by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Bea felt her cheeks heat up and she weakly answered, “Yes.”
“I’m sure you left a few men lamentin’ your status as a nanny.”
“I wasn’t one to seek the attention of a man. Never cared to, really. I suppose I never found one that was interesting enough.” Bea placed her empty glass back on the nightstand.
“Uncle Ellis, who buys the sponges?” Richard asked, squatting on a tall chair beside him at his desk. Mounds of paperwork needed going over. But his mind was yet again on a hazel-eyed sea siren. His thoughts lingered on whether she’d survive this heat. He felt certain he had caught her before she became critical. The cistern was a true blessing from God. But he was still worried for the sake of the child. How would Richard handle losing another person close to him? Ellis shuddered and rubbed the gooseflesh off his arms.
“Uncle Ellis, can we go see Nanna now?”
Ellis plopped down his pencil. “Sure, Son. I was just thinking about her myself.”
Richard’s bright blue eyes smiled as he jumped off the tall chair he had been perched on. “I’m ready.”
“Great, give me a minute to put these books together so I can take them home.”
“Why do you write in your books? Nanna said I mustn’t write in my books.”
“Your Nanna is right. But these are special books for keeping track of a business’s money. How much a business spends, how much it makes.”
“How much money do you have, Uncle Ellis?”
“Enough.” Ellis placed his large masculine hands on top of Richard’s head and ruffled his curls, just like he had seen Miss Smith do on more than one occasion.
Richard smiled. “Nanna says I have a lot of money too.”
“She did, did she?” What was this woman telling this child? Why would a boy need to worry himself about money at his age? He would need to have a word with Miss Smith when she was feeling better. At least one word.
Richard nodded. “Nanna said when my mommy died she had money put in a special place for me when I became a man.”
“I see.”
“Nanna said it was to buy my own farm, or go places, or whatever I want.”
“That is a special gift, Son.”
“Nanna says a wise man thinks before he spends his money.”
Maybe he wouldn’t need to speak with the woman after all.
“Nanna says some men spend their money on silly things.”
“I see.”
“Nanna says wise money is like planting corn. If you plant it right it grows and makes more.”
“Your Nanna is a pretty smart woman.”
“Nanna says Grandpa Smith taught her about wise money.”
“I see,” he said for the third time. And perhaps he was beginning to see more than he ever expected. As the child’s nanny, she was responsible for his schooling, and she knew that Richard’s job would be caring for the farm one day. Maybe she wasn’t as overprotective as he’d suspected.
“Uncle Ellis?”
“Yes, Son?” Ellis scooped the child into his arms, figuring they would make it home faster if he carried him. The child was a wonder, his mind so quick with facts and details. He soaked up knowledge like his sponges soaked up water. He was a remarkable lad who had a remarkable teacher. Ellis pondered the possibility of asking a certain Miss Beatrice Smith to stay on as the child’s nanny. Of course, he’d probably have to offer her holidays to visit with her family in New York…. Still, the idea was plausible.
“Who taught you about money?”
“My dad and your father.”
“Was my daddy wise with money?”
“Yes.”
Richard nodded. A somber expression creased his delicate face. “I miss my daddy.”
Ellis swallowed back a gasp. He hadn’t expected Richard to be so honest with his emotions.
Ellis paused in the street. He lowered the child down and knelt before him, face-to-face. “I do, too, Son. I do, too.”
Chapter 6
Nanna!” Richard cried from the doorway of her cottage.
“Come in here, Richie, I’m lying down.”
“All right.”
The old wooden rocking chair creaked as Cook eased herself up. “I’m going to speak with Mr. Ellis, Miss. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Beatrice nodded. Richard stood by her bed. She tapped the covers. “Come on up.”
He climbed up and sat beside her. Bea wrapped her arm lovingly around him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. I feel silly for not drinking as much as I should have for this heat.”
“Uncle Ellis said you’d be all right.”
“I’ll need to stay in bed the rest of the day, but perhaps tomorrow we can get to your lessons.”
“Nanna, I can play tomorrow so you can rest more.”
Bea chuckled. “I’ll see that your lessons are fun. Tell me, did you go to work with your uncle Ellis?”
Enthusiastically he nodded his head. “He fishes for sponges and they stink like dead fish. Uncle Ellis says he washes them so they don’t smell.”
“Interesting.” Sponges and the other natural wonders this island brings will make exciting lessons for Richard and myself, Bea thought. Then she remembered she wouldn’t be teaching Richard for much longer. Bea fought back her discouragement and tried concentrating on what Richard was telling her. Something about Ellis writing in his books.
“… Uncle Ellis says he writes his money in a book.”
“You mean keeps track of his money in his books. That’s good, he uses his money like a good farmer.”
“I told him about corn money.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bea smiled. The man probably thought she was a fool for putting money in the terms of seeds, but it seemed like the best way to explain it to a four year old.
Cook walked in with a broad smile. “Richard, I think you need to let your Nanna rest. You best go with your uncle now.”
Richard nodded and slid off the bed. “ ’Bye, Nanna. I’ll come later.”
“ ’Bye, Richie. You mind your uncle, and I’ll be up tomorrow.”
“All right.” He ran from the room.
“Now, I say you close those heavy eyes of yours and get some rest. I’ll wake you later for some more to drink and maybe a light broth.” Cook applied the damp cloth over her body again.
Bea struggled to keep her eyes open. Perhaps she should rest for a moment. Slowly she let them close, the burning at the back of her lids finding relief. So tired, so exhausted, she needed sleep….
Bea awoke to Cook’s delicate touch.
“Good morning, Child. You slept well.”
“I feel better, but still weak.”
“You’ll be that way for most of the day. You rest and start getting some good food into your body. Hopefully, you’ll be feeling better by evening.”
Beatrice grasped Cook’s soft, leathered hands. “Thank you.” No other words fit. She was deeply indebted to this woman, this stranger who no longer seemed a stranger, but a friend.
“You’re welcome. Don’t you be carryin’ on about how much I did. Just watched over you is all. Any good Christian woman would have.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You would have been stuck with Mr. Ellis pacing all night and young Richard wanting to sleep with you to make sure you were all right.”
She grinned at the image of Richie cradled beside her in bed. They had shared many lonely nights that way. However, she couldn’t quite figure why Mr. Ellis, as Cook called him, would be pacing the floor on account of her. As far as he was concerned, she was an overprotective nursemaid who would need to return home on the first possible ship. Her grin slipped into a rigid slim line.
“Did you sleep at all, Cook?”
“Some. I’m fine, Child. But if you be fine, I’m going to the house to fix up some breakfast. What would you like?”
“Nothing
. I still don’t feel like eating.”
“Hurumph. You’ll be eating something. I’ll make it light. Lay back down; I’ll return shortly.”
“Thank you.” Bea watched Cook waddle out of her room. There would be no denying that woman. If she brought you something to eat, you’d better eat it. Cook’s ways brought back memories of an old school matron, Miss Arno. The woman was not one to trifle with. She bellowed orders and you followed, or you were left cleaning boards, desks, floors, windows, anything the woman could think of. Bea shook her head and attempted to get up.
Slowly she draped her feet over the side of the bed. She waited for the dizziness to return. Thank the good Lord there was none. Feeling a bit more sure of herself, she eased her feet to the floor and continued holding the edge of the mattress. Carefully she straightened up. Her legs wobbled, her body felt exhausted. Should she dare take a couple steps to sit in the old wooden rocker?
Tentatively she lifted her right foot and slid it forward. Then her left. Yes, she could make it. She would just need to be careful. Easing herself into the rocker, she clasped her hands in her lap and proceeded with her morning prayers. She had a lot to be thankful for this morning, and a lot to petition the Lord about as well.
As always, Richard was in the forefront of all her prayers. “Father God, You know my heart, You know my love for this child. If there is any way I could remain on as his nanny, I’d appreciate it. But I do trust him into Your hands and Your protection for him. You are the Creator, and You do know what’s best for him. I’m trying to refrain from embracing, to let go and trust him to You, removing myself. But it is difficult, Father. I love him so.”
Ellis groaned as he dragged his body out of bed. He’d been up most of the night. Finally, Cook had told him not to come back to the cottage again; she needed some rest, too. Then, the nagging torment that he was ultimately responsible for the nanny’s condition kept his eyes from closing while his feet wore out the floorboards. She was doing well, fortunately. She would recover. But he couldn’t forgive himself for having been so insensitive. He had a pretty clear understanding of the amount of undergarments a woman wore up north, and this heat was not fit for a lady of such refinement. Many of the wives of the local residents refused to live here year-round because of the heat. But that number was changing as the women developed a taste for Spanish clothing, a far more agreeable attire for this climate.
A disheveled face in the mirror stared back at him, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep. His beard needed a good trimming and brushing. He worked the stray hairs with his hand into a some semblance of order. Hoping the water would revive him, he rinsed his face one more time.
Ellis worked his way down the stairs to make breakfast for everyone, feeling it was the least he could do. Cook needed some rest, too, having been up most of the night herself. Of course, some of that was due to his wandering over there half a dozen times to check on Miss Smith’s condition.
“What are you doing here?” he barked, seeing Cook busy at the stove.
“I’m fixin’ breakfast.”
“You should be with Miss Smith, Cook. I’ll fix breakfast.”
“Don’t you be bellowing at me, Sir. Beatrice is fine. I appreciate your offer to make the morning meal, but …”
“Sorry, Cook,” Ellis apologized.
“The lady needs something she can get down, not your idea of a breakfast,” Cook teased.
Ellis raised a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “Moi?”
“Don’t be using no fancy talk. You know you can’t cook, that’s why you hired me.”
“I must have been out of my mind,” Ellis mumbled. He truly loved Cook. She kept him in order. But, at times, the woman had an attitude which could make a man’s toes curl.
“Probably so, but the good Lord knew you needed me in your life,” Cook admonished.
Ellis chuckled. “You’re quite a handful, Cook. How did your husband manage?”
“Quite well, thank you,” she winked in reply. “Mr. Ellis,” Cook lowered her voice, “Bea is going to be fine. She had a good night. She looks well this morning. Another day of rest and she’ll be fit as an oyster in its shell.”
“Thanks for all your help, Cook. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Found some other lady to take care of her, I’m certain. But God doesn’t put people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Remember that, Mr. Ellis. She’s not here by mistake.”
“But …”
“But nothin’. God knows, God controls, if you let Him.”
Duly admonished, Ellis left the breakfast preparations in the capable hands of Cook. She was right as always. If he genuinely trusted God, he shouldn’t have been so worried and shouldn’t have been so riddled with guilt. God had placed Beatrice Smith in the position of caring for his nephew, and He knew that they would be coming to live with him in these tropical temperatures. So why was he still blaming himself?
Because if he hadn’t commited that act in the past, he would have gone home and picked up his nephew. But fear of entering his hometown, the threat of arrest, the threat of disgracing the family name and losing the farm … he simply couldn’t risk it. So, was it ultimately still his fault that Beatrice Smith was sick?
Ellis worked the tension out of the back of his neck. “Perhaps not,” he spoke to his empty office. But, just maybe, he was still responsible.
“Uncle Ellis, can I go see Nanna now?” Richard yelled down the hall.
When was that child going to learn not to yell? Ellis took a deep breath. Now was not the time to chastise him. He stepped into the hall just as Richard rounded the corner at a run to head into his office.
“Ugh!” Ellis groaned.
“Sorry. Can I?” Richard implored sheepishly.
“Yes, go right in and see how she’s doing. Tell her Cook will bring breakfast shortly.”
“All right.” Richard turned to walk away, then paused, looking over his shoulder, and said, “Good morning, Uncle Ellis.”
Ellis broke into a wide grin. “ ’Morning, Son. Now shoo.” At that, the boy was off, running down the hall, slipping on one small carpet but handling the corner without falling. Did I run that much when I was a boy? He had no memory of it. He ran outside, of course, but in the house? Nah, he couldn’t have. His mother would have tanned his hide. Come to think of it … Ellis rubbed his backside … maybe she had.
Bea heard the patter of Richard’s feet long before she heard him call, preceded by the slam of the screen door.
“Nanna.”
“Come in, Richard. I’m in my room.” She straightened the sheet modestly over herself.
“Hi. Uncle Ellis said I could come over.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Are you better?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Are you allowed to sit in a chair?”
“I believe so, why do you ask?”
“’cause yesterday you had to stay in bed. Doctor said so.”
“True, but I can sit up for awhile now. Would you like me to read you a story?”
Richard nodded his head.
“Do you want to pick out a book or should I?”
“Can we do the story after breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“Cook’s making bacon.” Richard’s eyes sparkled.
“We can read after you have your bacon.” As much as Bea enjoyed bacon, she couldn’t imagine eating something so greasy at the moment. She silently prayed Cook would not ask her to.
“Nanna?”
“Yes, Richie.”
He placed his small hands on his hips and stood with his feet slightly apart. “Are you drinking?”
Bea couldn’t help but giggle. “Yes, Son. I’m drinking my juice.”
He shook his finger. “Cook said you need to keep drinking or you’ll get sick.”
“I know. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Richard gave one swift nod of the head and relaxed his stance. If Cook was having
this effect on the child already, Ellis Southard would have his hands full raising the boy. “Do you think you better go back to the house for your breakfast? I think I can smell the bacon now.”
Richard sniffed the air. His smile blossomed. “I’ll be back, Nanna,” he said, then spun around and ran out the door.
The boy was always running. Beatrice wondered if his father had been a runner as well, or his uncle.
His uncle. The image of the man brought a shiver down her spine. He was so handsome, and she was so infuriatingly attracted to him. Maybe she shouldn’t ask to stay on as the child’s nanny. She probably should go home and do as the Lord says, “refrain from embracing,” to let little Richard go on to be the man he was meant to become. Staying in Key West would mean staying next to temptation, and Bea wasn’t all that sure she could handle it.
It would be different, she thought, if she had fancied herself interested in some boys when she was younger. But they were just silly creatures, boys were. They often would start behaving like roosters near a hen house trying to get a woman’s attention. Such silliness did not endear her to the male part of the species. Grown men, however, like her father, were acceptable. They either outgrew this boyish behavior or, like her father, had not been given to such childishness. She wondered if she dared ask. Her brother hadn’t been one given to such nonsense until Abigail Wilson moved into town. Around her, he degenerated into “one of the roosters.”
Bea tossed her head from side to side. Young boys like Richard didn’t seem to have this problem. She wondered if it had anything to do with coming of age. Perhaps she would never know. She certainly wouldn’t be around when young Richard would be turning sixteen.
A rap sounded at her door. “Miss Smith.”
Bea flushed. She was naked … well, maybe not naked exactly, but close enough. “Mr. Southard, I’m not presentable. Please do not come in.”
“I … I … mean you no disrespect, Ma’am. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to work now. Cook will be here and calling on you often. Richard will be in Cook’s care, but I’ve given him permission to visit you as often as you wish today.”