gave vent to her feelings.

“What are you doing with Molly?” There was outrage and accusation in the girl's tone.

Mrs. Pierce stiffened and the softness disappeared from her expression. In its place a cooler, more impersonal facade settled in. Simon felt a physical sense of loss at the transformation.

“The child insisted on being rocked.” Her tone was dispassionate. “It was this or let her wake the house with her crying.”

“You should have called me.” Fern marched forward. “I know how to take care of her.”

Simon knew Fern was still rattled by Molly's unexpected disappearance, but rudeness was never a proper response. “Apologize for taking that tone with Mrs. Pierce,” he said quietly but firmly.

Fern threw him a defiant look, but he kept his gaze locked to hers and his expression firm. After a moment she turned back to Mrs. Pierce. “I'm sorry.” But her tone was anything but contrite. She stiffly bent down to take Molly from Mrs. Pierce's arms.

“As you wish.” Mrs. Pierce smoothed her skirt across her now-empty lap, then stood. “If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my needlework.”

Simon wanted to let her know that he appreciated her tenderness with the toddler, that Fern hadn't really meant what she'd said. But the kids had to be his first concern right now. So he settled for giving her a quick thank-you.

She acknowledged it with a frosty nod, barely pausing as she stepped past him into the house. The ice queen had returned with a vengeance.

He turned back to Fern, careful to keep his irritation out of his voice. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I'm going to put Molly to bed.” That touch of defiance had returned.

He stepped in front of her. “Give her to me.” When she balked, he gave an exasperated shake of his head. “She's too heavy for you to carry up the stairs. Once I've got her in bed, you can tuck her in and fuss over her all you want.”

With a reluctant nod, Fern handed a still-slumbering Molly over. The three-year-old was definitely a sound sleeper. Simon crossed the foyer to the staircase, noting that Mrs. Pierce had returned to the parlor and had her head bent over her sewing. She was as composed as if nothing had just happened. If Fern's tone had upset her there was no sign of it.

Simon quickly carried the little girl up the stairs and placed her in her bed. Then he left Fern to tend to her while he headed back downstairs to see the widow.

He had some fence-mending to do on Fern's behalf.

Chapter Six

E
ileen stabbed the needle through the fabric, trying to keep her hands from trembling.

She had gotten used to being something of a social outcast in Turnabout these past two years. But to have that same distrust and dislike focused on her from the eyes of this newcomer, a child no less, was altogether unnerving. It had stung more than she cared to admit.

And all the more so because she'd let her guard down with Molly. She would need to remember these people were just temporary guests in her home. Getting attached to any of them was not to be allowed.

As for Mr. Tucker, she hadn't been able to tell what he thought. He'd wrested an apology from Fern, but other than that, he'd shown no sign of what he was thinking.

She tried to tell herself it didn't matter, but knew that to be a lie.

She looked up when she heard a tap at the parlor door frame. Mr. Tucker stood there watching her. Had he just walked up or had he been there awhile? It bothered her that he might have been watching her without her realizing it.

“May I come in for a moment?” he asked.

Was he here to take her to task as Fern had? Well, she was prepared now; she would not be caught unawares a second time.

Placing her sewing in her lap, Eileen nodded permission.

He smiled diffidently as he moved farther into the room. “I wanted to apologize on Fern's behalf. I'm sorry if she seemed rude—she was just worried about Molly.”

Some of her tension eased at his obvious sincerity. But it seemed to her that Fern should do her own apologizing. “I was not harming the child.” Had she managed to keep the hurt from her voice?

“Of course not. In fact, I appreciate the attention you were giving her. Molly seemed quite comfortable there with you.”

And she had been surprisingly comfortable holding the child. It was the first time she'd been in that position, and it had left her aching more than ever from the knowledge that she would never have a child of her own. “Molly was insistent that she be rocked before she could sleep— humoring her was a simple enough thing. As for Fern, she should know better than to take such a tone with an adult. It appears your Miss Fredrick was not big on teaching the children manners.”

“It's been a rough day for them, and they're only children.” He'd frowned at her words, but his tone remained calm. “One can't expect them to react with the control of an adult.”

“I disagree.” Her teachers had gone to great lengths to school her on the correct behavior for a young lady of breeding. It was only when she had proven that she could conduct herself with proper decorum that she had been allowed to dine with adults or join them in the parlor, and then only on special occasions.

“Still and all,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “it was very good of you to comfort Molly.”

Eileen deliberately pushed away thoughts of the little girl's snuggling presence in her lap. She might not have the makings of a good mother, but that didn't mean she didn't have maternal longings. “One does what is needed.”

To her relief, the doorbell sounded, putting an end to their current discussion. She rose from her seat, setting the sewing aside. “If you'll excuse me, I need to see who is at the door. And I'm sure you have matters of your own to see to, as well.”

He stepped back as she exited the parlor, but rather than following her pointed hint, he trailed along behind her. Was he just curious? Or was he expecting someone?

When she opened the door, Regina Barr and her housekeeper, Mrs. Peavy, stood there holding cloth-covered baskets. It seemed the Ladies Auxiliary had put their promises into action.

She greeted them, then stepped aside. “Please come in.”

“The Ladies Auxiliary worked out a schedule for meals and I made sure we were first up,” Regina said with a smile. “I wanted to get this food to you early so it would be ready whenever the children got hungry.”

“Thank you, that was most considerate.” What time did the children normally eat? She supposed it would be up to her to set the schedule now.

Mr. Tucker stepped forward. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He reached for the baskets. “Let me help you with those.”

“Oh, hello. I'm Reggie Barr, one of Eileen's neighbors.” Regina waved to her companion. “And this is my friend, Mrs. Peavy.”

Mr. Tucker gave a short bow, then reached for her basket, but she resisted with a smile. “These aren't heavy.” She waved a hand toward the open door. “But if you'll help my son Jack with the rest, I'd be most obliged.”

Eileen glanced outside to see Jack standing at the foot of the porch with a small wagon containing two large hampers.

As Mr. Tucker stepped outside, Eileen turned to the women. “You can set your baskets down on the dining room table.”

But Regina shook her head. “Nonsense, we can carry these to the kitchen for you.”

Mr. Tucker returned with the two hampers, and Jack was right behind him with a smaller basket. Eileen didn't have any choice but to lead the small procession to the kitchen. At least that room was not expected to be lavishly furnished, so perhaps they'd see nothing amiss.

As they walked, Regina described the contents of the baskets. “We have a sliced ham, some squash, butter beans, fresh-baked bread and two pecan pies.” She grinned. “I figured with ten kids and three adults to feed, you'd be needing a goodly quantity.”

“That will make a fine meal,” Eileen said. Actually, it sounded a veritable feast. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had ham.

“Tomorrow,” Regina continued, “Hortense Peters promises to deliver a basket of fresh eggs in the morning along with a generous length of summer sausage. And Eunice is going to bring over a roast with some vegetables that should be enough to take care of your noon and evening meals.”

Eileen nodded. Eunice Ortolon might be a gossipy busybody but there was no denying she was a great cook. “I'm certain the children will be quite grateful for your generosity.” It seemed as long as the children were under her roof she would be eating well. An unexpected benefit.

Mr. Tucker set his things down, brushing closely past her. Had he done that on purpose?

He made a short bow in Regina's direction. “Absolutely, ma'am. I can't begin to tell you how grateful we are to have fallen among such kind and generous folk.”

Regina smiled, obviously not immune to the warmth of his tone, either. Then she turned to include Eileen in her comments. “And don't you worry. We have folks lined up to take care of your meals for as many days as you need us to.”

Eileen was getting hungry just smelling the tempting aromas coming from the hampers. She hadn't eaten such fine fare in some time—meat was a rare treat indeed.

Regina sent a subtle signal to Mrs. Peavy, and the older woman made her exit, taking Jack with her. Then she turned to Mr. Tucker. “Thank you so much for your assistance getting these inside. I'll just help Eileen get everything put away before I go.”

This time Mr. Tucker took the not-very-subtle hint. “If you'll excuse me, then, I'll leave you ladies to it. I think I'll check in on Molly to make sure she stays put this time.” He gave Regina another of those warm smiles. “Thanks again for the food, ma'am.”

Once he'd gone, Eileen turned to Regina. “It's really not necessary for you to stay and help me. You've done enough already.” She really wasn't comfortable having people poking around in her cupboards and closets.

Regina opened one of the hampers. “I don't mind. And there's something else I wanted to say.”

Eileen steeled herself. Was Regina, like Miss Ortolon, concerned with her suitability to house young children? Was this to be some sort of advice or condition set down for her?

But there was no hint of censure in Regina's expression. “Daisy and I discussed how children can be hard on dishes, and it didn't seem right that you should bear the brunt of that. So she sent over some of the plates from her restaurant that have seen a bit too much wear and that she was ready to take out of service. I hope you don't mind. They have some small chips and cracks but are still serviceable.”

Regina seemed to sense her hesitation. “If you'd rather not use them, that's okay, too. But Daisy wanted me to assure you that either way she doesn't need them back—she was ready to replace them anyway.”

Had these women suspected her true circumstances and decided to offer her charity? That was a lowering thought, but Eileen couldn't afford to turn down the offer. She hadn't given much thought to place settings, but she'd be hard-pressed to set a table for the ten children, much less the full complement of thirteen now residing here.

First towels, now dishes. Was she forgetting anything else?

At least Regina had worded the offer in a way that left Eileen with some of her dignity intact. She nodded matter-of-factly. “I had not considered the added wear and tear these children could have on my things. I will have to thank Daisy when next I see her.”

Regina touched her arm lightly. “I know you were put on the spot earlier. And given all that's occurred the past couple of years, it was mighty generous of you to open your home to these folks. If you need any help at all in the coming days, you know where I live. Don't hesitate to fetch me.”

Eileen was surprised by the genuine warmness of the gesture. Was this the start of a thawing of the community toward her? Or would the friendly overtures disappear as soon as her houseguests departed?

* * *

Once Regina took her leave, Eileen made quick work of unloading the various baskets and hampers. Dovie joined her just as she emptied the last one.

“Goodness, but isn't this all a welcome sight. I don't mind saying I'm not a bit sorry we won't need to rustle up supper from scratch for all these folks.”

Eileen folded her hands in front of her. “I'll admit I don't know how much children eat, but there seems to be enough here to feed us all.”

Dovie peered inside the various bowls and pots. “I agree—this should be more than enough. There might even be some ham left over to serve with breakfast in the morning. I'll get the stove stoked. We can set these things on the warming rack so it'll all be heated through when we're ready for it.”

Eileen glanced up toward the ceiling. “How much longer do you think the children will nap?”

“I imagine some of them are awake already, if they slept at all. It's been an emotional day for them and different children will react differently to that.”

Emotional—
Eileen didn't like the sounds of that. Orderly and obedient—that's how children should behave.

But Dovie was still speaking. “As to your question, Mr. Tucker instructed them to stay in their rooms for at least an hour.” She grinned. “I imagine it was as much to give you a reprieve as to let the children rest.”

Eileen relaxed, pleased that he might have indeed been thinking of her feelings. And it seemed there was an expectation that the children were at least able to quietly amuse themselves. Good. “That being the case, I don't suppose they'll have the energy for much activity the rest of the day.”

Dovie shook her head sympathetically. “You really don't know much about children, do you, dear?”

Eileen didn't like the condescending tone. “I remember my own childhood quite well.”

The older woman gave her a long, considering look, and it was all Eileen could do not to fidget under that gaze.

“Don't you remember how hard it was to sit still for long periods?” Dovie finally asked. “You can't expect them to stay in their rooms all afternoon. An hour or two, yes, but no more. Children need activity to keep them from getting restless.”

Eileen disagreed. It was merely a matter of training and discipline. Most of her childhood, at least that part after her father's death when she was five, had been spent with boarding school teachers in quiet, educational pursuits. Those teachers had believed in the adage that children should be seen and not heard, and they had vigorously drilled their students on matters of etiquette, deportment and other matters of social acceptance.

But if indeed these children had
not
been trained properly, she would have to find other solutions. If she hadn't had to sell her pianoforte or stereopticon she could have entertained them in a decorous, proper style. She'd also sold most of her books and her husband's finely carved chess set. There was nothing even remotely appropriate for entertaining company of any age left in her home.

Dovie startled her by patting her hand. “Don't worry,” the woman said. “Children are easily entertained. Just leave it to me.”

“And so I shall. In the meantime, I should take care of organizing our meal.”

Just as Dovie had predicted, thirty minutes later there were sounds of stirring from the upstairs rooms. When Eileen stepped into the hallway a few minutes later, she saw Dovie leading the entire group of children into the parlor. Curious as to what the woman was planning, Eileen followed, as well.

Dovie knelt down next to the low table in front of the sofa and signaled the children to gather around. “I want to show you a game my mother used to play with me.” She untied the cloth and spread it open with all the flair of a pirate revealing his treasure. The children all pressed closer to get better looks.

Eileen couldn't resist taking a step forward herself. Peering over the children's heads, she identified a thimble, coin, needle, spoon, button, pumpkin seed, pecan, twig, two rocks, a hairpin, hat pin, chalk, a bit of ribbon, a candle stub, a feather and a spool.

“Now, I want everyone to study all these items very closely,” Dovie said solemnly. “In a moment you're going to turn around, and I'll mix them up and take one away. Then we'll see who can be first to figure out what's missing.”

The children immediately leaned in closer to study the contents intently.