This room was their family’s favorite spot, where they had spent quiet evenings talking about their plans and dreams. He could picture Sara and Nattie stretched out on the floor piecing together one of her thick cardboard puzzles.
An empty sigh rattled through him, and he shivered with loneliness. He pulled himself from his reveries and marched back to the fireplace, grabbing the poker and jamming it into the glowing ashes. Why should he even think, let alone worry, about the young woman’s phone call? He’d never hear from her again, no matter what she promised. Her voice gave the tell-tale evidence. She had no intention of calling again.
Thinking of Nattie drew him to the hallway. He followed the wide, curved staircase to the floor above. In the lengthy hallway, he stepped quietly along the thick Persian carpet. Two doors from the end, he paused and listened. The room was silent, and he pushed the door open gently, stepping inside.
A soft night-light glowed a warm pink. Natalie’s slender frame lay curled under a quilt, and the rise and fall of the delicate blanket marked her deep sleep. He moved lightly across the pink carpeting and stood, looking at her buttercup hair and her flushed, rosy cheeks. His heart lurched at the sight of his child—their child, fulfilling their hopes and completing their lives.
Or what had become their incomplete and short life together.
After the telephone call, Callie’s mind filled with thoughts of David Hamilton and his young daughter. Her headache pounded worse than before, and she undressed and pulled down the blankets. Though the evening was still young, she tucked her legs beneath the warm covers.
The light shone brightly, and as thoughts drifted through her head, she nodded to herself, resolute she would not consider the job in Bedford. After turning off the light, she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep.
Her subconsciousness opened, drawing her into the darkness. The images rolled into her mind like thick fog along an inky ocean. She was in a sparse waiting room. Her pale pink blouse, buttoned to the neck, matched the flush of excitement in her cheeks. The murky shadows swirled past her eyes: images, voices, the reverberating click of a door. Fear rose within her. She tried to scream, to yell, but nothing came except black silence—
Callie forced herself awake, her heart thundering. Perspiration ran from her hairline. She threw back the blankets and snapped on the light. Pulling her trembling legs from beneath the covers, she sat on the edge of the bed and gasped until her breathing returned to normal.
She rose on shaking legs and tiptoed into the hall to the bathroom. Though ice traveled through her veins, a clammy heat beaded on her body. Running cold tap water onto a washcloth, she covered her face and breathed in the icy dampness. Please, Lord, release me from that terrible dream.
She wet the cloth again and washed her face and neck, then hurried quietly back to her room, praying for a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Two
Christian Care Services filled the two-story office building on Woodward. Callie entered the lobby and took the elevator to the second floor. Usually she walked the stairs, but today she felt drained of energy.
Twenty-five minutes later, she left more discouraged than when she’d arrived. Not one live-in care situation. How could she tell the young woman she couldn’t live at home, not because she didn’t love her mother, but because she loved herself as much? The explanation seemed too personal and complicated.
Feeling discouraged, she trudged to her car. Live-in positions weren’t very common, and she wondered how long she’d have to wait. If need be, she’d look on her own, praying that God would lead her to a position somewhere.
Standing beside her car, she searched through her shoulder bag for her keys and, with them, pulled out the slip of paper with David Hamilton’s phone number. She didn’t recall putting the number in her bag, and finding it gave her an uneasy feeling. She tossed the number back into her purse.
The winter air penetrated her heavy woolen coat, and she unlocked the car door and slid in. As thoughts butted through her head, she turned on the ignition and waited for the heat.
Money wasn’t an immediate problem; residing with others, she’d been able to save a tidy sum. But she needed a place to live. If she stayed home, would she and her mother survive? God commanded children to honor their parents, but had God meant Callie’s mother? A faint smile crossed her lips at the foolish thought. Callie knew her parents had always meant well, but meaning and reality didn’t necessarily go hand in hand.
Indianapolis had a variety of hospitals. She could probably have her pick of positions in the metropolitan area, then get her own apartment or condo. But again the feeling of emptiness consumed her. She wasn’t cut out for hospital nursing.
Warmth drifted from the car heater, and Callie moved the button to high. She felt chilled deep in her bones. Though the heat rose around her, icy sensations nipped at her heart. Her memory turned back to her telephone call the previous evening and to a little child who needed love and care.
She shook the thought from her head and pulled out of the parking lot. She’d give the agency a couple of weeks. If nothing became available, then she’d know Bedford was God’s decision. By that time, the position might already be taken, and her dilemma would be resolved.
Callie glanced at David Hamilton’s address again. Bedford was no metropolis, and she’d found the street easily.
Two weeks had passed and no live-in positions had become available, not even for an elderly patient. Her twenty-sixth birthday had plodded by a week earlier, and she felt like an old, jobless woman, staring at the girlish daisy wallpaper in her bedroom. Life had come to a standstill, going nowhere. Tired of sitting by the telephone waiting for a job call, she had called David Hamilton. Despite his lack of warmth, he had a child who needed someone to love her.
Keeping her eyes on the winding road lined with sprawling houses, she glanced at the slip of paper and reread the address. A mailbox caught her eye. The name Hamilton jumped from the shiny black receptacle in white letters. She looked between the fence pillars, and her gaze traveled up the winding driveway to the large home of oatmeal-colored limestone.
She aimed her car and followed the curved pathway to the house. Wide steps led to a deep, covered porch, and on one side of the home, a circular tower rose above the house topped by a conical roof.
Callie pulled in front, awed by the elegance and charm of the turn-of-the-century building. Sitting for a moment to collect her thoughts, she pressed her tired back against the seat cushion. Though an easy trip in the summer, the two-hour drive on winter roads was less than pleasant. She thanked God the highway was basically clear.
Closing her eyes, she prayed. Even thinking of Mr. Hamilton sent a shudder down her spine. His voice presented a formidable image in her mind, and now she would see him face-to-face.
She climbed from the car and made her way up the impressive steps to the wide porch. Standing on the expanse of cement, she had a closer view of the large tower rising along the side. Like a castle, she thought. She located the bell and pushed. Inside, a chime sounded, and she waited.
When the door swung open, she faced a plump, middle-aged woman who stared at her through the storm door. The housekeeper, Callie assumed. The woman pushed the door open slightly, giving a flicker of a smile. “Miss Randolph?”
“Yes,” Callie answered.
The
