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Feeling discouraged, she trudged to her car. Live-in positions weren’t very common, and she wondered how long she’d have to wait. If need be, she’d look on her own, praying that God would lead her to a position somewhere.
Standing beside her car, she searched through her shoulder bag for her keys and, with them, pulled out the slip of paper with David Hamilton’s phone number. She didn’t recall putting the number in her bag, and finding it gave her an uneasy feeling. She tossed the number back into her purse.
The winter air penetrated her heavy woolen coat, and she unlocked the car door and slid in. As thoughts butted through her head, she turned on the ignition and waited for the heat.
Money wasn’t an immediate problem; residing with others, she’d been able to save a tidy sum. But she needed a place to live. If she stayed home, would she and her mother survive? God commanded children to honor their parents, but had God meant Callie’s mother? A faint smile crossed her lips at the foolish thought. Callie knew her parents had always meant well, but meaning and reality didn’t necessarily go hand in hand.
Indianapolis had a variety of hospitals. She could probably have her pick of positions in the metropolitan area, then get her own apartment or condo. But again the feeling of emptiness consumed her. She wasn’t cut out for hospital nursing.
Warmth drifted from the car heater, and Callie moved the button to high. She felt chilled deep in her bones. Though the heat rose around her, icy sensations nipped at her heart. Her memory turned back to her telephone call the previous evening and to a little child who needed love and care.
She shook the thought from her head and pulled out of the parking lot. She’d give the agency a couple of weeks. If nothing became available, then she’d know Bedford was God’s decision. By that time, the position might already be taken, and her dilemma would be resolved.
Callie glanced at David Hamilton’s address again. Bedford was no metropolis, and she’d found the street easily.
Two weeks had passed and no live-in positions had become available, not even for an elderly patient. Her twenty-sixth birthday had plodded by a week earlier, and she felt like an old, jobless woman, staring at the girlish daisy wallpaper in her bedroom. Life had come to a standstill, going nowhere. Tired of sitting by the telephone waiting for a job call, she had called David Hamilton. Despite his lack of warmth, he had a child who needed someone to love her.
Keeping her eyes on the winding road lined with sprawling houses, she glanced at the slip of paper and reread the address. A mailbox caught her eye. The name Hamilton jumped from the shiny black receptacle in white letters. She looked between the fence pillars, and her gaze traveled up the winding driveway to the large home of oatmeal-colored limestone.
She aimed her car and followed the curved pathway to the house. Wide steps led to a deep, covered porch, and on one side of the home, a circular tower rose above the house topped by a conical roof.
Callie pulled in front, awed by the elegance and charm of the turn-of-the-century building. Sitting for a moment to collect her thoughts, she pressed her tired back against the seat cushion. Though an easy trip in the summer, the two-hour drive on winter roads was less than pleasant. She thanked God the highway was basically clear.
Closing her eyes, she prayed. Even thinking of Mr. Hamilton sent a shudder down her spine. His voice presented a formidable image in her mind, and now she would see him face-to-face.
She climbed from the car and made her way up the impressive steps to the wide porch. Standing on the expanse of cement, she had a closer view of the large tower rising along the side. Like a castle, she thought. She located the bell and pushed. Inside, a chime sounded, and she waited.
When the door swung open, she faced a plump, middle-aged woman who stared at her through the storm door. The housekeeper, Callie assumed. The woman pushed the door open slightly, giving a flicker of a smile. “Miss Randolph?”
“Yes,” Callie answered.
The opening widened, and the woman stepped aside. “Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you in the family parlor. May I take your coat?”
Callie regarded her surroundings as she slid the coat from her shoulders. She stood in a wide hallway graced by a broad, curved staircase and a sparkling crystal chandelier. An oriental carpet covered the floor, stretching the length of the entry.
Two sets of double doors stood closed on the right, and on the left, three more sets of French doors hid the rooms’ interiors, leaving Callie with a sense of foreboding. Were the doors holding something in? Or keeping something out? Only the door at the end of the hallway stood open, probably leading to the servants’ quarters.
The woman disposed of Callie’s coat and gestured for her to follow. The housekeeper moved to the left, rapped lightly on the first set of doors, and, when a muffled voice spoke, pushed the door open and stepped aside.
Callie moved forward and paused in the doorway. The room was lovely, filled with floral-print furnishings and a broad mantel displaying family photographs. Winter sunlight beamed through a wide bay window, casting French-pane patterns on the elegant mahogany grand piano. But what caught her off guard the most was the man.
David Hamilton stood before the fireplace, watching her. Their eyes met and locked in unspoken curiosity. A pair of gray woolen slacks and a burgundy sweater covered his tall, athletic frame. His broad shoulders looked like a swimmer’s, and tapered to a trim waist.
He stepped toward her, extending his hand without a smile. “Miss Randolph.”
She moved forward to meet him halfway. “Mr. Hamilton. You have a lovely home. Very gracious and charming.”
“Thank you. Have a seat by the fire. Big, old homes sometimes hold a chill. The fireplace makes it more tolerable.”
After glancing around, she made her way toward a chair near the hearth, then straightened her skirt as she eased into it. The man sat across from her, stretching his long legs toward the warmth of the fire. He was far more handsome than she had imagined, and she chided herself for creating an ogre, rather than this attractive tawny-haired man whose hazel eyes glinted sparks of green and brown as he observed her.
“So,” he said. His deep, resonant voice filled the silence.
She pulled herself up straighter in the chair and acknowledged him. “I suppose you’d like to see my references?”
He sat unmoving. “Not really.”
His abrupt comment threw her off balance a moment. “Oh? Then you’d like to know my qualifications?”
“No, I’d rather get to know you.” His gaze penetrated hers, and she felt a prickling of nerves tingle up her arms and catch in her chest.
“You mean my life story? Why I became a nurse? Why I’d rather do home care?”
“Tell me about your interests. What amuses you?”
She looked directly into his eyes. “My interests? I love to read. In fact, I brought a small gift for Natalie, some children’s books. I thought she might like them. I’ve always favored children’s literature.”
He stared at her with an amused grin on his lips.
“I guess I’m rattling. I’m nervous. I’ve cared for the elderly, but this is my first interview for a child.”
David nodded. “You’re not much beyond a child yourself.”
Callie sat bolt upright. “I’m twenty-six, Mr. Hamilton. I believe I qualify as an adult. And I’m a registered nurse. I’m licensed to care for people of all ages.”
He raised his hand, flexing his palm like a policeman halting traffic. “Whoa. I’m sorry, Miss Randolph. I didn’t mean to insult you. You have a very youthful appearance. You told me your qualifications on the telephone. I know you’re a nurse. If I didn’t think you might be suited for this position, I wouldn’t have wasted my time. Nor yours.”
Callie’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I thought, you—”
“Don’t apologize. I was abrupt. Please continue. How else do you spend your time?”
She thought for a moment. “As I said before, I love to read. I enjoy the theater. And the outdoors. I’m not interested in sports, but I enjoy a long walk on a spring morning or a hike through the woods in autumn— Do I sound boring?”
“No, not at all.”
“And then I love…” She hesitated. Music. How could she tell him her feelings about music and singing? So much time had passed.
His eyes searched hers, and he waited.
The grandfather clock sitting across the room broke the heavy silence. One. Two. Three.
He glanced at his wristwatch. “And then you love…”
She glanced across the room at the silent piano. “Music.”
Chapter Three
Callie waited for a comment, but David Hamilton only shifted his focus to the piano, then back to her face.
She didn’t mention her singing. “I play the piano a little.” She gestured toward the impressive instrument. “Do you play?”
David’s face tightened, and a frown flickered on his brow. “Not really. Not anymore. Sara, my wife, played. She was the musician in the family.”
Callie nodded. “I see.” His eyes flooded with sorrow, and she understood. The thought of singing filled her with longing, too. They shared a similar ache, but hers was too personal, too horrible to even talk about. Her thought returned to the child. “And Natalie? Is your daughter musical?”
Grief shadowed his face again, and she was sorry she’d asked.
“I believe she is. She showed promise before her mother died. Nattie was four then and used to sing songs with us. Now she doesn’t sing a note.”
“I’m sorry. It must be difficult, losing a wife and in a sense your daughter.” Callie drew in a deep breath. “Someday, she’ll sing again. I’m sure she will. When you love music, it has to come out. You can’t keep it buried inside of…”
The truth of her words hit her. Music pushed against her heart daily. Would she ever be able to think of music without the awful memories surging through her? Her throat ached to sing, but then the black dreams rose like demons, just as Nattie’s singing probably aroused sad thoughts of her mother.
David stared at her curiously, his head tilting to one side as he searched her face. She swallowed, feeling the heat of discomfort rise in her again.
“You have strong feelings about music.” His words were not a question.
“Yes, I do. She’ll sing. After her pain goes away.” Callie’s thoughts turned to a prayer. Help me to sing again, Lord, when my hurt is gone.
“Excuse me.” David Hamilton rose. “I want to see if Agnes is bringing our tea.” He stepped toward the door, then stopped. “Do you like tea?”
Callie nodded. “Yes, very much.”
He turned and strode through the doorway. Callie drew in a calming breath. Why did she feel as if he were sitting in judgment of her, rather than interviewing her? She raised her eyebrows. Maybe he was.
In only a moment, David spoke to her from the parlor doorway. “Agnes is on her way.” He left the door open, and before he had crossed the room, the woman she’d seen earlier entered with a tray.
“Right here, Agnes. On the coffee table is fine.” He gestured to the low table that stretched between them. “Miss Randolph, this is Agnes, my housekeeper. She’s caring for Nattie until I find someone.”
“We met at the door. It’s nice to know you, Agnes.” The woman nodded and set the tray on the highly polished table.
“Agnes has been a godsend for us since we lost Miriam.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, glancing at him. “Would you like me to pour?”
“No, I’ll get it. You have plenty to do.” With a flicker of emotion, his eyes rose to meet the woman’s. “By the way, have you checked on Nattie lately?”
“Yes, sir, she’s coloring in her room.”
“Coloring? That’s good. I’ll take Miss Randolph up to meet her a bit later.”
Agnes nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. David poured tea into the two china cups. “I’ll let you add your own cream and sugar, if you take it,” he said, indicating toward the pitcher and sugar bowl on the tray. “And please have a piece of Agnes’s cake. It’s lemon. And wonderful.”
Callie glanced at him, astounded at the sudden congeniality in his voice. The interview had felt so ponderous, but now he sounded human. “Thanks. I take my tea black. And the cake looks wonderful.” She sipped the strong tea, and then placed the cup on the tray and picked up a dessert plate of cake.
David eyed her as she slivered off a bite and forked it into her mouth. The tangy lemon burst with flavor on her tongue. “It’s delicious.”
He looked pleased. “I will say, Agnes is an excellent cook.”
“Has she been with you long?”
He stared into the red glow of the firelight. “No—a half year, perhaps. Miriam, my past housekeeper, took Nattie—took all of us—under her wing when Sara died. She had been with my parents before their deaths. A longtime employee of the family. She retired. Illness and age finally caught up with her. Her loss has been difficult for us.”
He raised his eyes from the mesmerizing flames. “I’m sorry, Miss Randolph. I’m sure you aren’t interested in my family tree, nor my family’s problems.”
“Don’t apologize, please. And call me Callie.” She felt her face brighten to a shy grin. “Miss Randolph sounds like my maiden aunt.”
For the first time, his tense lips relaxed and curved to a pleasant smile. “All right. It’s Callie,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Is that short for something?”
“No, just plain Callie.”
He nodded. “So, Callie, tell me how a young woman like you decided to care for the elderly. Why not a position in a hospital, regular hours so you could have fun with your friends?”
She raised her eyes to his and fought the frown that pulled at her forehead. Never had an interview caused her such stress. The man seemed to be probing at every nerve ending—searching for what, she didn’t know. She grasped for the story she had lived with for so long.
“When I graduated from college, I had romantic dreams. Like Florence Nightingale, I suppose. A hospital didn’t interest me. I wanted something more…absorbing. So I thought I’d try my hand at home care. The first job I had was a cancer patient, an elderly woman who needed constant attention. Because of that, I was asked to live in their home, which suited me nicely.”
“You have no family, then?”
She swallowed. How could she explain her relationship with her mother. “Yes, my mother is living. My father died about three years ago. But my mother’s in good health and active. She doesn’t need me around. My siblings are older. My brother lives right outside Indianapolis. My sister and her husband live in California.”
“No apartment or home of your own?”
“My mother’s house is the most permanent residence I have. No, I have no other financial responsibilities, if that’s what you’re asking.”
David grimaced. “I wasn’t trying to pry. I wondered if a live-in situation meets your needs.”
“Yes, but most important, I like the involvement, not only with the patient, but with the family. You know—dedication, commitment.”
A sound between a snicker and harrumph escaped him. “A job here would certainly take dedication and commitment.”
“That’s what I want. I believe God has a purpose for everybody. I want to do something that has meaning. I want to know that I’m paying God back for—”
“Paying God back?” His brows lifted. “Like an atonement? What kind of atonement does a young woman like you have to make?”
Irritation flooded through her, and her pitch raised along with her volume. “I didn’t say atonement, Mr. Hamilton. I said purpose. And you’ve mentioned my young age often since I’ve arrived. I assume my age bothers you.”
The sensation that shot through Callie surprised even her. Why was she fighting for a job she wasn’t sure she wanted? A job she wasn’t sure she could handle? A sigh escaped her. Working with the child wasn’t a problem. She had the skills.
But Callie was the problem. Already, she found herself emotionally caught in the child’s plight, her own buried feelings struggling to rise from within. Her focus settled upon David Hamilton’s startled face. How could she have raised her voice to this man? Even if she wanted the position, any hopes of a job here were now lost forever.
David was startled by the words of the irate young woman who stood before him. He dropped against the back of his chair, peering at her and flinching against her sudden anger. He reviewed what he’d said. Had he made a point of her age?
A flush rose to her face, and for some reason, she ruffled his curiosity. He sensed a depth in her, something that aroused him, something that dragged his own empathy from its hiding place. He’d felt sorry for himself and for Nattie for such a long time. Feeling grief for someone else seemed alien.
“To be honest, Miss Rand—Callie, I had thought to hire an older woman. Someone with experience who could nurture Nattie and bring her back to the sweet, happy child she was before her mother’s death.”
Callie’s chin jutted upward. Obviously his words had riled her again.
“Was your wife an old woman, Mr. Hamilton?”
A rush of heat dashed to his cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, did your wife understand your child? Did she love her? Could she relate to her? Play with her? Sing with her? Give her love and care?”
David stared at her. “Wh-why, yes. Obviously.” His pulse raced and pounded in his temples, not from anger but from astonishment. She seemed to be interviewing him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it, at all.
“Then why does a nanny—a caregiver—have to be an elderly woman? Can’t a woman my age—perhaps your wife’s age when she died—love and care for your child? I don’t understand.”
Neither did he understand. He stared at her and closed his gaping mouth. Her words struck him like icy water. What she said was utterly true. Who was he protecting? Nattie? Or himself? He peered into her snapping eyes. Spunky? Nervy? No, spirited was the word.
He gazed at the glowing, animated face of the woman sitting across from him. Her trim body looked rigid, and she stared at him with eyes the color of the sky or flowers. Yes, delphiniums. Her honey-colored hair framed an oval face graced with sculptured cheekbones and full lips. She had fire, soul and vigor. Isn’t that what Nattie needed?
Callie’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hamilton. You’re angry with me. I did speak to you disrespectfully, and I’m sorry. But I—”
“No. No, I’m not angry. You’ve made me think. I see no reason why Nattie should have an elderly nanny. A young woman might tempt her out of her shell. She’s needs to be around activity and laughter. She needs to play.” He felt tears push against the back of his eyes, and he struggled. He refused to sit in front of this stranger and sob, bearing his soul like a blithering idiot. “She needs to have fun. Yes?”
“Yes.” She shifted in her chair, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m glad you agree.” Callie stared into her lap a moment. “How does she spend her day now?”
“Sitting. Staring into space. Sometimes she colors, like today. But often her pictures are covered in dark brown or purple. Or black.”
“No school?”
David shook his head. “No. We registered her for kindergarten, but I couldn’t follow through. I took her there and forced her from the car, rigid and silent. I couldn’t do that to her. But next September is first grade. She must begin school then. I could get a tutor, but…” The memories of the first school day tore at his heart.
“But that won’t solve the problem.”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “Yes. A tutor won’t solve a single problem.”
“Well, you have seven or eight months before school begins. Was she examined by doctors? I assume she has nothing physically wrong with her.”
“She’s healthy. She eats well. But she’s lethargic, prefers to be alone, sits for hours staring outside, sometimes at a book. Occasionally, she says something to me—a word, perhaps. That’s all.”
Callie was silent, then asked, “Psychological? Have you seen a therapist?”
“Yes, the physician brought in a psychiatrist as a consultant.” He recalled that day vividly. “Since the problem was caused by a trauma, and given her age, they both felt her problem is temporary. Time will heal her. She can speak. She talked a blue streak before Sara’s death. But now the problem is, she’s unwilling to speak. Without talking, therapy probably couldn’t help her.”
Callie stared into the dying flames. “Something will bring her out. Sometimes people form habits they can’t seem to break. They almost forget how it is to live without the behavior. Maybe Nattie’s silence has become just that. Something has to happen to stimulate her, to make her want to speak and live like a normal child again.”
“I pray you’re right.”
“Me, too.”
He rose and wandered to the fireplace. Peering at the embers, he lifted the poker and thrust at the red glow. Nattie needed to be prodded. She needed stimulus to wake her from her sadness. The flames stirred and sparks sprinkled from the burned wood. Could this spirited woman be the one to do that?
“You mentioned you’d like me to meet your daughter,” Callie said.
He swung around to face her, realizing he had been lost in reverie. “Certainly,” he said, embarrassed by his distraction.
“I’d like that, when you’re ready.”
He glanced at the cup in her hand. “Are you finished with the tea?”
She took a final sip. “Yes, thanks. I have a two-hour drive home, and I’d like to get there before dark, if I can.”
“I don’t blame you. The winter roads can be treacherous.”
He stood, and she rose and waited next to the chair, bathed in the warm glow of the fire. David studied her again. Her frame, though thin, rounded in an appealing manner and tugged at his memory. The straight skirt of her deep blue suit hit her modestly just below the knee. Covering a white blouse, the boxy jacket rested at the top of her hips. Her only jewelry was a gold lapel pin and earrings. She stepped to his side, and he calculated her height. Probably five foot five or six, he determined. He stood a head above her.
He stepped toward the doors, and she followed. In the foyer, he gestured to the staircase, and she moved ahead of him, gliding lightly up the steps, her skirt clinging momentarily to her shape as she took each step.
Awareness filled him. No wonder he’d wanted to hire an elderly woman. Ashamed of his own stirrings, he asked God for forgiveness. Instead of thinking of Nattie’s needs, he’d struggled to protect his own vulnerability. He would learn to handle his emotions for his daughter’s sake.
At the top of the stairs, he guided her down the hallway and paused outside a door. “Please don’t expect much. She’s not like the child God gave us.”
His fingers grasped the knob, and Callie’s soft, warm hand lowered and pressed against his.
“Please, don’t worry,” she said. “I understand hurt.”
She raised her eyes to his, and a sense of fellowship like electricity charged through him, racing down to the extremity of his limbs. She lifted her hand, and he turned the knob.
He pushed the door open, and across the room, Nattie shifted her soft blue eyes toward them, then stared again at her knees.
Callie gaped, wide-eyed, at his child. Pulled into a tight knot, Nattie sat with her back braced against the bay enclosure, her feet resting on the window seat. The sun poured in through the pane and made flickering patterns on her pale skin. The same light filtered through her bright yellow hair.
Standing at Callie’s side, David felt a shiver ripple through her body. He glimpsed at his child and then looked into the eyes of the virtual stranger, named Callie Randolph, whose face now flooded with compassion and love.
Chapter Four
Callie stared ahead of her at the frail vision on the window seat. She and David stood in Nattie’s bedroom doorway for a moment, neither speaking. Finally he entered the room, approaching her like a father would a normal, happy child. “Nattie, this is Miss Randolph. She wants to meet you.”