The Nanny Proposal, page 12
“Did they feed chickens with you?”
Ezra realized with a start that Louie was jealous listening to her talk about the Wells children with such familiarity and tenderness.
Miss O’Brien grinned. “Chickens! Decidedly not. Only the cook handled chicken, and she certainly didn’t feed them.”
Louie’s eyes grew wide. “What did she do with them?”
“Can you guess?”
“Did she cook them?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Miss Hazel?” Louie’s brown eyes filled with concern as he frowned.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to cook our chickens?”
Ezra caught his breath at the look of affection that swept across the nanny’s face. This woman honestly liked Louie. It wasn’t an act to encourage courtship on his part, as he’d observed with more than one woman. He waited to hear the answer to Louie’s question.
“Dear boy, not one of our chickens will see the inside of a pot.”
“Promise?”
“Louie, I do not need to promise to keep my word to you. You can trust me. Our chickens are going to be the fattest, most spoiled pet chickens anyone has ever seen.” She laughed. “They will be like three fat queens sitting on their thrones. And if they deign to offer us eggs, we will thank them for their kind benevolence and back away as befitting royal subjects.”
Ezra chuckled at the absurd description. “Then it’s a good thing your cold cellar is about to be loaded down with fresh pork.”
“Pork?”
“Sure, it’s just about hog-killing time. Several of the farmers take turns helping each other out. As a matter of fact, Robert Bohannon was first this year and he donated a couple of pigs to be roasted tomorrow for the festival.”
Louie nodded vigorously. “The very best food is when Mr. Bohannon roasts a pig out on the spit.” He frowned, narrowing his eyes. “You know what a spit is? I ain’t talking about the kind that comes out of your mouth.”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of the difference between the two. And for the record, one of them is disgusting and quite inappropriate to talk about—or demonstrate—in polite company. Particularly when you are eating.” Her eyes twinkled even as her voice had shifted to a less teasing tone.
He frowned. “Oh! You probably mean the kind that comes out of your mouth.”
“Precisely.”
He hesitated, frowning, then drew in a breath. “What would you call polite company?” He pursed his lips and rocked back on two legs in the chair. Ezra was about to tell him to set the chair straight, but he didn’t want to interrupt.
“Anywhere you are required to be on your best behavior. In other words, where you are expected to use your manners. Like school, as you’ve already discovered, and, for instance, an eating establishment.”
He frowned. “What’s an eating ’stablishment?”
“Anywhere you eat in public and pay for it.” She grinned. “Like this one.”
“But I don’t pay to eat here.”
Ezra chuckled. “That’s because I do. Fix your chair.”
Louie seemed to take that in stride but he dropped his chair down on all four legs. He turned back to Miss O’Brien. “What about church?”
“Most definitely, church is a place for your best manners.”
His eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips before he heaved a sigh and found her gaze. “Henry Avery and me are supposed to have a spittin’ contest after church on Sunday. But I reckon we can go back behind the church so no one sees us.”
Miss O’Brien’s face suddenly went pale. “I—I don’t think you should go behind the church alone. Perhaps another venue for the spitting contest would be better.”
“I don’t see where.”
“The festival, perhaps?”
Louie seemed to consider the suggestion. “I reckon I’ll have to see what Henry has to say about that.” He leveled a sincere gaze at her. “But I can’t make any promises, except if we have to do it Sunday, we’ll go in back where no one sees us bein’ impolite.”
“Well—” She smiled. “I agree going behind the church would be more appropriate than the alternative, so no one sees the disgusting game. Are you certain a contest of that sort is absolutely necessary?”
He nodded, the expression on his face somber. “It is. Henry challenged me. He’ll call me a lily-livered coward if I don’t show up.” He breathed in a sigh—one that sounded long-suffering and made Hazel’s lips turn upward. “He can’t beat me, you know. I’m the town champion.”
“The Tucker Springs champion spitter?”
He grinned proudly, once again pushing back on two chair legs. “Yep. Fannie Willow came close to beating me last summer at the Independence Day celebration, but I won, and she had to give me two cents her pa gave her for peppermint. Boy, did she bawl like a baby.” He laughed and wiggled in the chair, nearly losing his balance.
Ezra reached over and steadied the chair. “Keep it on the floor before you knock it over.”
“Yes, Pa.”
Ezra sucked in his breath. Louie had been uncommonly well-behaved the last couple of days. What was Miss O’Brien doing to make the boy so compliant?
“Fannie Willow? Is she related to a man named Clay?”
Ezra’s head shot up at the widower’s name. “How do you know Clay Willow?”
“Why, I don’t, really.”
A wave of pink spread over her face. She was blushing over Clay Willow’s name?
“Then...”
“Oh, well. If you must know, he pushed me out of the way before Benjamin Gordon’s hammer fell on my head.”
Ezra’s throat went dry at the thought of her being in harm’s way. His ire rose. “Ben threw his hammer at you?”
“Obviously not. It fell from the roof where he was working.”
Relieved, he smiled at his foolish jump to a faulty conclusion. “Then I suppose I should thank Clay for keeping you safe.”
“I already did, obviously. But if you must, you can thank him at the festival. I will be...” She averted her gaze and let her words trail off. Ezra felt an odd sense that something wasn’t quite right. But if she didn’t want to share it with him, he wouldn’t pressure her to do so. He was just her employer—he had no right to know her private business, as long as it didn’t impact Louie.
“Mr. Clay is Fannie Willow’s pa.” Louie, clearly oblivious to the tense undertones of the previous couple of minutes, picked up where he and Miss O’Brien had left off. “And she’s mighty pretty, but I still ain’t gonna let her win a spitting contest.”
Miss O’Brien reached over and pushed away a lock of hair from his eyes. “And any girl worth your attention wouldn’t want you to lose on purpose. She would want to win fair and square. Although I must say, I have never seen a girl enter a spitting contest.”
“Well, she’s been wanting my hunting knife for a long time, and I told her she could have it if she won.”
Talk about contests, and about what they could expect to see at the festival, got them through the rest of the meal. After they finished, Ezra was walking with Miss O’Brien and Louie along the boardwalk that would take them back to the cabin and him to the store when Miss Tucker’s carriage flashed by, nearly tipping on two wheels as it sped through town. “Mercy! What was that all about, I wonder?” Miss O’Brien said.
Ezra frowned. “That’s Miss Tucker’s carriage. But Smith’s not driving it. That’s odd.”
“Why is that odd?” Miss O’Brien asked.
“Because Miss Tucker doesn’t allow anyone else behind the reins. Smith has been her driver, butler, server, everything except her lady’s maid and cook, for as long as I can remember. And his wife, Millie, does the cooking and helps tend to her personal needs.”
“I hope nothing is wrong. I quite like Miss Tucker.”
“You’ve met her?” Ezra knew he hadn’t been with her every second, but when would she have had the opportunity? She hadn’t even had a chance to attend church yet. But then, she was not being forthcoming about Clay, either. She might have many secrets that would surprise him.
“We rode together on the stagecoach.” She smiled. “She told me she would remember me in a few years, when she is riding through town and sees a passel of redheaded children. That was less than a week ago.”
“A lot can happen in a week.”
She sighed. “It certainly can.” They came to a halt in front of the entrance to the store.
“Well, we better get back to the cabin,” Miss O’Brien stated. “Louie still has his sums to do today. Then he has to clean out the queens’ throne room.”
Louie laughed. Then he groaned as he realized what was in store.
Ezra grinned. “The chicken coop?”
“If that’s what you wish to call it. At the palace, we will use its proper name.” She grinned. “Shall we go, Prince Louie?”
“Do princes clean throne rooms?”
“Only the ones who want one of Miz Caroline’s apple fritters.”
He listened to the sound of laughter as she walked away and couldn’t help but wish he was going with them.
Chapter Nine
Saturday finally rolled around, and Ezra breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Louie rush off to find Henry Avery at the festival. It had been a long week of anticipation and preparation. Though the temperature was a bit colder than usual for the harvest festival, the three-week delay hadn’t seemed to discourage the day’s turnout. Wagons dotted the fields at Tillman’s orchard, and a baseball game was already underway. The women would bring pies and jams to enter into contests, and there would be games and livestock for judging. Robert Bohannon had donated two hogs to be roasted. All in all, it would be a fine day. He had to grin as he remembered the entire spit conversation he’d had with Hazel and Louie. While he tried to remember to be respectful and formal when speaking to her, in the privacy of his thoughts, he was finding it harder and harder to think of Hazel as Miss O’Brien.
As far as he was concerned, the only flaw in the otherwise enjoyable day was Clay Willow. If he was being honest, it was not even the man himself who bothered him. The forty-year-old widower with two small children was a fine man, as far as Ezra knew from their limited interactions. He certainly couldn’t fault the man for initiative. Willow did not let any grass grow under his feet before making the most of the fact that there was a new single woman in town. He had apparently invited Miss O’Brien to attend today’s festivities with him and his children. When Ezra had casually asked her what time she would be ready for Louie and him to collect her to visit the festival together, her face had flushed and she’d told him in a soft voice that she already had an escort. Putting two and two together, he now understood her hesitation to discuss Clay at lunch the other day.
The thought had occurred to Ezra that he might want to court her. But he wasn’t altogether certain what was proper what with her living in his cabin and taking care of his son. He wanted to avoid all appearance of evil, like the Bible instructed. But then, the Bible also mentioned that it was a good thing for a man to find a wife. Apparently, Clay thought the same thing and Ezra had waited too long.
So now here he stood pretending to observe the festival but actually inspecting the crowd for the only woman in town with red hair.
He spied them over by the target practice booth. He himself had donated a few doodads as prizes for the children who knocked down all the targets. He walked over just as Fannie Willow, Clay’s six-year-old daughter, won the target practice. Her squeal of excitement brought a grin to his face, especially when she selected a doll from the shelf. “Pa, look!” she said. “It’s the one you always said we can’t afford.”
Clay smiled at his daughter and patted her head, but it was clear the words embarrassed him. Especially said in front of a woman he was courting. “She’s a beautiful doll,” Hazel said. “Your pa must have taught you how to shoot like that.”
Her words immediately brightened Clay’s countenance. And by the time Ezra closed the short distance, Clay’s smile had returned. “My late wife, Emily, made me promise to teach our daughter how to shoot. She said a woman can’t always depend on a man to defend her.”
“She sounds like she was a very wise woman.” She looked down at Fannie and touched the girl’s shoulder. “I know your mother would be very proud of your accomplishment today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl beamed at Hazel, clearly pleased with the praise, before she turned to her pa. “I’m going to go show Clarie!”
Ezra’s throat grew tight as he watched Miss O’Brien with another man’s child. He had assumed her attention and affection toward Louie were indications of a special attachment. But perhaps she was fond of all children equally.
She smiled as he approached. “Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy. Clay’s daughter just won the lovely doll you donated. Did you see?”
It was beginning to chafe the way Hazel felt free to call other men by their first names but persisted in calling him Mister. Still, he forced himself to smile politely. “I did. She’s a good shot.”
Clay chuckled. “She tried to get Hazel to take a shot.”
Miss O’Brien laughed, as well. “I’ve never even held a gun—I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot than to hit a target.”
Why did Clay just spout off the name Hazel just like that, as though they hadn’t just met?
“We are going to watch the baseball game,” she said. “Would you care to join us, Mr. Murphy? Louie said he intends to play. Apparently, he is going to be the one to throw the ball to the batter. I believe he said it is called being the pitcher.”
It was difficult to be annoyed with her when she was choosing to go and encourage Louie even on her day off. “Yes, he loves pitching. He tosses anything with even the hint of a round shape at the fence posts. He hits whatever he’s aiming at about every time.”
They chatted for another minute about the rules of baseball. Hazel had little understanding of the game, but she had a quick mind and grasped the rules easily once they were explained. It would have almost been a pleasant conversation if he hadn’t been irked by the way Clay hovered at her elbow. When the couple—if they could be called that—invited him again to head over to the field where the game would be played, Ezra demurred.
“I’ll be over in a few minutes. I want to speak to the sheriff first.”
He watched as they walked away together. Clay offered his arm...and Hazel put her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Oh, you are not at all happy with that scene.”
The sound of Jennie’s voice drew his head around. She stood with a candied apple in her hand and a grin on her lips. He was just annoyed enough, he wouldn’t inform her that she had a spot of red on her nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. I thought you were sick.”
“I got better. Sorry to disappoint you.” She smirked. “If you were any more jealous of Clay at this moment, your face would be the color of Gilly Bauer’s pea soup.”
He scowled. She was right, of course, but Ezra had no intention of admitting that he was starting to think of Miss O’Brien as a little more than Louie’s nanny. “You’re insane.”
“I heard Miss Joy say that Mrs. Kehoe told her that Clay’s ma came in to have a tooth pulled by the doc yesterday, and she said that Clay was looking for a wife and thought Hazel was just about the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.”
“What of it?”
“What indeed?” She laughed and turned as Micah came upon them and handed her a drink. “Did you give Ezra the good news?”
Jennie blushed and shook her head. “Not yet.”
Ezra looked from Jennie to Micah. “What good news?”
A grin spread across Micah’s face. “Jennie agreed to become my wife.” He took her hand. “Her pa gave his blessing last night.”
Ezra shook Micah’s hand then engulfed Jennie in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet.
“Ugh. I can’t breathe,” she complained.
Ezra set her down and grinned. “Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
“As soon as I can get my dress made,” Jennie said. “And Micah wants to catch the thief first, so that nothing interferes with our day.”
Ezra nodded soberly and addressed the sheriff.
“Not to throw a wet blanket on your good news, but any news about who waylaid Smith at Miss Tucker’s?” Apparently, the sixty-year-old butler had come upon the thief breaking in through one of the upstairs windows. He had been shoved back hard enough to fall down the stairs. Thankfully, Mrs. Smith had found him not long after, and he’d received immediate medical care. His concussion and broken leg were serious injuries, but he was expected to make a nearly full recovery, given enough time.
“It’s just awful,” Jennie said. “He was unconscious until last night. Doc Kehoe said that at Smith’s age, he’ll be laid up for a long time.”
Micah shook his head. “No leads so far. I’ve sent word as far as Iowa City about all the things that have been stolen, but if the thief is still around here, it’s unlikely he’s tried to resell anything—there would be too great a chance of the stolen items being recognized.”
Ezra sighed, disappointed that there wasn’t more news. “I think I’ll go tell Haz—Miss O’Brien about Smith. She knows Miss Tucker and has been concerned.”
When he turned, he saw Miss O’Brien speaking to a belligerent Louie. The boy stomped off and she looked flabbergasted as she looked after him, shaking her head, her hands on her hips. Clay stepped up and said something to her. She touched his arm but shook her head and followed Louie.
Ezra caught Clay’s stormy gaze as he turned away from her. Clay scowled at him then continued watching the game.
* * *
