Maid to Match (29 page)

She swallowed. “I only get every other Sunday off, and lately I’ve had a lot of extra work and wasn’t able to make it to town.”

Mack’s prediction about the lack of freedom she would have as lady’s maid rang in her head. She pushed it aside. Things would settle down after Christmas.

“I see you have a new merry-go-round,” she said.

“Yep. Mr. Danver let us help him build it. We used a bunch o’ stuff he collected from the yard. But he only had one rope and wouldn’t let us use it.”

The group at the swings lifted into the air, shrieking with delight.

“Where did you get the ropes, then?” she asked.

“From the graveyard. They had some old ones they used fer lowerin’ the pine boxes with, but they don’t need ’em no more on account as they always have to have new ones. Folks don’t like it if they drop the dead people into the holes. They want ’em lowered real slow-like.”

She bit her cheek. “I imagine they do. Where’s Mr.

Danver?”

“In the shed round back.”

The wheel slowed to a stop, the children let go of the ropes, and the next bunch rushed in.

“That’s me!” Homer said. “Gotta go.”

She watched for a moment until his little legs lifted off the ground, his grin wide, revealing a missing lower tooth.

Waving good-bye, she headed to the backyard.

The newly constructed shed was not much bigger than a side-by-side outhouse. The door stood open, soft lantern light glowing within.

She caught sight of Mack polishing something small with a rag. A rush of feelings ran through her, not the least of which was her reaction to the final kiss they’d shared.

Gathering herself together, she stepped up to the entryway.

“Hello.”

He swung around, flinging whatever it was he’d been polishing across the room and bumping his hip into the edge of the table. It teetered, then settled back onto its feet.

The two of them stood, he inside, she at the threshold, doing no more than absorbing the sight of the other. His skin had taken on a golden hue only hours in the sun could cause. His hair needed cutting. His shirt, ironing.

She lifted the bag in her hand. “I brought you some paint and an assortment of brushes.”

He made no move to take them.

She stepped inside and set them on the table, the glass bottles clinking. “The place looks nice. You’ve been busy.”

Still he said nothing, so she allowed her gaze to wander the shed, noting how everything had a proper place. A rake with a few prongs missing. A shovel with a rusted spade. A coiled rope with backspliced ends.

Her eyes returned to his big brown ones.

“Homer says you helped them build that merry-go-round out there,” she said.

Snapping out of his daze, he glanced toward the front yard as if he could see through the walls. “Yeah. I’ve, um, I’ve shown them how to do a lot of things, actually.”

“Have you?” She smiled. “They must love that.”

“The boys do, but the girls . . .” A pained expression crossed his face. “I’m of no help at all to the girls.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Sloop sees to them.”

“She doesn’t.” He tossed the cloth on the table. “You’d think she’d have them cook and clean and sew and all that stuff. But they don’t do any of those things. They just do lesson after lesson, spend hours on their knees saying prayers and memorizing their Bibles, then start all over again the next day.”

“Then who cooks and sews and cleans for them?”

“Nobody.”

She frowned. “They have to eat, Mack.”

“Well, yes, of course. There’s an old gal who comes in and cooks and the girls do scullery for her. But nobody cleans their bedding or darns or any of that stuff.”

The filth she’d glimpsed before flashed through her mind. She pictured Homer’s room without so much as a pitcher or washbasin. “How’s Ora Lou? Have you seen her?”

“I’ve seen her, and she’s fine.” His lips thinned. “I can’t say the same for Irene, though. Whatever Sloop’s doing to her and the other girls, he does it when I’m gone at night.”

She pulled back. “You aren’t suggesting he . . .”

“If he is, no one’s talking. But he’s definitely beating them. Sometimes with straps. Sometimes with switches. Sometimes with his fists. But never when I’m around to catch him. And he refuses to let me sleep here.”

“Is Irene doing anything to anger him?”

“Hardly.” He scoffed. “The girl’s afraid of her own shadow. And it’s not just her, it’s most all the girls.”

She crossed her arms, hugging them close. “Isn’t there something that can be done? Someone to go to?”

“There’s only one thing I know of.”

“What?”

“Replace him.”

“With who?”

“With me.”

Slowly straightening, her mouth fell open. “Can you? Will they let you?”

“Yes. Under one condition.”

“What?”

“That I have a wife.”

Her breath caught. “A wife?”

“The director is required to be married. If I don’t have a wife, then I can’t replace him. And I’m the only man in town who wants the job. So unless I marry, there is nothing that can be done.”

She lowered her gaze, looking at the tips of her scuffed shoes peeking from beneath her skirt. His boots stepped into her vision. The smell of wood and hard work assailed her.

“If we were married,” he said softly, “we could oust him and clean this pigsty and stop the beatings and grow a garden and get some chickens and teach the children skills and give them a chance to make something of themselves before they leave.”

Her heart hammered within her breast. She didn’t dare look up.

“We could also go get my little brothers and bring them and Ora Lou here. Then my family would be back together. All except for Earl, that is.”

She lifted her gaze then. “You’d give up the mountain to live in the city?”

“I would.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Slowly, the intensity in his eyes dimmed, replaced instead with resignation. “You’d better run, Tillie. Run back to Bilt-more. To the dangling carrot of pretty dresses, world travel, and a room with a fire.”

Stumbling back a step, she frowned. “That’s not fair. It’s more than that and you know it.”

He leaned a hip against the table. “Maybe. But do you honestly believe you can do more good at Biltmore than here at the orphanage with me?”

“Don’t judge what I do, Mack. Every part of Christ’s body has its job. Don’t belittle mine simply because it’s not yours.”

Sighing, he looked around, picked up a hinge off the floor, and started to polish it. “Thanks for the paints. I’ll have those toys for you to wrap by a week from Friday.”

“Mack – ”

“Good-bye, Tillie.”

Stung, she spun around and hurried from the shed.

CHAPTER
Twenty-seven

Tillie stepped into the Oak Sitting Room surprised to see Mrs. Winter at the table alongside their mistress.

“Come in, Tillie,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “Mrs. Winter and I were just talking about you.”

She recognized the morning dress Mrs. Vanderbilt wore. It was a simple but elegant cut of wool, and Tillie had replaced some buttons along the back and reinforced its side seams.

Mrs. Vanderbilt slipped her pen into a holder. “We’ve both been suitably pleased and impressed with your performance. Bénédicte will be leaving come the new year and so I will need to make a decision soon. The two of us thought it would be a good idea for you to take over my morning toilet for a while and see how you do.”

A thrill rushed through her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“It would mean giving up your morning parlormaid duties on the first floor. Who would you recommend to step into your place as head parlormaid during those hours?”

“Alice Breeding would do very nicely, I think, ma’am.”

“Very well. I’ll take her into consideration.” She straightened a stack of papers in front of her. “How are the Christmas gifts coming along?”

“Everything is purchased, wrapped, and labeled except for the wooden animals from Mack Danver. He expects to have those finished a week from Friday.”

“Very good. You’ll need to pick them up when they are ready.”

Tillie kept her expression carefully blank. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Vanderbilt and I will select a Christmas tree this week. I’d like you to oversee the decorating of it, along with all the holiday decorations throughout the house.”

Tillie sucked in a quick breath. Mr. Vanderbilt always set a towering Fraser fir in the Banquet Hall. She’d long admired the exquisite ornaments and trim but had never handled them before. “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Just let Mrs. Winter know what members of the staff you would like to help you, and all will be arranged.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave a nod of dismissal.

Tillie hesitated.

Mrs. Vanderbilt lifted her brows. “Was there something on your mind?”

“Actually, ma’am, there was.”

“What is it?”

“When I delivered those paints to Mack Danver last week, it came to my attention that the orphan girls are not being taught any skills which will help them acquire jobs once they reach adulthood.” She moistened her lips. “It made me think a wonderful opportunity was being passed up. I mean, what if those girls – and even the boys – were to receive classes in domestic science? As often as I go to town, it would be quite simple to stop by and take an hour to teach them some domestic skills.”

Mrs. Winter straightened, her cheeks turning florid.

Clasping her hands on top of the table, Mrs. Vanderbilt leaned forward. “That’s a very noble suggestion, Tillie. But Asheville is a bit far, especially when there are so many families right here on our mountains who are in need. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, though.”

Tillie dropped her gaze. She knew her request had been brazen, but as philanthropic as Mrs. Vanderbilt was, Tillie really thought she would take the situation into consideration. To be refused outright shook her more than she wanted to admit.

Bobbing a curtsy, she thanked her mistress and quietly left the room.

Tillie crossed the empty yard of the orphanage. The ropes on the merry-go-round hung forlornly in the cold breeze, as desolate as the trees without their leaves. She scanned the building, wondering where Mack was. Smoke swirled out of its two chimneys, adding more gray to the already cloudy day.

Picking her way to the shed, she avoided muddy patches left behind by a fierce afternoon thunderstorm. She wiggled the door, but it was locked and bolted. He must be in the house.

Her breath came out in a cloud of vapor as she made her way to the back stoop, wondering if this would be the last time she’d see him. Once she collected these toys, she’d have no more reason to seek him out. She would come see Homer, of course, but so long as the Sloops refused her help, her visits would be restricted to the parlor. There wouldn’t be much chance of seeing Mack there. Tightening the scarf about her head, she knocked.

A bowed woman with a soiled apron and dirty mop cap answered. Her wrists were tiny, her fingers bent, and her gray hair frizzed.

“Good afternoon. I’m Tillie Reese from Biltmore. I need to see the useful man, please.”

“Well, come on ’fore you let all the cold air in.”

Warmth from the kitchen immediately embraced Tillie. She scanned the area. Two giant pots of water sat atop the stove, and another kettle hung inside a huge, crackling fireplace. A young girl sat perched on a stool plucking feathers from a chicken. Another knelt on the floor scrubbing dishes in a tin tub. The woman shuffled to a table and began chopping carrots.

Unfurling her scarf, Tillie hooked it and her coat on a peg by the door. Mack’s jacket hung on the peg next to it. “Do you know where I can find Mr. Danver?”

“In Irene’s room doing some repairs,” the cook said, waving her knife toward the upper floors.

“Do you know which room is hers?”

“The girls are on the top floor.”

Tillie nodded. “What about the Sloops? Are they in?”

“The missus is. She’s up yonder schooling the kids.” The knife pointed to the front of the building.

“Thank you. I’ll just go see if I can find Mr. Danver, then.”

“Suit yerself.”

Now that she wasn’t dashing through the building on a clandestine mission, she had a better chance to see how badly the place needed scrubbing. Cobwebs crisscrossed every corner like fishnets. A few had fallen loose, only to be snagged by the plastered walls, leaving filmy webs dangling like tinsel.

She walked toward the stairwell, her boots loud in the quiet of the hall. On the top floor, the girls’ rooms were similar to Homer’s, only with one cot instead of two. Each was covered with dingy, moth-eaten blankets. No personal belongings. Nothing to indicate anything about the occupants.

She rubbed her arms against the chill in the air. Where in the world was Mack? Turning around, she headed back up the hall, then spotted a closed door with a light coming from beneath. Muffled voices came from within.

She gave a light tap.

The voices stopped.

“Come in.”

She swallowed. It was Mack. Slowly turning the knob, she pushed the door open.