0764214101

by Tracie Peterson

  Thoughts of little Jimmy crossed his mind. A smile tugged at his lips. This was what his son needed. He would talk again, and they could heal. He pulled up in front of the massive porch, set the brake, and then tapped Miss Porter on the shoulder.

  She didn’t budge.

  He leaned his head down. “Miss Porter?” and tapped again.

  “Yes?” She jerked up straight, her hat askew. “I’m sorry. Are we here?”

  With a nod, Woody climbed down and reached up to assist her. Mrs. Goodman and Jimmy walked out the front door. Jimmy’s hair stood up on end, and he was in his nightclothes. Woody’s heart clenched a little tighter.

  “Miss Porter, are you up for introductions?” He spoke in a hushed tone to make sure she was fully awake, since she wobbled a bit once her feet hit the ground.

  “Yes. Please.” She smoothed her hair, pushing errant pieces back under her hat, and stepped forward.

  “This is Mrs. Goodman, my housekeeper, and my son, Jimmy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Porter.” His housekeeper smiled.

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  “Come here, Jimmy.” Woody held out his hand.

  But the boy didn’t move.

  “Jimmy, son, I told you to come here.” He waved him forward with his hand.

  His son shook his head.

  “James Colton, you are being rude to Miss Porter. Now . . . come here.” He hadn’t meant for his words to be so harsh or so loud. But that’s how they tumbled out.

  Jimmy looked down and ducked behind Mrs. Goodman’s skirt.

  “Give the boy some time, Mr. Colton.” The new nanny touched his arm. “It’s late, and I’m sure this is a bit overwhelming.”

  Embarrassed and discouraged that Jimmy didn’t respond as he’d hoped, Woody turned. “Miss Porter, might I remind you that you have been hired by me. And this is my son. This is my farm and I am in charge here. If I ask my son to come forward, I expect him to come forward.” As soon as the words were out, he wondered where they came from. Had he really spoken such atrocities before he’d thought them through?

  The smile left Miss Porter’s face. She glanced back to the wagon, and for a moment Woody wondered if she was contemplating her return to town.

  What had gotten into him? He walked up the steps to the porch and knelt in front of Jimmy. “Son, I’m sorry. I never should have spoken to you that way. I’ve had a rough day, but that’s no excuse for my actions. Will you forgive me?”

  His son nodded, came forward, and reached for him.

  Woody took his little frame into his arms and walked back down the steps. “Miss Porter, I also need to apologize to you. I’m sorry.” A burning sensation started in his throat as Jimmy wrapped his arms around Woody’s neck. “I’d like to introduce you to my son, James. We call him Jimmy. And I promise that an episode like that will not happen again.”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded. She stepped toward them and gave Jimmy a soft smile. “Hello, Jimmy. I’m Lillian.”

  Jimmy laid his head on Woody’s shoulder but lifted his small hand in a short wave. That would have to be good enough for now.

  “Please, again, forgive me.” Woody hoped he hadn’t ruined everything. Had he really been in such a foul temper ever since Rebecca died? No wonder Mrs. Goodman often gave him that motherly look that made him want to hide in his office.

  Miss Porter gave him a slight smile. “I do. Maybe if we all get a good night’s sleep, tomorrow we’ll be able to start over. I know I often get out of sorts and don’t act like myself when I haven’t had enough rest.”

  Start over. If only he could start the whole last year over.

  Lillian had been deeply touched by Woody’s honesty on their ride out to the farm, but when he’d knelt to apologize to his son, she’d wanted to cry. She’d never seen or heard a man apologize before.

  Mrs. Goodman approached her. “Let’s get you settled, Miss Porter.”

  Lillian glanced around.

  “It’s just us, dearie. Woody went to tuck in Jimmy for the night, and then he’ll fetch your bags and take them to your room. Meanwhile, let me show you around a bit so you’ll know where things are.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” She followed the housekeeper up the steps and into the massive home. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected of a farmhouse. But then, she hadn’t known what to expect.

  The beautiful hand-carved door opened into a spacious foyer. It housed a grand staircase beyond what looked like a parlor on the left. To the right, the foyer opened up into a smaller sitting room. Mrs. Goodman detailed the building of the home by Woody just a few years prior and what the land was like before the Coltons arrived, but Lillian found herself caught up in the pictures on the walls and the homey touches that made her feel welcome and accepted. Rebecca Colton must have been a wonderful woman. A pang hit Lillian’s chest. She wished she could have known the lady of the house.

  “This is the music room.” Mrs. Goodman opened a door just off the small sitting room. She picked up a lighted lamp by the door and stepped into the room. “Nobody goes into it anymore. Rebecca was the only one who played the piano. She had started to show Jimmy how, but then . . . well . . . you know the rest.”

  Lillian moved across the room to touch the beautiful mahogany wood. “I play. In fact, it is something I feared I would miss coming to California. Do you suppose Mr. Colton would mind if I played it and even used it to teach Jimmy?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I know Woody to be a fair man. Just ask him and see what he says. Could be if it grieves him too much, he’ll still allow you to use it when he’s away. Now, come along. There’s more house to see.”

  They moved back through the house, with Mrs. Goodman commenting all the while. Finally they reached a large room with a lace-covered table and six chairs. To one side was a beautiful china hutch.

  “These are Brown-Westhead Moore dishes, if I’m not mistaken.” Lillian smiled at the sight of the china. “My grandmother had a complete table service of these. She ordered them from Spaulding in Chicago.”

  “They were Rebecca’s favorite.” Mrs. Goodman came alongside Lillian. “She thought them quite smart.”

  “Oh, they are. I love that they have the white base, but then the gold and burgundy leafing around the edges with the pink roses and green leaves make them absolutely charming. I ate many a meal on dishes just like these.” She looked up and smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you.”

  “It’s no trouble. As you can see, this is the dining room.” Mrs. Goodman continued on through the butler’s pantry. “And, of course, here on the other side is the kitchen.” She went to the stove. “You must be starved. I’ve got a couple of plates warming here. Take a seat. With just the three of us, we usually eat here.”

  Lillian almost collapsed into a chair, not even sure she had the strength to lift a spoon. But when the plate was set in front of her with roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans, her stomach growled loudly enough to echo off the walls.

  Mrs. Goodman laughed. “Eat up, child. I know you’re about to fall over from exhaustion. I can see it in your face.” She turned but spoke over her shoulder. “We’ll get you all settled in your room after you’ve had your fill.”

  Lillian pulled off her hat and gloves. “Thank you.” She scooped mashed potatoes into her mouth. It wasn’t very ladylike, but no one was watching, and the smell was about to drive her mad. The potatoes were a creamy, buttery goodness on her tongue, and she almost groaned in delight. This must be what heaven tasted like.

  Lillian sat up straight and reprimanded herself for her irreverent thoughts. Goodness, first her manners, and then her thoughts . . . what would her grandmother say? A little giggle escaped as she placed her fork into the roast beef. As it melted in her mouth, she knew she had to learn to cook like this. Swallowing, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mrs. Goodman, this is by far the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  The older woman turne
d and smiled at her. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Do you think you could teach me?”

  “To do what?”

  “To cook, like this.” Lillian closed her eyes as she indulged in another forkful.

  The housekeeper dried her hands on a towel and sat across from her at the small worktable. “You don’t know how to cook?”

  Lillian shook her head. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t. At the manor—my grandparents’ home—we had an entire kitchen staff, and I was always shooed out.”

  Mrs. Goodman studied her for a moment. “Of course I’ll teach you. Every woman needs to know how to cook. Every man, for that matter.” She chuckled. “I’m a bit surprised, though.”

  “Why?” The last bite tasted just as good as the first, and Lillian was sorry to be finished.

  “Well, I noticed your clothes and trunks and such, and I wondered why you would be in need of work?”

  A shiver ran up her spine, but Lillian shook it off and breathed deep. It was best to be honest up front. “My mother was an only child. She and my father died when I was a baby. While it’s true my grandfather is a very wealthy man, I’ve longed to live my own life. To find purpose and follow my parents’ dreams.” She looked away. “He—my grandfather—disowned me when I left.”

  “Gracious, child. That’s terrible.”

  Lillian leaned forward. “Please keep this to yourself, Mrs. Goodman. My grandfather doesn’t wish to speak to me or hear from me, and I’d rather just move on with my life from here.” Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Of course, Miss Porter.” The woman leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “But I can’t help wondering, if you’re his only family—”

  Lillian held up a hand. “I know. And I will try to reach out to him . . . in time, but my grandfather is a stubborn man. As stubborn as they come.”

  “Then we’ll just have to be your family now.” The older woman nodded. “Mr. Goodman—God rest his soul—and I were never blessed with children, and the Coltons have become my family.”

  The tears threatened to spill. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodman. I don’t have anyone else. I’ve been pretty sheltered most of my life. I’ve had a proper education and was trained in what my grandparents thought important, but I doubt arranging flowers and speaking French are of very much value here.”

  Mrs. Goodman sniffed and wiped the corners of her eyes with her apron. “Well, aren’t we a pair? Let’s get you to your room. I’m sure that a good night’s sleep will be just the thing for you.” She hopped out of the chair like someone half her age. “Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”

  Picking up her things, Lillian followed Mrs. Goodman, and they took another hall toward the back of the house.

  “This is the library—where Mr. Colton does most of his office work for the farm. If you can’t find him anywhere else, he’s most likely in there. I’ll show you the upstairs tomorrow. There are four more bedrooms and a sitting area.” She kept walking. “And this hallway leads to our wing. Your room is there on the left, and my room is on the right. The room at the end of the hall is our own private bathroom and water closet.”

  Lillian opened the door to her room. Her luggage sat at the foot of the bed. A beautiful mahogany bed with matching dresser were the main pieces in the room, but there was also a comfortable sitting area, an armoire, and bookcase. The room was papered in a light blue rose pattern with all the trim painted in white. A quilt in all shades of blue covered the bed, and deep navy-blue cushions adorned the bed and the small couch. It took her breath away. And the tears started in earnest. Smiling through them, she turned to the older woman. “Mrs. Goodman . . . I . . . I . . .”

  “I’m glad you like it, dear. Now, you get to bed. If you need anything during the night, I’m just across the hall.” And for the second time that day, Lillian found herself wrapped in a warm hug.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A clock somewhere in the house chimed midnight. Lillian was weary to the bone, and yet she couldn’t sleep. So she’d unpacked her small bag and found a lovely cream sunbonnet that Carla must have tucked in there among her things. How sweet of her—if only everyone would treat each other with such kindness. It made tears well up in Lillian’s eyes. Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she went back to unpacking and decided she might as well tackle the trunks.

  When the last item was tucked away, she lay in bed again, only to toss and turn. All the details that had skittered through her mind on the trip were now in front of her. All the adjustments. No staff to press garments or help her dress. And her hair! Goodness, she could manage a bun and a braid on her own, but she’d had someone arranging her hair since before she could remember.

  Fiddlesticks. She was thinking like a selfish child, all worried about such petty things. She was here to work, and work she would. All the trappings of her former life were just that. Trappings. It was time to focus on what the Coltons needed. What Jimmy needed. The past was the past. Lillian would look forward, not back.

  Her mind swept in a hundred different directions. Excitement and nervousness flowed through her. But oh, how she needed rest. Getting up again, she reached for her robe and then wrapped it around her. Maybe a glass of water would serve to cool her nerves and help her to relax. All the tension of the past few weeks pressed in on every part of her body. She headed to the kitchen and prayed for sleep.

  As she passed the library, a shaft of light shot out into the hallway. Mr. Colton must still be awake. Maybe if she kept her steps light, he wouldn’t notice her.

  But the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks. Only a foot from the door, she debated turning around and heading back to her room until she heard her name.

  “—Miss Porter. Lord, I’m so ashamed of my behavior toward her tonight. But we need her so desperately. Please . . .” His words became muffled.

  Lillian stepped closer and peered around the door. Mr. Colton had his head in his hands, elbows on the desk. His lips were still moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. Then he shook, almost as if he were crying. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and Lillian felt like an intruder. She stopped looking and turned back toward her room.

  “Oh, God. Please help me. I need to find a way to help my son. I feel him slipping away, and I’m afraid. I can’t lose him, too. . . .”

  Woodward Colton’s words reached her ears as she walked back to her room. New determination surged through her. That broken man crying out to God couldn’t be a murderer. She wrapped her arms around herself and returned to her room.

  There was a little boy who needed her.

  God had brought her to this olive farm for a purpose. And she would do everything in her power to fulfill it.

  The morning came sooner than Woody would have liked, but the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen made his stomach growl. Today was a new day. He splashed cold water on his face and dressed. Maybe Miss Porter would be able to break down Jimmy’s invisible walls. Hopefully she’d had enough rest and would at least feel up to meeting with Woody about his expectations for her job.

  As he headed to the dining room, he heard voices. Jimmy? Could it be?

  His heart leapt and he tried to muffle his steps and listen. A childish giggle came from the dining room. Unable to contain his excitement, Woody rushed to the dining room and pushed the swinging door open.

  Jimmy sat at the table laughing. The baby bunny they’d rescued tickled Jimmy’s chin with its nose. The tiny animal sat ensconced in some sort of sling around his son’s neck. Another giggle came from the boy. It wasn’t words, but it was something.

  Lillian bustled in from the kitchen with a tray of biscuits in her hand. Her dark brown hair hung in a long braid, and her green eyes glistened with merriment. As she set the biscuits down on the table, she smiled at Woody. “Good morning, Mr. Colton.”

  He swallowed and found his tongue. “Good morning.” How long had it been since he’d heard his precious child laugh?

  She turned and headed back to the kitc
hen as Woody looked on. Her yellow dress was beautiful and sunny, but far too fancy for a nanny on a farm. Another giggle from Jimmy tore his gaze from the door. The bunny was now rubbing his ears up against the boy’s neck.

  Lillian returned with Mrs. Goodman and they both carried platters of steaming food. They set them down, wiped their hands on their aprons, and took their seats.

  “Aren’t you going to sit, Woody?” Mrs. Goodman placed a linen napkin in her lap as if nothing were awry and this was an average, ordinary, everyday kind of meal.

  He blinked several times. All heads turned to him. He’d been standing in the same spot since he’d entered. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Of course.” If they could all pretend this was normal, so could he.

  Jimmy reached a finger up to pet the head of the bunny.

  “Son—”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr. Colton,” Miss Porter expertly interrupted, “we gave the rabbit a good scrubbing this morning, didn’t we, Jimmy?” She widened her eyes at Woody, nodded, and put on a stiff smile as if to say, “Keep your mouth shut, Colton.”

  Mrs. Goodman also smiled and nodded.

  Remembering the unfortunate incident the evening before with his harsh words, Woody realized he needed to slow down and think before speaking. Of course she hadn’t audibly said the words—he could well imagine them—but how had the astute Miss Porter known he was about to scold the boy?

  “We fashioned the sling for him this morning to help keep the bunny warm. And this way, Jimmy can keep a close eye on him.” She slathered butter and preserves onto her biscuit as if nothing were amiss.

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” At least he hoped it was. What did he know about baby brush rabbits? Other than they were a nuisance to the vegetable gardens. But watching Jimmy smile was enough for him. “Why don’t we thank the Lord?” He reached out his hands, to Miss Porter on the left and to Jimmy on the right.