Whirlwind (6 page)

“Ma’am, if you’re not going to eat that, I will.” A lanky youth stared at the bowls Isabelle held.

“Of course the ladies are going to eat their soup.” Frank took one of the bowls and pressed it into Millicent’s hands. “It’s warm and filling.”

At best, the tin bowl felt tepid in her hands.

Isabelle patted the bunk, inviting Millie to join her. “It’s not hot anymore, but I suppose it’ll be filling. You know Frank.” Isabelle gave her husband an adoring look. “He always finds the bright spot.”

Millicent laughed. “If the devil walked by, Frank would find something nice about him.”

“I heard that.” Frank shook his finger at her.

“I’m sorry, Frank.” Millie didn’t bother to smother a smile. “You would have told him we’re short on silverware and talked him out of his pitchfork.”

The lanky youth laughed. Several others snickered.

No privacy.
Isabelle’s concern rushed through Millicent’s mind. Manners and propriety dictated that everyone ignore the conversations of others. Such constraints were ridiculous in this situation.

“Fairweather!” a man bellowed from the doorway. Millicent turned toward him. Because Frank stood in the way, all she could see were the cuffs of a uniform and her letter of recommendation.

Arthur’s diaper drooped low on his hips. Like a little savage in a breechclout, Arthur wore only that scrap of cloth. The gown he’d been wearing now sat in a soggy mess with Daniel’s shirt in the washbasin. Dressed in a fresh shirt, Daniel didn’t dare pick him up. At this rate, he’d have to ask Mr. Tibbs to do laundry right away. Otherwise, he and Arthur would both be as naked as heathens by tomorrow night. “Son, come here.”

Arthur took the bunny’s ear out of his mouth. “No!” The minute Daniel stood, Arthur spun around and streaked away, ducking beneath the table. Daniel lunged for him.

Miss Fairweather knew how to handle his son. Her former boss had given a glowing endorsement of the loving care she’d lavished on his daughters. Still, she was young and pretty and unmarried—all huge drawbacks in this situation. But Arthur’s needs rated above any other consideration. Simply put, he’d found himself incapable of caring for his son, and a child’s safety and survival counted far more important than the sordid and untrue suppositions people might form about Daniel and the hired help.

“Arthur, come out of there.” Daniel dropped to his knees, shoved the tablecloth aside, and made a mad grab. Attached to the bunny as Arthur had become, the silly pillowslip animal would draw him right back out.

The door opened. Simultaneously the tablecloth swished back down, Daniel hit his head on the edge of the table, and his fingers captured a wisp of cloth.

“Excuse me, sir. You instructed me to bring Miss Fairweather straight in without knocking.”

Resisting the urge to rub the back of his head, Daniel rose. The only thing salvaging his dignity was that he’d outsmarted Arthur. Any second now, Arthur would reappear and beg for Bunny. “Yes, I did, Tibbs. Thank you. Miss Fairweather, do come in. Tibbs, place her luggage in the nursery.”

Tibbs did so and left. Miss Fairweather cleared her throat. “Do you need some assistance?”

“Arthur will be out in just a moment.” Staring at the hem of the tablecloth, he held Bunny aloft for Miss Fairweather to see. Surely, she’d appreciate his clever solution to Arthur’s misbehavior. Suddenly Arthur shot out and Miss Fairweather caught him. Arthur clutched Bunny.

Daniel refused to look at what he, himself, held.

“I’ll pop that nappy on him.” Miss Fairweather laid Arthur on his back on the floor while she spoke. Her black wool traveling skirts pooled about her as she knelt and reached for the nappy Daniel held. He watched in fascination as the woman unpinned his woeful arrangement, created a similar, far neater composition, and pinned it in place. Arthur wiggled the whole time, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. “There you go!”

Arthur stood, curled his tiny toes into the carpet, and swiveled his shoulders from side to side. Gleefully, he cradled his rabbit against his chest. “My Buddy!”

Could a one-and-a-half-year-old child gloat? Daniel didn’t know. Arthur seemed more delighted than boastful.
There’s so much I don’t know about my son.

Miss Fairweather started to rise. Daniel assisted her. He turned loose of her hand as soon as she gained her feet. For the remainder of the trip, he’d stay away from the suite. Discretion required distance, and besides, Arthur needed the room to romp.

“Thank you.”

Daniel nodded, then strode out of the cabin without another word.

After ascertaining the door had a lock, Millicent looked about. The top drawers of a hand-carved dresser held Arthur’s necessities. A cursory search showed room for her small clothes in the lower drawers, the armoire held far more hangers than she required, and her bed boasted a luxurious satin-covered down duvet.

Millicent popped Arthur on the bed. She removed her traveling jacket and the mutton sleeves of her gray-and-white-striped blouse puffed out to give her more ease of movement. “I need to unpack my clothes. When I’m done, we’ll play.”

Arthur jabbered. As she shut the armoire, he crowed, “Jumpy, jumpy. Me jumpy!”

Swiping him from the mattress, Millie scolded, “We don’t jump on beds. Ask Bunny—he likes to hop on the floor.”

With Arthur hopping along, Millie inspected the parlor. A few books stood between a pair of golden fleur-de-lis bookends. Two chairs, a small settee, and the table formed a pleasant grouping that left sufficient space for Arthur to frolic. Another door branched off from the parlor, but Millicent didn’t open it.

A tap sounded and Mr. Tibbs opened the door. “Supper, Miss Fairweather.” He set the tray on the parlor table and lifted the silver domes to reveal two plates. “Veal, haricot verts, and potatoes au gratin for you, miss. The chef provided simpler fare for Master Arthur—diced meat and vegetables. Bread pudding and clotted cream for dessert. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“This is delightful. Thank you, Mr. Tibbs.”

After supper, Millie played pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo with the little boy. When Mr. Tibbs returned for the tray, Arthur begged, “More!”

“Is the boy still hungry?” Mr. Tibbs glanced at the plates.

“Oh gracious, no. He’s asking to play more pat-a-cake. Supper was delicious.” Millicent dared to add, “I feel guilty, wasting so much.” Arthur curled his fingers around her smallest finger, but Millicent kept her attention on the steward. Something else was tugging at her heart. “Actually, Mr. Tibbs, my sister and brother-in-law are down below. Supper there was . . . scant.”

He stared at the tray. “We don’t give leftovers to anyone in steerage. Might cause unrest.”

Disappointment washed over her. “I suppose it might.” She glanced toward the nursery. “Could you please tell me about how I can wash the nappies? Arthur will go through every last one by morning after next.”

The man’s complexion went a sickly shade of green. “I’m to see to that.”

“Unless . . .” Millicent’s heart raced. “You provide me with the necessary water and soap, and somewhere to dry them. I’m more than willing to wash them if you can make a way for Isabelle and Frank Quinsby to have my leftovers. Or perhaps Isabelle could wash them . . .”

He moved a fork, then put it back where it had been. Next, he shifted the still half-full cup of milk. “I can’t. The captain could fire me.”

Millicent rose and propped Arthur on her hip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tibbs. In no way did I mean to threaten your livelihood.”

“I know, miss. Let me think on it.”

“Thank you. That’s more than I should ask.”

Mr. Tibbs left, and Arthur started rubbing his eyes. Millicent prepared him for bed, then rued the lack of a rocking chair. She held him, swayed, and sang a song. He fought sleep. Soon, though, his head rested heavily on her shoulder and his body grew lax. “There, that’s a very good boy.” She laid him in his cot, tugged Buddy beside him, and tucked a soft blue-and-purple-striped flannel blanket about them.

Silence descended. After a day in the chaos of steerage, this solitude ought to be a blessed escape. But it wasn’t. Millie was alone with her worries. Devising a few methods to entertain her charge the next day kept her occupied for a brief time. Next, Millie slipped into the nursery to fetch her Bible. She sat by the lamp and traced the top of her Bible to locate the thin silk ribbon that held her place. The seventh chapter of Matthew lay before her.
Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?

Her heart lurched.
Please, Lord—could you please watch over Isabelle? Bread and fish—those would be far better than what she’s had today. You gave me this job when I didn’t even ask for it, Father. I have faith that you will shower her with blessings.

Arthur’s cot creaked, and he cooed a few sleepy sounds. Millicent paused a moment and examined her heart . . . Arthur was darling, but the warmth she felt toward him didn’t begin to compare with the fierce love she held for Fiona and Audrey.
Isabelle was right. I was with my girls four long years. Love grew deep and strong in that length of time. This is different. One short week can’t possibly be long enough for the affection I feel for this sweet little boy to develop into anything more.
Relieved by that insight, Millicent set aside her Bible. She tiptoed over and tugged the blanket up to Arthur’s shoulders. A few of his baby curls coiled around her fingertips. Incredibly soft as they were, she didn’t have to fight with herself much to draw her hand back.

It was still too early to turn in. Millicent took out a ball of crochet string and a hook. Frank’s plan to cultivate an elite clientele made sense. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what the latest fashions and patterns were. Diamonds? Flowers? Scallops? No more did she start a portion than she’d unravel it.

Time unraveled, too. Mr. Tibbs returned. “I’ve a cuppa tea for you, miss. Do you mind my taking the hamper out of the nursery?”

“I’ll get it. I don’t know whether Arthur is a light or a heavy sleeper.” She emerged from the nursery with the wicker hamper, but the steward wasn’t there. “Mr. Tibbs?”

“Here, miss.” He emerged from the other bedchamber. “I just turned down Mr. Clark’s bed. The Haxtons’ nanny said her youngest charge usually wants a cup of milk at midnight. Shall I bring some for young Master Clark, just in case?”

“No, thank you. Arthur is a year and a half. At his age, if he awakens, he needs to go back to sleep.”

“Very well.” He opened the hamper, took out the heavy canvas bag inside, and inserted a replacement. “I’ll have the lad’s laundry back by midmorning tomorrow.”

“Thank you, and good night.”

Millicent retired for the night. Carefully locking the chamber door, she let her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. Each layer of clothing rustled, but when she unfastened her bustle, she accidentally also undid the latch on her hoops. The eighteen-inch diameter metal cage collapsed on the floor and atop the previous layers, one ring at a time, in a quiet series of chimes. Arthur slept through it all.

The door to the cabin shut. Steady, solid steps sounded in the parlor. They crossed toward the other room. Mr. Clark, no doubt. To her surprise, they then grew louder and louder. Closer.

Millicent’s breath caught as the steps halted outside her door.

Five

E
ven though Mr. Tibbs had twice sought him out and reported that he’d been in the suite and Miss Fairweather was doing right by the young master, Daniel still needed to assure himself that his son would have immediate attention if he awoke. Daniel tapped on the nursery door.

“W-what is it?”

Those three words sounded petrified. “I’m making sure my son hasn’t been left alone again, Miss Fairweather.”

“Arthur is sleeping peacefully, sir.” Her voice started out a little shaky, but finished on a steadier note.

“Fine, then. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Had old Miss Jenkin been around, Daniel would have comfortably used the parlor for devotions; with Miss Fairweather, he’d relinquish all personal use of the parlor. Doing so would make it clear to the ship’s staff that he observed all propriety. To punctuate his honorable intentions, he firmly shut his bedchamber door.

Daniel awoke the following morning to his son’s giggles. He lay in bed and savored the moment. At home, the nursery was on the third floor—far enough away that Daniel hadn’t ever started his day with his son’s peals of laughter. That alone constituted an excellent reason for this move. Once they established their home in Gooding, Texas, Daniel would enjoy his son’s presence at all times.

Quickly dressing, Daniel outlined the points of a conversation he’d have with the new nanny. Expectations, preferences, pay—the like. He’d ignore how he’d frightened the nanny last night. His son’s needs were of foremost importance. Before he banished himself from the suite for the day, he’d outline what he required of her and steal a few minutes with Arthur. Everything planned out, Daniel opened his door. His thoughts scattered and the words he’d planned evaporated at the tender sight that met him.

Arthur sat on the nanny’s lap. A bib covered most of him. Miss Fairweather’s slender hands folded over Arthur’s, forming a steeple, and she’d dipped her head to speak to him. “We’ll pray to thank Jesus for our breakfast.”

His dark brown curls blending with the nanny’s black and brown blouse, Arthur piped up, “Foo good!”

“Yes, yes. We’ll thank Him for our good food.”

Daniel chuckled softly. “That was the prayer, Miss Fairweather. At least, that’s the best Arthur manages at present. ‘Thank you, Jesus, for my food and help me be so very good. Amen.’ ”

“ ’Men!” Arthur disentangled his hands from the nanny’s, leaned forward, and grabbed a rasher of bacon.

“Good morning, sir. It’s a darling prayer.”

Poise like hers would stand them in good stead during the next week. Daniel couldn’t help noticing how her hair and skirt were the exact same shade of golden brown. Nannies always wore black, didn’t they? He couldn’t say for certain.
Yes, I can say for certain. In this instance, I can dictate a uniform.