by Ciara Knight
The front door opened, and in stepped a gentleman Shirley assumed was Mr. Bessler. “Sorry I’m late. I had a run on Slinkys again. Davey, I might need your help after school tomorrow.” The man stopped in his tracks. “Hi, sorry. I’m Victor Bessler.”
“Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Shirley Stephens, the new nanny.”
“But she’s not my nanny,” Davey shouted from the table where he’d already dumped a heaping spoonful of casserole onto his plate and was eating with the fork like he was swinging a bat.
“Understood. But she’s going to help us out around here and be part of our family now, so I hope you give her the old Bessler welcome.”
“Not a Bessler.” Davey buried his nose in his plate as if he were ashamed of his own words.
“You will be soon. I heard back from the attorney in Nashville, and we look good. It should be finalized by the end of February.”
“Really?” Davey and the kids bolted from the table, abandoning their food. Such displays were unsettling. But Rosie and Vic danced around with the children, so Shirley scooped her daughter up into her arms and headed to the kitchen to eat.
“Where’re you going?” Rosie asked.
“If it’s okay, I was going to fix Beth and me a plate and eat.”
Gina came over and took her by the hand. “Don’t be a fuddy duddy. You heard Dad. You’re part of the family now. Davey, get her a chair. Reggie, cup and silverware.”
Davey eyed the table. “Don’t know how to do that, but I’ll bring it out.”
Shirley was overwhelmed at their kindness. She was the hired help, not family. Family meant unconditional love, until you disgraced them. “I don’t mind. No reason to interfere with your time together.”
Rosie took her by the elbow and led her to a chair in the center of the long, beautiful wooden table. “Don’t be silly. Right here. There will always be a place for you at the Bessler table.”
The evening was like a whirlwind of activity, and Shirley could barely keep her eyes open once she put Beth to bed, so she made her apologies and promised to be ready to work tomorrow.
But she wasn’t, because once she fell asleep after so many months and years of having to keep one eye open and worry for Beth’s safety, she finally felt comfortable enough to close both eyes and drift away.
It wasn’t until a man’s voice broke through her dream world that she shot up in bed and looked to the tiny bed Beth had slept in. But Beth wasn’t there. She was gone.
It took Shirley several moments to realize where she was and that she’d overslept. Betty probably already had Beth in tow, so Shirley bolted from bed, dressed quickly, combed her hair, and got ready faster than she’d ever managed in her life. With one last glance in the small oval mirror hung over a dresser, she bolted out the door into the living room and straight into a person. “Sorry.”
“No reason to apologize.”
That voice wasn’t Victor’s. It was Mr. Bishop from the bus. The handsome man who distracted her during most of the trip, the one that she’d finally escaped. Now, he was standing in a strange house alone with her.
Chapter Four
At the sight of Mrs. Stephens, Wayne wanted to investigate this mysterious woman who’d traveled all this way alone with a child. He couldn’t help it. His journalistic curiosity always drove him to find out more about everything. But truth wasn’t always a gift. He’d learned that when he had tracked down his brother in the prison camp, only to discover his demise.
Beth squirmed out of Mrs. Slaughter’s arms and toddled into the room with her arms up to her mother. An angelic little thing with golden red hair and puffy cheeks.
“Good morning, Mrs. Stephens. I’m sorry if I startled you. Mrs. Bessler insisted that we allow you to sleep due to your rigorous journey here. She didn’t want you to fall ill.” He motioned to the woman beside him. “This is Mrs. Slaughter. She runs a boardinghouse I’m staying at while in town and is a friend of the Besslers.”
Mrs. Stephens snatched Beth up and held her tight, as if Mrs. Slaughter had stolen her away and they were just reunited. “I’m not fragile. I’m afraid I overslept, though. I’ll start work immediately.” She sashayed to the hallway, her hips moving like a dancer from a great show he’d once seen in Berlin while on assignment. But Mrs. Stephens was far more beautiful than the stage actress.
“Wait,” Mrs. Slaughter called after her. “You must eat first. You’ll need your strength to keep up with six children, a house, and all the other various activities. I’ve been helping out, but I’m certainly glad to see you. Please, sit. I’m a pretty good cook.”
Mrs. Stephens eyed them both with great suspicion. What caused a woman to be so distrustful? Wayne saw the answer in her eyes. Someone had wronged her or threatened her. Perhaps there was more to her story than a lost husband at war. No, he wasn’t interested in such information. He didn’t need to involve himself in anything beyond the story his editor had sent him to write.
“She’s being modest. She’s an excellent cook.” Wayne pulled out a kitchen chair to allow Mrs. Stephen’s to sit.
For a moment, she remained standing, eyeing the chair as if it were rigged with explosives, but then she sat on the edge like a princess dining at the castle. Before she could even settle, Beth hopped down and ran through the kitchen. She stopped at Mrs. Slaughter for a moment to eat part of a biscuit and then ran to Wayne, where he scooped her up and made her fly. She giggled, bringing such joy into the world. The innocence of a child was a gift. Just not a gift he ever wanted for himself.
Mrs. Slaughter plated some food and placed it in front of a tense Mrs. Stephens. She wouldn’t remain so guarded with a conversationalist like Mrs. Slaughter, though. “Tell me all about your trip. Did you come from New York City?”
“No… What makes you say that?” The way Mrs. Stephens spoke made Wayne suspicious, but he didn’t intrude on their conversation. Instead, he tended to Beth and her infectious joy but remained within listening distance. “I mean, I’m from a small town in Ohio. I’d gone to New York briefly for another job, but it had already been filled by the time I arrived there. That’s when I decided to inquire into this position. It’s much better for Beth to live in a small town than a big city anyway, so this is perfect.”
“She’s a darling thing. And she loves the others. Davey has taken a great liking to her. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s a good boy,” Mrs. Slaughter said with pride, as if she’d raised him herself.
Mrs. Stephens kept her attention on her food, Mrs. Slaughter, and Beth all at once. As if she suddenly managed to acclimate to the strangers and situation, she cleared her throat and asked, “Mr. Bishop, was it?”
“Yes.”
“What brings you to Sugar Maple?”
“Passing through on my way to another job but stopped to check out the town for some family who might move here.” He’d thought of that excuse while lying awake last night formulating a plan to get the story his editor wanted. Besides, it wasn’t a bad idea since it was expensive to live in the city and the kids would thrive more in a small town.
“You two know each other?” Mrs. Slaughter asked.
Mrs. Stephens nibbled at her biscuit, but he caught the blush upon her cheeks. “Only in passing. We were on the same bus on our journey here.” She studied him for a moment. “What kind of family? And why here?”
Wayne scrambled for details beyond his original thoughts. “My sister-in-law lost my brother during the war. I’ve been searching for a place they might be able to settle down far from Detroit. The civil unrest has become a danger to her and her children. I’m afraid she’s suffered from nervousness and worry ever since the troops occupied the streets in 1943. Not to mention the increasing expense of city life.”
“Poor girl,” Mrs. Slaughter said. “She’s all alone, right?”
“Yes. I do what I can for her and my niece and nephew, but I’m not her husband.” A fact he said a little more firmly than he’d intended.
“A wom
an can do just fine without a husband.” Mrs. Stephens cleared her plate and went to the sink. “I should get to work. It’s my first day, and I’d like to do a good job.”
Mrs. Slaughter rose and handed Mrs. Stephens a note. “Rosie asked me to give this to you. It’s the schedule.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Stephens wiped her hands on a towel and opened the note. Her face tensed. “Oh, um. Right. Got it. Thank you.”
“Is there something wrong? I’m happy to help.” Mrs. Slaughter touched Mrs. Stephens’ shoulder, as if to make her listen.
But the woman lifted her chin, scooped Beth up into her arms, and gave her a wooden spoon and a pot to bang on while she went to work. “Thank you, but I can handle everything.”
“Right, well, we’ll get out of your way, then. I’m just up the street at the house that is made of stone and wood. My husband built it himself. As Mr. Bishop said, it’s a boardinghouse now. Since my husband passed during the war and my daughter is grown and gone, the house is empty unless I have guests. Please, feel free to come down to visit. I’ll have tea, coffee, and cakes at two this afternoon. I’m always happy to help any way I can. It keeps me busy so I don’t miss my own family.”
Mrs. Stephens didn’t look up from the note. She studied it as if it were news of her husband.
“Do you know what time you’ll be expecting Mr. and Mrs. Bessler this evening?” Wayne couldn’t help but give Beth one little tweak to her cheeks to make her giggle.
“Says I should have dinner ready at six.”
“Great. I’ll stop by a few minutes before that to meet them. I’d love to know what Mr. Bessler thinks about the town. Good day.” Wayne grabbed his hat and coat from the rack near the front door, but he couldn’t help but glance back at the beautiful, distraught Mrs. Stephens.
Once outside, Mrs. Slaughter paused at the edge of the front walk. “Something tells me that poor girl needs help with something, but she won’t ask for it.”
“I agree. Perhaps she’s been on her own for so long she doesn’t know how to ask for help. We can stop in later to check on her if she doesn’t come by at two,” Wayne offered.
“We? I’m thinking I’ll send you. You’re awful sweet on that baby and I think on her mama, too.” Mrs. Slaughter walked briskly up the slight hill before he could argue with her. Besides, what would his argument be? That she spoke the truth but that didn’t matter because he’d never be worthy of a family? He could barely care for a sister-in-law and her kids. No way he’d ever be capable of raising his own.
Chapter Five
Shirley was thankful that Beth wanted to sit and play with the pots for a while so she could sweep, mop, do dishes, and everything else but start figuring out dinner. How had she not asked about cooking? She’d never even been in a kitchen, not even when they lived in the unwed mothers home. She’d learned how to do patches on clothing and fix hems, though. She found some socks and darned them while Beth sat at her feet playing with a wooden car, but still, no food.
She eyed Beth, who stood and ran over to her with open arms. “Mommy!”
Life could be good here, and she’d be safe in this out-of-the-way town where no one would discover the truth. She couldn’t make a mistake, not when it was her first real chance to take care of her child.
“My love, guess what? It’s time to make food.”
Beth blinked at her as if she were speaking German, but she apparently understood enough because she ran into the kitchen and plopped down in the center to enjoy her pot banging again. Shirley was starting to regret her ploy to get Mrs. Slaughter and Mr. Bishop out of the house earlier. She spun around the kitchen, opened and closed cabinets and refrigerator, but she didn’t know what to do with any of it. “Recipes. There has to be a book or something in here.”
She rummaged through every drawer and cabinet until she spotted a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. Relief fluttered through her until she opened to the pages upon pages of different recipes, ingredients, measurements, and jargon she didn’t understand.
It was a start, so she took a deep breath and flipped through to find what appeared to be the easiest thing to make. Pork chops. She’d had those before, and they were delicious with potatoes. She rummaged through and saw a chicken with a note—chicken and dumplings—on it. With a hint of excitement and fear, she flipped through the cookbook and found a Chicken with Dumplings recipe. The directions weren’t too complicated with the chicken, but the dumplings seemed more challenging. She was smart, top of her class in school. She could do this.
It didn’t take long for her to find a big pot and manage to disassemble the bird. The poor thing looked like she’d given it to the dogs and then taken it back, but it would look better after it simmered for two and a half hours or so. She tossed in a couple of celery sticks and carrots and onion and then poured some water in about a third of the way up and turned on the stovetop.
Relieved with her ingenuity, she looked to Beth, who’d abandoned the pot for the wooden car again. “I think we’ve got this, darling. I’m not sure what I was so scared of.” She’d slipped into her formal accent she’d worked so hard to lose since it would be a giveaway to her upper-class heritage. It would be all right while she was alone with Beth, though.
After she fed, bathed, and dressed Beth, Shirley decided some fresh air would do them some good, so she bundled Beth up and donned her own coat to go for a short walk. It was nearly one, and she’d have to be home for the kids to set up the snack and help them with their homework by three in the afternoon, so she decided to not go into town yet. Up and down the street would do well for their first outing.
It was unnervingly quiet without the sound of honking horns and trains and boisterous conversations.
“Mrs. Stephens, how are you?” Mr. Bishop came running out from the stone house waving.
Mrs. Slaughter joined him on the front porch. “Come have some tea and treats with us.”
Beth jumped up and down, her little curls bouncing at her ears. “Treats. Treats.”
It would be rude to not accept the invitation, but what choice did she have? “I’m afraid I need to get back to get ready for the kids. Besides, it isn’t two o’clock yet.”
“Never you mind the time. Come on inside and rest a bit. I’m sure you’ve been busy today.”
Shirley didn’t know what to do with Beth so excited. Her poor girl had been such an angel on the bus, and it had been months since she’d had a real treat. “Thank you, but only for a couple of minutes. I don’t want to do anything wrong on my first day.”
Mrs. Slaughter ushered them inside while Mr. Bishop held the door open. The kitchen was larger than Mrs. Bessler’s, but she still had an old-fashioned, wood-burning stove and no freezer. “Please sit.”
Shirley removed her hat, and Mr. Bishop took her coat, his hands grazing her shoulders, sending an unwelcomed jolt through her body. “Beth, just one, and remember, we can’t stay long. The other children will be home for you to play with soon.”
Mrs. Slaughter plated some delicious-looking cookies and cakes and placed them at the center of the table. Shirley waited for the small plates, but when Mr. Bishop grabbed one and put it in his mouth while standing, she realized this wouldn’t be a proper social gathering, so she took one and handed it to Beth, who squealed with delight.
Her daughter took a bite. “Mmmm.”
“I believe she likes them. Thank you.” Shirley’s heart warmed at watching her little one enjoy a special treat.
Beth shoveled the rest into her mouth, sending crumbs down her dress, and then grabbed for another one. “No, Beth. I said one. And look at the mess you’ve made.”
“No harm done.” Mrs. Slaughter came around the table and brushed the crumbs onto the floor. “I’ll sweep in a little bit anyway.”
Shirley couldn’t imagine if her mother walked into the room right now. The woman would’ve swooned at the sight. No servants, no proper place setting, no manners.
“Please, have one. I would love
your opinion since it’s a new recipe I’ve created.”
“Mrs. Slaughter is such a good cook. The best I’ve ever had, I think,” Mr. Bishop said.
Shirley thought for a moment about how much this would displease her mother, so she decided to take one and nibble the edge. “Oh my, this is delicious.” She bit her tongue to stop her slip about how it was better than any cook had made while she was growing up.
“I’m so pleased you like it.” Mrs. Slaughter clapped her hands together. “I’ll get the tea.”
Mr. Bishop sat down next to Shirley and twirled his finger around in front of Beth, who seemed to enjoy the motion, since she grabbed at it.
“She’s been excited today since it’s her first day of being able to run around after being stuck in the bus all that time.”
“I feel the same way.” Mr. Bishop grabbed another cake and sat down at the table, where he rested his elbows. “Why did you say you were in New York again?”
Shirley tensed. Why would he ask such a question? She ate the rest of the cookie in one giant, unladylike bite and rose from the table. “Mr. Bishop, please excuse me. I really need to get back. I have chicken on the stove.”
“Wayne, please.” He stood and retrieved her coat. “Perhaps tomorrow we can chat more.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be far too busy. Tomorrow is washing day.” She slid her arm through her coat, careful not to allow Wayne to touch her again, and then swooped Beth up into her arms.
“No, walk. Mommy. I walk,” Beth cried out, so Shirley put her on the floor.
“You must hold my hand, then.”
She nodded her head like a woodpecker on fresh wood.
“Let me walk you home.” He slid his coat and then hat on before Shirley could refuse. “Be right back, Mrs. Slaughter. I’m walking Mrs. Stephens home.”
“Already? You just got here.” Mrs. Slaughter looked more than disappointed, tugging at Shirley’s will, but with one glance at Mr. Bishop, she knew she had to leave.