college, her parents’ home had been only a stop-off place between jobs. Live-in care was her preference—away from her parents’ guarded eyes, as they tried to cover their sorrow and shame over all that had happened.
When she’d graduated from college, she had weighed all the issues. Geriatric care seemed to encompass all her aspirations. At that time, she could never have considered child care. Her wounds were too fresh.
Her gaze drifted to the telephone. The name David Hamilton entered her mind again. Looking at her wristwatch, she wondered if it was too late to call him. Eight in the evening seemed early enough. Curiosity galloped through her mind. What did the ad mean—a “special” child? Was the little one mentally or physically challenged? A boy or girl? Where did the family live? Questions spun in her head. What would calling hurt? She’d at least have her questions answered.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rose, and grabbed the notepad. What specific information would she like to know? She organized her thoughts, then punched in the long-distance number.
A rich baritone voice filled the line, and when Callie heard his commanding tone, she caught her breath. Job interviews and query telephone calls had never bothered her. Tonight her wavering emotions addled her. She drew in a lengthy, relaxing breath, then introduced herself and stated her business.
Hamilton’s self-assured manner caught her off guard. “I’m looking for a professional, Ms. Randolph. What is your background?”
His tone intimidated her, and her responses to his questions sounded reticent in her ears. “It’s Miss Randolph, and I’m a professional, licensed nurse.” She paused to steady her nerves. “But I’ve preferred to work as a home caregiver rather than in a hospital. The past four years, I’ve had elderly patients, but I’m looking for a change.”
“Change?”
His abruptness struck her as arrogant, and Callie could almost sense his arched eyebrow.
“Yes. I’ve been blessed working with the older patients, but I’d like to work with…a child.”
“I see.” A thoughtful silence hung in the air. “You’re a religious woman, Miss Randolph?”
His question confounded her. Then she remembered she’d used the word blessed. Not sure what he expected, she answered honestly. “I’m a Christian, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She waited for a response. Yet only silence filled the line. With no response forthcoming, she asked, “What do you mean by ‘special,’ Mr. Hamilton? In the ad, you mentioned you needed a caregiver for a ‘special child.”’
He hesitated only a moment. “Natalie…Nattie’s a bright child. She was always active, delightful—but since her mother’s death two years ago, she’s become…withdrawn.” His voice faded.
“Withdrawn?”
“Difficult to explain in words. I’d rather the prospective caregiver meet her and see for herself what I mean. Nattie no longer speaks. She barely relates to anyone. She lives in her own world.”
Callie’s heart lurched at the thought of a child bearing such grief. “I see. I understand why you’re worried.” Still, panic crept over her like cold fingers inching along her spine. Her heart already ached for the child. Could she control her own feelings? Her mind spun with flashing red warning lights.
“I’ve scared you off, Miss Randolph.” Apprehension resounded in his statement.
She cringed, then lied a little. “No, no. I was thinking.”
“Thinking?” His tone softened. “I’ve been looking for someone for some time now, and I seem to scare people off with the facts…the details of Nattie’s problem.”
The image of a lonely, motherless child tugged at her compassion. What grief he had to bear. “I’m not frightened of the facts,” Callie said, but in her heart, she was frightened of herself. “I have some personal concerns that came to mind.” She fumbled for what to say next. “For example, I don’t know where you live. Where are you located, sir?”
“We live in Bedford, not too far from Bloomington.”
Bedford. The town was only a couple of hours from her mother’s house. She paused a moment. “I have some personal matters I need to consider. I’ll call you as soon as I know whether I’d like to be interviewed for the position. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Certainly. That’s fine. I understand.” Discouragement sounded in his voice.
She bit the corner of her lip. “Thank you for your time.”
After she hung up the telephone, Callie sat for a while without moving. She should have been honest. She’d already made her decision. A position like that wouldn’t be wise at all. She was too vulnerable.
Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work for David Hamilton. His tone seemed stiff and arrogant. A child needed a warm, loving father, not one who was bitter and inflexible. She would have no patience with a man like that.
David Hamilton leaned back in his chair, his hand still clasping the telephone. Useless. In two months, his ad had resulted in only three telephone calls. One courageous soul came for an interview, but with her first look at Nattie, David saw the answer in the woman’s eyes.
He supposed, as well, the “live-in” situation might be an obstacle for some. With no response locally, he’d extended his ad further away, as far as Indianapolis. But this Miss Randolph had been the only call so far.
He longed for another housekeeper like Miriam. Her overdue retirement left a hole nearly as big, though not as horrendous, as Sara’s death. No one could replace Miriam.
A shudder filtered through him. No one could replace Sara.
Nothing seemed worse than a wife’s death, but when it happened, he had learned the truth. Worse was a child losing her mother. Yet the elderly housekeeper had stepped in with all her love and wisdom and taken charge of the household, wrapping each of them in her motherly arms.
Remembering Miriam’s expert care, David preferred to hire a more mature woman as a nanny. The voice he heard on the telephone tonight sounded too young, perhaps nearly a child herself. He mentally calculated her age. She’d mentioned working for four years. If she’d graduated from college when she was twenty-one, she’d be only twenty-five. What would a twenty-five-year-old know about healing his child? Despite his despair, he felt a pitying grin flicker on his lips. He was only thirty-two. What did he know about healing his child? Nothing.
David rose from the floral-print sofa and wandered to the fireplace. He stared into the dying embers. Photographs lined the mantel, memories of happier times—Sara smiling warmly with sprinkles of sunlight and shadow in her golden hair; Nattie with her heavenly blue eyes and bright smile posed in the gnarled peach tree on the hill; and then, the photograph of Sara and him on his parents’ yacht.
He turned from the photographs, now like a sad monument conjuring sorrowful memories. David’s gaze traversed the room, admiring the furnishings and decor. Sara’s hand had left its mark everywhere in the house, but particularly in this room. Wandering to the bay window, he stood over the mahogany grand piano, his fingers caressing the rich, dark wood. How much longer would this magnificent instrument lie silent? Even
