The Nanny Solution

“Yes, the milk makes her fussy. The doctor said it’s because it’s so rich and that she needs to get used to it.”

Victoria looked dubious and lowered her voice. “The young mother told me that nursing is better. Then she said she’d do anything for an outfit like mine. By the way, it’s an outfit, not a gown.”

Mitch felt his eyes widen. “So you just gave it to her?”

“Allow me to finish.” Victoria huffed. “I purchased the woman’s services for the duration of this trip. She will nurse Emily and change her if I am unavailable. And I must say that since she took over those duties, the baby has slept like a...well, a baby!”

He couldn’t believe his ears. “You sold your outfit for milk? I would say that she got the better end of that bargain.”

“I don’t believe so.”

Mitch gaped at her. Was the simple task of caring for a child that distasteful?

Simple task? He halted his internal grumblings. Since returning to Boston and discovering that Agnes had died in childbirth, he’d been awake several times each and every night. The baby’s reasons were obvious, but the children’s crying had hurt more, especially that of Mary, who seemed prone to night terrors.

No. He would not call caring for children a simple task.

Nor was it one to trade off for a scrap of material.

He folded his arms. “Was your job that distasteful?”

“No, but I now have a child in my care who isn’t fussy. And you don’t have to purchase milk at every stop, thus saving you money.”

Mitch leaned back. He hadn’t thought of that. It was certainly a consideration. They had only about twenty minutes at each stop, and in that time, Mitch would have to find a store that sold both this new-fangled baby’s milk, plus some food for four children and two adults.

Victoria lifted her brows knowingly. “And you won’t have to tip that porter as much at the end of this trip.”

After starting a new game with Mary holding the string and Ralph trying his skill, Victoria added, “I’ve saved you time, money and aggravation.”

“But I certainly cannot pay to replace that outfit for you.”

“You don’t need to, Mitchell.” She sniffed. “May I call you that?”

He nodded. He preferred Mitch, but Mitchell seemed more akin to Victoria’s personality.

“You can give me the money you were going to spend on milk and the tips for warming it.”

“It still won’t cover the cost of that outfit.”

“I have others.” She leaned back against the padded backrest of the seat and sighed, her attention turning to the children.

The conversation was over. Annoyed for some reason, Mitch worked his jaw. While he was asleep, Victoria had transformed from a horrified socialite to a canny businesswoman, and yet, right now, she was leaning back as if she was sitting in luxury beyond measure, all the while doting on his children.

This proved once again that he was better off single. Women were too fickle. Who would consider these seats that pleasurable? Even the woman across the aisle didn’t think so. The bustle of the green outfit prevented her from sitting back and she sat so rigidly, she could have been sealed in concrete. Victoria appeared not to be bothering any longer with her usual perfect posture.

Who could figure out women? Not he.

* * *

Victoria’s mother would have died of pure horror if she’d known what her daughter was doing this very minute. Corset-less, she was slouching back in a seat in second class like a coquette in a canteen.

Victoria nearly gasped out loud. Had she actually thought those words?

Mitchell was still frowning at her. “Perhaps this situation is my fault. I should have asked you first if you liked children.”

She straightened, opening her mouth as if to argue back. How could he ask that? Then she gasped. Was that really why she’d foisted little Emily onto the first nursing mother she’d spotted? Because she hated children?

No. “I don’t think it’s that at all,” she replied. “I simply don’t have any experience with children. And being cloistered in a train car with a baby whose milk makes her sick is not a good introduction. Not to mention how the poor child is in pain. I simply used some common sense.” Realizing that she had some wisdom, and yes, some initiative, she lifted her chin. “I actually found teaching the other four scratch cradle to be rather enjoyable. Before you woke up, we’d had quite a laugh trying to figure out what shapes we’d produced. They got sillier the more we played.” She blinked and turned away. “I’m sorry if you feel you’ve made a mistake in hiring me.”

His answer was clipped. “I just find it irrational that you sold an expensive outfit to avoid work you’d been assigned.”

Victoria was sure that wasn’t his reason. His tight words told her there was more to it.

Though, what he said made sense. It was irrational to sell an expensive outfit on the spur of the moment. Mercy, was she as foolish as her mother, who’d sold her expensive mourning outfits for a train ticket that would have cost a quarter of what the clothes were worth?

Victoria bit her lip. She’d been hurt by her mother’s departure from Boston without her. Abigail’s decision to sell her clothes had then epitomized the strained situation. For the cost of a train ticket, her mother had destroyed Victoria’s hope that they could work out their dire finances together.

She stole a look at Mitchell. And for the cost of a wet nurse, Victoria had destroyed Mitchell’s belief in her. Her empty stomach flipped. Yes. She was as foolish as her mother. Someday, she might need him as a reference, especially if she was to seek employment in Proud Bend. What would Mitchell tell a potential employer? That she’d sold a fine outfit to avoid work?

Tears sprang into her eyes. Suddenly, she was an impoverished girl who’d probably never secure employment. Everything was falling apart.

“I’m hungry.”

Which boy said it, Victoria couldn’t guess. But when she turned her attention to the three children sitting on the bench seat in front of them, plus the one still on her lap, Victoria didn’t need to know. They all stared hollowed-eyed at their father.

“At the next stop, I’ll purchase some food for you,” Mitchell growled.

His frown deepened, despite the children appearing satisfied at the promise. She leaned close to Mitchell. “Is there a problem?”

Mitchell consulted his pocket watch. It was a basic model, nothing like the elaborate one Charles had owned. Victoria’s heart tripped up. Had her stepfather purchased his with some of her inheritance? She hadn’t seen the watch for some time. Had he then sold it to finance his gambling?

“According to the schedule, we aren’t expected to make another water stop until after dark.”

“Water stop?” she asked.

“For the train. Steam is lost and they need to refill the boiler in the locomotive. I’m sure they’ll replenish supplies in first class and take on more coal if necessary, but these stops are mostly for water. There aren’t many track pans to scoop it up as we pass.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “So how is that a problem?”

“I’m afraid the general store won’t be open then, which means I must rely on the local roadhouse. Except anything I buy will be wasted, for the children won’t eat what those people pass off as food. And to purchase something here from the porter will cost a ridiculous amount, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “I saw to the baby’s needs, and purchased the bedding we’ll use, but I didn’t have time to get any food.”

Victoria sat back, then bolted forward, and not from her ingrained habit of sitting upright in a corset and bustle. Ralph clung to her as she cried, “Wait! I can help!”

She squeezed Ralph into the opposite seat between his siblings and stood. With a wave, she called the porter over. Several passengers, including the woman now wearing her beautiful outfit, peered up at her, obviously looking for any distraction from the boredom that was their trip. Victoria asked the young man to retrieve her portmanteau, the one she’d asked to have available.

“What are you doing?” Mitchell asked.

The porter returned and after opening her case on the seat, she began to rifle through it. It was an appallingly gauche act, one she would have never expected she’d do, but she was glad her housekeeper had the wisdom to pack what Victoria was now searching for.

Victoria hauled out a wicker box. “Found it!” She plunked it onto Mitchell’s lap, and then closed the case. The porter took it away again. Victoria sat down and took back the box.

“Treats and sweets from my housekeeper,” she declared.

Immediately the children clamored around her. Victoria couldn’t help but smile. It was like Christmas morn to them, she was sure. With great fanfare, she removed the lid.

Her maid had hugged her one last time before Victoria had left for the depot, whispering in her ear that the housekeeper had tucked into her portmanteau some treats for the long journey.

“Whatever for?” Victoria had asked her.

“So those men Mr. Charles owed money to don’t get all the good stuff in this house,” her maid had hissed fiercely. “That’s what Mrs. Handelson said. She said she won’t have their filthy paws snatching up all the fine food she’d made and saved.”

Victoria now blushed at the memory. Her mother would have never told the staff the reason for their predicament, but the walls had ears. Everyone in the household, from the housekeeper down to the errand boy, would have known. It had been an embarrassing moment for Victoria, to hug her maid goodbye and at the same time learn the staff knew all about their dire situation.

What else did they know? That her mother had sold expensive outfits for little more than a pittance? They would, for Abigail’s maid had conducted the sale.

Shoving away the humiliation, Victoria smiled brightly at the children. “What do we have in here?”

She didn’t know herself, but found a Jaffa orange, so big and bright and firm it surely must be the first of this year’s harvest. Several mince tarts covered in sturdy, honey-glazed pastry sat beside it. Sugared almonds and a few boiled eggs were tucked all around them, along with multiple crisp-looking biscuits, although some had broken. Deep down was a wedge of old cheese wrapped in a fine linen napkin. Victoria lifted the tarts to discover two meat pastries underneath. She recognized Mrs. Handelson’s signature decoration on the tops. She let out a silly squeak of delight, more for the children’s sake, when she spied some bricks of precious chocolate in one corner.

“We have a feast here!” she whispered to the children, thankful for the provisions. “But what should be first?”

“To give thanks?” Matthew suggested.

Victoria smiled. The boy would make a fine gentleman someday. After they said grace, during which she was sure the children kept their eyes open for fear the food would vanish, she dug back into the box.

“Let’s start with the two meat pastries.” She pulled them out and carefully broke them, a half for each child. They were gone as fast as she handed them out. She gave them each a piece of cheese and as equal a portion of broken biscuit as possible before handing the orange to Mitchell.

“Perhaps you could peel this?”

Her face fell. His expression was anything but thankful.

* * *

Mitch begrudgingly began to peel the orange. “Where did you get an orange this time of year?”

“It’s a Jaffa orange. They come from Palestine, but usually just before Christmas. My mother has a fondness for them because they are so sweet.”

Nothing about this woman made sense, Mitch thought. When had she planned to pull out this treat box? The other day, when they’d first met, she’d offered his children biscuits in open defiance of her mother’s scathing look, giving him hope that she liked children, but she’d then pawned off Emily on that woman who sat across the aisle, who was also looking with great interest at the treat box.

Then Victoria had kept the children busy with scratch cradle, seeming to enjoy the experience. Mitch glanced down at Emily, who was beginning to stir again. She’d need to be fed and changed soon. Victoria would no doubt simply hand the child over to the other woman like the mistress of a mansion. Yet her actions right now were more of a child at Christmas than an overbred lady.

The children eased over to him, their eyes wide and focused on the orange he was absently peeling. He hadn’t had one of these in years, not since some had been given to him as a wedding gift. The scent of fresh orange wafted up through the stuffy hot air into his nostrils, stirring his own stomach, for he had not eaten all day, either.

He was not hungry, he told himself. And he could feed his own children without Victoria’s help. He’d hired her to mind them, but mostly to care for Emily. And she’d foisted that duty off pretty quickly.

Still irritated, Mitch divided the orange into segments, telling the children in a gruff tone to take only one each.

“You should eat, too,” he told Victoria coolly. She took a segment.

“As should you.”

Begrudgingly, Mitch took the final segment.

He could feel Victoria’s curious gaze linger on him a moment, before it returned to the treat box. “Only one more thing tonight. Too many sweets will cause nightmares,” she warned them. She divided up the mince tarts into tiny portions, and Mitch noticed with a frown that she saved the larger portions for them, and not the children.

“I don’t need any more food,” he snapped.

“Yes, you do. The children have already wolfed down the meat pies and would polish this whole box off if we let them. You and I won’t do these children any good if we’re hungry and grouchy. So eat.”

Their gazes locked and he could see her pale eyes defiant beneath uplifted brows and a suddenly stubborn chin. He could argue that they shouldn’t eat any more in order to save it, but it would look as though he couldn’t afford to purchase food for them. And with most of the passengers around them far too curious, he’d rather not invite any more interested stares.

He should be grateful to God that her housekeeper had the forethought to provide this box.

Her housekeeper. Mitch knew she and her mother each had a personal maid, too. He’d seen them peeking out of the kitchen when he’d herded his children into the parlor. What had he been thinking, hiring Victoria as he’d done? She was going to make a fool of him the whole trip with her fancy airs.

His jaw set and his mouth pursed into what felt like a thin stubborn line, Mitch took the portion of mince tart and accepted a small chunk of cheese.

He waited until Victoria bit into her portion, her action more of a delicate nibble as she held her hand under her chin to catch any crumbs. What he did—shove the whole third of the tart into his mouth—felt clumsy and tactless.

The pastry was delicious, melt-in-your-mouth good, as was the cheese. With his last swallow, Mitch turned away.

Evening deepened, and while Victoria was seeing that Emily was prepared for the night, the porters set about making up the berths. Here in second class, passengers had to provide their own bedding. He’d purchased it and had it delivered to the train, knowing he’d need it at the ranch, anyway.

More purchases, more money borrowed from the bank, borrowed from Smith, the man who wanted his mineral rights so much his latest offer had borne an edge of a threat.

When Victoria returned with the baby, he gaped at the change. In the newly lit lamplight, she looked more like a schoolgirl than a young Boston socialite who seemed to have, for whatever reason he did not wish to learn, fallen on hard times. The porter had prepared all the bunks with plump mattresses, straw-filled and topped with wool, making up the beds with the sheets Mitch had purchased. Many of the passengers had already settled in theirs for the evening.

Now it was their turn.

* * *

Although Victoria had bartered away her corset and bustle, and had been wearing this dress with only a petticoat and chemise, she suddenly realized she wasn’t dressed for bed yet. An awkward situation, with Mitchell so close. His sudden and rather penetrating stare didn’t help.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “The boys and I will take the upper berth. You and the girls will take the lower one.”

She looked around. “What about our belongings?”

“The porter and the conductor will see that anything we can’t take into the berths is secured.”

Mary flung open the curtain below. “Look, Miss Templeton! Look at the big pillow!”

Victoria bent down and peered in as Mary pounded the pillow with two small fists. Mitchell had set the baby’s basket and her treat box at one end, and Mary, although still dressed, was pressed against the bottom portion of the curtained window.

“If that is all, I’ll say good-night.” Mitchell then told the boys to move down to the end before he heaved himself up, completely ignoring the porter as he hurried down the aisle with a small step stool.

Victoria watched him disappear into his berth and yank closed the curtains. Well, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her companionship, could he? With a surprisingly heavy heart, she slipped into the lower bunk and closed her curtains.

* * *

Mitch’s sleep was deeper than he’d expected, he decided the next morning, considering he’d had a long nap and had shared the berth with three boys who took up the majority of the space. Finally, when he heard the porter gently awakening the passengers, Mitch opened his curtain and eased out. If at all possible, he’d let the boys sleep longer.

Victoria was already up, fixing Mary’s pinafore. Emily was out of her basket and kicking about on the bunk. Before he could speak, the boys jumped down.

“The train is slowing, Papa,” Ralph announced. “I can feel it.”

“We’re coming into a depot. The locomotive needs to take on more water.”

“I’m hungry,” Ralph said.

Mitch nodded, albeit gruffly. Yes, he needed to find some food. The children would want to dip into Victoria’s wicker box of treats, no doubt, but it was his responsibility to feed them, not hers.

The train jerked and wheezed to a stop, causing Victoria to careen into him. He caught her and held her steady. But she immediately pulled free and reached for the baby. Thankfully, Emily was still centered in the soft bedding.

Victoria smoothed the infant’s clothes as she lifted her. “Go find a store,” she told Mitch. “All we need is a bit of bread and cheese and maybe some fresh fruit. I’ll take the children out for some air. We could all use a cold drink, so I will find a pump, but we won’t leave the depot.”

Mitch bristled at the authoritative tone. “I know what to buy. I have fed my children before.” At the sound of the door at the end of the train car being opened, the boys tore off toward it, leaving Mitch to grit his teeth. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that Victoria should go first down the aisle. With Mary in front of her, and the baby secure in her arms, she walked ahead. Her fine purse dangled from her wrist. It matched the outfit she’d bartered away better than the one she now wore, but with her regal walk, Mitch doubted anyone would dare even consider the fashion faux pas, as his mother might have called it.

Cool, fresh air barreled into the car. It smelled as though the town had seen a good thunderstorm overnight. When he reached the door, Mitch spied Ralph already jumping in a nearby puddle.

They’d only just climbed down when Mitch called to his children, deciding to take Matthew for the extra pair of arms to carry back some food.

But that would leave Victoria with the four young ones. On an afterthought, he said, “John, you come with me. The rest of you stay with Miss Templeton, and mind what she says.”

“Excuse me!”

Both Mitch and Victoria turned. The conductor climbed up the stairs and waved his hat to secure everyone’s attention. “We have a delay, I’m sorry to tell you. A storm blew through here last night and a large number of trees fell onto the tracks. It will take at least a day to clear the debris.”

A murmur of disappointment rolled through the crowd.

“As soon as possible, we’ll let you know when we are able to get under way again. The train may move ahead, but only onto another line. Please don’t go anywhere until we know more.”

“You want us to just stand here like idiots?” one man shouted out from the group by the stairs. Others who’d wandered down from the men-only car began to grouse, their voices raised in cacophony.

The conductor held up his hand to ease the discord. “Of course not, sir. We’ll have a better idea of how long our delay will be as soon as we see what equipment this town has.”

Immediately, the conductor was assaulted with questions. Mitch led Victoria and the children out of earshot, to the short side of the depot’s main building. “It looks like we’ll get more fresh air than we planned, but I’ll still go ahead and purchase some food.”

“When were we supposed to arrive in Proud Bend?”

“Tuesday morning. I had scheduled it all out, even chose this route because of its speed. But now, I can’t say.” He didn’t want this delay. He had a ranch to run, and needed to brand the heifers he planned to keep. Several other ranchers had been interested in purchasing the rest of them. He needed that quick infusion of cash to pay his quarterly mortgage installment or that bank manager would be using the default as an excuse to force Mitch to sell him his mineral rights.

Victoria glanced over at the crowd. “I need to send a telegram to my uncle to tell him of this delay.”

She wasn’t traveling to a beau? His heart took a treacherous leap. Determined to ignore it, he answered, “Fine. I’ll do it. What is his name?”

In answer, Victoria opened her small drawstring purse and pulled out a folded paper. “Here’s the telegram he sent my mother. All the information is on it.”

Mitch took it and unfolded it. The name at the top was as clear as if she’d spoken it aloud. Walter Smith.

His stomach turned. That cad of a bank manager and Victoria’s uncle were one and the same man.

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