Maid to Match (33 page)

Tillie stood in the middle of the shimmering gold and purple suite with its fancily trimmed mirrors and cut-velvet draperies, then sank onto the ivory Savonnerie rug, pressed her skirt to her face, and cried. Unsure if she cried for Irene, for herself, or for the doubts that pressed against her chest.

With all that had happened, Tillie hadn’t so much as looked at the wooden pieces she’d picked up from Mack last week. But before tomorrow afternoon, when every family and child on Biltmore Estate would celebrate Christmas with the master and lady of the manor, Tillie needed to wrap this one last gift, which her brothers would share.

Letting herself into the closet she’d used to store the presents, she turned on the light. Packages of all sizes and shapes filled the tiny room. Their red, green, and white wrappings were in stark contrast to Mack’s brown parcel lying on a stool.

Making a space on the table, she cut the twine and folded back the brown paper, then touched her throat. Instead of carving a few wooden animals, he’d constructed an entire Noah’s ark complete with flat-bottom boat and a house on the deck. He’d painted faux wooden slats along the side, paned windows, and topped it off with a bright red roof. The base of the boat had a wide access hatch along its side.

She slipped its latch free, lowering the hinged cutout, which folded down into a broad ramp. Tucked inside were a variety of animals. Nothing was to scale; the ducks were as big as the cows. But they were easily distinguishable and intricately painted.

She removed each and every one. Pairs of zebras, pigs, goats, raccoons, skunks, squirrels, frogs, deer, sheep, and . . .

She examined an oblong shape which arched up in the middle, a snicker escaping before she could stop it. A worm. He’d made her little brothers a pair of
worms
.

She arranged all the animals on the table, imagining the hours and hours Ricky and Walter would spend with the toy. She touched a pesky raven perched on the roof. Mr. and Mrs. Noah on the deck. A dove on the railing.

Her heart filled. Her vision blurred. He’d done this not for the Vanderbilts, nor even for her brothers, but for her. And, maybe, for Christ.

Even though Mack wouldn’t be at the celebration to see the boys open their gift, even though he had nothing to do with the Vanderbilts’ mission, his time and care were just as much an offering as the Vanderbilts’ sharing of their abundance.

She looked at the tissue-wrapped presents filling every available space on the shelves. Overflowing onto tables, stools, and even the floor. She considered the thought behind each gift. The tremendous effort her mistress had gone to – to not only meet each child, but to become acquainted with them. Learn their likes and dislikes.

She thought of her Father in heaven who knew all there was to know about her brothers and the rest of the children. Every triumph. Every fall. Every hair on their heads. Every hair on
her
head.

She swallowed. Regardless of what Mack said, she knew the tasks she performed on Mrs. Vanderbilt’s behalf were worthy and important. That they would please and honor God.

So why was she so miserable? So empty?

Could it be that just because there was a door of opportunity, it didn’t necessarily mean it was God’s will for her to step through it? Had she allowed favorable circumstances and the chance for a better position to drag her places God had not designed for her?

She slowly lowered herself onto the stool.

“He calls his own sheep by name . . . he goes before them;
and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice
.
”

Swiping her eyes, she returned the animals to the hatch, lingering over each before carefully stowing them away.

I’m listening, Lord. Call to me
.
Just like the sheep. Just
like these animals that you called to the ark. Call to me and
I will follow
.

Asheville Special

Hundreds of employees of Vanderbilt’s estate were given a most elaborate Christmas entertainment in the banquet hall of Biltmore House. In the center of the hall was the largest Fraser fir to be found on the estate, a mammoth tree that towered to the ceiling of the immense room. It was lighted by innumerable wax tapers and glittered with tinsel.

Beneath the Christmas tree were stacked presents of every conceivable nature. There was a gift for every person who worked or lived on the estate. Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, with their own hands, distributed gifts to the assembled guests and wished all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Tillie smiled. The article didn’t come close to capturing yesterday’s excitement. The expression on the children’s faces as they received an apple and an orange, then opened their gift. The delight of the estate workers, some of whom had never set foot inside the house. The staff’s astonishment at the envelope containing a ten-dollar bonus from Mr. Vanderbilt. The children’s awe at his reading of
A Christmas Carol
in front of the crackling fire.

As much as she had enjoyed the day, though, her mind had continued to drift to Mack and the children at the orphanage. How had they spent their Christmas? Had anyone thought to provide them with apples?

She recalled Ricky’s and Walter’s squeals when they’d unwrapped their Noah’s ark. If only Mack had been able to see them at that moment.

What had Mack’s little brothers opened? she wondered. It was, after all, their first Christmas without their mother. Without their family.

“Tillie?”

Putting the newspaper back on the table of the servants’ hall, she looked up.

A hint of a smile touched the corners of Mrs. Winter’s lips. “Mrs. Vanderbilt would like to see you in her sitting room.”

Tillie’s eyes went automatically to the telephone that was normally used when the housekeeper summoned. It hadn’t rung. Which meant that, for whatever reason, Mrs. Winter wanted to deliver the message personally.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tillie tried to keep a serene expression. This was her time off – a mere two hours. She’d hoped to have a cup of tea and rest her feet.

Moving past the housekeeper, she headed to the stairs. Moments later, she knocked on the door of the Oak Sitting Room.

“Come in.”

Tillie approached the library table Mrs. Vanderbilt worked behind. After a moment, the mistress put her pen in the holder. “Thank you for coming.”

“It was no trouble, ma’am.”

She smiled. “The gifts were a wonderful success, I thought. Didn’t you?”

“The children loved them, ma’am. My brothers and sisters chattered and played all evening when we returned home. They’ll not forget the day for a long time to come.”

“And it was in no small measure because of you.”

A spurt of pleasure rushed through her. “I really enjoyed it, ma’am.”

“I did, too.” She leaned onto the table. “I called you in because Bénédicte will be leaving for France next week and it is time I come to a decision. It hasn’t been easy, but I must say you have been quick to learn my likes and dislikes, eager to please, thorough in every task I’ve assigned, proficient with hair and wardrobe, and, well, I just simply like you.” She smiled again. “I’d like you to be my lady’s maid.”

Such simple words. Words Tillie had longed to hear. Words that would change her life forever were she to simply answer yes.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“I think we’re going to get along very well. Congratulations.”

Tillie placed a hand against her waist, then covered it with her other hand. “Mrs. Vanderbilt, I . . . I don’t know how to say this, but . . .”

Mrs. Vanderbilt tilted her head, giving Tillie time to formulate her words.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept.”

Her lips parted. “Did you not find the job to your liking?”

“No, no. It wasn’t that at all. It’s just . . .” She looked down, then back up and took a deep breath. “The truth is, I’ve decided to go work at Sloop’s orphanage. Except it isn’t Mr. Sloop’s anymore, of course. It’s Mack’s. But he’s trying to handle it all by himself and the girls need someone to teach them some domestic skills and he certainly can’t do that. And you should see the condition of the place. It’s a mess inside and there’s only one cook, who’s a bit unimaginative. There’s no garden. No henhouse. No cows. No – ”

Mrs. Vanderbilt held up her hand, palm out. “I thought Mack was only an interim director. I thought he had to be married to stay on.”

Tillie felt her cheeks warm.

Mrs. Vanderbilt raised her brows. “Are you and Mack . . . ?”

Tillie swallowed. “I love him, ma’am.”

“Good heavens.” She fell back against her chair. “Why had I not heard of this?”

Tillie moistened her lips. “I’ve been fighting it, ma’am. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even discussed any of this with him. But I plan to. Just as soon as I can be released from my duties here.”

Placing an elbow on the armrest, Mrs. Vanderbilt curled her fingers against her mouth. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”

“About Mack and me?” she squeaked.

A slight smile. “About the orphanage.”

Tillie slipped in the back door, knowing Mama would have already tucked the children in for the night. The kitchen was dark, other than a soft glow radiating from the last of the burning embers in the fireplace. Retrieving a candle from the mantel, she lit it, then made her way upstairs.

All was quiet except for the soft murmurings of her parents from inside their bedroom. Light seeped beneath their closed door, touching Tillie’s hem as she softly knocked.

Her father opened the door, hooking his suspenders up over his long underwear. Surprise touched his face. “Tillie-girl! What are you doing here?”

“I know it’s late, Pa, but I needed to talk to Mama. And to you, too.”

He widened the door, a frown beginning to form between his brows. “Everything all right?”

Instead of answering, she stepped inside the cozy warmth of a room she’d always associated with love and heartache. For it was this room her parents always retreated to when they needed privacy with one of their children. Whether it was for comforting a broken heart or scolding a misdeed or discussing things which were too private to be discussed elsewhere, this was the room it was done in. Tonight would be no different.

Woodsmoke touched the air and her nose, drawing her gaze to the robust fire, whose heat she could already feel. The oak bed had been turned down, the brown, red, and blue spread she and Mama had crocheted folded neatly at its foot. Her father’s gifted hand had painted intricate scrolls on the headboard, matching dresser, and vanity.

Mama put her brush down and slowly stood. Her long hair hadn’t thinned a bit since the days when Tillie used to dress it, though its deep brown had been frosted with threads of gray. “They’ve made a decision.”

Tillie nodded.

Mama scanned her face, then gripped the top of the vanity. “They gave it to Lucy?” Her voice was thin and rose in disbelief.

Tillie nodded.

“No!” Mama pressed a fist to her chest, causing her white nightdress to bow out. “Why? I was so sure!”

It would be so easy to let her mother assume Lucy had been their first choice. No one but Allan and Dixie knew it had even been offered to Tillie. But she didn’t want Mama to think it was due to lack of training or something she had or hadn’t done. Mama had worked too hard to be lied to now.