The Holiday Courtship
Miss Whitman, for all her I-know-best attitude, had provided him with the first flicker of hope for Chloe since he’d left Turnabout four weeks ago, and for that he was grateful. If the schoolteacher could truly do what she said she could, he’d certainly not begrudge her any amount of superior attitude.
She paused beside the children for a moment, saying something to them, touching Alex lightly on the shoulder, Chloe on the arm. And he could see the children respond to her, if not warmly, at least respectfully.
How did she do it, get them to relax around her like that? For a few moments, when he’d first walked into the Blue Bottle, he’d seen his niece and nephew as they were meant to be—sitting at the table, sipping cocoa and smiling.
Then they’d spied him and gloom settled over them once more.
He tried not to take it personally. It seemed, though, that he was a reminder to them of everything they’d lost.
Would that ever change?
Perhaps with the schoolteacher’s help, he could learn the secret to earning their trust.
But first he needed to earn her trust.
* * *
Janell stayed behind at the sweet shop after Mr. Chandler and his charges had departed. Over the past year and a half, she and Eve had become very good friends. It was the first time she’d let herself get close, really close, to anyone since she’d moved to Turnabout nearly seven years ago.
“Those poor children,” Eve said, putting her hand protectively over her abdomen. “Mr. Chandler is going to have his hands full caring for them, I’m afraid.” Then she smiled. “But I can see already that he’s going to have some very competent help.”
Janell and Eve had shared a great deal about their pasts with each other as their friendship grew, so her friend knew all about what had happened to her sister, Lizzie. “I certainly intend to do what I can to help them. I wasn’t able to stay and help Lizzie as much as I would have liked. I feel like perhaps God is giving me a second chance with Chloe.”
Eve also knew about her shameful secret, the one that had driven Janell from her family and home in Illinois and brought her to Turnabout. Eve was the only one here who knew.
Because if anyone else found out, it would likely mean the end of Janell’s stay in Turnabout, something she couldn’t bear.
Eve patted her hand. “What happened was no fault of your own. But we both have scars from our past to deal with, so I’ll say no more. Just let me know how I can help.”
“Would you mind letting Verity know I won’t make it to choir practice this evening and probably won’t sing with the choir at church tomorrow?” The choir director and several of the members had made a habit of stopping here for a cup of tea before choir practice on Saturday evenings.
“Of course. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”
Talk of the choir reminded Janell of something else.
She gave Eve a sympathetic smile. “Is Leo still smarting over what happened at the Thanksgiving festival?”
Leo, Eve’s adopted son, was part of the children’s choir and had been selected for a small solo part at the festival. However, when he’d stepped forward to sing, his voice had cracked. The boy had turned candy-apple red and rushed off the stage in embarrassment.
Eve nodded. “I’m afraid so. Telling him it’s a natural part of growing up for a boy hasn’t helped.” A touch of worry invaded her expression. “He’s already told Verity he won’t be taking part in the Christmas program.”
Verity had formed a children’s choir last spring and had worked wonders with the group ever since.
“As it happens,” Janell said, “I’ve been thinking about working with some of the children to put on a short nativity play in conjunction with the children’s choir Christmas Eve program. Do you think Leo might be interested in taking part?”
Eve smiled. “As long as it doesn’t require him to sing, he just might.”
“Then I’ll speak to him about it at school on Monday.”
Janell took her leave and headed for the boardinghouse, her thoughts once again focused on Mr. Chandler and his charges. Her pace was brisk, her mind racing. Already she was making mental lists of all the things she could do—in both the short and long term—to help the three of them. The first thing she’d do would be to write a letter to Dr. Carson, the doctor who’d been such a help with Lizzie. Since he worked at St. Matthew’s School for the Deaf, he would have access to some of the most current information and materials to help someone like Chloe.
She would also write to Lizzie and get her thoughts on what would help the girl the most from an emotional perspective.
One thing she could do immediately, though, would be to dig through her trunk and find the book she had on sign language. It would be a good place for Mr. Chandler and the children to start.
Twenty minutes later, Janell had the letters written, had retrieved the book and was headed back out of the boardinghouse. She had a number of errands to run before heading to Mr. Chandler’s home. Post the letters, stop by the butcher shop and the mercantile and also stop in at the schoolhouse to pick up a few things.
Janell offered up a little prayer of thanksgiving. God was giving her the opportunity to help this little girl, to share what she’d learned with Lizzie with someone else in need. And she was determined to see it all the way through—not turn tail and run as she had before.
Mr. Chandler had appeared to be a little reluctant to accept her help. Thank goodness he’d finally come around—once she explained things properly he’d see that there was merit to what she could offer.
The sawmill owner was someone she hadn’t really had the opportunity to interact with during her time here in Turnabout. As a teacher her main interactions were with the schoolchildren and their parents. Being a member of the church choir gave her another social outlet. And being a teacher, she was very circumspect in her dealings with single men.
Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed him before. After all, he was the kind of man one couldn’t help but notice. Tall and lean, with a firm jaw and gray eyes, he didn’t say much, but there was an air of quiet command about him. She got the sense that he was a man of good character and was well liked in the community.
And now that she’d had a chance to interact with him on a personal basis, she found that he was also a very intriguing man. In fact, she was surprised none of the single ladies or matchmaking mamas here in town had set their sights on him. Being married would certainly make his current situation easier—for both him and the children.
Not that she had any aspirations on that score herself. Her world revolved around the schoolchildren and the choir—that was enough for her.
It had to be.
Because she was living a lie, had been ever since she’d moved to Turnabout. Marriage was not an option for her any longer, something she’d come to terms with a long time ago. It was why she discouraged any attempts by the local gentlemen to come calling. Why she told herself she could live a fulfilling life teaching other people’s children, even if she’d never have one of her own.
And most days she could make herself believe that. Being with Mr. Chandler today, however, had stirred up some emotions best left dormant.
Janell brought her wandering mind back to the matter at hand. Yes, the sawmill owner had the makings of a fine family man, and all things considered, the children could definitely have done worse in finding a guardian than Mr. Hank Chandler.
Chapter Four
Hank awoke abruptly, feeling disoriented. It took him a moment to remember he was back in his own home and not still in Colorado.
He hadn’t intended to sleep, just rest for a minute. But getting the children settled in had taken longer than planned. He’d shown them their rooms, but unfortunately, the rooms were not quite as ready as he’d hoped.
Alex and Chloe had set their things down and looked around like a pair of lost waifs. He brought in their trunks, which held all the tangible possessions left from their prior lives. The one with their parents’ things, at least those items he’d felt they would want someday, he’d carted up to the attic.
When he’d insisted they take naps, they’d complied with almost apathetic nods. A few minutes later, when Alex crept into Chloe’s room, Hank had heeded Miss Whitman’s suggestion and pretended not to notice. He had to admit, having someone like the schoolteacher in his corner was a blessing.
Hank swung his feet to the floor. Later, after the kids were up, he would set up the new bed he’d ordered for Chloe’s room. He’d need it once his aunt arrived anyway, since she’d be sharing his niece’s room during her stay. And that fact would probably earn him yet more resentment from Chloe, but there was no help for it.
For now, if Alex chose to make use of his aunt’s bed before she arrived, he supposed he could turn a blind eye.
Hank tried to clear the last of the fog from his brain as he stood. He’d come into the parlor intending to check on the fireplace. That done, though, he’d stretched out on the sofa, telling himself it would just be for a few minutes, just long enough to find a bit of peace from the headache that had plagued him since...well, since he’d got that telegram four weeks ago.
How long had he slept? What if the children had awakened before him? He headed down the hall and opened Chloe’s door just wide enough to look inside.
To his relief they were still sound asleep. He closed the door, then straightened. Miss Whitman would probably be here soon—he should get a few things in order before she arrived.
But as Hank neared the kitchen, he heard soft humming. A heartbeat later, he picked up the scent of something cooking. What in the world?
He paused on the threshold. Sure enough, Miss Whitman stood at the stove with her back to him. Not only had she made herself at home in his kitchen, but there were also signs she’d been busy cleaning up. And he spotted a large ball of dough rising on the counter. Just how long had she been here?
Normally he was a light sleeper. How had she managed to do all of this without waking him? But there was something satisfying about how at-home she looked here, how right it seemed to have her humming over a meal in his kitchen. It tugged at a long-buried yearning for a different kind of life... Then he shook his head, irritated with himself. He wasn’t looking for a wife; he was looking for a mother for the children. Besides, just what did she think she was doing, letting herself in here without permission?
Miss Whitman finally turned and spotted him. “Well, hello there. Did you have a nice nap?”
He stiffened at that. “Glad to see you made yourself at home,” he said, pointedly ignoring her question.
She smiled, waving her cook spoon haphazardly. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in, but no one answered my knock.”
“You must not have knocked very loud.”
By her raised brow he could tell his dry tone hadn’t been wasted on her this time.
“Perhaps not. But I figured the children would be sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb them. They needed to get some rest after your journey. As did you.”
“I apologize for not being available to show you around,” he said stiffly. “But you appear to have found everything you needed on your own.”
Either missing the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, she nodded. “No apologies needed,” she said brightly. “As you can see, I’m quite capable of finding my way around a kitchen all on my own.”
There was definitely no denying that. He looked around. Apparently she’d found all the dishes, pots and utensils she needed.
“I checked on the children when I got here,” she said, turning back to the stove. “The little lambs were sleeping sound as could be.”
What had she thought of finding him snoozing on the sofa?
Pushing that decidedly uncomfortable thought away, he looked for something else to focus on. “What’s that you’re cooking?”
“Rabbit stew. I also plan to bake some bread and prepare a peach cobbler for dessert.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of picking up a few things for your larder since you’ll be cooking for three now.”
Cooking for three—something else he hadn’t thought through yet. Kids probably required more than the plain fare he normally cooked for himself. But that was his problem, not hers. “Thank you.”
She gave him a curious look. “I hope it’s not too forward of me, but I’d like to ask a question about your time in Colorado.”
He hadn’t noticed that being forward was something she worried overmuch about. “Ask away.”
“You were gone for several weeks. Were the children in your care during that time?”
“Not entirely. Miss Booth, a friend of my sister’s, took them in right after the accident. Chloe needed doctoring and I had to tend to the funerals and to the settling of their parents’ business affairs. Besides, I was staying in a hotel. It just seemed best that they stay where they could be more comfortable and have someone familiar to take care of them. I checked in on them every day, though.”
“I see.”
There was something about the way she said that that raised his suspicions. “And just what is it that you see?”
“That you really don’t have much experience caring for them on your own yet. Not that it’s your fault. It’s just something we’ll need to take into consideration.”
Then she smiled. “But enough of that. Did the menu sound to your liking?”
“Yes, of course. Let me thank you again for taking the time to—”
She waved his thanks aside. “Oh, you’re quite welcome. I’m happy to do it.”
Hank rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how she would react if he asked her for another favor, especially since he hadn’t been exactly gracious so far.
Before he could figure out the best way to ask, she turned around. “There’s no point in you standing around, watching me cook. I figure you’re eager to go down to the mill and check on how your business fared while you were away. Since Alex and Chloe are sleeping, now would be a good time. The stew won’t be ready to eat for a while yet and the children will probably sleep at least another hour.”
How did she always manage to anticipate him like that? “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I would like to drive out to the mill. I’ll try not to be gone too long.”
“There’s no need for you to rush on my account. The children and I will be fine while you are gone.”
He bowed. “Once more I’m in your debt.”
She grinned. “I’m not nearly as altruistic as you seem to believe. But I really think I can help the three of you, and it would give me immense satisfaction to do so.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he merely nodded and headed out to the small carriage house, where he kept his buckboard.
And as he went, he found himself wondering why the schoolteacher, who had such an obvious fondness for children, wasn’t married. Sure, she was a bit bossy, but he knew there were men who’d be willing to overlook that, especially given her other attributes.
Unless there was something wrong with her that he hadn’t seen yet. He supposed he should keep a close eye on her, just to see if he could figure out what that might be.
* * *
“Where’s Uncle Hank?”
Janell looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway, watching her with solemn eyes.
“He went down to the sawmill.” She tried to infuse her voice with reassurance. “He’ll be back in time for supper.”
The boy cocked his head to one side, as if trying to puzzle something out. “Do you live here, too?”
Was she imagining the hopeful tone in his voice? “No, sweetheart, I just came over to help your uncle make your first day here as comfortable as possible.”
Alex nodded but didn’t say anything. And didn’t seem inclined to come any closer. What was he afraid of?
She waved a hand toward the counter, where a couple of loaves of bread were cooling. “I just pulled those out of the oven. I love the aroma of fresh-baked bread, don’t you? Why don’t you have a seat at the table and I’ll cut you off a piece so we can see if it tastes as good as it smells?”
He finally moved forward, but didn’t say anything.
“Where’s Chloe?” she asked, trying to draw him out.
“She’s still in bed.” He slid onto his chair, watching as she sliced the bread.
“Is she still asleep?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. She’s reading.”
The way he eyed the bread, one would think he hadn’t eaten for days. She placed a thick slice on a saucer and set it in front of him. “Perhaps I should ask her if she wants a little something to eat, too.”
Alex popped up out of his chair. “I’ll go.”
She waved him back down. “Enjoy your bread. I’ll go.”
Alex slowly sat again, his expression troubled.
The little boy was touchingly protective of his sister. Admirable, but she had to help him focus on just being an eight-year-old.
Janell grabbed the large slate and some chalk she’d fetched from the schoolhouse earlier and headed for Chloe’s bedchamber. She paused in front of the door, her hand raised to knock. Such an action was meaningless in this situation. She’d need to find a way to perform that function visually in order to allow the girl her privacy. For Lizzie they’d rigged a system with rope and cloth flags.
Janell opened the door and paused on the threshold, waiting for Chloe to notice her. The girl, who was reclining on the bed with her book, looked up, and Janell saw the flicker of surprise, quickly replaced with a not-quite-genuine frown of indifference. The cat, who was curled at the child’s feet, watched Janell with an unblinking stare. Janell stepped into the room and walked right up to the bed. She placed a hand lightly on the book, forcing Chloe to look up again.
“Would you like to join us in the kitchen?” She carefully enunciated each word.
The girl shook her head.
Was she declining the offer? Or had she merely not understood? Janell quickly wrote the same question on the slate and turned it so Chloe could read it.
Chloe again shook her head.
Janell erased the slate and this time wrote I have fresh bread. She paused and then added Your uncle is at his sawmill right now.
Chloe seemed to think about that a moment, then nodded and set her book down. When she climbed off the bed, the cat uncurled, then gracefully jumped to the floor and followed.
Once in the kitchen, Chloe pulled up a chair next to Alex while Janell sliced off another piece of bread. Once she’d served the girl her snack, she put a bowl of water on the floor near the stove for Smudge.
How was Mr. Chandler going to manage the care of these children? They’d obviously need lots of attention for the foreseeable future, attention he’d never be able to provide on his own. At the very least he needed a housekeeper. A wife would be even better.
Did he realize this? If not, he was in for a rude awakening.
Of course, he might take offense at her bringing up such a topic—she’d noticed he didn’t always take kindly to her advice. But to do him credit, he did listen, and that was a good quality for a husband to have.
Besides, when it came to the welfare of the children, she was willing to risk his irritation. And if she were to be entirely honest with herself, she rather liked getting the occasional rise out of him.
For just a moment she found herself wondering what it might be like to be married to such a man, a man so different from—
She abruptly pulled her thoughts away from that precipice. Time to grab back on to that control she’d worked so hard to maintain over her emotions since leaving Illinois.
She’d never had this happen before, not in all the time she’d been in Texas. What was it about Mr. Chandler that had allowed him to slip past her control so easily?
* * *
Hank headed out of the mill, pausing to give Gus a scratch behind the ears. The sawmill’s resident dog was tame with people he knew, but the mostly-boxer was an excellent guard dog. Hank never had a problem with strangers or troublemakers hanging around the mill.
With a last rub of the dog’s fur, Hank straightened and headed for his wagon. From what he’d seen of the operation and the books just now, Simon Tucker had done a fine job of keeping the mill running while he was gone. And that set his mind at ease.
He climbed in the wagon and turned Hector, the horse, toward home. Simon had assured him that he could continue to pull double duty as long as Hank needed him to, but Hank didn’t want to take advantage of him. Simon had a family of his own to look after, one that included ten children and a wife. So he’d assured Simon he’d be back at the helm by Monday. Surely Aunt Rowena would be here by then.
But of course, that wasn’t the final solution. Aunt Rowena had her own home and friends in Clampton. She’d agreed to help him until he could make other, more permanent arrangements. He couldn’t see her staying for more than a few weeks—a month at most.
His original plan had been to find a housekeeper, one who would take on the care of the children as part of her duties. But when he’d learned about the sizable debt Enid and her husband had left behind, a debt he felt honor bound to make right, he realized he would no longer have the funds to do that.
The entire situation left him with the rather unappealing option of getting married. Just the idea of going through the motions of finding the right kind of woman and then convincing her to marry him was somehow distasteful.
He rubbed his chin in thought. But if he could convince the schoolteacher to take on that role, it would certainly save him a lot of trouble and time.
Not just that—she was uniquely equipped to deal with Chloe, and the kids already knew her. He admitted he wouldn’t mind having her around on a regular basis himself. Yep, marrying Miss Whitman would certainly solve a lot of his problems.
Would the starchy schoolteacher be willing to consider an offer from him?
Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to ask.
As he let the horse have its head, Hank wondered why he hadn’t taken much notice of Miss Whitman before. He’d always had the somewhat vague impression that she was a typical schoolmarm—rather spinsterish and pragmatic.
Well, he’d seen now that there was much more to her—a certain spark that lit her up from the inside. Even her bossy tendencies weren’t altogether unappealing when it came down to it. And she certainly knew how to deal with children. He’d pick an opportune moment and come right out and ask her. Tonight, if at all possible.
Chapter Five
When Hank arrived back at the house, he tended to his horse and wagon first. When at last he was done, he headed to the pump by the water trough to wash up. He’d been gone longer than he’d planned—how was Miss Whitman faring with the kids?
Probably much better than he would have been.
When he stepped inside, he found her and the two young’uns at the table in the kitchen. Miss Whitman appeared to be teaching them how to do some complicated cat’s cradle designs with loops of string laced through their fingers. And the kids—both of them—were actually smiling.
They looked like, well, like a family. And for just a moment he had a keen desire to fit into that picture. The tug of that longing startled him in its intensity.
Then the kids saw him, and the immediate change in their demeanor made it clear that he didn’t fit, that he was still someone who had yet to earn their trust, much less their affection.
He’d excused that reaction before because of what they’d been through. But this time it was harder to dismiss because he’d seen their relaxed attitude around Miss Whitman, a woman they’d just met hours ago and who had no blood ties to them at all.