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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.
