by Ginny Aiken
As Olivia was in the Whitman home.
I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee…
The familiar Scripture verse bubbled up, and Olivia felt a warm sensation in the vicinity of her heart. She really had nothing to fear. She had the Comforter, the One her Lord had sent after He’d been crucified. He’d promised to never abandon her. She was not alone.
With her last drop of determination, Olivia opened the door. She slipped inside, then leaned against the closed door. Someone, Cooky more than likely, had lit the oil lamp on a small table next to the head of the bed. The golden glow illuminated a room of small dimensions, where a bed took up most of the space, Mama’s satchel waited for Olivia at its side.
The oak bed, while plain with its flat headboard and footboard, looked inviting. A couple of plump feather pillows beckoned, and a pieced quilt in muted shades of blue and gray and white added a note of cheer and the promise of warmth.
Against the right hand wall stood a tall bureau with six drawers, plenty of space for her belongings. On the left, a small washstand, very much like the one in Luke’s room, stood at the ready, the pitcher giving off a tiny bit of steam.
Hm… although Cooky had been anything but pleasant, at least she’d provided nicely for Olivia. Perhaps the woman wasn’t quite as opposed to her as she seemed.
If that were the case, then she had hope of befriending the older woman. Maybe Olivia could offer to help while the children were at school. Surely another pair of hands couldn’t do any harm… and they might do a world of good.
It was time to turn to the Father. Otherwise, she’d succumb to the errant if persistent thought that had hovered in the back of her mind the entire day.
Had she made a mistake? Would she fail? Would she have to return to Mama and Papa, a burden once again?
Determined to avoid giving in to her foolish fears, Olivia marched up to the satchel and plunked it on the bed. In a handful of minutes, she’d emptied it of its contents and slid the case under the bed. She separated her undergarments from her blouses, her skirts from her stockings, and then, with her unmentionables in hand, strode to the bureau.
She opened the top drawer and something leaped out at her.
It grazed her cheek and she dropped her armful of items.
Her shriek stopped in her throat at a loathsome sound.
A grasshopper.
That invoked anger rather than fear. As if those nasty creatures hadn’t already harmed her and her loved ones enough. How on earth had that… that thing found its way into her new room? Into her bureau drawer? Surely, Mr. Whitman’s house wasn’t infested with the greedy, chirruping beasts.
Then she knew.
The intrusion had nothing to do with a plague. It had everything to do with a boy. One who’d already tangled with a pig. Now, he’d captured a grasshopper.
No wonder Luke had done everything short of pushing her from his room. He’d been counting the minutes until she ran into the hall, squealing in fear of a hapless insect.
Little did he know how many grasshoppers she’d dealt with these last two years. True, the insect had startled her when it bounded from the drawer, but she wasn’t afraid of it. And just as grasshoppers didn’t frighten her, a ten-year-old boy didn’t frighten her either.
She smiled. Luke had a lot to learn about her. Tomorrow was the perfect time to start the lessons.
Chapter 6
Although the heavy velvet silence and the lonely emptiness of her room left Olivia with tear-crusted cheeks the next morning, something she’d never admit to anyone, she rose early, washed up, dressed, and checked her small silver pocket watch once ready. After she gathered all her gumption—as well as the small parcel on top of the bureau—she headed down the hallway.
She knocked on her youngest adversary’s door. “Time to rise, Luke. Please get dressed. I’m sure Cooky has breakfast ready so we can leave for school on time.”
She took the muffled sounds behind the door as agreement.
Then Olivia stepped to Randy’s door. But before she could knock, it opened and the girl sauntered into the hall, fully ready for the day. “I told you I don’t need a nanny—excuse me, a companion. You do understand, don’t you?”
If she hadn’t known of the girl’s loss of her mother, the rudeness would have infuriated Olivia. Randy needed time to see Olivia as something other than a threat. Then, and only then, would anything pleasant grow between them. She had to trust the Father’s wisdom and wait on His timing. She could botch everything if she barged ahead, acting on her feelings.
“I’m glad,” is all she said to Randy.
In the dining room, she set down her small package in front of the plate at her place at the table. She made sure her clean hanky covered everything.
As Randy sat down, Luke shuffled in, eyes sleep-heavy, hair in a bird’s nest of a mess. Then Mr. Whitman walked in. He greeted first Randy, then Luke, placing a kiss on each dark head.
Once done, he turned to Olivia. “Good morning. I hope everything was acceptable in your room.”
“It’s clean and neat, and the braided rug and quilt on the bed are lovely. It suits me very well.”
Luke looked at Olivia, a puzzled expression on his face. “Huh?”
“I just said my room is fine.”
“I know,” the boy said. “But—”
“In fact,” she continued, “it even provided me with the most interesting topic for conversation this morning.”
Three pairs of blue eyes focused on her.
“You don’t say,” Mr. Whitman murmured. “Please do tell us what you mean.”
She smiled. “You see, Mr. Whitman, I had company last night in the room. I didn’t have to miss my family.” Not too terribly much.
He looked as puzzled as his son. “I’m glad, but… company? That wasn’t part of our agreement, Miss Moore.”
She shook out her napkin, spread it across her lap, then waved away comment. “I should probably have said I had a visitor. A very small and interesting one. One who reminded me of life on our land these last two years.”
Alarm widened Luke’s eyes.
Olivia’s smile broadened.
The boy wriggled in his chair, his cheeks reddened, and he gestured wildly to catch her attention.
She ignored his attempts.
With greater dramatic flair than she usually displayed, she flipped her napkin off the upturned water glass from her room to reveal the grasshopper. It had taken some doing, but she’d scooped it with one hand and with the other, clapped the glass on top. She’d set the hanky over the mouth of the glass, and then tied it in place with a boot lace.
“Isn’t he fascinating?” she asked. “I’m happy to bring you from my bureau an insect to examine this morning—”
“Ooooh!” Randy cried. “Take that disgusting thing off the table! Make her, Papa. Please.”
“Uh… yes, Papa,” Luke added. “I can help. I’ll take it outside. Wouldn’t want… er… for it to—well, I don’t want it to bother Randy. Yes. That’s right. I’ll take it out.”
Olivia focused on not laughing.
Never a fool, Mr. Whitman sized up the situation in seconds. He arched a brow her way.
She smiled again and shrugged.
“I do think Miss Moore has an excellent point,” he said. “It would be interesting to discuss the grasshopper this morning. Tell me, Luke, how do such insects travel? They must be mighty wise, since this fellow made his way indoors and into a piece of furniture.”
“Indeed,” Olivia added. “All the way up into the top drawer of my bureau, as a matter of fact.”
Luke slouched lower in his chair, cheeks a blazing-hot red.
His father’s eyes betrayed his humor. “You don’t say?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “I’m thankful I’m not prone to apoplexy, you know. It startled me so when it sprang out as I stored my clothes.”
“I can very well understand,” the banker said. “Just look at its legs. What do yo
u think, Luke? It must have jumped high and far, what with those legs. They’re awfully big for his body. It must have shocked Miss Moore.”
“All right, all right, all right!” the boy cried. “I’m sorry. I put it there. I just… well, I thought it’d be funny to hear her squeal like Randy does all the time. Only…”
“Only Miss Moore didn’t respond like your other nannies did. I do remember an incident with a frog—”
“I said I was sorry, Papa. Really, I am.” He scooted his chair back with a loud screech. “Look, I’m gonna take it outside right away.” As he raced to Olivia’s side, the boy went on. “I’m sorry, Miss Moore. Honest. I didn’t mean nothing bad by it.”
“I understand pranks,” Olivia said, her hand on the glass. “but if the grasshopper had startled me enough to make me fall, I might have hurt myself.”
He gulped.
Mr. Whitman stood. “That’s a valid point, Lucas. I do remember asking you to cooperate with Miss Moore. Do you?”
Dismay, a touch of fear, and even a hint of desperation chased over Luke’s face. Olivia suspected he was remembering the incident with the lumps of bread the night before. She figured he’d suffered enough for the error of his ways.
“I accept his apology, Mr. Whitman. I do think it would be best if he rid us of the insect’s presence.”
In a flash, Luke scooped up the glass and the grasshopper, and raced out in the direction of the kitchen. Moments later, a door slammed. As they waited for the boy’s return, she caught the stunned expression on Randy’s face.
“Are you well?” she asked the girl.
Randy snapped shut her gaping mouth. “Ah… yes, of course. It’s just… he apologized! Luke apologized, Papa. You didn’t even switch his behind to make him do it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Mr. Whitman smile. “He did, Randy. He did, at that. Not that I’ve resorted to the switch as often as you might think, dear.”
He turned to Olivia. “I’m impressed, Miss Moore, and far more comfortable telling you I must leave town for the next two weeks. I’m sure you’ll manage quite well in my absence.”
“Thank you, sir.”
While Olivia’s voice rang clear and firm, a tremor of unease ran through her. She might have convinced him she could handle this companion thing, but if Randy and Luke decided to challenge her in his absence, she couldn’t be sure of anything at all.
Just then, Cooky banged the tray in her hands against the door on her way into the dining room. “Here I have your nice, warm breakfast all ready, I do, and that boy goes and runs off like a coyote after a hare.” She tsk-tsked. “I’m a-hoping he doesn’t plan to go off to school all hungry-like and all.”
She plunked the tray with its bowls of cooked oats, biscuits, a jar of honey, and a pitcher of milk on the table. Then, with a glare at Olivia, she let out a disapproving sniff. “Wonder what chased him out like that, I do, Mr. Whitman, sir. A body does have to wonder.”
She might have handled the grasshopper incident well enough, but Olivia still felt no confidence at all. How would she handle the children with their father gone, much less the cook?
Trepidation shot through her. Had she made a colossal mistake by assuring Mr. Whitman she could do the job?
On Wednesday, the day after the banker left, Olivia’s mettle faced another challenge from the Whitman children. And perhaps Cooky, as well, since she suspected the older woman had turned a blind eye to the mischief.
She got the children to school on time and with a minimum of complaint on Luke’s part. Then, when she returned to the house, she sat in the rocker in the corner of her room to work on the shawl she was knitting for Mama’s Christmas gift. She planned to skip her noon meal, since she doubted the cook would be pleased with her presence in the kitchen. But when the sun reached the crest of the sky, Cooky called up the stairs.
“I’ve set a plate for you, I have, Miss Moore. Please, and be coming down now.”
Although it sounded more like a command than an invitation, Olivia was relieved. She’d grown hungry in the time since breakfast.
Downstairs, the dining room table sat empty, so she headed to the kitchen, braced for whatever the cook had in store for her, a prayer on her lips. That room, too, was deserted. On the table in the middle of the utilitarian space, however, a plate with a generous portion of fried potatoes with bacon, a dish of applesauce, a thick slice of fresh bread, and a glass of milk awaited her. Olivia sat, prayed, and enjoyed the plain but hearty fare.
When done, she took dishes and utensils to the washbasin on a table under the back window. The water was warm, and a cloth sat on the edge of the basin, a bar of yellow soap in a chipped teacup just inches beyond. Only too aware of the cook’s disdain, she didn’t want to give the woman any more reason to dislike her, much less become the source of additional work. She washed and dried everything she’d used, and then wiped the table clear of all crumbs.
That afternoon, she went to wait for her charges at the schoolhouse gate. When they saw her, their smiles faded. Randy tipped her nose up in the air and Luke drew his eyebrows close and pushed his lips out. Not the greeting Olivia wanted, but she reminded herself she needed to exercise patience if she hoped to win the battle of wills.
Before going for the children, she’d asked Cooky to prepare a small snack. Back at the house, Luke and Randy ate as though they’d missed their last five meals.
“How was your day?” Olivia asked.
Randy shrugged and Luke mumbled through a mouthful of cheese and bread.
She wondered if a more pointed approach wouldn’t work better, so she spoke directly to Luke. “How did you do with the spelling words we studied the other night?”
A spark lit up his expression. “Good. I did them all right. Every last one.”
“I’m glad. Please let me know the next time you have spelling words. We can work on them together so you do as well again.”
He didn’t respond, but also didn’t refuse. Olivia counted it a victory. A tiny one but, as Mama said, a wise woman took encouragement wherever she found it.
With the snack finished, she sent the children to play. That turned out to be the wrong word for Randy.
“I’m too old to play,” she said as she started up the stairs. “A young lady entertains herself with more… grown-up… um, things. Surely even you know this.”
“Yes, Randy,” Olivia said, voice tight, words clipped. “I do know that, but I also know that a young lady, a mature one, does not go out of her way to be unpleasant or rude. Perhaps you can try showing me—and your father—how grown up you are with your sweet nature.”
The girl’s cheeks turned apple red. Fury blazed from her eyes, and she ran up the stairs, feet pounding the steps in a most unladylike way.
“I—I’m gonna tell my papa!” Randy cried. “He’s going to send you packing. Right as soon as he gets home.”
Olivia clutched the newel post and stared after Randy. Things had gone from bad to worse with the girl. Was this attempt at earning a living doomed to fail?
Oh, Lord. Please help me. Help me win over these children before Mr. Whitman comes home. It’s not a long time, I know, but you know how I need this position. Still… your will, Father. Show me your will.
She went back to her room, eyes burning with tears, heart heavy with worry. Fortunately for her, the knitting pattern she’d chosen for Mama’s wrap wasn’t especially complicated, since concentration eluded her. All she could think was how she didn’t want to fail, didn’t want to be a burden on her family again, how much she did want to help.
And how she didn’t want to confess to Mr. Whitman how she hadn’t been as capable as she’d claimed. The thought of those blue eyes judging and finding her lacking was more than she could bear.
When Olivia heard Cooky call them back down for supper, she realized she’d failed once again. She’d spent so much time nursing her bruised feelings that she’d never once checked on the children. Who knew what kind of mischie
f they’d found on their own.
On her way downstairs, she asked the Lord’s forgiveness, asked Him for strength and for the courage to do what was right, what she’d committed to do. She also asked Him for the grace to confess to the two Whitman hooligans. She hoped they wouldn’t see it as a weakness, for then they’d be sure to take advantage of it and drive her truly mad.
On the other hand, she doubted any of her predecessors had apologized, much less asked forgiveness, of the children for failing them. Maybe that would throw them off kilter enough for her to reset the balance of their relationship.
To her surprise, she found both at their places when she walked into the dining room. “Something smells good,” she said to break the ice.
Randy shrugged.
Luke rolled his eyes. “I s’pose.”
Standing by her chair, Olivia cleared her throat. When she had their attention, she forged ahead. “I owe both of you an apology.”
Randy gaped and Luke leaned forward.
She continued. “I became distracted this afternoon and failed to keep you company. We could have spent the time doing something interesting, but instead you both had to entertain yourselves on your own. I gave your father my word, and I’m afraid I didn’t follow through. Please forgive me.”
As she’d suspected, she’d caught them by surprise. For a moment, neither spoke. Then they murmured responses that she took for agreement. She nodded, took her seat, shook out her napkin, and smiled.
Cooky marched in. As soon as the older woman had filled their plates, both children made faces at the food. While the cook remained in the dining room, Olivia didn’t pursue the matter. But she wondered about the complaints. Were they so accustomed to a life of plenty that they couldn’t appreciate decent food and that in generous quantities?
She hoped not. She hadn’t forgotten the conversation she’d overheard between her parents where both worried if they’d have enough to feed their family until they harvested another crop.
Cooky served Olivia hearty, simple fare. Boiled potatoes and dried beef, creamed hominy, more of the same good bread she’d enjoyed earlier that day, and red-cheeked apples would nourish them well, if not elaborately. It did surprise her some that the family didn’t eat fancier foods, but it was more than adequate.