Читать книгу Family of Her Dreams - Keli Gwyn - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Spencer didn’t know which amused him more, Luke’s antics or Miss Grimsby’s show of pique. He hid his twitching lips behind his napkin. “Luke, that’s unkind. We must be grateful for what we’re served.”

She set a large bowl of soup on the table, performed an about-face and left the room without a word.

He cast a glance at Mrs. Carter, seated to his left on the other side of Luke with Lila in her lap. The widow appeared to be concealing a smile, too. “You got nothin’ to fear, Mr. Abbott. I slurped a spoonful of the soup earlier, and it’s delicious.”

“I look forward to tasting it myself.”

“But she said the soup was ruined, Papa. I heard her.”

“I said no such thing.” Miss Grimsby placed a platter of fish in front of Spencer that smelled so good his mouth watered. “It’s julienne soup. Not ruined soup. I gather you’ve never had it before.”

Luke shook his head so soundly his long hair flapped from side to side. “Mama didn’t fix things with funny names. She made what Papa likes. Steak and baked potatoes. Not smelly old burned fish.”

“I didn’t burn the fish, Luke. What makes you think that?” Miss Grimsby gazed at the ceiling for several moments.

All of a sudden she nodded. “I understand. You heard me tell Mrs. Carter I was going to make black butter to drizzle over the fish. The butter’s not really black, though. It’s just browned, and it tastes good. I’ll bring in the rest of the food, and you can see for yourself.”

She returned with a dish of small potatoes cut into chunks and sprinkled with herbs, along with a plate of artistically arranged tomato slices. Rather fancy fare for a family supper. Not that Spencer was complaining. Steak and baked potatoes were fine, but a man could do with a change on occasion.

And fresh fish? How had she managed that? This looked to be salmon. His favorite. Trudy couldn’t stomach seafood, so he’d not had any in years.

His gut tightened. Trudy. He’d eat steak and potatoes every day for the rest of his life if that would give him one more hour with her. One more opportunity to take her in his arms, pull her to his chest and feel the silkiness of her hair against his chin. One more chance to tell her how sorry he was for—

“Mr. Abbott?”

“Hmm?”

Miss Grimsby sat at the opposite end of the rectangular table with Lila in her lap. “Did you want to say grace?”

“Yes. Of course.”

She took Lila’s hands in hers, pressed the baby’s palms together and covered them with her own.

Spencer swallowed the boulder that lodged in his throat at the site of his little girl in another woman’s arms, a capable and caring woman as different from Trudy as California was from Texas. A comely woman who’d filled his thoughts far too often since their trackside meeting. “Thank You, Father, for the meal and for...the h-hands that prepared it.”

He cast a furtive glance around the table to see if anyone had noticed his hesitation. Mrs. Carter and Luke’s heads were bowed. Miss Grimsby, on the other hand, had something akin to sympathy on her face. When she realized he’d seen her, she blushed a pretty shade of pink and squeezed her eyes shut. He hastened to cover his halting start. “Thank You that we can gather around the table to enjoy this unexpected treat. Be with us as we partake. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

Miss Grimsby plopped some potatoes on her plate and averted her gaze, for which he was grateful. The only sound was the clink of silverware on porcelain as they filled their plates.

Spencer dipped his spoon into the soup. Despite the strange name, the little strips of vegetables swimming in broth were tastier than he’d expected. Crisp, not mushy—just the way he liked them.

How strange it was to be in the dining room. They hadn’t eaten there since Trudy’s dea— in months. The shirts he’d slung over the chairs were gone, the tabletop gleamed and his wife’s cherished vase overflowed with a massive bouquet. “Those flowers. Where did they come from?”

“We picked them, Papa. Me and her.” Luke pointed to Mrs. Carter.

“They’re from the beds out front, aren’t they?” He hadn’t meant for his question to come out with such force, but—

“They are.” Miss Grimsby eyed him warily. “I thought they would brighten the table and fill the air with a pleasant aroma. Is there a problem?”

“My wife planted them. They were her pride and joy.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

There was no way she could have. The vase was so full of colorful blooms that there couldn’t be many left out front. But there would be more. In time. “It’s all right.”

Miss Grimsby’s fine features relaxed, although he detected pity in the glance she sent him. Sympathy was bad enough, but he wanted no part of pity.

Conversation had ceased following his heated question. Not that he could blame the others for being quiet. The same thing often happened at the rail station when his feelings got the better of him, which happened far too often these days. He must regain control.

His normally unobtrusive daughter wriggled and whimpered. His prospective housekeeper had her hands full holding Lila while trying to eat. The baby’s flailing fist sent Miss Grimsby’s spoon sailing. Then his little girl flung her arms open wide and said “Papa” as clear as you please. Her first word ever, and she’d said it for him.

“It would appear she wants you, sir.”

“So it does. Would you mind bringing her to me?”

Miss Grimsby did so and promptly returned to her seat. He caressed Lila’s cheek. She gave him a dimple-producing smile, showing off her first four teeth. It was hard to believe she was already ten months old and had been without a mother three of them.

It soon became clear he wouldn’t be able to get much eating done with his squirming daughter in his lap. Trudy had always been the one to hold Lila during meals. A woman seemed to have a knack for juggling a baby while eating that he lacked.

“Would you mind bringing your plate down here, Miss Grimsby, and sitting beside me so you can help with Lila?” He inclined his head toward the chair on his right.

“Certainly.” She quickly obliged.

“No!” Luke shrieked. “She can’t sit there. That’s Mama’s chair.”

“What do you think you’re doing, son? You know better than to yell at the supper table.”

“Make her get up.”

“She’s sitting there, and that’s that.” Spencer could understand how difficult it must be for Luke to see another woman in Trudy’s place, but the sooner he accepted the new order of things, the better. Miss Grimsby had already managed to lift the gloom that had settled in on that dark April day when he’d lost Trudy after her unfortunate accident in the garden. The house wasn’t just clean. It felt welcoming for the first time in months.

Lila fussed again, and Spencer turned to comfort her. Something cool and wet hit his cheek and fell to the floor. He hadn’t even figured out what it was when another of the sticky projectiles pelted him in the chest, leaving a round, red spot on his white shirt before sliding beneath his waistcoat. Luke must be lobbing tomato slices at him.

Sure enough, a third slab sailed across the table and landed in his lap. “Lucas Mark Abbott, you stop that this minute, or I’ll—”

“I can handle this, sir. Here.” Miss Grimsby handed Lila to him once again, grabbed Luke by the hand and forced him to follow her. “You’re coming with me, young man.”

Taken unaware, Luke didn’t have time to protest. He shot a pleading look at Spencer, who inclined his head toward Miss Grimsby. “Go.”

Because the attack had taken him by surprise, he’d forgotten his plan to have Miss Grimsby handle any needed discipline and had been ready to take his son to task. She’d taken charge of the situation before Spencer had time to act—a bold but admirable choice. He was curious to see what she’d do.

As much as he detested the thought of leaving the care of his children to a virtual stranger, he had no choice. He’d know soon what type of disciplinarian she was and if she could be trusted with his children.

Mrs. Carter paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “That young woman is just what you been needin’, Mr. Abbott. You’d be a fool to let her get away.” She went right on eating, which suited Spencer, since he couldn’t think of a suitable response.

Lila poked his cheek with a pudgy finger. “Papa.” That one word meant more to him than he’d thought possible. It seemed like only yesterday Luke had said it for the first time.

“Yes, my sweet. I’m your papa. And you’re my little princess.” He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger a moment. Trudy used to say nothing was as soft or sweet as a baby’s skin, and she was right.

But she was gone, and this precious girl would have no memories of her mother. The all-too-familiar ache squeezed his chest.

Spencer strained to hear what was taking place in the parlor, but other than the murmur of voices, he couldn’t make out anything. No screaming. No crying. No spanking. The higher pitch indicated Miss Grimsby was doing most of the talking. He’d like to be privy to that conversation.

A good two minutes went by with Lila gnawing on a potato chunk, Mrs. Carter shoveling in her salmon and Spencer doing his best to clean up the aftermath of Luke’s assault while balancing Lila on one knee. If Miss Grimsby and Luke didn’t return soon, Spencer would have no choice but to intervene.

Moments later Miss Grimsby and Luke appeared in the dining room doorway. Rather than the defiant stance Spencer expected, Luke’s shoulders slumped. He scuffed the toe of his shoe over the wooden floor, his eyes downcast, and mumbled something.

Miss Grimbsy leaned over and spoke softly beside Luke’s ear. “Remember what I said. Look at your papa and say it loudly enough for him to hear.”

“She said I gotta tell you I’m sorry. So, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, son. I’m disappointed. Throwing things is not the way a gentleman deals with his anger. You must be punished for this.”

“He will be, sir.” Miss Grimsby picked up Luke’s plate. “Right now he’s going to finish his meal at the kitchen table. Alone. And tomorrow he’s going to scrub your shirt until the tomato stain is gone.”

With Luke exiled and Lila back in Miss Grimsby’s lap, Spencer was free to enjoy the meal, one of the best he’d been served in a long time. The food rivaled that prepared at the restaurants in Sacramento City’s finest hotels.

Miss Grimsby chatted with Mrs. Carter about the town, the weather and numerous other topics. Spencer made no effort to join in. He was content to enjoy his supper and the fact that—should his conversation with Miss Grimsby afterward prove satisfactory—he’d be having many more like it in the days to come. The prospect of coming home and finding the good-looking woman in his kitchen lifted his spirits more than it should.

A glance at Luke proved that being forced to eat by himself was an effective punishment. The wistfulness in his eyes made Spencer consider overriding Miss Grimsby and allowing Luke to rejoin them. But only for the briefest moment.

If he did hire her, he couldn’t undermine her authority. One didn’t treat one’s employees that way. She deserved respect, and he’d give it to her. In return she would brighten his world and make his days a bit more bearable.

* * *

Tess stood on the porch and watched the wagon grow smaller. With Luke accompanying his father on the trip to take Mrs. Carter home, she could clear the dining table quickly, make short work of the dishes and plan what she’d serve for breakfast.

“If there’s time, lovely Lila, I’ll give you a bath. It doesn’t look like you’ve had one in ages.” She kissed each of the baby’s cheeks and held her close for a minute, savoring the incredible sweetness of having a little one to care for. At ten months, Lila was her youngest charge ever—and so pretty.

The baby had her father’s striking eyes—the brilliant blue of an alpine lake—as well as his golden hair. Luke, on the other hand, must take after his mother, although the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy did have Mr. Abbott’s broad forehead and strong jaw. If he ended up half as handsome as his father, he’d be a fine-looking man one day.

“What am I doing woolgathering when I have work to do?” She set Lila on a blanket in the corner of the kitchen. The little girl banged her blocks together while making sounds resembling speech. At this rate she’d be adding words to her vocabulary in no time.

Lila held out a block to Tess. “Papa.”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not your papa, but he’ll be home soon.” She left the baby attempting to build a tower and attacked the dishes.

What would Mr. Abbott have to say when he talked with her after his return? Perhaps she’d been hasty in her handling of Luke, but if he was allowed to get away with bad behavior, he could turn out like Charlie. Although the boy from her orphanage days was bright, he’d become a bully and a troublemaker. She wouldn’t let that happen to her young charge.

By the time Mr. Abbott and Luke returned, the kitchen was clean, the next day’s breakfast was planned, and Lila was bathed and ready for bed. Tess didn’t relish the tug-of-war sure to take place if Mr. Abbott expected her to put Luke down for the night. Something told her the boy would raise a ruckus. After her travel and hard work, along with the pressure to please, her bed at the hotel was calling her name. By the time she walked the mile back to town, she’d have to force herself to stay awake long enough to complete her toilette.

She went out front with Lila resting against her chest. “I’m glad you’re back. She’s about to nod off.”

“He has.” Mr. Abbott pointed to Luke, asleep on the wagon seat next to him, his head in his father’s lap. “I’ll see if I can get him upstairs without waking him.”

With slow, steady movements, Mr. Abbott extricated himself, gathered Luke in his arms and mounted the stairs. “Come with me please, Miss Grimsby.”

She complied.

Luke didn’t stir as his father carried him to his room and put him to bed. Mr. Abbott rummaged under the rumpled bedding, pulled out a crib-size quilt and laid it next to his sleeping son. “Good night, my boy. May God bless your slumber.” He placed a kiss on Luke’s brow, a gesture so tender that Tess’s lips trembled.

She couldn’t remember anyone ever tucking her in or praying a blessing over her like that. Mr. Abbott might have a serious mien, but he was a caring father.

“Come to Papa, princess.” He took his daughter from Tess and, with a tilt of his head, beckoned her to follow him to Lila’s room.

Mr. Abbott repeated the bedtime routine and launched into a lullaby, his beautiful baritone filling the room. Tess, who loved music but was about as melodic as a mule, marveled at the gift given him. If anyone had told her the stoic stationmaster sang to his children, she wouldn’t have believed it. What a surprising man. She looked forward to learning more about him.

Lila was asleep before her father reached the last verse. He smoothed the sheet over her and placed a small quilt by her side, as he’d done with Luke.

“Your wife’s handiwork I presume?”

“It was the last thing she made. She’d planned to make a quilt for us, too, but...” He released a ragged breath. Tess had a sudden urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder as he gazed at his daughter but stopped herself just in time.

He cast a lingering look at the sleeping girl and turned to Tess, all business once again. “I’ll see to the horses while you’re still here to watch the children. Give me ten minutes, and meet me on the porch.”

“Yes, sir.” He left, and she sank into the cozy rocking chair where Mrs. Abbott had likely nursed the baby. Tess spent a good five minutes listening to the rhythm of the rockers on the wooden floor and drinking in the sight of Lila’s cherubic lips parted as she drew in measured breaths. Lord, if it’s Your plan for me to care for these children, I’d be grateful.

Tess forced herself to leave the nursery. She paused in the doorway of Luke’s room. The sheet Mr. Abbott had spread over his son had become tangled in the short time he’d been in bed. Even in slumber the boy was active.

Luke’s room was strewn with toys, whereas Lila’s was devoid of clutter. Tess would help him clean his, so it would be a pleasant place to play. Not that she could picture him spending much time indoors. He was a boy who needed to get outside and expend some of his abundant energy.

She heaved a wistful sigh, made her way downstairs and busied herself in the kitchen. The parlor clock chimed. A quarter to eight already.

The time had come. She must face Mr. Abbott and find out if her hard work had secured her the position. He’d appreciated the meal. That was clear. But was he willing to welcome another woman into his home and entrust his children to her care—even a competent one such as she?

Tess located him on the porch, his hands resting on the railing, his gaze fixed on some distant point. She’d seen that look on the face of every man she’d worked for, the look of a man surveying his territory, be it his business, his house or his land.

She stood beside him, got a glimpse of his face and fought a wave of nausea. If Mr. Abbott’s scowl was an indication of his thoughts, she’d be on her way back to Sacramento City tomorrow. She didn’t know which would hurt worse—being denied the opportunity to care for adventurous Luke and his adorable baby sister or saying goodbye to their intriguing father.