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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 She was always active, delightful—but since her mother’s death two years ago, she’s become…withdrawn.”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“Withdrawn?”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.
