by Ginny Aiken
Olivia smiled. “Why, of course, it is. She’s practically a grown woman, sir.”
“But—”
“Never fear, Mr. Whitman. I was only speaking from Randy’s point of view. That’s what she believes, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes…” Reluctance dragged out his response.
Olivia stood and began to pull on her gloves. “But we know the truth, don’t we?”
His appealing smile put in a return. “Aha! I understand. We do, indeed, know the truth. I suspect I may have made a better bargain than I could have hoped for.”
She slipped her leather bag to the crook of her elbow, and reached out to shake her new employer’s hand. “I hope you continue to think so, sir. And now, I’ll be on my way. Do have a pleasant day, Mr. Whitman.”
“Miss Moore,” he said, not taking her hand. “We have yet to speak of wages, duties and responsibilities, or specific arrangements. I’m sure you’d like to know all of that.”
Olivia blushed and let her hand dangle at her side. Oh, dear. The simple fact of being hired had so flustered her she hadn’t bothered with any of those truly important matters. “Of course, of course. But, I’m sure I’ll be quite satisfied with your customary arrangements. With your previous nannies, I mean. Not that I’ll be the nanny, right? I’ll be the children’s companion.”
A crooked smile tilted his lips upward at one corner. “Yes, I do believe we’ll call you the children’s companion. And since you’re so agreeable, then perhaps it would be just as well if we discuss the details when you come to the house next Monday.”
She gave a deep sigh of relief. She hoped that by then she’d be better prepared to handle this business of being a woman in the banker’s employ. “Certainly, Mr. Whitman. That will be quite fine. And—well, I really must be on my way now.”
When his long, sturdy fingers surrounded hers, Olivia shivered. The warmth, the strength of his clasp, surprised her… mostly with the pleasure she felt. Not to mention her reluctance to let go. Which would not do, certainly not now that she worked for the man.
His rapid blinking as he stared at their clasped hands suggested he also felt a similar awareness, which flustered Olivia even more.
Oh, my!
Then he shook his head an almost imperceptible bit. He stood taller, firmed up his shoulders, and gently and slowly released her hand. “Yes, Miss Moore. I’m sure I—ah… will. Have a good afternoon. And thank you. My greatest problem has been resolved. Thank you very much, indeed.”
That pulled her out from the pleasurable moment of—was it connection?—between them.
He’d resolved his greatest problem by hiring her. Really?
If only Olivia’s greatest problem could be as easily solved. All she hoped for as a result of the step she had just taken was to ease her parents’ burden a bit.
She sighed. Then she noticed he was waiting for a response. She shrugged. “I’m glad to be of service, sir.”
Once on the sidewalk again, Olivia’s knees began to melt. She leaned against the sturdy brick wall of the bank, certain she couldn’t support herself for another minute on her own strength.
“Thank you, Jesus. Your mercies are new every morning. You’ve just made it so real to me once again.”
A sense of peace settled over her, even though it did nothing to remove the overwhelming impression the banker had made on her. Mr. Whitman was such an attractive man. Even if she never should have taken notice of his appeal, his masculine strength, his handsome face, and his resonant voice. Her exquisite awareness of him might make working for him uncomfortable.
Perhaps. But it couldn’t be helped.
Olivia took a deep breath and started down Main Street toward Tucker’s Livery Stables. Mr. Whitman himself was yet another matter to take to the Lord in prayer. She certainly couldn’t take back her offer then run away now that she’d achieved her goal. She had to move forward down the path she’d chosen.
A path that presented yet another hurdle for her to overcome. She had to face Mama and Papa. Something told her it wouldn’t be quite as easy as approaching and persuading Mr. Whitman had been. As if that had been easy in any way.
She prayed all the way home.
Chapter 4
Olivia managed to keep Mama and Papa’s questions at bay until after supper. When the younger children had gone to bed, she approached her father. “I’d like to tell you and Mama about my visit to town today. It’s important.”
Papa nodded. The slight smile he gave her didn’t fully erase the concern in his eyes. He turned to Mama, extended his hand, and they both followed Olivia into the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon-dusted fritters still lingered in the air.
“Would either one of you care for a cup of coffee? Tea?”
When both shook their heads, she took the teakettle Mama always kept on the back of the stove and poured boiling water into the china teapot where she’d already measured the aromatic leaves, letting it steep longer than usual to make up for the sparing quantity she’d used. Moments later, she sat across from her parents, the teapot on a folded kitchen towel in the middle of the large round table, a cup and saucer in front of her spot.
“Well, Livvy, dear,” Mama said. “You’ve kept us in suspense long enough, don’t you think? It’s time you told us what you’ve been up to.”
Olivia nodded as she poured a cup of tea. With her gaze on the curl of steam that rose from the fragrant liquid, she began.
“I know how difficult things have been for you both these last two years—”
“Olivia,” Papa said, “that’s not for you to fret over. Your mother and I do have matters under control.”
Control? It didn’t seem that way to her.
“I do understand, Papa. I also know how hard both of you work. I just feel as though I haven’t carried my weight. I’m not a child anymore, as Mama said earlier today.”
Her mother’s golden brown eyes narrowed and she shook her graying head. “I never thought you’d use my own words against me, Livvy.”
“I’m not using your words against you. I’m stating the obvious. As an adult, older than you were when I was born, I need to make something of myself. Today, I took the first step in that direction.”
Mama’s eyes opened wide, while Papa’s narrowed. Neither spoke as they waited on her.
Olivia tipped up her chin. “I have found myself suitable employment. I begin work next Monday, and there’s a great deal I must do to be ready in time.”
“Employment!”
“You’ve become a hired hand? Where?”
Olivia laughed. “No, I haven’t become a hired hand, Papa. That’s not the only kind of work there is, you know.”
“It’s the only kind I know of around Bountiful.”
“Not exactly.” She stirred a golden lozenge of honey into the hot tea. “There is another kind of work, quite appropriate for a woman like me. I’m happy to tell you it was offered, and I accepted the position.”
“Very well, Olivia,” Papa said. “Please tell us what you’ve done.”
“I’ve agreed to become the new nanny for the bank owner’s children.”
The depth of silence in the kitchen was greater than anything Olivia had ever known. While she’d suspected her parents would be surprised by what she’d done, she hadn’t imagined she would shock them as much as she evidently had. But it couldn’t be helped. She and Mr. Whitman had reached an agreement. She couldn’t back out now.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Mama murmured, a frown on her otherwise still smooth forehead. “I knew he’d had trouble keeping a nanny, but I can’t imagine what would possess you to offer your services.”
Papa wouldn’t even look at Olivia, so she focused on Mama’s statement. “Simple. I’ve been helping you with the boys, Marty, and Leah Rose all these years. I know how to work with them. And… well, there was an incident yesterday on my way to Addie’s house. I met Mr. Whitman’s son and a group of his friends while they were making mischief, and
I handled the situation quite well.”
At least, she thought she had. Evidently, so had Mr. Whitman, enough to have given her the opportunity to prove herself.
“Then last night I prayed, and after a while, I couldn’t discount the strong leading I felt. God seemed to call me to help out the Whitmans. It didn’t hurt that I’d be able to help you at the same time.”
“Oh, but, you really don’t have to—”
“Why would you think things are so—”
“Please!” She held up a hand. “Let me tell you the whole story.”
Olivia went on, and when she finished describing her meeting with the banker, her parents seemed dumbstruck. Neither uttered a word. She pressed her advantage.
“It would seem an excellent solution for everyone. I will feel productive, and I’ll be able to help you with the finances. I won’t be a drain on the family’s resources, since I’ll be living with the Whitman’s cook in their enormous house, and the Whitman children won’t have to put up with another nasty nanny.”
After a moment, her father crossed his arms. “What, pray tell, does Mr. Whitman gain from this arrangement?”
Olivia shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, Papa, since Mr. Whitman wasn’t my main concern. Perhaps he’ll benefit from happy, well-behaved children. Especially, a son who won’t have the opportunity to terrorize the town when boredom strikes and his papa’s not able to chase after him. There’s a lot to be said for peace of mind, I’m sure.”
Her parents traded glances. Olivia couldn’t read what had passed between them, but she knew neither was happy with her decision. She wondered how strenuously they would oppose the plan.
“I can’t say what you’ve done sits well with me, Livvy,” her father said after a bit. “But I don’t suppose I can change your mind, can I?”
She shook her head and took a sip of tea to hide her nerves.
Mama’s frown deepened. “Would you at least arrange to make this a trial? So that you can leave gracefully if after a while you want to quit.”
Olivia allowed herself a smug smile. “Already done, Mama. That’s what Mr. Whitman and I agreed to. We’ll give this arrangement three months. If it doesn’t work out, there’s no harm done. I’ll come home and Mr. Whitman will advertise for a new nanny.”
Papa slapped his large, work-roughened hands on the table. “Well. It looks as though you’ve thought of everything. Now all you have left to do is pack. I’ll drive you to town next Monday morning.”
Mama gave her a wistful smile. “I’m proud of you, Livvy, but I will admit, I’ll miss you.”
“Oh, please, don’t say that. You’ll make us both sad, and instead, I want us to be happy. I’ve done something good. I’ll be helping you and Papa. The Whitmans, too. It’s a blessing. For all of us.”
She hoped.
The memory of Elijah Whitman’s blue eyes seared her thoughts again, followed by the exceptional sense of awareness she’d experienced when he’d taken her hand in his.
Olivia hoped she hadn’t mistaken her enthusiasm, reading more into it than was there, seeing it as leading from above. She hoped she’d been listening to the will of the Father. If not…
Oh, Lord Jesus. Keep me honest, on the right path, and in your will.
“Miss Moore,” Mr. Whitman said when Olivia arrived at his home the next Monday morning. “Please, do come in.”
He gestured and she followed, Mama’s old and battered satchel clutched in both hands. When she entered the large entry foyer, she had the immediate sensation that she’d stepped into another world. While the Moore home was reasonably roomy, comfortable, and pleasant, it looked nothing like this.
Warm golden oak floors gleamed underfoot, and a cream, blue, and gray wool rug graced the center of the area. On the wall to the right, a small table sat beneath a carved mirror with brass candle sconces on either side.
Awed by the elegance of the Whitman home, Olivia glanced to her left. There she spotted another pair of sconces, these framing a tall case clock made of a dark wood, most likely walnut, since she’d heard that wood was quite deep toned.
She blinked, unaccustomed to so much finery. How did folks live here? Weren’t they leery of even touching the elegant items? Of stepping on the thick, soft-looking rug?
How would she manage to live here?
Had she made a mistake by asking for the position?
“Are you all right, Miss Moore?”
Startled, a squeaky “Oh!” escaped her lips before she could prevent it. “Ah… yes, yes. I’m quite fine. I was… I was just admiring your beautiful home.”
There she went again, sounding foolish and inexperienced. Was this when Mr. Whitman took back the offer? Then what would she do?
Olivia shook herself, pulled up to her full height, and set her shoulders in a firm line. She couldn’t afford to let this opportunity escape just because she’d never done anything like this before. One had to start somewhere in life, and she was going to start right then and there.
But what should she say? Especially since Mr. Whitman’s brilliant blue eyes remained fixed on her.
Oh, yes. They had left certain matters unsettled.
“I believe, Mr. Whitman, we agreed to discuss matters of duties and expectations and living arrangements once I arrived. Well, sir, I’m here now.”
The banker tipped up the corner of his mouth in another of those crooked smiles that betrayed little of his thoughts. He extended a hand to grasp her satchel, and Olivia relinquished the heavy bag.
“I’ll see this gets to your room. Now, please follow me into the parlor, Miss Moore. I’ll have Cooky bring us some fresh coffee, and we can discuss everything we need to in comfort there instead of standing here.”
They started down the hall. Past the end of the stairs, lovely with their gleaming treads and banisters, her new employer stepped into an open doorway on the left side. When she followed, Olivia found herself in another room of exceptional beauty. Deep plum velvet upholstery covered a graceful sofa nestled against the far wall between two generous-sized windows whose draperies, a shade darker than the sofa, had been pulled open to welcome the sunshine, giving the parlor a rosy glow. To her right, a fireplace with a tall oak mantel looked ready for the chilly days to come. At her left, a couple of broad armchairs in slate gray upholstery sat on either side of a small round table topped by a brass oil lamp, its glass globe decorated with a smattering of colorful blossoms. A handful of small tables dotted the room, a bookcase full of tomes graced the wall across from the fireplace, and beneath everything lay another wool rug, this one in shades of black and cream and deep rose.
Olivia couldn’t wait until she could tell Mama about the Whitman home. Surely this compared quite well with the places Elizabeth had told her children she’d visited with Grandmother Hodges back in Baltimore.
And yet, as splendid as the house looked, Olivia had to wonder. How did all this luxury wind up in tiny Bountiful? Kansas City or even Denver, she could understand. But here in Hope County most folks struggled to scratch a living from the soil or raise cattle for the beef, chop forests for the lumber, or mill wool from the various flocks of sheep. True, the town had a handful of merchants, but no one she knew had this kind of wealth.
Then it dawned on her. She’d heard Mr. Whitman, Sr., had struck gold years ago, when he’d first come out west. It appeared the man had indeed done well enough to enable his son to keep a home like this.
A home like the one she still stared at like some uncouth creature. She waved a hand. “Please excuse me, sir. As I mentioned before, you’ve a lovely home.”
This time, his smile thinned and tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “My late wife… preferred the finest things.”
Oh, dear. She’d done it again. She’d made this poor widower think of his loss. She would have to take time to consider what she might say in the future. It wouldn’t do to just blurt out any old thing that came to mind.
“I’m sorr—”
“It’s fine, it�
��s fine,” he said, but his voice sounded as tight as his lips appeared. “Please, take a seat. I’ll ring for Cooky to bring in that coffee I promised.”
As Olivia perched on the sofa, Mr. Whitman sat in one of the plush armchairs. He rang a small brass bell Olivia hadn’t noticed on the side table.
Moments later, a plump lady with white hair and a plain black dress walked in, a large silver tray loaded with cups, saucers, spoons, coffeepot, and various other items in her hands.
“There you are, Mr. Whitman, sir. A nice coffee for you and your guest—” The woman clamped her mouth shut the moment she laid eyes on Olivia. Those eyes narrowed, and her nose twitched.
Cooky, as the banker had called her, was not pleased to find Olivia in the room. She wondered why.
“Thank you,” Mr. Whitman said. “You can leave the tray here at my side.”
Once she’d done as asked, Cooky turned, gave Olivia a once-over, then left, her sniff impossible to miss.
What could she possibly have done to displease the woman to such an extent? She hadn’t even begun to work as yet.
Before she could think too much on the possibilities, Mr. Whitman spoke. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
Moments later, he stood before her, extending a steaming cup. Glad for something to occupy her hands, Olivia took it and smiled. “Thank you.”
He returned to his seat, poured himself some coffee, took a drink, and then turned to her again. “Shall we get started?”
At her nod, he continued. “Your duties are quite simple. I expect you to prepare the children for the day—daily for school, of course, and Sunday for church. You’ll also be responsible for their rooms and their belongings, although Cooky’s daughter, Kate, does most of our actual cleaning and laundering. Once Luke and Randy return from school in the afternoon, you’ll need to supervise their assignments and join them for their meals, making sure, of course, they behave and display appropriate manners.”
Olivia drew her brows together. “Do they not eat with you?”