The Nanny's Little Matchmakers (Love Inspired Historical) (4 page)

Finally, Will spoke. “I’ve heard of the case. Grisly murder. Everyone figured the husband did it. He got tired of being cuckolded and finally did something about it. The biggest surprise in the whole thing is why he didn’t do it when their youngest daughter was born. You don’t get much more proof of infidelity than that.”

Little Isabella’s face popped into Polly’s head. “He wouldn’t have killed her over that. He loves Isabella. He loves all of his children.”

Will shrugged. “His children, maybe. But I don’t know a man alive who would put up with that kind of behavior from his wife.”

“So you’re proclaiming him guilty without having all the facts? What kind of lawman are you?”

A grin spread across Will’s face. “The kind who knows better than to mess with Polly MacDonald. You’re right, though. I don’t have all the facts. But since he’s now closely tied to the family, I aim to find them.”

Polly’s shoulders relaxed. Despite her lack of trust in most men, she had to admit that one of the few men she trusted explicitly was Will Lawson. He’d proven his honor time and again, and his thirst for justice was unequaled. If anyone could help Mitch, Will could.

Her conscience nagged her as she remembered Mitch’s instruction not to have anyone help him. But she’d seen his pride in accepting help with the children and knew that getting Will on the case was the right thing to do.

Until Will looked at her with such intensity, she thought it would melt her on the spot. No wonder criminals feared him.

“But if he’s guilty, Polly, I will see him brought to justice.”

She wouldn’t consider that possibility. Mitch had to be innocent. She couldn’t be wrong about a man and his criminal involvement twice. Mitch seemed too...

Memories of how Tom had fooled her rattled in her brain. He’d seemed incapable of a crime as well, and look where that had gotten her.

“What will happen to the children if he is?” Polly couldn’t help the question that escaped her.

Will shrugged. “Either family will take them, or they’ll go to an orphanage. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them.”

A blur of dark braids flew at her.

“We will not go to an orphanage!” Clara’s fists pummeled Polly in the stomach. “I trusted you! You are not sending us away!”

Polly wrapped her arms around the little girl. “No, I’m not sending you away. I promise. Even if it means staying with you for the rest of my life, you will not be sent away.”

As Clara sobbed, Polly could only pray that she wouldn’t have to make good on the promise. Yes, these children had already burrowed into her heart. But there was still a part of Polly that desperately yearned to be free. Had she just trapped herself?

Chapter Four

“I
t’s time for bed,” Polly called as she picked up a discarded sock from the floor. Mitch had been gone for over a week, but his brother, Andrew, said he’d heard from him and that everything was fine.

Fine. How could anything be fine when a man was in jail? Even Will had little to report on the case, a fact which only made the wait even more maddening.

Four scowling faces looked up from the game of marbles they’d been playing. Isabella, sweet Isabella, toddled over to her.

Louisa glared at her. “We aren’t finished with our game.”

“I believe I warned you when you began the game that you would not have enough time to complete it. If you like, you can leave everything out and finish in the morning.”

“That’s not fair!” Rory swiped his arm across the elaborate setup, ruining any hope that the children could continue in the morning.

Polly sighed. The longer Mitch was gone, the angrier the children became. Andrew’s explanation for their father’s absence wasn’t sitting well with any of the children because after so many days, “your father will be home soon” sounds an awful lot like a lie.

“It’s a shame you ruined such a lovely game.” Polly ruffled the boy’s head, and he shied away. “Off to bed now, and in the morning, you can help with the others’ chores, since you spoiled their fun.”

Clara smirked and flounced out of her seat. “I don’t mind going to bed. Because in the morning, we’ll wake up, and Papa will be home.”

“He will?” Thomas looked up with such innocent brown eyes that Polly wanted nothing more than to agree with Clara. “Papa’s never left us before. What if Papa never comes back, like Mummy?”

“Papa is nothing like
her
,” Louisa said, picking up the marbles. “He’ll be back, you’ll see.”

“Hey! Those are mine!” Rory snatched at Louisa’s hand.

“I won them, fair and square.”

“I was going to win them back if
she
hadn’t told us to go to bed.”

“Well, you didn’t, and now that you’ve ruined the game, they’re mine,” Louisa said triumphantly, holding up a marble with deep blue flecks. “And this one sure is a beauty. I’ve been admiring it ever since Uncle Andrew gave it to you.”

“Not all of those marbles are yours, Louisa.” Clara pointed at some of the marbles in her pile. “You’re just taking advantage of Rory’s foul temper to gain more for yourself.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

As the four children’s squabbling grew louder, Isabella began to wail. As she often did when the others fought. Polly pressed her fingers to her temple and rubbed gently before speaking.

“Give me the marbles.”

Immediately, the voices went from accusing each other to what a horrid nanny Polly was. She smiled and held out her hand.

“All of them. We’ll sort out what belongs to who in the morning. Now go get ready for bed, and I’ll be in to hear your prayers in a moment.”

Thomas was the first to comply. He hadn’t yet found the will toward the level of defiance the older children had. After depositing his marbles in Polly’s outstretched hand, he made his way to the bedroom he shared with the other children.

The Taylor family lived in a small apartment above the Mercantile. Andrew and Iris had recently vacated the rooms to live in a home they’d built nearby, and were hoping to rent them out as soon as Mitch’s troubles were resolved. For now, though, the Taylor children crammed into the tiny space, complaining often about how their home in Denver had much more room. The cozy place featured two bedrooms, a large sitting room that had space enough for a dining area and a small kitchen. Off the kitchen was a tiny room the previous nanny had occupied, but with Mitch gone, she’d taken over his room as her own to be closer to the children. To Polly, room enough. At least when the children weren’t all squabbling.

“Don’t let Louisa keep my special marble,” Rory said as he deposited the few marbles he’d been able to collect into her hand.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

Clara sighed as she handed over her marbles as well.

Louisa, however, remained where she stood, holding the marbles, chin raised high, her eyes daring Polly to act.

“You, too, Louisa.”

“I’m the eldest. I shouldn’t have to go to bed so early.”

“Your attitude says otherwise. I’m sure if I had more cooperation from you, then you would be rewarded by being allowed to stay up later and read in the sitting room. But clearly, from how you’re fighting with your siblings, you’re just as tired and cranky as they are.”

Louisa’s face reddened, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Polly had learned that a single look, the same she’d successfully employed dealing with the children in the Lassiter household, was enough to silence her. Even Louisa knew that the look meant her punishment would be worse if she spoke.

“Fine. But as soon as Papa returns, I will speak to him about this, and he’ll tell you how unreasonable you’re being.”

With that, Louisa set the marbles on the table and flounced off.

Polly couldn’t help the smile that curled at the edges of her lips. Every day was a battle with the Taylor children, but it seemed like each one became easier. Mostly because the children were starting to learn that while she was firm, ultimately, she was fair, and in the morning, when the marbles were divvied out again, each child would be satisfied with the results. Not completely happy, of course, but satisfied enough that they’d received their due.

In the meantime, though...she looked over at the sofa, where Isabella had curled up and fallen asleep. The girl had a knack for being able to do so whenever she felt tired and could be found sleeping in the oddest of places, as evidenced by their first meeting.

“Come along with you, then.” Polly scooped the sleeping girl up and carried her to Mitch’s bed. Their first night together, Polly learned that Isabella was prone to nightmares, and the easiest solution was to keep the small girl in bed with her. Otherwise, her cries woke the entire household, and it made everyone miserable. Polly had spent enough years with a child in her bed that she was able to quickly comfort Isabella and lull her back to sleep without much fuss.

After Polly tucked Isabella in, she went into the children’s room, where they were all in their beds, the girls in one bed, the boys in another, quilts tucked up to their chins. Thomas had already fallen asleep, and Rory seemed to be quickly on his way.

“Good night, boys,” Polly said softly, brushing their heads gently and pressing quick kisses to their hair.

Then she went to the girls’ bed. As she reached for Louisa, she was met with the usual icy glare. “Don’t you dare.”

“All right, then. Good night, Louisa.”

Polly smiled and looked down at Clara. “Good night, my sweet.” She smoothed the little girl’s hair and bent to kiss her, but Clara stopped her.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Tuck us in, and kiss us and then say a prayer for us?”

Polly hadn’t gotten to the prayers yet. Since the children refused to pray with her, she prayed aloud anyway and hoped that somehow her words, combined with God’s love, would reach their hearts.

“Because I care for you, and I want you to know that you’re loved.”

“You’re not our mother,” Louisa said, then rolled onto her side, putting her back to Polly.

“No, I’m not,” Polly said softly. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t love you. It doesn’t mean that God doesn’t love you.”

Clara reached up and hugged her. “None of our other nannies loved us.”

“Well, I’m not like them,” Polly said, hugging her back and kissing her on top of the head. “Now off to sleep with you, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Then, as she always did, she tucked the quilts firmly around the children, saying the familiar prayer her mother had always said when she tucked her in.

“May the Lord be with you, and in your dreams, show you the love He has for you, so that in the morning you wake, full of His love and everything you need for a glorious day. Amen.”

She thought she heard Louisa snort, but Clara whispered something softly, something that, if Polly had to guess, sounded an awful lot like “amen.”

The wounds these children carried were not something Polly could fix, but if they allowed Him into their hearts, the healing they needed could follow.

Polly exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. She tiptoed through the rest of their home, blowing out the lamps, then banking the fire so it would keep them warm the rest of the night. Though the spring weather was warm during the day, evenings and early mornings still held a chill that needed to be kept at bay.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Polly returned to the bedroom where Isabella slept. She quickly changed into nightclothes and snuggled in with the tiny girl. Another benefit of sharing a bed was that it was already warm when she got in.

She’d just begun to enter the hazy almost dreamlike state when a crash startled her. Polly’s heart leapt into her throat as she sat up in bed.

A scraping sound, then another crash.

Muttered words of anger.

At home, Polly would have lain in bed and prayed that Pastor Lassiter, or Will, or someone, would have dealt with it. Or that it was one of the boys, having fun. But here, alone in this place with these children, she knew it was up to her.

Hands shaking, Polly pulled her wrapper around her nightgown, then grabbed the pitcher from the dresser. It wasn’t much, but at least if the intruder got close enough, she could use it as a weapon.

“Please, Lord,” she prayed, “don’t let the intruder be armed.”

Her prayer did little to quiet the rushing sound in her ears or calm her unsteady hands.

Polly eased open the door, then peered out. A large mass lay on the ground, muttering in pain.

She held the pitcher above her head. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our home?”

For a moment, she thought about sending it crashing over the intruder’s head, which would incapacitate him long enough for her to get help, but her hesitation gave the intruder time to speak.

“Polly, it’s me, Mitch.”

Her heart continued to thunder in her chest as she lowered the pitcher, then clutched it tight against her.

“You nearly frightened me to death.”

“Why didn’t you leave a lamp lit?”

“I had no way of knowing you were coming home tonight. One would think you would have kept me apprised of your circumstances so that I had something to tell the children. Had I known you were coming, I would have been better prepared.”

“Point taken,” Mitch said, his voice sounding like he was smiling as he spoke. “Could you light a lamp? It seems the furniture has been rearranged in my absence and I tripped over a chair. I think my shin might be bleeding.”

Polly took a deep breath, trying to steady her still-frantic nerves. “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have done that sooner.”

She lit a lamp, then looked down at Mitch, who was rubbing his leg. The damp spot on his pants indicated he’d probably cut it open. “I’ll get some bandages.”

Polly quickly gathered the supplies she needed, lighting a few more lamps along the way, then returned to the sitting room, where Mitch had made himself comfortable on the sofa.

“You’ve done a nice job rearranging things. It’s much more open, yet cozy in here.”

As she knelt in front of him, Polly gave him a smile. “Thank you. I found that it’s easier to give the children their lessons if I can see the older ones working at the table, and I can help the younger ones here. It’s so hard for Isabella and Thomas to sit still, so having some open space for them to move around in makes it easier.”

As she spoke, she’d rolled up his pant leg to find a deep gash. “You’ve got quite the injury here.”

He smiled down at her, warming her in a way she hadn’t expected. Like a sudden burst of sunlight through the clouds.

“Like my children, I suppose I don’t do anything halfway.”

She couldn’t help but smile back. “I don’t suppose any of us do.”

Polly dabbed at the wound, trying to ascertain its depth.

“You’re good at this.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. In the mining camps, there aren’t many doctors, if any, so you have to learn a lot on your own. I can tend most injuries, deliver a baby and, if things get truly desperate, I’ve taken a bullet out of a man.”

She could feel his gaze on her. “A refined young lady like you? But how?”

Meeting his gaze without taking pressure off his leg, she shrugged. “What you see is the product of a lot of hard living, a few refinements here and there, and a good dose of God’s grace. I mentioned how Pastor Lassiter’s involvement in our lives changed everything for us. Before that, we spent our days in mining camps, doing whatever it took to survive. You couldn’t wait for someone more qualified to come do a job if you were the only body around to do it. I’ve been helping deliver babies since I was ten years old. There aren’t too many womenfolk in the camps, and you learn pretty quickly to stick together.”

Which is how Polly knew that marriage wasn’t always a picnic. She hadn’t just experienced her mother’s pain, but watched as the other women in the camps struggled as well. She neglected to mention to Mitch that she’d learned to treat a gunshot wound after a woman in camp was shot in the arm by her drunken husband. He hadn’t meant to shoot her, of course, but he’d been drunk and... Polly shook her head. It didn’t matter.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” The warm look Mitch gave her made her squirm. Amazing? Her stomach flipped, not in an unpleasant way, but in a way she couldn’t explain. Didn’t want to explain, because it meant...

Polly shook her head. “Thank you, but in all honesty, I just did what I had to do. You and anyone else would do the same in a similar situation.”

* * *

Mitch wanted to argue with her, to let Polly know that there was something more to how wonderful she was, but he couldn’t find the strength to put it to words. Besides, how could he start thinking of a nanny as being wonderful?

“How are the children?” he said instead, as she finished bandaging his wound.

Her smile filled her face, lighting her eyes. When had anyone smiled giving a report on his children?