The Nanny Solution (14 page)

“So,” Rachel said, changing the subject. “Do you want to live on your own?”

Victoria blinked. “Yes, but it's not quite that simple. Should I find employment, I could board at a nice establishment, perhaps a widow's home. If that happens—”

“You'd have the luxury of being treated like a daughter without the familial obligations. Not to mention avoiding everything here. Interesting hope, although you may not find it quite that way in Proud Bend.” Rachel studied Victoria carefully. “Do you really want to learn the basics of running a home just in case you can find a job or a widow who needs company?”

Victoria paused, just long enough for Rachel to smile. But it bore a gentle, but fatalistic edge. “Times are changing, Victoria, and you, being completely penniless, need to change, too. There is a middle class emerging, and these people will want the finery you and I have grown up with.” Rachel lifted her brows. “Or is there another reason?”

Victoria thought of Mitchell. Was that what he'd planned for his family? To have the good things in life?

Then, after studying her a moment, Rachel set down her purse, and rang her bell for the maid.

Victoria was not sure what her cousin planned. She had come looking only for advice, but now felt as though she was being swept out to sea on the riptide that was her cousin's no-nonsense attitude.

Well, whatever was happening, she could do it. Mitchell had intimated that she was someone who would find menial work distasteful. That couldn't be further from the truth.

“This will take a while,” Rachel was saying, tugging off her gloves. “You will be at it for most of the evening, not to mention all day tomorrow. These things take time to learn. I shall convey to Father that you're not feeling well. It will keep both Father and Clyde out of the upstairs.”

“But I feel fine.”

Rachel peered hard at her. “Where have you been? I mean, you're still in your riding outfit and you were shivering up until a moment ago.”

“I went to Mitchell's ranch. His children are sick.”

Rachel's brows shot up. “All the more reason you should not be around too many people. Who knows what you could spread?”

It was a logical decision, but Victoria still didn't feel right about it. “What are you planning? Am I taking you from your night's activities?”

“No. I'll still go, but later. You have to understand, Victoria, that my evening's activities are very important to me. I consider them more important than anything that can happen in this household.” She patted her cousin's hand. “I know it sounds awful, and makes me look terrible, but just trust me on this. I don't mean any of this to be offensive.”

Victoria was about to say she wasn't offended at all, but Rachel's tone turned fierce with commitment. “Nor can I elaborate right now. Just suffice it to say that nothing,
absolutely nothing
, in this household could drag me from going out each evening. I may be a bit late tonight, but I will send the errand boy to warn of my tardiness.”

Victoria flushed. Did Rachel have a paramour? Should she tell her older cousin just how awful her lifestyle appeared?

No. Suddenly, something didn't feel right about her assessment. She held her tongue.

The maid arrived, and Rachel ordered wood, laundry soap and a bowl of hot water, after instructing the girl to tell her father that Victoria believed she may be coming down with an illness and would not be present at suppertime. Sandra nodded, confusion in her eyes as she curtsied to her mistress.

“I also need to know how to make oatmeal,” Victoria added.

“One thing at a time. Tonight, we learn how to start a fire, and scrub laundry. This way, you'll be out of the way. If you pick it up quickly, we'll go downstairs tomorrow and make a loaf of bread and fry meat and onions. Oh, and we'll teach you how to make a decent cup of coffee and a pot of oatmeal porridge.” Rachel shook her finger at her cousin. “You'd better take notes, Victoria. You'll need to refer to them later.”

Victoria gaped at her. “I was just expecting you to speak discreetly with the housekeeper to allow the cook to show me what to do. I didn't expect you to have to learn it at the same time.”

With a laugh, Rachel brushed off Victoria's words. “I learned these skills ten years ago, when I decided that God wanted me out there helping those women who need a bit of compassion, not judgment.”

Victoria bit her lip. What women? “I don't understand.”

“Never mind. Go find a small selection of clothes that need to be washed. We have a decent wringer downstairs, but this will do as a start.” A bold smile grew on her face. “You'll be able to work in
any
household by the time I'm done with you.”

Chapter Seventeen

V
ictoria squirmed like a small child in her pew the following Sunday. She ached all over, even where she didn't think she had muscles. All day yesterday, Saturday, Rachel had kept her busy. They had slipped down the servant stairs, with Rachel somehow managing to convince the staff to keep their presence below a secret. And from there, Victoria had crammed a lifetime of rudimentary tasks into eight grueling hours.

The cook, a robust woman with a booming voice, showed Victoria everything. Armed with a pen and notebook, and wrapped in a coarse, cotton apron, Victoria carefully followed all the directions fired her way by the cook.

She cringed and gingerly rolled her shoulders, but she now knew how to do everything from wash laundry to pluck a chicken. Victoria shuddered at the memory of that task. She was sure she would never eat fowl again.

“Stop moving or mother will demand you remove yourself,” Rachel whispered from beside her on the pew.

“I don't understand. Didn't you tell her I was sick?” Victoria hissed back. She still hated that they'd stretched the truth about Friday evening.

“No. When Mother came to my room asking about you, I told her the truth.”

Victoria shut her eyes. Would her aunt tell her uncle? “Why did you say that?”

“That way, you could come to church today.” She glanced over her shoulder and turned smug. “Good thing. Here comes Mitch.”

Immediately, Victoria spun in the hard, wooden seat. The Smiths always sat up front, she'd been told and she now realized in horror that she faced the entire congregation. Aunt Louise clicked her tongue at her, and Victoria turned back around. Without seeing Mitchell.

Wait, how did Rachel know?

Rachel chuckled, giving away her ruse. Blushing madly, Victoria sat rigidly beside her older cousin, all the while willing her face to return to a normal color.

Behind her she heard someone slide into the pew. Victoria noticed Rachel toss another fast look over her shoulder, then snap it back a moment later, almost in horror.

Mitchell? Victoria jerked around.

No. There sat a broad-shouldered man in a plain black suit with a lawman's badge. Victoria's gaze dropped to his waist, but thankfully the man didn't appear to be armed.

But he was staring a hole in the back of Rachel's head. And her cousin was refusing to do anything but stare up at the altar. What was that all about?

“Sheriff, how are you this morning?” Aunt Louise asked coolly.

“I'm quite well, Mrs. Smith,” the sheriff answered. “And where is Mr. Smith this morning?”

The congeniality on Aunt Louise's face slid away. “Alas, Mr. Smith doesn't share my devotion. Rather, he was up and gone very early this morning.”

Victoria frowned. Not early at all. She'd been downstairs before her aunt and cousin and had seen Uncle Walter speaking with a man at the front door. Neither man saw her, but it was obvious that the conversation had been argumentative. In fact, she'd caught a few of the words, her uncle saying he would do it himself, after the stranger claimed he would not jeopardize his land or his herd.

Uncle Walter had then warned the visitor that he would regret not doing as he was told.

Horrified that she had been eavesdropping
again
, however accidental both times had been, Victoria had hurried into the dining room, and thus pushed the incident from her mind until now.

From the corner of her eye, she saw another tall man slipping into the sanctuary, a child in his arms.

Mitchell, with Mary. Where were the other children?

She had no time to wonder, as the service began.

Afterward she was filing toward the door with the rest of the family when a gravelly voice called her name.

“Miss Templeton?”

She turned, and found herself staring at Clyde. He lifted her hand to kiss it, but she yanked it back. “Mr. Abernathy, please. This is a church.”

“I'm so sorry I missed you this past Friday. Perhaps I can beg Louise to have me over today for lunch?”

Victoria opened her mouth to remind him that such would be far too short a notice when she was suddenly besieged about her skirt by small, but strong arms.

She looked down into Mary's bright eyes. The girl had greatly improved since Friday, for she was smiling broadly and her cheeks bore a healthy glow.

“Miss Templeton! I go to the same church as you!”

Victoria laughed. “There's only one church in Proud Bend, but nevertheless, I am glad to see you.” Her heart leaped as she looked up behind the girl, her curious gaze bumping into Mitchell's. Feeling suddenly awkward, she scooped the little girl up and was rewarded by a tight hug about the neck.

Clyde shrank back. “Has this child ever been taught manners?”

Victoria bristled, turning Mary away from him. “She's merely happy to see me. Don't you have any children, Mr. Abernathy?”

“My late wife and I were fortunate enough not to have any. They are messy, bothersome creatures.”

Victoria glanced over at Mitchell, whose expression had turned dark. He peeled Mary free of her embrace. “Allow me to remove my bothersome daughter from your presence, Mr. Abernathy. And I can assure you that my late wife taught our children excellent manners. Good day, sir.” With that, he squeezed himself through the crowd of worshippers and was gone.

“Now, my dear, where were we?”

She spun back to the old man, ignoring the crowd moving past to shake the pastor's hand. Another time would have found her calm and collected, never once showing anything but the best manners ever. Public displays of anything but cool politeness were for the less cultured, her mother always said.

But something burst inside of her, and words and emotions that would have curled her mother's hair now poured from her. “We were nowhere, Mr. Abernathy. And we never will be anywhere.” She barely drew a breath as she continued. “Children are a gift from God. Manners are important, yes, but it's more important to simply love children for who they are. And never abandon them or not want them at all! That little child has been sick and since I didn't see her brothers, I can assume they are still sick. It's a blessing to see her out and about and happy and healthy!”

With a shocked look, Clyde pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and covered his nose and mouth with it. And not from shock of her outburst, either, although she now realized that it was probably a mistake for her to berate her uncle's business partner.

No, Clyde covered his face because he was afraid of catching whatever Mary had come down with. Poor little thing. She didn't deserve to be treated like a leper.

With a huff, partially to stop from saying even more, Victoria gathered up her skirt and pressed into the crowd. She had to find Mitchell to ask how the boys were. And Emily. A sickness in a house often saw the baby perish first.

Please, Lord, let them be all right.

Breaking free of the crowd at the entrance, she spotted Mitchell and called out his name. He turned, a frown still chiseled into his face. Victoria hurried toward him. “How are the boys? And the baby? Are they still sick?”

Though he replied, his words were cool. “Yes, but Jake thought Mary and I should get out of the house. He volunteered to look after the rest.”

“Even the baby?”

“He likes children.” Mitchell's attention was diverted by a scurrying figure. Clyde was hurrying away, his handkerchief still covering his mouth.

Suppressing a remark at the sight of the cowardly man, she focused on the concerned father before her. “And what about this week coming? What do you plan to do?”

* * *

Mitch had learned that with children, planning his days in advance was an exercise in flexibility. Yesterday he'd needed to get out and check on the herd. Instead, Saturday had found him caring for the children, while Jake fixed the fence and moved some of the herd back to the main pasture. When he'd returned in the evening, Jake reported that five of the heifers he'd been set to deliver to other ranchers were dead.

Mitch would have to return the money. Now he would not be able to make his bank payment.

Rubbing his forehead with his free hand, for the other held Mary's tightly, Mitch had to push that worry away. The children needed him more.

He looked at Victoria, splendid in a navy outfit with a matching hat and purse. The hem of her closely cut skirt was deeply ruffled and her long, snugly tailored jacket had contrasting piping. How she'd managed to hurry over to him in that skirt was beyond him. But then again, on Friday, he'd witnessed Victoria mounting a sidesaddle unaided, deftly flipping free a detachable skirt in the process, and then reattaching it just as quickly once she'd settled against the pommel.

What had she just asked? He'd been awake much of the night and fatigue was stealing his attention.

“I asked what your plans are,” Victoria said as if guessing that his thoughts were miles away.

“I plan to go home and relieve Jake. Victoria, you don't need to worry—”

“I'm coming with you.”

“What?” He gave her a stern look. “You don't need to. Whatever happened to the day of rest?”

“Let no man judge you in meat or in drink, or in respect of an holyday.”

Mitch stepped back, his eyebrows shooting up. She'd quoted a Scripture verse he'd heard many times from his father when there were cows to milk. It rolled off her tongue with the ease of a woman who'd studied the Bible diligently.

“Now give me fifteen minutes.” Before he could say another word, she yanked up her skirt and spun away. He watched her hurry over to Rachel Smith, speak quickly with the woman, and then rush away in the direction of her uncle's house.

Like when she mounted that horse, Victoria could be quick and efficient when she needed to be. If she kept that pace up, she'd be back at the church in less than five minutes.

His tired gaze roamed back toward the church and bumped into Rachel's. She smiled at him, far too smugly, he thought. He moved on.

Behind the church stood a long, open stable, manned by several volunteers whose jobs before the service were to unhook the horses and lead them out of the sun. Some farmer had donated the hay and feed while several young boys, some he was sure as young as Matthew, watered the mounts. As he approached now, one man led his horse out of the stable to the line of empty carriages and wagons.

He should just bundle Mary onto the wagon and be on his way before Victoria could make it back. But she would probably follow him and it wasn't in his nature to be rude.

“Come on, Sweetpea,” he told Mary gruffly. “Let's hitch up the horse.”

Mary held back. “But what about Miss Templeton?”

He sighed and looked down at Mary. “We'll wait for her.” Perhaps one quick afternoon to convince Victoria that she couldn't handle a household. The kids were sick, anyway. They wouldn't miss her when she scooted out in horror a quarter of the way to suppertime. By then she'd have learned how tough life out here could be.

Mitch stopped when he noticed that the Smith carriage, a gold-trimmed black coupe that looked more suitable for royalty than the town's banker, was parked in front of the wagons and carriages.

Walter Smith stood beside it, smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for his family and not caring that he blocked the rest of the congregation from leaving. Mitch hadn't seen him in church, but he'd noticed the rest of the family immediately upon entering.

All right, he'd noticed
Victoria
immediately. She'd looked briefly around, but had then quickly turned to face the front. He was sure she hadn't seen him slip into a back pew with Mary, instead of the usual one behind the Smith ladies.

But the point was that Walter Smith hadn't been in church, but was here now waiting for his wife and daughter. Bold of him.

Mitch turned, noticing that Mrs. Smith and Rachel were still talking to the pastor's wife, seemingly in no hurry to leave. So why was Smith waiting dutifully here for them?

“So, MacLeod,” Smith began as he approached. Mitch was determined to squeeze his wagon past the sleek and small carriage. “I hope you're still able to make that mortgage payment no later than Monday. I heard you had some trouble.”

So that was why he was here. As in any small town, news traveled fast, but since he hadn't yet confronted Donner about his pack of wild dogs, and Jake was likely too busy to have mentioned it, Mitch took a stab at what really happened. Had Smith convinced Donner to set his dogs on Mitch's herd? He had seen Donner and Smith drinking together on those few evenings he'd spent escorting Rachel on her mission work, as per the pastor's request. Smith was probably here to gloat. Or maybe put even more pressure on Mitch.

Mitch gritted his teeth. “Don't you worry about my payment. It will be on time.”

“And the herd? How's it doing? What about that spot of trouble?”

“I still have plenty of heifers to sell, Mr. Smith. They've all been bred, too, and are safe up in a fenced pasture.”

“Fencing doesn't make good neighbors, MacLeod. You're more than likely going to get some opposition for that. The herds have to roam and get water.”

“It's my land and I am not blocking access to water.” With that, Mitch scooped Mary into his arms as he passed Smith.

The banker blew smoke into Mitch's face as he passed alongside him. Mary coughed. Mitch fought the urge to set his daughter down, rip the cigarette from the man's lips and grind it into the dirt beneath their feet. But what would that teach his daughter? That violence was the answer? No, he wouldn't do it.

“Don't think I don't know what you did with that sale, MacLeod. I'm not stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You finagled the sale of the heifers. I don't know how, but it won't happen again.”