The Nanny's Little Matchmakers (Love Inspired Historical) (10 page)

Then she let out another long sigh. “But I’m bored, bored, bored. No one lets me do anything, and if Mary tries to get me to knit another bootie, I think I’ll go mad.”

Polly giggled at her friend’s mock hysteria. “You see, Mitch. We aren’t perfect at all. Poor Annabelle’s on the verge of madness.”

“Oh, you laugh now,” Annabelle said, looking forlornly at her swollen stomach. “Just wait until it’s your turn. Then we’ll see how you feel, being stuck at home all day with nothing to do but wait.”

“Well, I can ease your mind on that account.” Polly shook her head as she looked over at Mitch. “They all suffer under the delusion that I’m going to meet some wonderful man who will sweep me off my feet and change my mind. But mark my words. I shall never marry, and I shall certainly never have children.”

A screech from the kitchen seemed to echo Polly’s words. “You see? I suppose I should go find out what that is all about.”

As Polly passed her friend on the way to the kitchen, she gave her another hug. “But I am deliriously happy for you, and soon enough, you will be holding the most beautiful babe the world has ever seen, and it will all be worth it.”

They were the same words Polly had been using to comfort her friend for weeks now, but as she entered the kitchen and saw little Isabella sitting in the middle of the floor, covered in what appeared to be batter, something in her speech felt off.

“It was a accident,” Thomas said, looking guilty. “I tripped.”

“And I told you to wait for a grown up to help you.” Maddie picked up Isabella and handed her to Polly. “I’ll let you get this one cleaned off while I get the others to mopping the floor.”

Maddie sent a stern look to Thomas. “It may have been an accident, but in my kitchen, if you make a mess, you clean it up.”

Holding the dripping little girl as far from her as possible, Polly sighed. All she’d ever wanted was to leave this chaos, yet there was something dearly familiar about it all. For all her bravado, could she leave?

Though she’d told Mitch there was truly nothing special about this place, other than their faith, Polly had to wonder—if she did get what she wanted, would the love be as strong?

Chapter Ten

N
ever marry and have children.
Polly’s pronouncement to Annabelle shouldn’t have surprised Mitch, but hearing the strength of her conviction made his heart ache. Polly really was going to leave them.

“Don’t mind her,” Annabelle said. “She’s always been a stubborn one, that Polly. But that’s why we love her. As stubborn as she is in resisting things, she’s also stubborn in clinging to her love. Which is why she’s so good for your children.”

“I’m certainly grateful for her influence on them,” Mitch said slowly, trying to ignore the twinkle in Annabelle’s eyes. It might have been more than a few years since he’d played victim to someone else’s matchmaking, but he could see where Annabelle’s thoughts were headed.

“I think it’s admirable that Polly doesn’t want to marry and instead wants to devote her life to helping children. It’s good for a person to know what they want out of life.”

Annabelle snorted. A very unladylike noise for someone who looked like the advertisements in his catalogs of all that a lady should be. “The last thing on earth Polly wants is to be a teacher. She might say that’s what she wants, but just wait until she has to live under those rules for a while. Honestly, what Polly really needs is—”

“A friend who doesn’t meddle,” Polly said, poking her head into the room. “I’ve just come to tell Mitch that we’re ready to leave on our picnic.”

Then she turned to Annabelle. “As for you, it’s all well and good that you’ve found happiness with Joseph. But it’s not the life for me. And I’ll thank you to remember that before you start concocting plans in your head. Now you’d best go put your feet up before that husband of yours comes round the corner and sees you.”

Mitch hid his grin with a well-placed cough behind his hand. He had nothing to complain about with his own family growing up, but it had lacked the friendship and warmth he’d seen at the Lassiter house. Even among those not related by blood, he saw a kinship that almost made him envious. Except that they seemed to be pulling him in to that same kinship.

Their good-natured teasing, and even Annabelle’s attempt at meddling, all spoke of love and caring for one another. He hoped, at the very least, he could help his children have that same bond.

As Annabelle sniffed and hurried to the chair and footstool where she’d most likely spend the rest of the afternoon, she winked at Mitch. She wasn’t giving up on her matchmaking anytime soon. Though he thought, like Polly, that Annabelle was wasting her time, part of him was flattered that she wanted to make his inclusion into their family official.

“Shall we?” Polly gestured toward the door. “Uncle Frank has the wagon all loaded up. “I hope you don’t mind, but he’s asked us to drop off some supplies at a nearby mining camp. They have a nice place to picnic there, so I didn’t see any harm in combining the trips.”

“No, it will be nice to see some of the countryside.” Mitch hadn’t taken the time to enjoy much of the view as they traveled to Leadville.

The ride to the mining camp was pleasant, and he appreciated Polly’s chatter as she pointed out landmarks and places of interest. When they arrived, Polly led them to a picturesque stream in the midst of a sunny meadow that seemed far removed from the bustle of town and the industry of the mines. Here, he felt a peace he hadn’t known in...well, he couldn’t remember when he’d felt this peaceful. But more than that, he noticed a camaraderie amongst his children he’d not seen before. Isabella sat, cuddled in Polly’s lap, and Polly seemed to act as though having a three-year-old attached to her was the most natural thing in the world. Louisa braided Clara’s hair in a fancy new way she’d just learned. And the boys, Rory and Thomas, were whittling sticks. Whittling!

Mitch paused for a moment as he realized he’d never given his boys knives.

“What do you have there?” he asked them, looking at Polly.

“Maddie gave ’em to us,” Rory said, sticking out his chin in the defiant way Mitch was accustomed to. “She said she doesn’t want us using the pastor’s good silver for making arrows.”

Polly gave him an amused look. “Maddie is quite particular about her housekeeping, as you know. The boys saw Nugget and Caitlin playing with their bows and arrows, and they wanted some, too. It’s quite clever, really, how they came up with the idea of making their own.”

Clever. No one had ever called his sons clever. Devious, certainly, and they’d never been praised for their creativity.

He caught Polly’s warm smile as she looked at the boys. “Rory asked Nugget if he might borrow one of her arrows so he could fashion one similar. I know you said they’ve never really had friends before, so you should be quite proud of how well they’re getting along with the other children.”

“That’s remarkable. Well done, Rory and Thomas.” Mitch smiled at his sons, and the expressions of pure joy on their faces made his heart shatter into dozens of tiny pieces. How long had it been since he’d had cause to praise his sons? He’d spent so much time tearing his hair out trying to get them to behave that he’d never taken the time to see what Polly was so clearly showing him.

Thomas clambered over to Mitch and sat on his lap.

“See mine? Rory says it won’t fly because I used the wrong feathers, but I liked the feathers from Mrs. Bates’s chicken better, so I chased it, and I catched it and I got a whole handful of feathers. I think it makes my arrow look real pretty, dontcha think?”

Polly let out a long sigh. “I thought I told you to leave Mrs. Bates’s poor chickens alone. Maddie was saving you some feathers she had, and all you had to do was ask her.”

“But they weren’t pretty feathers!” Thomas’s lower lip quivered in a pout, and Mitch wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but he knew it would crush his son. And yet, he had disobeyed Polly’s request.

“Still, you should have listened to Polly,” Mitch told his son, picking up the arrow, then looking at Polly. “What do you think we should do with this?”

Polly sighed and turned her attention to Thomas. “Well, I don’t suppose we can glue the feathers back on the chicken, now can we?”

Thomas shook his head furiously.

“But I do think that we’ll have to keep this arrow until you’ve properly apologized to Mrs. Bates for disturbing her chickens and she says it’s all right for you to have your arrow back.”

“But that’s mean,” Thomas wailed.

“How would you feel if someone much larger than you pulled out a bunch of your hair to make some arrows?” Polly’s voice was gentle, tender, but Thomas looked terrified as he put his hands over his head.

“Don’t pull out my hair!”

Polly gently rested her hands on top of his, stroking them. “I would never do that. You’re a handsome boy, and I wouldn’t want to spoil it. I’m just asking you to think about how that poor chicken must feel.”

“I just wanted pretty feathers.” Thomas sniffed as he removed his hands from under hers to wipe his nose.

“Next time, let’s think of a different solution that doesn’t involve hurting Mrs. Bates’s poor chickens.”

“All right,” Thomas said, hopping off Mitch’s lap. Immediately, he missed the warmth of his son, even though it was a nice day. Suddenly, he understood the appeal of Polly constantly holding Isabella.

“Thomas?” Mitch called after his son.

Thomas turned to look at him.

“I love you.”

Thomas stared at him, as Mitch realized that he hadn’t said those words nearly often enough with any of his children. But then the boy broke out into a grin.

“I love you, too, Papa.”

And if his heart hadn’t already burst into pieces too tiny to put together, it would have melted. Thomas skipped off to rejoin his brother, completely oblivious to how his words had impacted his father.

“They all do, you know,” Polly said quietly, smiling at him as she adjusted Isabella in her arms.

“Did she fall asleep?”

Isabella turned her head to look at him. “No, Papa. I’s not asweep. I’s watching dem butterfwies.”

Her chubby little finger pointed at a spot in the grass where, sure enough, a couple of butterflies flitted about.

Louisa must have overheard them talking because she approached them. “They’re beautiful butterflies, aren’t they? Want to see if we can catch them?”

“Oh, yes!” Isabella’s curls bobbed up and down as she nodded her head furiously. “We will be vewy gentle with dem so’s they don’t get hurt.”

Mitch started to tell her that if she caught a butterfly, it would hurt the creature, but Polly put her hand on his leg, speaking softly when the girls were out of earshot. “Don’t spoil it for her. She’s too clumsy to catch one, but it will make her happy to think she can.”

He stared at her. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” She moved a stray curl that had fallen down over her face and tucked it neatly behind her ear. Beautiful. So innocent and without any of the artifice he’d come to despise in women. Polly’s beauty wasn’t the sort that had men falling over themselves to escort her on the town. Rather, it shone from within, and it seemed to make everything around her even more beautiful.

But that was fancy talking again, and as delighted as he was by her presence, he had to remind himself that it wouldn’t last.

“It amazes me how well you know the children. How you talk to them.”

Polly shrugged. “Experience. I told you that.”

“It’s more than experience,” Mitch said, willing himself to not try counting all the freckles on her nose. He’d sold many a cream to help women rid themselves of the scourge, but in Polly’s case, he hoped not a one disappeared.

Argh. He was doing it again. Why was he acting like a youth in the throes of his first crush? Polly was his nanny, not someone to romance.

“All of the other nannies I hired, they came with more experience than you. But you see my children with your heart, not your eyes. And I see the difference in them. They behave far better than they ever have.”

Polly sighed. “Not completely. I’m not looking forward to my conversation with Mrs. Bates tomorrow. She loves those chickens like they were her children, and I’m sure she’s going to have something to say about the emotional distress her chickens have suffered.”

Mitch couldn’t help but laugh. “Emotional distress? For a chicken?”

“Laugh all you want, but you haven’t seen how she treats those chickens. They were one of the few flocks to survive last winter, and when one of the miners came over with an axe to see if she could spare one, I thought she was going to use it on him! Needless to say, none of her birds have graced anyone’s stew pot.”

Polly’s description of the woman and her defense of her chickens had him laughing all the more, until finally she joined in with a few giggles of her own.

“You’re too much to resist, you know that?” Polly’s eyes shone as their laughter died down. “I know you haven’t had much to laugh about, but you have one of the best laughs I’ve heard. It makes me happy just to hear your joy.”

Everything in him felt lighter. He wished he could express it to Polly, but he wasn’t sure even how to explain it to himself. The world seemed different when he was with her, and the longer they were in that world together, the harder it was for him to imagine life without her.

“I should go see where Rory has gotten off to,” Mitch said, standing. “I haven’t spent much time with him since we arrived.”

He hated the way Polly’s face fell at his words. Clearly, she was enjoying their interlude just as much as he. But she had no idea the pain of becoming attached to someone who had no intention of reciprocating that attachment.

Moments like this, he thought that perhaps he should let her go now, while losing her would still be bearable. But he honestly didn’t know how he was going to cope with finding Hattie’s killer, potentially going through a trial and raising his children without her. Was it selfish of him to cling to her, knowing that in the end, it would result in heartbreak for them all?

Unfortunately, there were no clear answers, but as he approached his son, and saw the way Rory beamed up at him, he knew that above all, he had to find out what was best for his children.

* * *

Polly couldn’t fault Mitch for going to be with Rory. After all, that’s what the whole point of their outing had been. And yet, they’d shared a moment, connected on an important level and for once Polly felt...she shook her head. Whatever she’d been feeling, it was entirely inappropriate to be feeling about one’s employer.

The three girls came running up to her, their hands filled with flowers. “Look what we found,” they chorused.

“They’re lovely. We can bring some home to Maddie. They’d be beautiful on the dinner table.”

“Or you could give them to Papa,” Clara said. “He would like that.”

Louisa nudged her. “Girls don’t give flowers to boys. It’s the other way around, silly.”

“Oh! Then we should give them to Papa, and he can give them to Polly.” Clara beamed as Louisa made an exasperated noise.

“Fwowers!” Isabella held up a matted handful of wildflowers, barely salvageable after being mangled in her tiny fist.

“They’re lovely,” Polly said, ignoring the interchange between Louisa and Clara. It was only natural that they would want to start matchmaking, but obviously, there was no match to be made. She just had to find some gentle way of breaking it to the girls.

Isabella beamed, then climbed up into her lap. “I yuv you, Polly.” The warmth of the little girl’s lips pressed against her cheek spread through Polly’s entire body, down to her very toes. In all the years she’d been helping care for her family, for the children in Pastor Lassiter’s ministry and all the children in the mining camps, Polly had never felt this level of deep satisfaction.

“Me, too!” Clara ran up alongside Polly and sat on the blanket beside her. “Promise you’ll never leave us.”

Polly tried to speak, then tried to swallow, but her throat seemed to be paralyzed. This wasn’t meant to be a place where Polly spent the rest of her life, merely a stopover until she was free to live on her own.

But what then?

Polly sighed. As a teacher, she’d never truly be alone, and she couldn’t help but remember the words she’d overheard Annabelle confidently tell Mitch. She would still be under the kind of restrictive life she’d always wanted to get out of.