The Nanny Proposal, page 4
“There’s always potato salad and fried chicken and cakes and such. Sometimes Mr. Bohannon roasts a pig. But mostly he just does that for festivals. And Mrs. Bauer over at the post office always makes potato dumplings.”
“Potato dumplings? I’ve never heard of them.”
He nodded. “Mrs. Bauer’s pa and ma brought her over from the old country when she was no bigger’n me, and that’s how she learned to make the potato dumplings. She talks a little funny. Mr. Bauer came over from the old country when he was a lad, he said. He talks real funny.”
Hazel’s lips stretched into a smile. “Which old country?”
He frowned again, then shrugged, clearly deciding not to be bothered with such a small detail. “I don’t rightly know. How many are there?”
“A lot. As a matter of fact, just about every country in the world is an old country compared to America. We are just shy of one hundred years old.” Which, it occurred to her, the child should already know. “Do you attend school yet, Mr. Murphy?”
“I did, but not anymore.” He rocked back onto two legs of the chair. “Miss Stewart says I ain’t allowed. She said I got to learn to behave myself and use my manners before I can come back. And she doubts that’ll be any time soon.”
Worry gnawed at Hazel’s stomach, as the boy’s feet barely reached the floor. “I think you’d best not lean back like that. You could fall.”
A frown scrunched his nose. “Aw, I do it all the time.”
“Fine. So no school?”
He shrugged. “I went for a couple days, and it wasn’t that great anyway. I think I’m better off just stayin’ away from that place.”
“What didn’t you like?”
“Staying put, for one thing. And Archie couldn’t go.” He scrunched his nose. “And Miss Stewart kept trying to teach me my letters.”
“You don’t want to learn to read?” Feeling a bit more like herself, Hazel inched herself up. “You have to learn your letters to read.”
He scowled. “I already learned. Miss Jennie showed me all the letters and told me how they sound. It’s easy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give up on school altogether. I’m sure there are still things for you to learn. And you seem like a very bright boy.”
His face lit up at the praise, but before he could respond, the chair legs slid out from under him, and he and the wooden chair made prompt contact with the ground.
“Gracious, are you hurt?” She stood to help him, but before she could reach him, the elder Mr. Murphy stepped in the room, a steaming pot of water in his hands.
“What was that crash?” His eyes widened at the sight of the boy on the ground. “Are you hurt?”
“No, sir.” Louie stood up, clearly a bit dazed but seeming otherwise intact.
“Is he bothering you?” For a second, Hazel was too intent on looking over the boy, making sure he wasn’t hiding or ignoring an injury, to realize that Mr. Murphy was speaking to her.
She shook her head. “I appreciate the company. It kept me from thinking too much about...other things.”
He nodded before he carefully poured the water into a washbasin that sat on a table next to the wall. Once that was taken care of, he squatted down and put his arm around his son. “You sure you’re not hurt, son?”
The tenderness in his voice as he spoke to Louie broke down the emotional wall that Hazel had been hiding behind ever since the scene on the boardwalk.
She’d thought she was going to have that for herself. Not a loving father, no—life had long since disabused her of ever achieving that dream. But someone to love and cherish her, someone to care for her comfort and work for her happiness. All through the journey to reach this miserable town, she’d reminded herself that every stomach-turning, bone-jarring mile of the journey was taking her that much closer to her husband, who had promised to love her, to protect her, to build a life with her. She’d been just on the verge of having all that, of knowing that she’d never have to be alone again.
And now, it was all gone. Her hopes, her dreams, her plans. They’d all come to nothing in the end. Tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed against a sob. She had been jilted in front of an entire town by a man who would never deliver on all the plans they’d made. The wedding, the husband, the home. The children that they would cherish together as this man in front of her did his son. None of it would ever happen now.
She closed her eyes against this awful reality.
“She’s falling asleep again, Pa. What’s wrong with her?”
Even through her overwhelming sadness and disappointment, Hazel felt a tiny twinge of amusement at this boy and his innocent question. She opened her eyes. “I’m not asleep.” She allowed a small smile through her tears. “And I’m still not dead.” She would have liked to assure him that nothing was wrong with her, but she refused to lie.
She glanced around and realized her trunk was on the floor next to her. She looked up at Mr. Murphy, who was regarding her with an unreadable expression. “Thank you so much for your kindness.”
He shrugged. “It’s the least I could do after the day you’ve had.”
He turned to the boy. “Louie, let’s give Miss O’Brien some privacy.” The boy bounded out of the room, and at the door, Mr. Murphy glanced back at her. “Like I said, you can lock the door. I’ll check on you in an hour or so, if that’s all right?”
She nodded. “Thank you again.”
He closed the door behind him, and she stepped over and turned the key in the lock.
As she opened her trunk and chose clean clothes, she thought about her situation. She had been through too much in her life to waste any more time dwelling on the devastating blow Benjamin Gordon had dealt her. She was as much at fault as he, she supposed, for having foolishly fallen for his sweet words and promises. The first sixteen years of her life, she’d been surrounded by half-truths and confidence games. She’d thought herself too wise and too cautious to be taken in, so the thought that she had allowed herself to be a victim of that kind of ruse sickened her as much as anything. There was certainly no way to salvage the life that she had hoped for in Tucker Springs—a new start as a respectable wife and member of the community where no one knew that her pa was a thief and that her sister was following in his footsteps. But for better or for worse, she was here now and would have to figure out her next steps. There was nothing to do but force her muddled brain to clear and her tired legs to move, gather as much dignity as she could muster, and face the people who were undoubtedly mocking her mistake.
Her mood had improved some by the time she was presentable once again. She was grateful for the dry warmth of a clean dress and equally grateful that she had some sensible boots she could wear that were more suited to the weather and the condition of the roads.
A knock resounded through the room. She twisted the key and opened the door. A middle-aged woman stood there, holding out a covered plate. Whatever was under that towel smelled delicious. Hazel was suddenly reminded of just how long it had been since she had eaten anything.
“Hello, dear,” the rather round woman said. “I’m Caroline Avery.” She bustled in and set the plate on the small table by the basin. “We own the café next door. You must be starving. I brought you something to tide you over until supper. While you’re in town, we expect you to eat lunch at the café. Breakfast, too, if you’re so inclined.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure...” How could she afford the luxury of eating meals at a restaurant? She’d need every penny she still had—and then some—just to get back to Boston. How could she afford the luxury of eating at all?
“Obviously, we want you to eat there as our guest,” Mrs. Avery insisted. “It’s rare that we get a new woman in town. It’ll be lovely to hear all about living in Boston. Must be exciting to be a nanny to fine folks.”
“H-how did you know about that?” Had Benjamin bragged about his trickery to the townspeople?
“You told Ezra you came from Boston and that you were a nanny.”
“I did. I’d forgotten telling anyone.”
“And not only that, but I cornered Ben the second Ezra carried you off and made him tell me the whole story.” Mrs. Avery offered a bit of a sheepish smile. “I’m not proud that I waylaid him to get the information, but his ma was one of my dearest friends for thirty years, and I felt it my obligation to do what she can’t—rest her soul.”
“Well...” Hazel had no idea what to say to that.
Mrs. Avery waved her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I know Ben and Ivy didn’t mean for you to be caught in the middle of their mix-up, but that does not excuse how poorly he handled things. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d slapped him.”
Hazel’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve never cared much for violence.”
“Of course you haven’t. I can tell you’re a fine Christian woman.”
Fine Christian? Hazel believed in God, but she was not at all certain that she walked in the Lord’s grace. Surely the Lord didn’t approve of her choice to withhold the entire truth from Benjamin—that she’d been dismissed from her position before she ever answered his advertisement for a wife. Perhaps she was reaping what she’d sown. Deceit for deceit.
Mrs. Avery planted her work-worn hands on her generous hips. “Now, I’ve been told your name is Hazel O’Brien, but what do I call you?”
Hazel offered the best smile she could muster. “Hazel, please.”
Mrs. Avery nodded and smiled in return. “Then you must call me Caroline, or at least, Miz Caroline. I insist. You’ll find that while we try to be proper, we are not very formal in Tucker Springs.”
“Mrs. Avery—”
She shook her head. “Caroline.”
“Miz Caroline—” Hazel couldn’t help but feel warmed all the way through by this woman’s kindly demeanor and friendliness. “Thank you so much for bringing me food.”
She nodded. “I’ll go get you a glass of water to go with it.”
“Thank you.”
Grabbing her reticule, Hazel quickly counted her money while Miz Caroline was out of the room. She had enough to book her stagecoach ride back to Iowa City. To fund the rest of her journey, she would need to sell some of the finer things Mrs. Wells had generously given her over the years.
Now that her thoughts were beginning to get organized, she took in a deep cleansing breath, then exhaled. After she ate, she would send a telegram to Mrs. Wells and beg her for help securing a new position. Mr. Wells would not allow her return to that household, but surely Mrs. Wells had friends who would be willing to give her a chance.
As she stuffed the bills back into the reticule, her fingers brushed against the tintype of Benjamin. She pulled it out. Staring at his face brought back all the feelings of hope that had carried her to this town. The dreams of building a life with a husband and finally becoming a part of something—a family, a community. Tears sprang quickly to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“Here we go.” Miz Caroline returned carrying a glass of water. She stopped short at the sight of Hazel wiping away the tears. “Oh, honey. You’re going to be just fine. God always has a plan.”
“I know. I truly do. It’s just so hard to see hope during these awful times.” Hazel swiped fruitlessly at the tears that continued to fall. “I’m so ashamed about all of it.”
“Hogwash. You’ve done nothing wrong. Ben Gordon is the one who should be ashamed.” Miz Caroline snatched a small towel from a shelf. She poured a little of the cool water onto the cloth, then handed it to Hazel.
As anger at Benjamin replaced despair, Hazel’s tears ended. “You’ll get no argument from me on that point.” She wiped her face with the cool cloth. “But I still feel foolish for never even considering what I would do if our arranged marriage did not take place.” She checked her appearance and twisted her hair back into place. “Do you know where I might stay tonight? I’ll take the stagecoach tomorrow and return to Iowa City.”
“I hate to tell you this, but the stage only stops in Tucker Springs twice a week. The driver won’t be back until Monday.”
Hazel’s stomach clenched, and her thoughts went to the few scant bills rolled inside her reticule. “Then I suppose I’ll need several nights’ lodging. Can you recommend someplace to rent a room?”
“’Fraid not, hon.” Miz Caroline shook her head. “The hotel has been closed since a twister came through town a couple of months ago. Several buildings were damaged—I’m sure you noticed that when driving through town—but the building with the saloon and hotel was practically split in two.”
“And that was the only place to rent a room? There are no boardinghouses?”
Again, she shook her head. “There used to be one, but the widow who owned it found a fellow over in Missouri and up and moved. They sold the place to the Bullocks, who have eight children and no spare rooms to let.”
“Eight! Mercy.”
“Honey, I have ten. All ages—from my oldest, Wyatt, who’s close to thirty, all the way down to little Henry, who’s just eight.” She laughed. “Most of the folks around here are packed into their houses tighter than a drum, but don’t you worry. We won’t leave you out in the cold, even if I have to stuff you into a corner with my girls. And for tonight that’s just what I’ll do, if you’re amicable to it. The Lord has a remedy for every problem that arises. All we have to do is ask for guidance.”
“Yes, ma’am.” While she didn’t doubt God’s ability to turn all things for good, in Hazel’s experience, God was in no hurry to reveal His plan.
“Good. That’s settled, then.” Miz Caroline planted her hands on her generous hips. “Well, then. My son Wyatt is over at the livery hitching up the wagon, and just as soon as my daughter Jennie closes the café and gets herself on over here, we’ll go out to the house.”
Hazel nodded. “I thank you for the kindness.”
Miz Caroline chuckled. “Honey, just wait to thank me until after you spend the night with a roomful of girls. Trust me, you’ll have to put up with a lot of talking, a bit of arguing, some giggling and lots of girlish emotions.”
It sounded like a lot of love to Hazel. “I have a sister, too.” Rose and she had lived a life with few occasions to giggle. But while they were growing up, they had taken advantage of the opportunities that came. When she had gotten Rose the job with the Wells family, she’d hoped that they could resume their closeness—but it was Rose’s closeness to their father that she should have noticed, before it ruined everything. She still recalled seeing her sister for the last time two weeks after their dismissal from the Wellses’. Hazel had begged her to return the pin, but their pa had already sold it and spent the money, and Rose had only had tired excuses to offer.
“I’m glad you think so.” The creases by Miz Caroline’s eyes deepened as she smiled. “Let’s see how nice you think it is tomorrow after a night of it.”
Hazel felt a surge of envy and tried to repress it. Miz Caroline—and Mr. Murphy as well, for that matter—had been nothing but kind and generous. She was grateful to them. But she couldn’t help feeling saddened at the comparison of her life to theirs. They had so much more than they knew. And she had almost joined them in living a life with family and friends in a community where everyone looked out for the other.
Instead, she was homeless again, with no prospects. Rather than seeing the last of Boston or New York, where she’d spent her uncertain childhood, she was going to be forced to return in disgrace.
This life that she’d dreamed of—stable and safe with a home and family that couldn’t be taken away—all that simply wasn’t meant for her. She’d been foolish to believe otherwise. She was intended to live poor and isolated. The sooner she resigned herself to that, the better.
Chapter Three
At Mr. Murphy’s generous insistence, Hazel left her trunk in the storeroom so that there was no need to haul it to the Averys’ home. She had stuffed the smaller, more portable carpetbag as full as she could with items to last her the next four days. Even though the Averys had only extended their invitation for tonight, it was clear that wherever she ended up, her burdensome trunk would be an inconvenience. Best to leave it at the general store, where it would be convenient for the stagecoach driver to fetch it when he came on Monday.
Jennie Avery, a cheerful young woman with kind blue eyes and her mother’s welcoming manner, had come over from the café in short order, and the women had departed for the Averys’ home. When they reached the two-story farmhouse seven miles outside of town, they were greeted by a tousled boy that Hazel assumed must be Henry—the youngest Avery child and the boy with whom Louie Murphy had sneaked a peek at the unfortunate Mr. Carter in his deceased state. She smiled at the child. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He held out his hand for her satchel.
“Oh, it’s very...” She was going to say “heavy,” but his eyes narrowed in annoyance before she could even get the word out of her mouth. She was too familiar with the pride of boys that age to think that her warning would be taken as anything other than an insult. Instead, she nodded. “Well, you look pretty strong. I’ll leave it to you to decide what you can handle.”
He beamed with pride as she handed the bag over...but then his arm jerked downward as he took it, and his face grew red.
“Oh, Henry!” Jennie snatched the bag from the lad. “What are you trying to prove?”
“I can do it.”
“Ma! Would you do something before he hurts himself?”
