Promise me tomorrow (14 page)

"You are so sweet to help me, Quintin. I think I can manage now. Why don't you go back to your plate? I'll come with mine and sit right next to you."

"Mrs. Harding sits across the table."

"Well, how nice for her." Rusty looked as if this was the best news she had ever received. Quintin smiled at her and did as he was told, slipping back into his chair. Rusty swiftly joined him, careful not to take more than she could eat. For once Chase didn't notice the sparseness of her plate. He was still too busy trying to reckon with the change in his son.

"Did you take some of these eggs, Quintin?" Rusty asked.

"Yes."

"Aren't they good?" Rusty put another forkful in her mouth and looked up to see Chase still standing. Her brow lowered in concern. He had said that she could do things her way, hadn't he? Did it really matter where she sat at the table? She couldn't believe him to be that petty. Chase noticed her look and swiftly took his seat, his eyes going back to his paper, but his mind was preoccupied.

"Who makes this coffee?" Rusty asked of her charge.

"Cook does. She makes the eggs and bacons too.

"Bacon, no
s
on the end," she corrected automatically. "Well, it's some of the best I've ever had." She moved to take a drink of her coffee. "Do you want a taste?"

"Of coffee?" His face suggested that she'd hinted at murder.

"Yes," Rusty said with a laugh. "I use cream and sugar, and they make it very good."

Quintin took the offered cup, sipped, and sipped again. Rusty laughed.

"What did I tell you?"

The entire meal was like that, and Rusty would have been having the time of her life if she hadn't caught occasional looks from Chase. He didn't speak, but she could almost feel his mood. It wasn't disapproval exactly, but Rusty wished she could define it.

"Do you know what we are going to do after breakfast?"

"What?"

""We're going to look at birds."

"On Thursday?"

Rusty looked at him. "Don't tell me all the birds leave town on Thursday?"

"No," he said with a giggle.

"Well, they'd better not because we're going to see them."

"There are nests," Quintin told her excitedly. "I know where some are. "

"I can hardly wait. Are you finished, Quintin?"

"Yes, Miss Taggart."

"Very well, let us go to the kitchen, thank Cook and Mrs. Whitley, and then be on our way."

The little boy frowned. "I never do that."

"Do what?"

"Go to the kitchen and thank Cook."

Rusty's brows rose. "Well, we're going to today," she said softly, wondering how any nanny as proper as Quintin's seemed to be could miss this simple courtesy. "This food does not appear by magic. It's a lot of work." With that Rusty stood, and Quintin followed suit. They moved around the table to exit, but for the umpteenth time Rusty caught Chase's eyes on her.

"Quintin, please run ahead. I'll catch up with you."

"All right."

"Did I misunderstand you, Mr. McCandles?"  Rusty asked as soon as they were alone.

"Regarding what?"

"Regarding the way I'm to handle things today. You seemed rather disapproving over breakfast. Did we ruin your meal with our chatter?"

"Not in the least," Chase assured her. "I can tell that Quintin likes you very much, and it makes me wonder if he hasn't missed some fun in his life."

Rusty wisely held her peace. Instead, she said, "Well then, I hope he'll have fun with me today."

"He already has."

Rusty thanked him with a small inclination of the head and told him goodbye. Only then did Chase realize he'd been sitting while she stood. He shook his head and gave up all attempts to concentrate on the paper. Was it possible for one small woman to disrupt his thinking and life so completely? Since he had met her, he didn't know if he was coming or going.

I
just need to see her home,
he told himself not for the first time.
I
haven't finished the job I started, and until I do I'm going to be distracted.

Having taken these few minutes to persuade himself, Chase went upstairs to his room. He had taken some time to read his Bible earlier that morning, but in truth, the last few days had been so busy he knew it wasn't enough. He now longed to read the Scriptures and commit his day to God. He shut the door, thankful that he had nothing pressing this day and could take all the time he needed.

***

"Do you see it?" Quintin asked. "Do you see the nest?"

"Yes. It's an old one but still in good shape." The two explorers were in the woods and had been for most of the morning. They were a little bit cold, a bit muddy, and having a wonderful day.

"Do you want me to get it down for you?" "I'm not supposed to take them out of the tree.

"All right," Rusty said calmly, thinking that if he said that to her one more time, she might scream. Had he been older, she might have come right out and asked him what he
was
allowed to do. It occurred to her suddenly that she had not met Mrs. Harding. What was a woman like who could live by such a strict set of rules? There were rules at the orphanage certainly—they would never survive without them—but they were guidelines only. No one lived or died by them.

"Are you cross?" Quintin asked, and Rusty shook herself.

"No, I'm not. Did you think I was?" "Your face looked like it might be cross." Thinking absently that this child had a marvelous vocabulary, Rusty climbed down from the stump she'd been standing on and took Quintin in her arms. She'd been doing that off and on all morning, and he was now returning her hugs.

"I'm not cross at all, but there are times when I don't understand things. However," she said before he could ask what she meant, "I have figured out that I love Quintin McCandles." Rusty smiled into his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Little arms came around her again, and Rusty's heart felt hugged as well.

"I'm hungry," she declared. "Why don't we see if we can get something to eat?"

"Is it lunchtime?"

"I'm not certain what time it is. Shall we go find out?"

Quintin, who was up for anything Rusty suggested, nodded and took her hand. Rusty began a silly song and taught it to young Mr. McCandles. They moved toward the house, in no great hurry, completely unaware that lunch was on the table waiting for them and had been for quite some time.

Though Quintin and his day-long companion were never far from his mind, Chase actually managed to get quite a bit done in his office. He had written a few letters and sent word to a banker in Boulder, reminding him that he would meet with him Friday morning. A letter arrived from his mother, telling him she and his stepfather would visit that summer. Chase put it aside, wondering what they would think of Katherine Taggart. He knew with little thought on the matter that his mother would like her upon first meeting.

Chase began a letter back to her and then realized he was hungry. He emerged from the office for the first time that day to find the breakfast room empty, clean plates still on the table, with no sign of anyone having enjoyed a meal. He walked to the kitchen in search of answers.

"Mrs. Whitley, have you seen Quintin and Miss Taggart?"

"No, sir, I haven't. I put lunch on, but maybe she didn't understand the time."

Chase consulted his pocket watch. It was nearly 1:30. He told himself not to worry.

"I'll go have a look around. She said they were going to see the birds."

"Probably the woods, sir," Cook put in. "Mrs. Harding always takes Quintin there."

Chase was in the midst of thanking the woman when the kitchen door opened. All eyes turned to see Rusty and Quintin come through the door.

"We're a little bit muddy," she said with a smile. "Should we leave our shoes here?"

"That's fine," Mrs. Whitley replied as she came forward. The kitchen was the staff's domain, and it never occurred to her to check with Mr. McCandles.

"Thank you," Rusty said sincerely and began to help Quintin with his shoes. She spotted a basin and towel in the process and directed Quintin to wash his hands, following suit when he was finished. She noticed that the little boy's eyes were a bit large and figured she was probably breaking every rule in the book.

"Okay now, let me see your face. There's a little mud on your cheek. I got it. How's my face?"

"You have mud on your chin."

She raised the towel.

"Did I get it?"

"Yes."

With that Rusty put the towel down and turned to the group at large. Chase, Mrs. Whitley, and Cook were all staring at her. Rusty took Quintin's hand to reassure him and encompassed them with her smile.

"We're a little hungry, Mrs. Whitley. May we impose upon you for a snack of some type?"

"Certainly you may, Miss Taggart, but if you prefer, lunch is ready when you are."

"Lunch! Did you hear that, Quintin? It's all ready for us. What time is it?" she asked of Chase, who had not said a word during this exchange.

"Almost 1:30, " he said calmly.

"No wonder we're hungry," she said, smiling down at Quintin and then looking to the housekeeper. "Do I need to apologize, Mrs. Whitley? Has our tardiness made more work for you?"

"Not at all," the housekeeper returned. "You may eat whenever you care to and take as long as you like."

"What do we say to Cook and Mrs. Whitley, Quintin?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," they chorused, and with that, stocking feet and all, Rusty and Quintin made their way from the kitchen. They passed Chase on the way but didn't stop to chat. Rusty didn't know if he would be joining them for lunch or not. He sported the same odd expression that he had that morning, but since Rusty had already checked with him, she felt no need to ask again if all was in order. Beyond that, she was hungry, and for the moment she put everything else aside.

16

After Quintin was bathed, pajamaed, read to, kissed, hugged, and tucked in for the night, Rusty herself fell into bed. Not brushing her hair or even washing her face, the redhead couldn't believe how tired she was. Why this had been more exhausting than a day at the orphanage she didn't know, but her whole body felt like it could melt into the mattress. If only her mind had been as tired . . . Without warning her brain was off and running with events of the day, and it wasn't long before her body was tensing along with it.

Right after lunch they had visited the stable. Rusty had wondered if Mr. McCandles ever took his son riding. The horror in the child's face as they approached the stable, let alone when he saw the horses, gave her the answer. She was not to be put off. They had gone in and had a wonderful time. However, that was not the worst part of the afternoon. The worst had occurred at the lunch table.

Unlike the morning, Chase did not have a newspaper in his hand and could attend to the conversation. He and Rusty had talked some, but when she realized that Quintin had not said a word, she asked him to tell his father what they had done that day. The change in him was frightening.

As if he were a little windup toy, Quintin began to recite their activities from the morning. There was no excitement and no warmth in his voice. He had even risen to stand next to his chair, as though doing a recitation in school. But that wasn't the worst of it. Mr. McCandles had looked as if everything was in order. He clearly expected that very behavior and thanked Quintin quite formally when he was finished. Rusty had felt sick. She had already eaten most of her food, but the rest was left untouched.

She had thought about the incident the rest of the day. It had been a relief to eat a quiet dinner with Quintin and then spend the rest of the evening bathing him and reading to him in his room. She wasn't angry at Mr. McCandles, but neither did she know what to say to him. It was as if he didn't know any better. Was that possible? Rusty couldn't fathom it but had to admit that at 19 she hadn't seen everything. She suddenly noticed that her back was starting to ache and realized she'd been lying like a board: flat on her back and just as stiff. She rolled to her side, curled around the extra pillow on her bed, and prayed.

Rather than thank You for a wonderful day with Quintin, I lie here and complain and fret. He's not growing up the way I did, Lord, or even the way the children are at Fountain Creek, but You re still in control. Quintin is well-fed and cared for, and if You want more for him then You will provide it.
Rusty started to ask God to bring a new wife into Mr. McCandles' life but stopped. She didn't know why, but she couldn't bring herself to ask for that . . .

I'm just tired, Lord, and acting silly Help me to remember that You're sovereign and that You love us all so much, more than we can understand. Thank You for the wonderful time I've had here at
Briarly and the extraordinary care from the staff. And thank You heavenly Father, that I'll be in Boulder tomorrow night. Amen.

With that, Rusty determined to go to sleep. She lay still until her body relaxed once again, and somewhere between wondering what she would wear home on the train in the morning and whether she would have a chance to tell Quintin goodbye, she fell asleep.

***

Rusty ate a large breakfast and even read some of the newspaper. She was up earlier than everyone but Mrs. Whitley and Cook, so they served her and even handed her Mr. McCandles' newspaper. She was on her third cup of coffee when Chase entered the room.

"Well, now, you must be eager to be off," he teased her.

"No," she smiled at him. "But I was asleep by 8:30 last night, and I don't need that many hours. Here's your paper." She began to fold and hand it to him.

"You keep it. I'll read it on the train."

"All right. Thank you."

Chase watched as she opened it back up to a specific place and continued to read. Seeing her do this, he knew for the first time that this is what Mrs. Harding and Quintin saw him do every morning. It was rather startling to realize how selfish he usually was. Not that he thought Rusty selfish, but his own actions in the same light were not pleasant to him.