“I was thinking about you,” David said.

Protectively, Callie’s hand clutched her robe. “Me? Why?”

He shook his head. “You’ll never know how much you mean to me, Callie. All you’ve done for us here. You’re like a breath of spring after a long winter.” A wry grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Pretty poetic for the middle of the night, huh?”

She couldn’t speak. She struggled to keep her eyes from widening any more than they already had. “But that’s why you hired me. To help your daughter.”

“But you’ve done more than that.” He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. “You’ve helped me, too. I feel alive again, like a man released from prison, his life restored.”

Callie looked at his hand pressing against the back of hers. Though her initial thought was to recoil, she enjoyed the warm pressure against her skin. She wanted to touch his unshaven cheeks with her palms. Everything in her cried out to tell him her own secret, but she pushed the urge deep inside her, praying this time the pangs would stay there.

GAIL GAYMER MARTIN

lives in Lathrup Village, Michigan, with her husband, Bob, a great supporter and proofreader. Raised in a Christian family, she wrote poetry and Nancy Drew type mysteries as a child, but only pursued publication after retiring from her career as a high school English teacher and later a professional licensed counselor. Those experiences help Gail portray real emotion in her stories. Her first novel was published in 1998.

Besides writing novels, Gail is a freelance writer with many worship resource books in publication. She is presently an adjunct instructor of English at Detroit College of Business and is involved in various church programs. When she has time, Gail sings with her church choir and is a member of Detroit Lutheran Singers in metropolitan Detroit, and she and Bob love to travel. “God has blessed my life fully,” she says.

Gail loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI, 48076-0063.

Upon a Midnight Clear
Gail Gaymer Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

—Jeremiah 29:12-13

Dedicated to my sister, Jan, who knows the sorrow of losing a child.

And in loving memory of her infant daughters, Lisa Marie and Beth Ann, who live with Jesus.

Thanks to my husband, Bob, for his devotion, support and hours of proofreading. To Flo Stano for her nursing expertise, and to the Bedford Chamber of Commerce for their invaluable information.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Callie Randolph scanned the employment ads of the Indianapolis News. Her eyes lit upon a Help Wanted entry: Special child, aged five, needs professional caregiver. Live-in. Good wage. Contact David Hamilton. 812 area code. Southern Indiana, she assumed. “Live-in,” she wanted. But a child?

She raised her head from the ad and caught her mother, eyeing her.

“You’ve been quiet since you got home,” Grace Randolph said, resting back in the kitchen chair. “Tell me about the funeral.”

“It was nice, as funerals go. But sad, so close to the holidays.” Ethel’s death, coming as it did on the footsteps of Christmas, jolted Callie with the memories of a birth six Christmases earlier. Pushing away the invading thoughts, Callie shifted in her chair and focused on her mother. “More people than I would expect at the funeral for someone in her nineties, but I suppose most of the mourners were friends and business acquaintances of Ethel’s children. The family has a name in the community.”

“Ah yes, when we’re old, people forget.”

“No, it’s not that they forget. When we’re that old, many of our own friends and acquaintances have already died. Makes coming to a funeral difficult.” Callie hoped to lighten Grace’s negative mood. “It’ll feel strange not taking care of Ethel. She had the faith of a saint and a smile right to the end. Always had a kind word.” She raised her eyes, hoping her mother had heard her last statement.

Grace stared across the room as if lost in thought, and Callie’s mind drifted to the funeral and the preacher’s comforting words. “Ethel lived a full and glorious life, loving her Lord and her family.” Callie pictured the wrinkled, loving face of her dying patient. Ethel’s earthly years had definitely been full and glorious.

In contrast, Callie’s nearly twenty-six years had been empty and dull. Her dreams had died that horrible March day that she tried to block from her memory. Her life seemed buried in its own tomb of guilt and sorrow.

“So, about the funeral—?”

Callie slammed the door on her thoughts and focused on her mother.

“Tell me about the music? Any hymns?” Grace asked.

Callie eyed her, sensing an ulterior motive in her question. “Real nice, Mom. Organ music and hymns.”

“Which hymns?”

Callie pulled her shoulders back, feeling the muscles tightening along the cords of her neck. “‘Amazing Grace,’ ‘Softly and Tenderly.”’

“I can hear you singing that one. So beautiful.”

Callie fought the desire to bolt from the room. She sensed an argument heading her way. Instead, she aimed her eyes at the newspaper clutched in her hands.

Grace leaned on an elbow. “So what will you do now?”

“Find a new job, I suppose.” She hesitated, wondering what comment she’d receive about her newest resolve. “But I’ve made a decision.” Callie met her mother’s eyes. “I’m not going to give elderly care anymore. I’ll find something else.”

“Praise the Lord, you’ve come to your senses. Callie, you have a nursing degree, but you continue to waste your time with the deathwatch. You need to live and use the talent God gave you.”

Deep creases furrowed Callie’s forehead. “Please don’t call it the deathwatch. Caring for older people has been a blessing. And I do use my talents.” She shook her head, amazed at her mother’s attitude. “Do you think it’s easy to nurse someone who’s dying? I use as many skills as I would in a regular hospital.”

Grace fell back against the chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to belittle your work, but it’s not a life for a young woman. Look at you. You’re beautiful and intelligent, yet you spend your life sitting in silent rooms, listening to old people muttering away about nothing but useless memories. What about a husband…and children? Don’t you want a life for yourself?”

She flinched at her mother’s words. “Please, don’t get on that topic, Mom. You know how I feel about that.”

“I wish I knew when you got these odd ideas. They helped put your father in his grave. He had such hopes for you.”

Callie stiffened as icy tendrils slithered through her. How many times was she reminded of how she had helped kill her father? After his death three years earlier, the doctor had said her dad had been a walking time bomb from fatty foods, cigarettes and a type-A personality. Though guilt poked at her, she knew she hadn’t caused his death. Yet, she let her mother rile her.

Grace scowled with a piercing squint. “I think it began when you stopped singing,” she said, releasing a lengthy, audible sigh. “Such a beautiful voice. Like a meadowlark.”

“Stop. Stop, Mother.” Callie slammed her hand on the tabletop. “Please, don’t call me that.”

Grace looked taken aback. “Well, I’m sorry. What’s gotten into you?” She gaped at Callie. “You’re as white as a sheet. I only called you a—”

“Please, don’t say it again, Mother.” Callie pressed her forehead into her hand.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” Grace sat for a moment before she began her litany. “I don’t know, Callie. I could cry when I think of it. Everyone said you sang like an angel.”

Callie stared at the newspaper, the black letters blurring. Her mother wouldn’t stop until she’d made her point. Callie ached inside when she thought about the music she’d always loved. She struggled to keep her voice calm and controlled. “I lost my interest in music, that’s all.” Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her fisted hand.

“Your father had such hopes for you. He dreamed you’d pass your audition with the Jim McKee Singers. But his hopes were buried along with him in his grave.”

Callie modulated her pitch, and her words came out in a monotone. “I didn’t pass the audition. I told you.”

“I can’t believe that, Callie. You’ve said it, but everyone knew you could pass the audition. Either you didn’t try or…I don’t know. Being part of Paul Ivory’s ministry would be any girl’s dream. And the Jim McKee Singers traveled with him in the summer all over the country, so it wouldn’t have interfered with your college studies. And then you just quit singing. I can’t understand you.”

“Mother, let’s not argue about something that happened years ago.”

“But it’s not just that, Callie. I hate to bring it up, but since the baby, you’ve never been the same.”

Unexpected tears welled in Callie’s eyes, tears she usually fought. But today they sneaked in behind the emotions elicited by Ethel’s death, and the memory of the baby’s Christmas birth dragged them out of hiding.

Callie had never seen the daughter she bore six years earlier. The hospital had their unbending policy, and her parents had given her the same ultimatum. A girl placing a child for adoption should not see her baby.

She begged and pleaded with her parents to allow her to keep her daughter. But they would have no part of it. She struggled in her thoughts—longing to finish an argument that held weight. In the end, her parents were correct. A child needed a secure and loving home. Adoption was best for her baby daughter. But not for Callie. Against her wishes, Callie signed the papers releasing her baby for adoption.

Grace breathed a ragged sigh. “Maybe your father and I made a mistake. You were so young, a whole lifetime ahead of you. We thought you could get on with your life. If you’d only told us who the young man was—but you protected him. Any decent young man would have stood up and accepted his responsibilities. For all we knew, you never told him, either.”

“We’ve gone over this before. It’s in the past. It’s over. It’s too late.” She clutched the newspaper, crumpling the paper beneath her fingers.

“We meant well. Even your brother and sister begged you to tell us who the fellow was. You could have been married, at least. Given the baby a name, so we could hold our head up in public. But, no.”

Callie folded the paper and clasped it in her trembling hand. She rose without comment. What could she say that she hadn’t said a million times already? “I’m going to my room. I have a headache.” As she passed through the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother’s strained expression.

Before Grace could call after her, Callie rushed up the staircase to her second-floor bedroom and locked the door. She could no longer bear to hear her mother’s sad-voiced recollections. No one but Callie knew the true story. She prayed that the vivid picture, too much like a horror movie, would leave her. Yet so many nights the ugly dream tore into her sleep, and again and again she relived the life-changing moments.

She plopped on the corner of the bed, massaging her neck. The newspaper ad appeared in her mind. David Hamilton. She grabbed a pen from her desk, reread the words, and jotted his name and telephone number on a scratch pad. She’d check with Christian Care Services tomorrow and see what they had available. At least she’d have the number handy if she wanted to give Mr. Hamilton a call later.

She tossed the pad on her dressing table and stretched out on the bed. A child? The thoughts of caring for a child frightened her. Would a child, especially a sick child, stir her longing?

She’d resolved to make a change in her life. Images of caring for adults marched through her head—the thought no longer appealed to her. Nursing in a doctor’s office or hospital held no interest for her: patients coming and going, a nurse with no involvement in their lives. She wanted to be part of a life, to make a difference.

She rolled on her side, dragging her fingers through the old-fashioned chenille spread. The room looked so much the way it had when she was a teenager. How long had her mother owned the antiquated bedspread?

Since college, her parents’ home had been only a stop-off place between jobs. Live-in care was her preference—away from her parents’ guarded eyes, as they tried to cover their sorrow and shame over all that had happened.

When she’d graduated from college, she had weighed all the issues. Geriatric care seemed to encompass all her aspirations. At that time, she could never have considered child care. Her wounds were too fresh.

Her gaze drifted to the telephone. The name David Hamilton entered her mind again. Looking at her wristwatch, she wondered if it was too late to call him. Eight in the evening seemed early enough. Curiosity galloped through her mind. What did the ad mean—a “special” child? Was the little one mentally or physically challenged? A boy or girl? Where did the family live? Questions spun in her head. What would calling hurt? She’d at least have her questions answered.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rose, and grabbed the notepad. What specific information would she like to know? She organized her thoughts, then punched in the long-distance number.

A rich baritone voice filled the line, and when Callie heard his commanding tone, she caught her breath. Job interviews and query telephone calls had never bothered her. Tonight her wavering emotions addled her. She drew in a lengthy, relaxing breath, then introduced herself and stated her business.

Hamilton’s self-assured manner caught her off guard. “I’m looking for a professional, Ms. Randolph. What is your background?”

His tone intimidated her, and her responses to his questions sounded reticent in her ears. “It’s Miss Randolph, and I’m a professional, licensed nurse.” She paused to steady her nerves. “But I’ve preferred to work as a home caregiver rather than in a hospital. The past four years, I’ve had elderly patients, but I’m looking for a change.”

“Change?”

His abruptness struck her as arrogant, and Callie could almost sense his arched eyebrow.

“Yes. I’ve been blessed working with the older patients, but I’d like to work with…a child.”

“I see.” A thoughtful silence hung in the air. “You’re a religious woman, Miss Randolph?”

His question confounded her. Then she remembered she’d used the word blessed. Not sure what he expected, she answered honestly. “I’m a Christian, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She waited for a response. Yet only silence filled the line. With no response forthcoming, she asked, “What do you mean by ‘special,’ Mr. Hamilton? In the ad, you mentioned you needed a caregiver for a ‘special child.”’

He hesitated only a moment. “Natalie…Nattie’s a bright child. She was always active, delightful—but since her mother’s death two years ago, she’s become…withdrawn.” His voice faded.

“Withdrawn?”

“Difficult to explain in words. I’d rather the prospective caregiver meet her and see for herself what I mean. Nattie no longer speaks. She barely relates to anyone. She lives in her own world.”

Callie’s heart lurched at the thought of a child bearing such grief. “I see. I understand why you’re worried.” Still, panic crept over her like cold fingers inching along her spine. Her heart already ached for the child. Could she control her own feelings? Her mind spun with flashing red warning lights.

“I’ve scared you off, Miss Randolph.” Apprehension resounded in his statement.

She cringed, then lied a little. “No, no. I was thinking.”

“Thinking?” His tone softened. “I’ve been looking for someone for some time now, and I seem to scare people off with the facts…the details of Nattie’s problem.”

The image of a lonely, motherless child tugged at her compassion. What grief he had to bear. “I’m not frightened of the facts,” Callie said, but in her heart, she was frightened of herself. “I have some personal concerns that came to mind.” She fumbled for what to say next. “For example, I don’t know where you live. Where are you located, sir?”

“We live in Bedford, not too far from Bloomington.”

Bedford. The town was only a couple of hours from her mother’s house. She paused a moment. “I have some personal matters I need to consider. I’ll call you as soon as I know whether I’d like to be interviewed for the position. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Certainly. That’s fine. I understand.” Discouragement sounded in his voice.

She bit the corner of her lip. “Thank you for your time.”

After she hung up the telephone, Callie sat for a while without moving. She should have been honest. She’d already made her decision. A position like that wouldn’t be wise at all. She was too vulnerable.

Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work for David Hamilton. His tone seemed stiff and arrogant. A child needed a warm, loving father, not one who was bitter and inflexible. She would have no patience with a man like that.

David Hamilton leaned back in his chair, his hand still clasping the telephone. Useless. In two months, his ad had resulted in only three telephone calls. One courageous soul came for an interview, but with her first look at Nattie, David saw the answer in the woman’s eyes.

He supposed, as well, the “live-in” situation might be an obstacle for some. With no response locally, he’d extended his ad further away, as far as Indianapolis. But this Miss Randolph had been the only call so far.

He longed for another housekeeper like Miriam. Her overdue retirement left a hole nearly as big, though not as horrendous, as Sara’s death. No one could replace Miriam.

A shudder filtered through him. No one could replace Sara.

Nothing seemed worse than a wife’s death, but when it happened, he had learned the truth. Worse was a child losing her mother. Yet the elderly housekeeper had stepped in with all her love and wisdom and taken charge of the household, wrapping each of them in her motherly arms.

Remembering Miriam’s expert care, David preferred to hire a more mature woman as a nanny. The voice he heard on the telephone tonight sounded too young, perhaps nearly a child herself. He mentally calculated her age. She’d mentioned working for four years. If she’d graduated from college when she was twenty-one, she’d be only twenty-five. What would a twenty-five-year-old know about healing his child? Despite his despair, he felt a pitying grin flicker on his lips. He was only thirty-two. What did he know about healing his child? Nothing.

David rose from the floral-print sofa and wandered to the fireplace. He stared into the dying embers. Photographs lined the mantel, memories of happier times—Sara smiling warmly with sprinkles of sunlight and shadow in her golden hair; Nattie with her heavenly blue eyes and bright smile posed in the gnarled peach tree on the hill; and then, the photograph of Sara and him on his parents’ yacht.

He turned from the photographs, now like a sad monument conjuring sorrowful memories. David’s gaze traversed the room, admiring the furnishings and decor. Sara’s hand had left its mark everywhere in the house, but particularly in this room. Wandering to the bay window, he stood over the mahogany grand piano, his fingers caressing the rich, dark wood. How much longer would this magnificent instrument lie silent? Even at the sound of a single note, longing knifed through him.

This room was their family’s favorite spot, where they had spent quiet evenings talking about their plans and dreams. He could picture Sara and Nattie stretched out on the floor piecing together one of her thick cardboard puzzles.

An empty sigh rattled through him, and he shivered with loneliness. He pulled himself from his reveries and marched back to the fireplace, grabbing the poker and jamming it into the glowing ashes. Why should he even think, let alone worry, about the young woman’s phone call? He’d never hear from her again, no matter what she promised. Her voice gave the tell-tale evidence. She had no intention of calling again.

Thinking of Nattie drew him to the hallway. He followed the wide, curved staircase to the floor above. In the lengthy hallway, he stepped quietly along the thick Persian carpet. Two doors from the end, he paused and listened. The room was silent, and he pushed the door open gently, stepping inside.

A soft night-light glowed a warm pink. Natalie’s slender frame lay curled under a quilt, and the rise and fall of the delicate blanket marked her deep sleep. He moved lightly across the pink carpeting and stood, looking at her buttercup hair and her flushed, rosy cheeks. His heart lurched at the sight of his child—their child, fulfilling their hopes and completing their lives.

Or what had become their incomplete and short life together.

After the telephone call, Callie’s mind filled with thoughts of David Hamilton and his young daughter. Her headache pounded worse than before, and she undressed and pulled down the blankets. Though the evening was still young, she tucked her legs beneath the warm covers.

The light shone brightly, and as thoughts drifted through her head, she nodded to herself, resolute she would not consider the job in Bedford. After turning off the light, she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep.

Her subconsciousness opened, drawing her into the darkness. The images rolled into her mind like thick fog along an inky ocean. She was in a sparse waiting room. Her pale pink blouse, buttoned to the neck, matched the flush of excitement in her cheeks. The murky shadows swirled past her eyes: images, voices, the reverberating click of a door. Fear rose within her. She tried to scream, to yell, but nothing came except black silence—

Callie forced herself awake, her heart thundering. Perspiration ran from her hairline. She threw back the blankets and snapped on the light. Pulling her trembling legs from beneath the covers, she sat on the edge of the bed and gasped until her breathing returned to normal.

She rose on shaking legs and tiptoed into the hall to the bathroom. Though ice traveled through her veins, a clammy heat beaded on her body. Running cold tap water onto a washcloth, she covered her face and breathed in the icy dampness. Please, Lord, release me from that terrible dream.

She wet the cloth again and washed her face and neck, then hurried quietly back to her room, praying for a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Two

Christian Care Services filled the two-story office building on Woodward. Callie entered the lobby and took the elevator to the second floor. Usually she walked the stairs, but today she felt drained of energy.

Twenty-five minutes later, she left more discouraged than when she’d arrived. Not one live-in care situation. How could she tell the young woman she couldn’t live at home, not because she didn’t love her mother, but because she loved herself as much? The explanation seemed too personal and complicated.

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.”

Callie moved as close to the silent child as she felt comfortable doing. “Hi, Nattie. I’ve heard nice things about you from your daddy. I brought you a present.”

She detected a slight movement in the child’s body at the word present. Hoping she’d piqued Nattie’s interest, she opened her large shoulder bag and pulled out the books wrapped in colorful tissue and tied with a ribbon. “Here.” She extended her hand holding the books.

Nattie didn’t move, but sat with her arms bound to her knees.

Stepping forward, Callie placed the package by the child’s feet and backed away. She glanced at David. His gaze was riveted to his daughter.

He took a step forward and rested his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Nattie, how about if you open the present?”

The child glanced at him, but made no move to respond.

David squeezed his large frame into the end of the window seat. He lifted the gift from the bench and raised it toward her.

She eyed the package momentarily, but then lowered her lids again, staring through the window as if they weren’t there.

Frustration rose in Callie. The child’s behavior startled her. A list of childhood illnesses raced through her mind. Then other thoughts took their place. How did Sara die? Was the child present at her death? Questions swirled in her thoughts. What might have happened in the past to trouble this silent child sitting rigidly on the window seat?

David relaxed and placed the package on his knees. “I’ll open the gift for you, then, if you’d like.” Tearing the paper from the gift, he lifted the books one by one, turning the colorful covers toward her. “‘The Lost Lamb,”’ he read, showing her the book.

Callie looked at the forlorn child and the book cover. If ever there were a lost lamb, it was Nattie. The next book he showed her was a child’s New Testament in story form, and the last, children’s poems. Nattie glanced at the book covers, a short-lived spark of interest on her face.

David placed the books again by her feet and rose, his face tormented. Callie glanced at him and gestured to the window seat. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head, and she wandered slowly to the vacated spot and nestled comfortably in the corner. “I think I’d like to read this one,” Callie said, selecting “The Lost Lamb,” “if you don’t mind.” The child made no response. Callie searched David’s face, but he seemed lost in thought.

Leaning back, Callie braced herself against the wall next to the window and opened the book. She glanced at Nattie, who eyed her without moving, and began to read. “‘Oh my,’ said Rebecca to her father, ‘where is the new lamb?’ Father looked into the pasture. The baby lamb was not in sight.”

Callie directed the bright picture toward Nattie, who scanned the page, then returned her attention to her shoes. Callie continued. Nattie glimpsed at each picture without reaction. But, the child’s minimal interest gave Callie hope. Patience, perseverance, attention, love—Callie would need all of those attributes if she were to work with this lost lamb.

Glancing from the book, she caught David easing quietly through the doorway. The story gained momentum, as Rebecca and her father searched the barnyard and the wooded hills for the stray. When they found the lamb, who had stumbled into a deep hole, Nattie’s eyes finally stayed attentive to the page. When the lamb was again in Rebecca’s arms, Callie heard a soft breath escape the child at her side. Nattie had, at least, listened to the story. A first success.

“That was a wonderful story, wasn’t it? Sometimes when we feel so alone or afraid, we can remember that Jesus is always by our side to protect us, just like Rebecca protected the lamb. I love stories like that one, don’t you?” Callie rose. “Well, I have to go now, Nattie. But I hope to be back soon to read more stories with you.”

She lay the book next to Nattie and gently caressed the child’s jonquil-colored hair. Nattie’s gaze lifted for a heartbeat, but this time when she lowered her eyes, she fastened her attention on the book.

Callie swallowed her building emotions and hurried from the room. She made her way down the stairs, and at the bottom, filled her lungs with refreshing air. When she released the healing breath, her body trembled.

“Thank you.”

Callie’s hand flew to her chest, she gasped and swung to her left. “Oh, you scared me.”

David stood in the doorway across from the parlor where they had met. “You did a beautiful thing.”

“She’s a beautiful child, Mr. Hamilton. She breaks my heart, so I can only imagine how she breaks yours.”

“Call me David, please. If we’re going to live in the same house, ‘Callie’ and ‘David’ will sound less formal.”

She faltered, her hand still knotted at her chest. If we’re going to live in the same house. The meaning of his words registered, and she closed her eyes. He was asking her to stay. Could she? Would the experience break her heart once more? But suddenly, her own pain didn’t matter. Her only thought was for the child sitting alone in an upstairs room.

Callie stepped toward him. “Yes, if we’re going to live in the same house, I suppose you’re right… David. The ‘David’ will take some doing,” she admitted with a faint grin.

He extended his hand. “I pray you’ll make a difference in Nattie’s life. In our lives, really. I see already you’re a compassionate woman. I can ask for no more.”

Callie accepted his hand in a firm clasp. “I hope you’ll continue to feel like that.” She eyed him, a knowing expression creeping on her face. “You’ve already seen me with my dander up, as they say.” Her hand remained in his.

“Then we have nothing to worry about. I survived.”

“Yes, you did. And quite admirably. Thank you for trusting in my…youthful abilities.”

His hazel eyes captured hers and held her suspended until his words broke the spell. “It’s my pleasure.”

Callie gazed around her childhood bedroom, facing a new and frightening chapter in her life. Five times she had packed, heading for a patient’s home. But tomorrow was different.

Nattie appeared in her mind, the child’s face as empty of feeling as Callie’s would be when she stepped into David Hamilton’s home in Bedford. He was the last person she wanted to have know the fear that writhed inside her. She would step through the doorway with a charade of confidence. She had announced with no uncertainty that she could provide professional, compassionate care for Nattie. And she would.

The sound of Grace’s unhappy voice echoed in Callie’s head. “Bedford is too far away. Why must you be a live-in nurse? What if I need you? Dr. Swanson, right here in town, still needs an office nurse.” She’d heard the same questions and comments since she chose home-care. Tomorrow, another day—a new beginning.

Though she hadn’t finished packing, Callie’s thoughts dragged through her, sapping her energy. A good night’s sleep would refresh her, she thought. With that notion, she crawled into bed.

But Callie couldn’t escape her dream. It soon rose in her slumber, shrouded in darkness and mist.

In a foggy blur, his stare toyed with her, sweeping her body from head to toe, and her flush of excitement deepened to embarrassment. His smooth voice like a distant whisper echoed in her head. “Callie. That’s a lovely, lovely name. Nearly pretty as you are, sweetheart.”

An uneasy sensation rose in her, unexpected and unnatural. Why was he teasing her with his eyes? She felt self-conscious.

In the swirling darkness, he flashed his broad, charming smile, and his hushed voice touched her ear again. “You’re nervous. No need to be nervous.” He turned the bolt on the door.

The click of the lock cut through her sleep. Callie wrested herself from the blackness of her dream to the darkness of her room.

“Bedford’s only a couple hours away, Mom. I told you already, I can get back here if you need me.” Packing the last suitcase the next morning, Callie glanced over her shoulder at Grace. “I don’t understand why you’re worried. You’ve never needed me yet.”

Grace leaned against the door frame. “Well, I get older every year. You never know.” Grace’s pinched expression gave witness to her unhappiness.

Callie bit back the words that could easily have sailed from her lips: Only the good die young. Her mother was well-meaning, she knew that, but Callie found a chip growing on her shoulder when she spent too much time with Grace. She needed to keep that situation in her prayers—only God could work a miracle.

Callie chuckled out loud. “We have the same problem, Mom. I seem to get older every year myself. Any idea how we can fix that?”

Grace’s compressed features gave way to a grin. “Can’t do much, I suppose. I just worry. Your sister lives thousands of miles away. Kenneth is useless. Sons don’t care much about their mothers.”

“If you need Ken, he can be here in a minute. But you have to call him and let him know. Men just aren’t as attentive as women.” Guilt swept over her. She hadn’t been very attentive, either. And Grace was right—though she wasn’t ready for the grave, they had celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday. And no one was getting any younger.

A sudden feeling of tenderness swept over her. She was her parents’ “surprise” baby. At the age of forty, Grace had her “babies” raised. Patricia was fourteen, and Ken, eleven. Then came Callie, who was soon deemed the “little princess.” All her parents’ unfulfilled hopes and dreams were bundled into her. She had let them down with a bang.

A heavy silence hung in the room as Callie placed the last few items in her luggage. When she snapped the locks, she turned and faced her mother. “Well, I guess that’s it. I may need a few other things, but I’m not that far away. And at this point, I’m not sure how long I’ll be needed.”

The words caught in her throat. Already, the face of Nattie loomed in her mind. Her greatest fear was beginning to take shape. This child would continue to linger in her thoughts when her job was completed in Bedford. And could she walk away from another child? She prayed she could handle it.

Grace stood at the doorway, her hands knotted in front of her. “You’ll be coming back occasionally? So I’ll see you once in a while, then?”

“Well, sure. I’m not chained to the house. At least, I don’t think so.” She grinned at Grace, trying to keep her parting light. Most of her previous patients had lived in the area. Living in Bedford would make trips home a bit more complicated.

Grace heaved a sigh and lifted her smaller bag. Callie grabbed the larger piece of luggage and followed her mother down the stairs and out the door.

As Callie loaded her car, she shuddered, thinking of her dream the night before. She drew the chilled, winter air through her lungs, clearing her thoughts. She stood for a moment, staring at the house where her parents had lived for most of her life, remembering…

When she returned inside, Grace had lunch waiting on the table. Seeing the food as another attempt to delay her, Callie wanted to say “no, thank you,” but she had to eat somewhere. Noting her mother’s forlorn expression, she sat at the table.

“Thanks, this will save time. I should arrive in Bedford in the mid-afternoon, if the weather cooperates. I’ll have a chance to get settled before dinner.” She bit into her sandwich.

Grace raised the tuna salad to her lips, then lowered it. “Are you sure you’re safe with this man, Callie? He saw your references, but did you see his?”

Callie understood her mother’s concern. “I think seeing his daughter is reference enough. He’s not an outgoing, friendly man. I saw so much sadness in his eyes. Anyway, he has a full-time housekeeper who lives in. She looked comfortable enough. Though once I’m there, I imagine she’ll enjoy having the opportunity to go home.” Callie sipped her tea.

“You mean you have to keep house, too?”

Callie choked on her sip of tea. She quickly grabbed up her napkin to cover her mouth. “No, Mother. Agnes is from the community. She’ll be able to go home and visit her family. Since I’m there, she won’t have the responsibility to be the nanny. That’s all. He says I’ll have my own suite of rooms—bedroom, private bath and a little sitting room. And I’ll have dinner with the family. Now, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “What kind of business is this man in to afford such a big home and all this help?”

“Limestone quarries and mills. They’ve been in the family for generations. His grandfather opened a quarry in the middle eighteen-hundreds, I think. Eventually his father took over.”

“Family business, hmm? Must be a good one to keep generations at it.”

“It is. I was really amazed. I picked up some brochures at the Chamber of Commerce office on my way out of town. So many famous buildings were made with Indiana limestone—the Pentagon, the Empire State Building, lots of buildings in Washington, D.C. So I’d say the family has enough money to get by.”

Grace grinned. “To get by? I’d say. One of those aristocratic families…with money to throw away.”

“Not really. It’s a beautiful house, but David seems down to earth.”

“David? What’s this ‘David’ business?”

“Mother.” Callie rolled her eyes, yet heat rose up her neck at her mother’s scrutiny. “Since we’re living in the same house, I suppose he thought ‘Miss Randolph’ and ‘Mr. Hamilton’ sounded too formal.”

“A little formality never hurt anybody.”

“I’m an employee, Mom. And he has no interest in me. The man’s not over the death of his wife.”

“Accident?”

Callie’s brows knitted. “I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I’d already asked too many questions for someone who was supposed to be the person interviewed.”

“Never hurts to ask questions.”

“I’m sure I’ll find out one of these days. And I don’t expect to be with him much. Mainly dinner. He’ll be gone some of the time, traveling for his business. I’m there to be with Natalie. Nattie, they call her. She’s a beautiful child.”

“Just keep your eyes focused on the child, hear me?”

Callie shook her head. “Yes, Mother. I think I’ve learned to take care of myself.”

She caught a flicker of reminiscence in Grace’s expression, and froze, praying she wouldn’t stir up the past. Grace bit her tongue, and Callie changed the subject.

“The area is lovely there, all covered with snow. And imagine spring. The trees and wildflowers. And autumn. The colored leaves—elms, maples, birches.”

An uneasy feeling rippled down her back. Would she see the autumn colors? Nattie needed to be ready for school. If the child was back to normal by then, her job would be finished.

“It’s snowing,” Grace said, pulling Callie from her thoughts. “And hard.”

“Then, I’d better get moving.” Callie gulped down her last bite and drained the teacup.

Without fanfare, she slipped on her coat and said goodbye. She needed to be on her way before she was snowbound. Time was fleeting, and so was her sanity.

Chapter Five

David sat with his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his large cherry wood desk. The day pressed in from all sides. Callie should arrive any time now. He’d expected her earlier, yet the uncooperative weather had apparently slowed her travel.

The day of her interview lingered in his memory. Though Nattie had responded minimally to Callie’s ministrations, David was grateful for the most insignificant flicker of interest from his daughter these days. Callie had brought about that infinitesimal moment.

The major concern that lodged in his gut was himself. He feared Callie. She stirred in him remembrances he didn’t want to face and emotions he had avoided for two years. His only solution was to avoid her—keep his distance.

Though often quiet, Sara had had her moments of liveliness and laughter. He recalled their spring walks on the hill and a warm, sunny day filled with play when she dubbed him “Sir Knight” with a daisy chain she’d made. Wonderful moments rose in his mind of Sara playing pat-a-cake with Nattie or singing children’s songs.

If he let Callie’s smiles and exuberance get under his skin, he might find himself emotionally tangled. Until Nattie was well, and he dealt with his personal sorrow, he had no interest in any kind of relationship—and he would live with that decision. But he wished wisdom had been his gatekeeper when he’d extended her the job with such enthusiasm.

On top of it all, today they would celebrate Nattie’s sixth birthday. Tension caught between his shoulder blades when he pictured the occasion: a cake with candles she wouldn’t blow out, gifts she wouldn’t open, and joy she wouldn’t feel.

David was reminded of the day Sara had surprised him for his birthday with tickets to see Shakespeare’s darkest, direst play, King Lear. Yet, he’d accompanied her, looking pleased and interested so as not to hurt the woman he loved so deeply.

But Nattie would not look interested to please him. She wouldn’t say “thank you” or force a smile. The lack of response for the gift was not what hurt. She appeared to feel nothing, and that tore at his very fiber.

His wife’s death had been no surprise; Nattie’s living death was.

Rising from his chair, David wandered to the window and pulled back the draperies. The snow piled against the hedges and mounded against the edge of the driveway. Lovely, pure white at this moment, the snow would soon become drab and monotonous like his life.

A flash of headlights caught the mounds of crystal flakes and glowed with diamond-like sparkles. David’s heart surged, and for a heartbeat, he held his breath. Dropping the edge of the drapery, he spun toward the doorway. She would need help bringing in her luggage. He could, at least, do that.

Callie climbed the snow-covered stairs with care and rang the bell. When the door opened, her stomach somersaulted. Her focus fell upon David Hamilton, rather than Agnes. “Oh,” she said, knowing her face registered surprise, “I expected Agnes.” Her amazement was not so much at seeing him at the door as feeling her stomach’s unexpected acrobatics.

“I was keeping an eye out for you, concerned about the weather.” His face appeared drawn and serious.

“Thank you. The drive was a bit tense.”

He stepped back and held the door open for her.

She glanced at his darkened face. “I hope nothing is wrong. You look…” Immediately she was sorry she had spoken. Perhaps his stressed appearance had to do with her—hiring someone “so young,” as he had continually reminded her.

“I’m fine,” he said, looking past her toward the automobile. “Let me get my jacket, and we can bring in your luggage.”

He darted to the entrance closet, and in a brief moment, joined her.

Heading down the slippery porch stairs, Callie’s eyes filled with his Titan stature. In her preoccupation, her foot missed the center of the step and skidded out from under her. She crumpled backward, reaching out to break her fall.

David flung his hand behind her and caught her in the crook of his arm, while the other hand swung around to hold her secure. “Careful,” he cautioned.

Captured in his arms, his gaze locked with hers, she wavered at the sensation that charged through her. She marveled at his vibrant hazel eyes in the dusky light.

“Be careful. You could get hurt,” he repeated, setting her on her feet.

She found her voice and mumbled a “thank you.”

Capturing her elbow, he helped her down the next two steps. When she opened the trunk, he scanned its contents.

“I’ll help you in with the luggage,” he said, “and I’ll come back for the rest.”

She nodded. Hearing his commanding voice, she couldn’t disagree. He handed her the smallest case, taking the larger himself, and they climbed the steps with care.

Once inside, David set down the larger case and addressed Agnes, who was waiting in the foyer. “Show Callie her rooms, please. I’ll carry in the boxes and bring them up.”

Agnes nodded and grabbed the larger case. But when David stepped outside, Callie took the case from her. “Please, let me carry this one. It’s terribly heavy.”

Agnes didn’t argue and grasped the smaller case, then headed up the stairs. At the top, the housekeeper walked down the hallway and stopped at a door to the left, across from Nattie’s room. She turned the knob and stepped aside.

As Callie entered, her heart skipped a beat. She stood in the tower she had admired from outside. The sitting room was fitted with a floral chintz love seat and matching chair of vibrant pinks and soft greens, with a lamp table separating the grouping. A small oak desk sat along one curved wall, and oak bookshelves rose nearby. A woman’s touch was evident in the lovely decor.

Callie dropped her luggage and darted to the center window, pulling back the sheer white curtains framed by moss-colored draperies. She gazed outside at the scene. A light snow floated past the window, and below, David pulled the last carton from the trunk and closed the lid. He hefted the box into the air, then disappeared beneath the porch roof.

Agnes remained by the door, and when Callie turned back and faced the room, the housekeeper gestured through the doorway to the bedroom. Callie lifted her luggage and followed her inside. The modest bedroom, too, illustrated a feminine hand. Delicate pastel flowers sprinkled the wallpaper that ended at the chair-molding. Below, the color of palest blue met a deeper blue carpet.

“Agnes, this is beautiful.” She wanted to ply the woman with questions about Sara and how she used the charming rooms.

“Mr. Hamilton hoped you’d like it.”

“How could I not? It’s lovely. So dainty and feminine.”

Agnes nodded and directed her to a door that opened to a walk-in closet; across the room, another door led to a pristine private bathroom, graced by a claw-foot bathtub.

As she spun around to take in the room once again, David came through the doorway with the box.

“Bricks?” he asked.

“Nearly. Books and things.”

“Ah, I should have guessed. Then you’d like this in the sitting room.”

“Please.” Callie followed him through the doorway.

David placed the box between the desk and the bookshelves. “I’ll be right back with the other. Much lighter, I’m happy to say.”

Callie grinned. “No books.”

He left the room, and she returned to Agnes, who hovered in the doorway.

“Miss Randolph, did you want me to help unpack your things?”

“Oh, no, Agnes, I can get it. And please call me Callie. The ‘Miss’ stuff makes me nervous.” She gave the woman a pleasant look, but received only a nod in return.

“Then I’ll get back to the kitchen,” Agnes said as she edged her way to the door.

“Yes, thank you.”

Agnes missed David by a hairbreadth as he came through the doorway with the last box. He held it and glanced at Callie.

“Bedroom,” Callie said, before he asked, and she gestured to the adjoining room.

David turned with his burden and vanished through the doorway. Before she could follow, he returned. “So, I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I still want to get a television for you. But you do have a radio.”

Callie’s focus followed the direction of his hand. A small clock radio sat on the desk. “The rooms are lovely. Just beautiful. Did your wif—Sara decorate them? They have a woman’s touch.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head at the sitting room. “She used this as her reading room, and she slept here if she worried about Nattie’s health. The bedroom was the baby’s nursery then.”

“I couldn’t ask for a nicer place to stay. Thank you.”

He glanced around him, edging backward toward the door, his hands moving nervously at his sides. “Then I’ll let you get unpacked and settled. Dinner will be at six. We’re celebrating this evening. We have a couple of guests for Nattie’s birthday.”

“Really? I’m glad I’m here for the celebration. And pleased I brought along a couple of small presents. I’d be embarrassed to attend her birthday party empty-handed.” She kept her voice level and free of the irritation that prickled her. Why hadn’t he thought to tell her about the birthday?

“I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it.” A frown flashed over his face, yet faded as if another thought crossed his mind. He stepped toward the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He vanished through the doorway before Callie could respond. She stared into the empty space, wondering what had driven him so quickly from the room.

Glancing at her wristwatch, the time read four-thirty. She had an hour-and-a-half before dinner. She needed time to dress appropriately if they were celebrating Nattie’s birthday.

The word birthday took her back. Nattie was six today, so close in age to her own child, who had turned six on Christmas Day. Her chest tightened as the fingers of memory squeezed her heart. Could she protect herself from loving this child too deeply? And why did Natalie have to be six? Eight, four…any other age might not have bothered her as much.

She dropped on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet. With an inner ache, she asked God to give her compassion and patience. Compassion for Nattie, and patience with herself.

As he waited for Callie’s entrance, David prepared his guests for her introduction. Reverend John Spier listened attentively, and his sister Mary Beth bobbed her head, as if eager to meet someone new in the small town of Bedford.

“How nice,” Mary Beth said, lowering her eyelids shyly at David. “Since I’ve come to help John in the parsonage, I’ve not met too many young unmarried women. Most people my age have already settled down. I look forward to our meeting.”

“Yes, I hoped Callie might enjoy meeting you, too.”

“Although once John finds a proper bride, I assume I’ll go back to Cleveland…unless God has other plans.”

David cringed inwardly, noticing the young woman’s hopeful look, and wondered if he’d made a mistake inviting the pastor and his younger sister to the birthday dinner. The evening could prove to be difficult enough, depending on Nattie’s disposition.

Looking toward the doorway, David saw Callie descending the staircase. “Here’s Callie, now. Excuse me.” David made for the doorway.

By the time Callie had reached the first floor, he was at the foot of the staircase. Caught off guard by her attractiveness, David gazed at her burgundy wool dress adorned with a simple string of pearls at her neck. The deep red of her gown emphasized the flush in her cheeks and highlighted the golden tinges of her honey-colored hair. As he focused his gaze, their eyes met, and her blush heightened.

“I see the party has already begun,” she said. “I heard your voices as I came down the stairs.”

“Now that you’ve joined us, everyone’s here but the guest of honor.” A sigh escaped him before he could harness it. “I invited our new pastor and his sister. I thought you might like to meet some of the younger people in town.” He motioned for her to precede him. “We’re in the living room.”

She stepped around him, and he followed, watching the fullness of the skirt swish around her legs as she walked. The movement entranced him. Passing through the doorway at her side, he pulled his attention from her shapely legs to his guests.

As she entered the room, John’s face brightened, and he rose, meeting her with his outstretched hand. “You’re Callie.”

“Yes, and you’re David’s pastor.”

“John Spier,” he said, then turned with a flourish. “And this is my sister, Mary Beth Spier.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Callie said, glancing at them both.

The young woman shot Callie an effusive grin. “And I’m certainly pleased to meet you. Being new in town myself, I’ve been eager to meet some young woman who—”

“Have a seat, Callie.” David gestured to the love seat. Interrupting Mary Beth was rude, but he couldn’t bear to hear her announce again that she was one of the few single women in town. David chided himself. He should have used more sense than to invite a young woman to dinner who apparently saw him as a possible husband.

When he joined Callie on the love seat, she shifted closer to the arm and gracefully crossed her legs. His attention shifted to her slim ankles, then to her fashionable gray-and-burgundy brushed-leather pumps.

John leaned back in his chair and beamed. “I hope we’ll see you at church on Sundays. We’re a small congregation, but loaded with spirit. Although we could use a benefactor to help us with some much-needed repairs.” His glance shot toward David.

David struggled with the grimace that crept to his face, resulting, he was sure, in a pained smile. “Agnes will announce dinner shortly. Then I’ll go up and see if I can convince Nattie to join us. I never know how she’ll respond.” He eyed them, wondering if they understood. “I’ve had a difficult time here since Sara… Well, let’s not get into that.”

He wished he would learn to tuck his sorrow somewhere other than his shirtsleeve. He turned his attention to Callie. “Would you care for some mulled cider?”

She agreed, and he poured a mug of the warm brew. He regarded her full, rosy lips as she took a sip. She pulled away from the rim and nodded her approval.

His mind raced, inventing conversation. Tonight he felt tired, and wished he could retire to his study and spend the evening alone.

When Pastor John spoke, David felt himself relax.

“So where do you hail from, Callie?”

Without hesitation, she related a short personal history. Soon, Mary Beth joined in. David listened, pressing himself against the cushions rather than participating.

To his relief, Agnes announced dinner.

“Well, finally,” David said, embarrassed at his obvious relief. David climbed the stairs to find Nattie, as Callie and the guests proceeded toward the dining room.

Callie held back and followed David’s ascent with her eyes. He was clearly uncomfortable. She wondered if it was his concern for Nattie or the obvious flirtations of Mary Beth.

In the dining room, Agnes indicated David’s seating arrangement. Mary Beth’s focus darted from Callie to Agnes; she was apparently wondering if the housekeeper had made an error. She was not seated next to David.

When he arrived back with Nattie clinging to his side, he surveyed the table without comment. Except for a glance at Callie, the child kept her eyes downcast. David pulled out her chair, and Nattie slid onto it, focusing on the folded napkin on her plate, her hands below the table. David sat and asked Pastor John to offer the blessing.

Callie lowered her eyes, but in her peripheral vision she studied Nattie’s reaction to the scene around her. Until David said “Amen,” Nattie’s eyes remained closed, but when she raised her lids, she glimpsed around the table almost without moving her head.

When her focus settled on Callie, their gazes locked.

In that moment, something special happened. Would she call the fleeting glimmer—hope, premonition or fact? Callie wasn’t sure. But a sweet tingle rose from the base of her spine to the tips of her fingers. Never before had she felt such a sensation.

Chapter Six

After dinner, Nattie withdrew, staring into space and mentally recoiling from those who addressed her. David blew the lit candles on her cake as they sang “Happy Birthday” and excused her before the gifts were opened, saying she needed to rest. The wrapped packages stood ignored like eager young ladies dressed in their finery for the cotillion, but never asked to dance.

Callie longed to go with the child to the second floor, but refrained from suggesting it. Tonight was her first evening in the house, so she was still a stranger. And Nattie needed her father.

After they left the room, Callie sat uneasily with the Spiers, lost in her own thoughts.

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