Love Finds a Home

by Janette Oke

  “You think it will work, then?” asked Belinda.

  “I think Mother would be delighted,” Drew said honestly.

  So Belinda sent off a letter with two train tickets and an advance of cash enclosed and held her breath until she received the reply. Mrs. Simpson and Sid would be arriving on the twenty-fifth of November. With a great feeling of excitement she called Drew.

  It was a cold, wintry day when Belinda prepared to meet the incoming train. She had first thought she would send Windsor on his own but then realized the Simpsons might be more comfortable being met by someone they knew. Drew had offered to meet the train, but Belinda insisted she had more time for that than he did. “Come in the morning to see them,” she invited.

  Belinda was glad she had decided to meet the Simpsons herself. Both mother and son seemed somewhat uncomfortable and nervous. Windsor saw to the baggage, and Belinda led the two travelers to the waiting carriage.

  “It’s cold tonight,” she told them. “Be sure to wrap the blankets around you.” She passed them two of the heavy blankets Windsor had placed in the carriage and proceeded to bundle herself carefully in her own blanket. The two passengers followed her lead.

  She chatted about their hometown and drew bits of information from Sid. He had grown up since Belinda had last seen him, and she was impressed. He had turned out to be a finelooking young man. Mrs. Simpson was her usual quiet self, although she did answer Belinda’s questions.

  When they arrived at the manor, both of the tired travelers seemed to come to life in fascination with their new abode. Even Mrs. Simpson made some comments about its beauty.

  Belinda knew that the rules had now changed. Potter was the administrator of the manor and as such would need to make all the decisions concerning the staff. And the Simpsons were staff, even though Belinda would like to have treated them as her guests. So Belinda wisely turned the two weary newcomers over to Potter, knowing they would be served refreshments and shown to their rooms.

  Tiredly, Belinda climbed the stairs to her own rooms. She was anxious for a hot bath and a good rest. Drew would be coming in the morning to greet his mother and brother. Belinda could foresee another heart-wrenching day—the emotional trap to keep her here in Boston at odds with her desire to return to her roots.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Final Preparations

  Belinda had hoped to have all the arrangements concerning the manor finished by Christmastime, but as time went by she began to realize that it would be impossible. She eventually gave up on the idea and started to make plans for Christmas in Boston.

  Perhaps it is better this way, she thought. Potter may need my help during her first Christmas as administrator. But Belinda secretly wondered if another reason for staying on was to delay saying farewell to Drew.

  Mrs. Simpson settled quickly and efficiently into her role as housekeeper. She had several staff under her, including cleaning and laundry services. There would be plenty to do once the manor had all its residents in place.

  On December 6 the first two occupants moved in. Mrs. Simpson had their rooms all ready for them in accordance with Potter’s instructions, and the two ladies were settled into their rooms and then given a grand tour of the house.

  One of the new guests had been a piano teacher in the past, and she was delighted to find a music room and an instrument. The other was very impressed with the library. Belinda found the two women delightful and wished she could ask each one for the complete story of her life.

  They deserve their privacy, she reminded herself. They will tell what they wish when they wish.

  And so it happened. Little by little bits of information came to life as the ladies sat in the north parlor at teatime or before the open fire with their handwork or a book.

  Mrs. Bailey was a widow. At one time she, with her husband and three children, lived in a modest home on Boston’s south side. Her husband was a drayman until a back injury ended his working days. Mrs. Bailey took on the support of the family by taking in laundry, selling baked goods, and sewing. Then even worse tragedy struck. The youngest child fell into the Charles River and the older one tried to save him. Both children drowned. A number of years later, tuberculosis took the life of their remaining daughter. Then the woman’s crippled husband passed away, as well.

  Belinda found it hard to believe that one person could endure so much personal tragedy. Yet the woman was still able to smile and to thank God for seeing her through all the difficulties. “And now the Lord has given me time to read and a whole library full of books,” she rejoiced, waving a favorite title.

  The second woman, Miss Mitton, had never married and had taught piano for many years to support herself. But when the number of students dwindled, she had to move from her neat little apartment to a shoddy tenement in the poorest section of town. The move made her bitter and cynical. Why should one in her position and education be forced to live in such abject poverty? Struggling against her situation, her burden grew even greater.

  With a feeling of justice finally being given her, Miss Mitton took up her residence at the manor. She held her chin high to let it be known that she really belonged in this class. Though the woman had never lived in such surroundings in her entire life, she was accepted without judgment. Belinda smiled and humored her. She felt sorry for the little woman who tried so hard to be something she was not.

  “I should not be forced to accept charity,” Miss Mitton insisted one day as she struggled to hold her teacup daintily in shaky hands. “Fate has handed me some evil turns . . . but I really was born and bred in gentility.”

  “You were very blessed,” Belinda said softly. “Like many of us here, I was not. My home was ordinary, though most adequate. We had love and understanding and proper food and clothing. I guess I learned early that velvets and porcelains are not what constitute a ‘good’ life.

  “But please, let us make one thing clear from the beginning. No one at Marshall Manor is accepting charity. This is home for you and each resident. We have invited you to live with us because we want you here. A house is lonely if it does not have family. We are now a family.”

  Miss Mitton’s chin lifted a bit higher, but Mrs. Bailey brushed tears from her eyes.

  Belinda made another trip to see Mr. Keats, hoping that things were finally in order. He met her at the door with a broad smile. She took that as a good omen.

  “Things have progressed satisfactorily?” she asked.

  “Yes, quite,” he answered, still beaming at his achievement. “Your board is all in order. They’ve had their first meeting and have established their directives. The banker and I will handle the paying of accounts—with board approval, of course. The minister and two of the other board members will see to finding the residents as needed. By Christmas the manor should be filled, and you should be free to carry on with your other plans—whatever they might be.”

  Belinda nodded. The long process was finally drawing to a close.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “It would be nice to have a spiritual counselor—a chaplain—for the home.”

  The attorney looked over his glasses. “A chaplain?” he said.

  “Yes,” Belinda said, feeling somewhat on the defensive. “To lead the daily devotional times and Sunday services should the residents be unable to go out.”

  “Have the residents requested a chaplain?”

  “No-o.”

  “Perhaps they are not quite so . . . so religious as you seem to be,” stated the attorney frankly.

  “But they haven’t requested anything,” defended Belinda. “They haven’t moved into the manor demanding this or that. But we do need to care for their needs—physical and spiritual.”

  “I see,” said the lawyer, but Belinda wondered if he really did. Perhaps the attorney was not the one she should be speaking to concerning a chaplain for the manor, she decided. Very well, she silently conceded. I’ll talk to God about the chaplain. To Mr. Keats she said, “We do need a physician. We are
dealing with the elderly, and it is common for one ailment or another to need immediate care.”

  The man nodded. “Do you mean a resident physician?” he asked her.

  “Oh no, no. But one should be on call. And should drop by regularly.”

  “I think we can arrange that with no problem. I will look into it right away.”

  Belinda smiled her thanks.

  “But perhaps it would be wise to have a nurse actually in residence,” the attorney went on. “She could care for small problems and call the doctor as needed.”

  Belinda thought it did sound reasonable.

  “I understand that you are—were a nurse,” the man said hesitantly. “But, of course, with your position changed so dramatically, I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in such a position. However, it should help you in securing a qualified person.”

  Belinda knew the man considered her to be a wealthy woman, thanks to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s inheritance. He still hadn’t seemed to realize that she was placing it in the hands of others and would not be drawing from it.

  “It’s . . . it’s not that,” Belinda stammered. “It’s just that I plan to go home.”

  “Oh yes,” the man said with a nod of his head, but she knew he was still puzzled.

  “But I’ll think about the situation as you have suggested,” Belinda agreed.

  All the way home Belinda wrestled with her thoughts. Is a nurse really needed? Am I needed? Is this God’s way of showing me that I should . . . that I can stay on in Boston? Might there be good reason to think that . . . that Drew and I could make a life together after all?

  Belinda felt her cheeks flushing. She did care deeply for Drew, she admitted to herself frankly. But she also realized he had really given her no reason to foster such hopes and dreams. He had been kind and caring and had seemed to enjoy her company, but he had never said or done anything to make Belinda think he might love her.

  Belinda shoved aside her dreams and tried to still her pounding heart. It would be wrong, a great mistake, for her to change her plans based only on hopes that Drew would someday ask her to marry him, she knew. That would be a very awkward situation in which to place herself. And also an awkward situation in which to place Drew. No, she decided, I will not build false dreams that might never come to be.

  I must look for a nurse, she decided resolutely, and with determination she set out to find the proper person.

  On December 10 three more residents moved into the manor. Mr. Rudgers was a tall, thin man with an untidy mustache and a twinkle in his eyes. Belinda took to him immediately. She could well imagine that his humor was going to keep things lively. His eyes fastened on Miss Mitton almost immediately, and Belinda wasn’t sure if he had picked her as a likely target for his good-natured jokes or because there was something in the woman that attracted him. Belinda was sure only time would reveal his real reason.

  Mr. Lewis, wizened and bent from illness or the heavy burden of life itself, had no twinkle in his eyes, only sorrow. But he asked for little, accepted all with appreciation, and contented himself with a chair in the corner. Belinda hoped that life in the manor would soon erase some of the pain from his eyes.

  Mrs. Gibbons was wiry and talkative. She fluttered about here and there, asking questions. And it turned out that the answers were never confidential information. Mrs. Gibbons was very hard of hearing. “Aye?” she would question, a hand cupped to her ear. “I didn’t catch thet.” But it was a sure thing that everyone else in the room had “caught” it. Belinda felt that with Mrs. Gibbons to prompt and prod, everyone would be acquainted in no time at all.

  Three more guests moved in the week before Christmas. The total was now five women and three men. And on December 21, a marvelous thing happened. A retired minister and his wife came to the manor. Their home had been destroyed by fire and they had no means to rebuild. Belinda sorrowed for their loss, but she felt the couple was God’s answer to her prayers.

  The gentle old man smiled as Belinda asked him about becoming the spiritual director for the residents.

  “God be praised, Nettie,” he said, addressing his silverhaired helpmate of many years. “He has given us a home and a place of service—not a shelf on which to sit.”

  Tears traced a path down the woman’s softly wrinkled cheeks. “God be praised,” she echoed.

  Belinda rejoiced right along with them. It was almost Christmas, and with the assigning of the elderly couple to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s former rooms, the manor residents were all in place.

  “Potter, you are in complete charge here,” Belinda informed the administrator. “I don’t wish to interfere—but if there is any way I can help you with your plans for our first Christmas all together, I would be delighted.”

  Potter smiled. “I’d appreciate that, miss,” she acknowledged. “It has been troubling me some.”

  So the two of them sat down and plotted out the plans for the Christmas celebration. The menu was left in the capable hands of Cook and her staff.

  With the help of Sid, Windsor set up a tree in the parlor and decorated the hall with garlands and boughs. Belinda did the shopping, choosing a simple gift for each manor resident. In future years they could exchange names at Christmas and buy small gifts from their allotted monthly funds.

  The long dining room table sparkled with the good china and stemware, and the silver candlesticks held decorated candles. Belinda looked at the table, remembering Christmases past, and concluded that the day would be a special one indeed.

  The fact that Drew was coming made the day even more special. This at first had posed a problem for Belinda. All the staff would be having their dinner in the room off the kitchen. That would mean that Mrs. Simpson and Sid would be eating there. I can hardly ask Drew to eat in the dining room while his mother sits with the staff in a back room, Belinda sighed.

  But a sudden thought made her brighten quickly. She was no longer the mistress of the manor. There was no reason why she couldn’t appoint herself a spot at the staff table, as well. Feeling much better, she went about decorating the staff table. She used good linen from the linen closet, set the table up with china plates, found another set of candlesticks, and arranged small pine boughs and cones. It looked very festive, and Belinda was pleased with the results.

  When Christmas Eve arrived, all was in readiness. The manor was filled with residents—only Belinda’s personal rooms had not been assigned. Belinda still hoped she could turn over her rooms to a resident nurse, but in spite of her inquiries, she had not yet been able to find one.

  Maybe it’s foolish to even hope for such a thing, she told herself. I might happen upon a retired minister, but I’m sure I’ll not find a retired nurse. We may need to content ourselves with doctors who are willing to make house calls.

  The manor board was established, the funds available for the continued support of the home, and physicians had been found who were willing to serve the residents of the manor. Belinda smiled softly to herself. She thought of the long, long months of planning and preparation. Deep within, she felt that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would approve of what she had done.

  If only . . . she thought. If only I had a resident nurse, then everything would be properly in place by Christmas.

  Belinda took one more glance around. Things did look nice. So homey. And it felt homey, too.

  From the music room came the sound of Miss Mitton playing some Christmas carols. Occasionally the teasing voice of Mr. Rudgers reached Belinda. He’s at it again, pestering Miss Mitton with his jokes and comments, she thought wryly. But over the few days they had shared the big house, things had changed. Miss Mitton now giggled in response.

  From the north parlor came animated chatter, with an occasional loud “Aye?” from Mrs. Gibbons. Through the open library door Belinda saw Mrs. Bailey with two other residents discussing their respective books. The manor was alive.

  I wish Aunt Virgie could see this, Belinda thought to herself. I think she would enjoy all the . . . the co
mmotion.

  Belinda was about to turn to the stairs when the doorbell rang. She looked about for Windsor, but since he was not nearby, Belinda went to the door herself. Foolishly, she hoped it might be Drew coming to wish her a Merry Christmas Eve. Her heart beat a bit faster as she opened the door.

  A tall woman stood there, her coat wrapped tightly about her sturdy body, her hat being held in position against the winter wind.

  “Oh, do come in, please,” Belinda quickly invited, wondering what errand the woman had.

  She moved inside, shook the snow from her clothing, and turned to Belinda.

  “I am not expected,” she apologized, “but if it’s possible I would like to see Miss Davis.”

  “I’m Miss Davis,” Belinda responded. “Please come in.”

  Belinda cast a look about her. There was really no private place to take a caller. The library and the music room were occupied, and the north parlor was more than occupied. She hesitated and then motioned toward the formal parlor. She believed that it was available . . . at the moment.

  The woman just stood and looked at her. “But I was . . . I was told that Miss Davis is the mistress here.”

  Belinda looked down at the dusty apron that covered her simple frock. She didn’t look much like the mistress of such a fine manor.

  “I’m sorry . . . I’ve been preparing for Christmas,” she explained with a smile. “The boxes I was digging into were dusty.”

  She removed the apron and tossed it on the hall table.

  “Now . . . Miss . . . Miss. . . ?”

  “Tupper,” supplied the woman. “Mrs. Tupper.”

  “Mrs. Tupper,” Belinda went on, “how may I help you? Do you have a family member staying with us?”

  “Oh no,” the woman quickly replied. “I’ve no connections here.”

  Belinda waited.

  “But I was told that you need a nurse,” the woman said.

  “Yes, we do,” Belinda replied quickly.