Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (8 page)

“And do you consider your current actions a good example for them to follow?”

She had no answer for that.

“Just put aside your own feelings for a moment and think of theirs. Surely you can do this one thing, just to put their minds at ease.”

She knew he was trying to manipulate her by playing on her sympathies. But that didn't stop her from feeling a pang of guilt.

“Afterward,” he continued, “if you want to eat every other meal for the rest of your life in total isolation, then I won't interfere.”

His sarcasm was easier to deal with than his cajoling. “And what makes you think you have the right to interfere now?”

He threw up his hands. “Have it your way.”

He pushed out of the room in a huff, and Eileen heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like
impossible woman.

She sagged against the counter, feeling more than a bit sorry for herself. There were tears pressing against the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Better he think her selfish than that he learn the pitiful truth.

Without warning the door swung open again.

“I don't think you truly under—” Mr. Tucker paused midsentence, studying her face. Then he gave a short bow. “Forgive me for being such a thoughtless lout. I'm sorry if I upset you—of course you have every right to your privacy.”

It was his unexpected kindness that did her in. “I don't have another plate!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to blurt that out—she
wasn't
a blurter. But at least she had the satisfaction of seeing surprise replace the sympathy on his face.

He recovered a moment later and gave her an incredulous smile. “Is that all?”

“Is that
all?
” She took a deep breath, calming herself and trying to reclaim her dignity by brute force. “Mr. Tucker, it seems to me a plate is an essential part of the meal process.”

“Well, sure, but one can get creative and improvise.”

Without waiting for her response, he moved to her cupboards and shifted a few things around.

She watched him, trying to figure out how to get the situation back under control after her pitiful confession. What must he think of her now?

“Ah, here we go.” He turned back to her in triumph. “Two shallow bowls.”

Did he really expect her to eat from a bowl while he and the others ate from plates? That would be so undignified. “Bowls are for soups and stews.”

His cocky attitude didn't falter. “What I was
actually
thinking was that in the future, we can serve Molly's and Joey's food in these while the rest of us eat from the plates.” His pleased-with-himself grin should have irritated her, but for some reason it didn't.

“I see.” She supposed that could work. But it didn't take care of tonight's meal.

“As for today,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “I can't eat my meal knowing you are back here alone and hungry. Please return to the dining room with me.”

His smile was disarmingly charming, but she stiffened her resolve. “Mr. Tucker, please don't waste your time worrying over me—I am neither lonely nor unduly hungry. I have told you that I will not eat my meal from one of those bowls. And I can hardly swap dishes with one of the children now that they have already started on their meals. Feel free to make what excuses you feel necessary to relieve their anxiety.” She marched to the pantry and snatched up a jar at random. “I will open this jar of—” she looked at it more closely “—speckled butter beans. It will do quite well for my dinner.” Hopefully she put more enthusiasm in her voice than she truly felt for the bland fare.

Did he actually roll his eyes at her?

Chapter Nine

S
imon couldn't believe Mrs. Pierce would rather go hungry than sacrifice her dignity. But he was relieved to discover that
that
was her issue rather than a selfish desire to make Harry feel bad.

If the infuriating woman would just relax and handle the situation with a touch of humor, no one would give it a second thought. But humor didn't seem to be a strength of hers—he'd have to come up with something else—something that would allow her the cold comfort of her dignity. “All right, if you won't eat from a bowl, perhaps you can claim to have a light appetite and eat from one of the saucers.”

There was no thawing in her demeanor. “Those saucers are for the dessert. If I take one for my meal, then we will be short one when it comes time to serve the pie.”

That was an easy fix. “Not necessarily. I'll just eat my dessert from my dinner plate. No one will think anything of it.”

Still she hesitated, so he tried another approach. “If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for the children. Right now they still think you're angry with Harry. And the longer we stay back here, the stronger that feeling will grow.” He gave her a direct look. “
Are
you angry with Harry?”

“I've already told you I wasn't,” she said stiffly. Then she unbent slightly. “Actually, I suppose I
was
angry at the time.”

He was pleasantly surprised by her honesty. It confirmed his belief that she was a woman of integrity.

“But only for a moment,” she continued. “Anger is a useless emotion that accomplishes nothing.”

At least they agreed on that point. He gave her what he hoped was a persuasive smile. “I know eating from a saucer is not the most dignified way to take your meal, but I'd consider it a great favor if you'd do so just this once. Come on and rejoin us in the dining room so the children can see for themselves you're not angry.”

He thought he could detect some of her resolve slipping and searched for a way to press his advantage. “You said earlier that you wanted to give the children instruction on social skills. Isn't showing grace under pressure one of those skills?”

She didn't say anything for several heartbeats. Then she nodded. “You are correct. And if it truly means that much to you and the children, I suppose I could make do, just this once.”

“Thank you. Your selflessness is a wonderful example for the children.”

She moved to the door, her expression composed. She either hadn't heard the teasing note in his words or chose to ignore it.

When they entered the dining room, all discussion stopped and the children studied them with wary expressions.

“My apologies for being gone so long,” Mrs. Pierce said pleasantly. “I wanted to clean my skirt before the stain set.” She casually reached for one of the nearby saucers, then sat down with a graceful movement.

Simon studied her relaxed demeanor with approval. One would think her the hostess to a gathering of welcome friends rather than unanticipated houseguests, most of whom were children.

She looked around the table. “I declare, it's been more than two years since I sat with so many for a meal in here. It feels almost like a dinner party.”

“I like parties,” Molly said hopefully. “Me and Flossie have tea parties sometimes.”

“Tea parties are quite nice,” Mrs. Pierce agreed. “Perhaps we can have one while you are here.”

Simon felt some of the tension ease from the room.

“I understand you had the opportunity to visit the Blue Bottle Sweet Shop this afternoon,” she said to Harry. “Were you able to sample any of Mrs. Dawson's fine treats?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The boy sat up straighter. “I never tasted such fine caramels in all my born days.”

She smiled. “Caramels were always my favorite treat as a little girl, as well.”

Then she turned to one of the other children to ask a question about their meal at Daisy's restaurant.

Throughout the meal she was a gracious hostess, making certain the conversation didn't lapse or grow stale and trying to draw everyone out. She might not have much experience with children, Simon reflected, but her social skills were excellent.

Once the meal was over, Simon stood. “All right, it's time for us to show Mrs. Pierce how much we appreciate her hospitality. Audrey and Albert, you clear the table. Rose and Lily, you take care of washing, drying and putting away the dishes.”

“I'll help with that,” Miss Jacobs offered as she stood.

With a nod, he turned to Fern. “If Mrs. Pierce would be so good as to show you where things are, you can help Molly and Tessa take their baths. Harry, Russell and Joey, let's bring in some firewood for the morning.”

Mrs. Pierce stood, as well. “We'll also need some wood for the firebox in the bathing room.”

“Then we'll take care of that first thing. Come on, boys.”

Fern took Molly and Tessa by the hand. “Let's go get your nightclothes.” She didn't so much as look at Mrs. Pierce.

Simon swallowed a sigh. He didn't know whether to say something to Fern or just hope things worked out on their own—he was no good at that sort of thing.

Dealing with the children's squabbles and emotions was something he'd expressly told Miss Fredrick he didn't want to get involved in. She'd assured him she was quite capable of handling that aspect of the trip herself. The possibility that she would become incapacitated had never crossed his mind.

Simon instructed his helpers on how much wood to bring inside and where to put it, then gathered up an armload to carry into the bathing room himself.

He'd realized her woodpile was nearly depleted when he'd checked it out earlier and had hiked along the nearby tree line to gather what he could find quickly. Tomorrow he and some of the boys would do a more thorough job. If possible, he wanted to lay up enough wood to last the widow through the winter before he left.

Simon stepped into the hallway a few minutes later just as Mrs. Pierce was leading the three girls toward the washroom.

“Good,” she said when she saw him. “You can follow us.”

She led the way to a room at the very back of the house. When she pushed the door open and allowed the girls to precede her he heard the little gasps of pleasure from Molly and Tessa.

“It's beautiful,” Molly said. “This house really
is
a castle.”

When Simon entered he saw what had triggered that reaction. The surprisingly large, beautifully tiled room was the picture of opulence. The impressively large, heavy-looking carved tub must have taken an army of men to install, not to mention they had to have built the room around it. A bench, made of cypress wood, sat to one side of the tub, awaiting the bather's needs.

Even the squat, cast-iron stovelike fixture near the tub had gleaming brass fixtures and fancy enameled face plates. As he stoked the fire, he took in the large reservoir built onto the top of the firebox.

Mrs. Pierce moved to the tub and turned on the water. “We'll let a little bit of cool water in here while we wait for the water on the stove to heat.” She then stepped over to the stove to turn on the faucet there, letting in the water to be heated. At the same time he finished lighting the stove and stood. The action put them in unexpectedly close proximity for the second time today.

Not that he minded.

Not even a little bit.

* * *

Eileen's breath caught in her throat as she got an unexpected close-up look at his eyes. His flashing forget-me-not blue eyes that seemed to see so much more of her than anyone had before.

Shaken by that thought, she took a hasty step back and nearly tripped over her own feet.

He shot out an arm to steady her and she actually felt a tingle at that contact. This was ridiculous. She was no starry-eyed schoolgirl and he was no knight in shining armor. But her treacherous pulse seemed to think otherwise.

Her cheeks burned as Mr. Tucker gave her a knowing smile.

Fortunately, he didn't put her on the spot. “Since there are so many baths to be had,” he said instead, “I'll get another armload of firewood.

Eileen watched him leave, still feeling oddly unsettled.

She turned to see the three girls watching her curiously and quickly pulled herself together. “It's going to take a little while for the water to heat up, so let me show you where everything is while we wait.”

She turned off the tap on the tub, then quickly showed the girls where the towels and soap were stored. With their help she moved the screen so that it shielded the tub from the door. She also showed them where they could hang their garments while they were bathing.

She stepped out into the hallway and leaned back against the closed door, trying to gather her thoughts.

What was wrong with her? She hadn't even known this man for a full day, yet he was affecting her in an altogether uncomfortable manner.

It had to be only because it had been so very long since anyone had paid her this kind of attention. The unapologetic interest and appreciation were a heady tonic to her flagging morale. Even when he argued with her, he did it in a manner that made it clear he had really listened to what she had to say; he just didn't happen to agree with her.

But she was honest enough with herself to realize he probably treated everyone this way. It had nothing to do with her.

It would be a huge mistake to give in to the temptation to believe otherwise.

Chapter Ten

A
ccording to the children, it was a standard practice for all of them to gather together in the parlor before bedtime and have some family discussion time.

After everyone was seated, Simon looked around. “How do you usually spend this family time?” he asked.

“Gee-Gee has us each mention something that happened during the day that we're thankful for,” Russell said. “She says it's important that we go to bed thinking on blessings, not complaints. And then we say a group prayer—we each take a turn voicing it.”

The more Simon learned of Miss Fredrick, the more he appreciated how special she was. He nodded to the child on his left. “Would you like to start us off Audrey?”

The seven-year-old didn't hesitate. “I'm thankful that today I got to visit a candy store that was in a toy shop.”

They moved clockwise around the room. Some of the children had to think harder than others—given the day they'd had, Simon wasn't surprised.

When they reached Dovie, she didn't question whether or not she should participate. “I'm thankful to have met such fine children,” she said without hesitation.

Simon wasn't sure about Mrs. Pierce, but to his relief, when her turn came up, she lifted her chin. “I am thankful for the generosity of my neighbors who provided the meal for our supper and other household items for our use.”

He gave her a smile of approval before turning to the next person in their circle. Eventually they made it all the way around the room and back to him. “I'm thankful for many of the same things you all have already mentioned,” he said, “but I'm also thankful that I have met these two wonderful ladies—Mrs. Pierce and Miss Jacobs.”

Russell indicated it was his night to voice the evening prayer and the boy did it with a quiet poise and articulateness that surprised Simon.

After the final amens, Simon stood. “Now, it's been a long day, for all of us. I think it's time we turned in for the night.”

“But we haven't had our bedtime story yet,” Joey said.

Simon barely managed to suppress his grimace. “Bedtime story?” Surely they didn't expect
him
to take Miss Fredrick's place in that ritual.

“Gee-Gee
always
tells us a story before we go to bed,” Molly explained.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't think I know any bedtime stories to tell you.” He turned, intending to ask Miss Jacobs for help. But before he could do so, Molly hopped up and went to stand in front of Mrs. Pierce.

“Do
you
know any bedtime stories to tell us?” she asked.

Mrs. Pierce looked startled, then she nodded. “When I was a little girl,” she said slowly, “my father had a book of stories that had wondrous tales of adventure. I still remember some of them. I can tell you one if you like.”

Molly nodded vigorously enough to make her braids dance. “Oh, yes, please.”

“Very well. Take your seat.”

Molly plopped down on the floor at Mrs. Pierce's feet and stared up expectantly.

Mrs. Pierce stared at the little girl a moment with one of her unreadable expressions, and he wondered for a moment if she would make the little girl move to a chair.

But she finally looked up and glanced around the room to include all the children. “Long ago in a faraway land, there was a mother duck who sat on her nest, eagerly awaiting the hatching of the six eggs resting there. She sat, and she sat, and she sat, until finally, one by one, they all hatched—all, that is, but the very largest egg.”

Simon listened as she told the story of the ugly duckling who tried and tried to fit in with his hatch-mates, but never did. He was surprised at how animated she became, conveying emotion and character through her voice and gestures. It was almost as if she were a different person from the stiff, reserved woman he'd been dealing with all day.

Well, perhaps not
all
day. There'd been those two moments when they'd connected in a very personal way. There'd been nothing stiff about her then.

Whatever the case, she had the children completely enthralled. And as he listened to the story, she had him captivated, as well. It was as if that particular story had been written for him.

Like the ugly duckling, he'd been placed in the wrong nest and didn't fit in with the others there. Orphaned at nine, he'd ended up in his uncle Corbitt's home. Uncle Corbitt's son, Arnold, was a year older than Simon and could do no wrong. The comparisons between the two boys were as inevitable as they were harsh.

In the beginning, Simon had strived to please his uncle. He gave up his love of working with wood when his uncle sneered at such an occupation. Instead, when he'd turned thirteen, he'd apprenticed alongside Arnold at his uncle's accounting firm. He'd hated it—hated being hunched over a desk indoors all day, hated working with figures and files, hated the fact that no matter how hard he worked, how painstaking his efforts, his uncle always found something lacking.

He had spent four miserable years in that office, and had watched other young men move up the ladder past him, before he came to his senses and realized that he would never be good enough to please his uncle.

He moved out, apprenticed himself to a master cabinetmaker and never looked back. Like the ugly duckling, he'd discovered who he was meant to be.

When at last the story was over, there was a moment of silence when no one spoke and no one moved.

Molly, still wide-eyed, was the first to break the spell. She let out a big, happy sigh. “Have you ever seen a swan before?” she asked.

Mrs. Pierce shook her head. “Not in person, but I've seen pictures of them and they are truly beautiful, elegant creatures.”

“I'm so glad the little duckling found some friends,” Tessa said dreamily.

“As am I.” Mrs. Pierce stood, her control now firmly back in place. “I believe it is time for you children to go upstairs and turn in for the night.”

Molly jumped up. “But first you have to rock me in your com-prize rocker.”

“What's a prize rocker?” Joey looked at Molly as if he thought she was getting away with something.

Mrs. Pierce answered before Molly could. “Since I don't have a regular rocking chair, Molly and I sat out on my porch swing this afternoon.”

“A swing.” Joey was immediately intrigued. “Can I see?”

Molly frowned at him. “I get to sit on her lap.”

Joey frowned right back. “Says who?”

Audrey and Tessa chimed in with requests to join them, as well.

Simon intervened. “I don't think that swing could hold all of you at the same time. If Mrs. Pierce is willing, those of you who want to be rocked can go two or three at a time. But only for a few minutes, mind you. We don't want to wear her out.” He shot the widow a teasing grin. “Not on our first day here anyway.”

She didn't acknowledge his teasing, but he thought he detected just the tiniest smile trying to slip past her controlled demeanor.

Turning away from him, she nodded toward the kids. “Of course. We'll start with the youngest since they should be tucked in first. The rest of you will sit quietly here in the parlor until it is your turn.”

Yes, she was most definitely back in control of herself.

“The night air can have a bite to it this time of year,” Dovie said. “Wait here and I'll get a blanket for you.”

While they waited, Mrs. Pierce gathered Molly, Joey and Tessa together, and then assured Audrey, Albert and Lily that they would be next.

“Mind if I join you?” Simon wasn't sure exactly why he'd asked her that. Except that he wasn't ready to turn in just yet. And that he found her company, if not pleasant, very intriguing.

At her surprised look he hastily raised a hand to forestall her response. “Not on the swing. I meant I'd like to sit out on the bench by the door. Just thought I'd enjoy the night air and do a bit of whittling.”

Miss Jacobs showed up with the blanket just then so the widow gave him a short nod as she turned to take it from her. “As you wish.”

* * *

Eileen escorted the three children outside. As they headed for the swing, she was grateful for the blanket. Now that the sun was down there was a definite chill in the air.

Almost before she had settled into her seat, Molly clambered up into her lap as if it were a prized position that one of the others would try to snatch from her. Tessa and Joey took a seat on either side of her and Eileen was startled to have Tessa burrow under her arm and Joey hang on to her other one.

By the time they were all settled under the blanket, Mr. Tucker had stepped outside carrying a pocketknife and a chunky piece of wood. She watched him for a moment, admiring the strength and confidence in his movements as he freed playful curls of wood from the stodgy block of pine. It was almost hypnotic.

“Sing me a song.”

Molly's sleepily uttered request broke the spell, and Eileen guiltily turned her attention back to the children, glad Mr. Tucker hadn't caught her staring.

She felt self-conscious at the thought of singing with him there, but he seemed to be focused entirely on his whittling.

After a moment, Eileen set the swing in motion, and the children let out a collective sigh of pleasure.

Not wanting to spoil this fragile peace, she dredged up the memory of a song from long ago, one her father had sung to her. She began to softly sing the strains, haltingly at first, still very aware of Mr. Tucker's presence. Then more confidently as he showed no signs of paying any attention.

* * *

Simon kept his gaze focused on his whittling, but every other part of him was acutely aware of the woman seated just a few feet away. He'd felt her stare on him like a feather on his neck. He'd heard the hesitation in her voice as she began the lullaby and known it was because of him.

Then, when she'd settled into it more comfortably, he'd felt as if she'd accepted not just his presence but
him.

Which were all just fanciful notions, and he wasn't normally given to fancifulness.

Listening to her now, he had to admit that she had a very nice voice—soothing and something he thought of as smoky at the same time.

It was the same with the story she'd told the kids earlier. She'd had them—even the older ones—eating out of her hand. It was as if, when she lost herself in story—spoken or sung—she became someone different, someone warmer and more approachable.

It had him seeing her in a whole different light. She might not have the friendliest of demeanors, and she obviously wasn't accustomed to dealing with kids. But there was an instinctual tenderness and caring below the surface that the children were beginning to respond to.

The puzzle was, why did she try to keep those virtues so well hidden? Because she obviously put up that cool, reserved front deliberately.

She finished the little lullaby she'd been singing and flowed seamlessly into a soft humming, keeping the swing in motion. He chanced a glance her way and saw Molly had fallen asleep and Tessa and Joey were yawning. Mrs. Pierce was stroking Tessa's hair with the gentleness of a loving caress.

Her demeanor seemed dreamy, unfocused—until she glanced his way. Then her eyes widened as if she'd just remembered he was there.

Simon set his whittling aside and stood. “It's time to get this crew to bed,” he said softly as he approached the swing. He reached down to take Molly and for just a heartbeat she resisted. Then she released her hold and he scooped the sleeping toddler up.

Mrs. Pierce straightened and patted Joey and Tessa's legs. “Come along, you two. Time for bed.” She took each by the hand and followed Mr. Tucker into the house.

Fern met them at the foot of the stairs. “I'll take Tessa and Joey to their rooms and tuck them in.”

To Simon's surprise, Mrs. Pierce didn't react to the challenge in Fern's tone. She merely surrendered the children's hands. “Thank you, Fern,” she said politely. “I'll take Audrey, Albert and Lily out to the swing while you're doing that.”

Simon followed Fern and her two charges up the stairs, but his thoughts were still with their hostess. Was she unaware of Fern's puzzling hostility, or had she just chosen to ignore it?

He remembered how woebegone the widow looked when he'd returned unexpectedly to the kitchen earlier. It had made her seem more approachable, somehow, more human.

More attractive.

Still, the idea that she could remain so calm over everything else that had been thrown at her today and then fall to pieces over being short by one place setting made no sense to him.

One thing was becoming obvious though—the ice queen was beginning to thaw. If he stayed here long enough, would he see her melt completely?