Whirlwind (5 page)

She turned back, tugged open a few drawers, then found sheets for the drenched baby bed. In a few moments, she’d changed the linen, washed her hands, and started tying a pillow slip into a series of knots.

Daniel watched her. “What, pray tell, is that?”

Pulling on two corners with a flourish, she declared, “A bunny rabbit! See, Arthur? This is your new friend. Come play with Bunny while your father and I have a chat.”

When she took the seat Daniel offered, little Arthur promptly crawled into her lap. Gifting her with an angelic smile, he snuggled the knotted cloth and slumped against her bosom. She smoothed back his damp brown curls, started to rock, and softly hummed.

“It’s plain to see Mr. Tibbs was correct. You have experience.”

“I do.”

“Have you letters of recommendation?”

“I have one in my baggage. I’ll produce it if you’d like.”

Brows lowered, he repeated, “One?”

“My first and only post lasted four years.”

“Why did you leave?”

Pain streaked across her features. “My employer decided it was time for his daughters to attend an academy.”

“You disagreed with his decision?”

“A father is responsible for making the decisions concerning his children.”

She was discreet and loyal, handled Arthur with ease. From her speech and carriage, Miss Fairweather was a proper lady—probably one of the unfortunate types whose family money ran out and marriage prospects dwindled so she’d resorted to genteel servitude. She was everything he needed. He studied her. Fairweather wasn’t just her name—it was an apt description. Sunny and breezy, she chased away the cloud of looming problems. All save one enormous predicament: A youthful and comely nanny sleeping in the adjoining room would fan unsavory speculation.

Why couldn’t she be old and stout as Miss Jenkin had been? The mere thought of the former nanny had him bristling now. She’d been his wife’s nanny, so when he and Henrietta had welcomed Arthur, it seemed comforting to summon Miss Jenkin to take charge of their nursery. All had gone well until Henrietta’s death. Thereafter, Daniel noticed Miss Jenkin was frazzled at times, but he attributed it to her grief. The way she’d flitted off the ship and abandoned Arthur . . . Daniel ground his molars.

“I presume Arthur is teething?”

Daniel frowned at the way his son gnawed on Miss Fairweather’s bracelet. “Teeth keep cropping up. Is that why he’s in such a temper?” He attempted to pry away the bracelet.

Arthur jerked back. “No! Mine!”

“Arthur.” Daniel gave him a stern look.

“Good little boys don’t tell their father no.” Miss Fairweather smoothly traded the cloth rabbit for her bracelet. “Bunny is yours, Arthur. As long as you listen to your father and obey him, you may keep the bunny.”

“My buddy.” Arthur ended the announcement by chomping down on one of the knots.

“Yes, that’s a good boy.” Miss Fairweather smiled at his son, then looked up at Daniel. “If he’s teething, chewing feels good to him.”

Guilt swamped Daniel. “I’m not sure he’s had his tea. His nanny snuck off the ship before we set sail.”

Her gasp hung in the room for a moment, then she recovered. “The steward—Mr. Tibbs was it?” When Daniel nodded, she continued, “I’m sure he could send for something.”

“What do you recommend?”

“A finger of cheese, some diced chicken or shredded pork, and applesauce. He’d do well, though, to have hard biscuits to worry. It helps the teeth to break through.” She bit her lip. “Sir, I have plans for when we reach America. It’s only right that I tell you I’m only able to fill the position for the duration of the voyage.”

Though Daniel needed someone for the long term, he figured it was highly questionable that he’d find anyone aboard who’d fit the bill.
I’d probably do better to hire an American girl for the position—that way she won’t grow homesick and want to leave.
“I’ll inspect your letter of recommendation and make a decision after conducting the other interviews.”

Miss Fairweather left and Mr. Tibbs showed in the next candidate. She looked perfect—short, squatty, and ugly as sin. Mrs. Yannislov smiled and thanked him for the seat he offered. “This is my son, Arthur.”

“Arthur!” She opened her arms, and his son ambled over.

“My buddy!” He thrust out the cloth rabbit for her inspection.

She nodded sagely. “Arthur and Buddy.” Obviously pleased by her acceptance, Arthur crawled up into Mrs. Yannislov’s lap.

“It seems my son has developed a fondness for that . . . rabbit.”

Mrs. Yannislov nodded.

Pleased by how well things were going, Daniel launched into a quick speech. “I’m looking to engage a nanny for my son. The job will last only the duration of the voyage.” He outlined a few duties and ignored a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. “As it’s a six-day voyage, I’ll pay for seven, so in essence, you’ll have a day off. You’ll watch Arthur around the clock. When—” He halted. With almost every sentence he spoke, Mrs. Yannislov bobbed her head. A sinking feeling led him to ask, “Mrs. Yannislov, don’t you speak English?”

“English!” She smiled again and tapped her breastbone.

“Czech!”

Mr. Tibbs arrived with a tray for Arthur. Daniel took it. “Mr. Tibbs, I need a healthy, intelligent, homely old woman who speaks English and loves children. Please escort Mrs. Yannislov out and bring me someone whom I can hire.”

“Yes, sir.”

Daniel tied the serviette about his son’s neck to form a bib, then sat him on the edge of the parlor table. Knowing his son had been abandoned, scared, wet, and hungry made Daniel furious. He scooped up a spoonful of shredded meat. “Daddy is going to be sure you’re taken care of. Yes, he is.”

Arthur reached over, grabbed the cheese in one hand and the spoon in the other.

“Hey. Daddy’s in charge of the spoon.” Juggling the tray, the spoon, and a wiggling toddler proved to be far harder than Daniel had imagined. In the end, he abandoned propriety for practicality. He held the plate and let Arthur poke, grab, and pinch bites, then shove them into his little mouth. Though applesauce wasn’t a beverage, it did slide to the rim of the small bowl—so Arthur was slurping it when Mr. Tibbs arrived yet again.

“Miss Bernice Crookshank, Mr. Clark. I trust I’ve followed your instructions satisfactorily, sir.”

“Indeed.” With her salt-and-pepper hair scraped back into a severe bun, a huge beak of a nose, and thin lips, Miss Crookshank’s age and appearance gave Daniel hope that he’d found a nanny. “Please do come in and have a seat, Miss Crookshank.”

“Thank you.”

Oh good. She speaks English.

Perching on the edge of a nearby chair, she set a bag on the floor and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’d far rather mop up your boy than sit here useless; but as Benjamin Franklin said, ‘He that cannot obey, cannot command.’ ”

And she’s intelligent.

“More, Dadda. More, peasssss.”

“It’s an odd time for him to be eating. Don’t worry. I’ll have him on a schedule quick as can be.”

Schedule. That was an excellent sign. This woman understood order and pattern. “It’s been an unsettling day.” Daniel pried the dish from Arthur’s hands and began using a corner of the serviette to swab his goopy face. “I’ll be glad to have him on a routine.”

“Permit me.” Miss Crookshank rose, came over, and scrubbed Arthur’s face with notable enthusiasm while he squawked and tried to wiggle away. “ ‘Do not consider painful what is good for you.’ Euripides said that. See? You’re orderly again. Just as you should be. How old is he?”

“A year and a half.”

“And he’s still in nappies?” Miss Crookshank
tsk
ed. “We’ll correct that this week. Which way is the nursery?”

“Directly behind you.”

Miss Crookshank scooped up Arthur, took him to his cot, and popped him into it. “Now you be a good boy and nap.”

“No! No! No!” Arthur shouted his favorite word.

Without so much as a backward glance, Miss Crookshank shut the nursery door. A stingy smile yanked the corners of her mouth up for a fleeting second, then her lips went back to their pinched line. She resumed the same seat Daniel had originally offered her.

“Do you have letters of recommendation, Miss Crookshank?”

“But of course.” She retrieved the bag she’d originally brought in and produced a stack of papers.

Daniel accepted them and scanned the first two. “I see you’re noted for orderliness.”

“Indeed.” Nodding as if she were the queen acknowledging a peasant, she added, “Discipline is vital. According to Plato, ‘The first and best victory is to conquer self.’ ”

Arthur’s shouts changed to wails.

“My son—”

“Must learn to do as he’s told. A firm hand instills obedience.”

Shaking his head, Daniel paced to the nursery door.

Miss Crookshank reached it at the same moment. “You mustn’t give in to his fits.”

“Fright is entirely different than a fit.” Daniel wrenched the doorknob and strode to the cot.

Reaching his chubby little arms between the slats, Arthur sobbed, “Dadda! Dadda!”

“Come, son.” Arthur’s tiny body shook with his sobs as Daniel carried him back out to the parlor. He patted and shushed, then glanced at Miss Crookshank’s puckered face. “Arthur’s nanny decided not to travel to America with us. She stuck him in that cot and skulked back to shore without telling me of her decision. I won’t have him think he’s being abandoned again.”

Instead of reconsidering her tactics and realizing Arthur was terrified, Miss Crookshank shook her head. “Once you make an exception, a child believes he rules everything.” Revulsion twisted her features. “What is that filthy thing you’re giving him?”

“It’s his bunny.” Arthur clutched the cloth rabbit to his chest and tried to chew on one long ear between his choppy almost-done-crying breaths. “As you can see, Arthur finds solace in his bunny. I thank you for your time, Miss Crookshank, but I won’t be engaging your services.”

Face ruddy and lips pinched into a bloodless line, she forced her letters of recommendation back into her bag. After marching to the door, she turned around. “You’re spoiling that boy. Seneca said, ‘No evil propensity of the human heart is so powerful that it may not be subdued by discipline.’ ”

“The only way evil is subdued is by the grace of God. Good day, Miss Crookshank.”

The door shut. Arthur slid an arm up around his neck, snuggled close, and sighed, “Dadda.” Warmth radiated across Daniel’s chest. It took less than a second before Daniel realized the warmth was also wet.

Four

S
itting on the lowest bunk, crammed beside Isabelle and Frank, Millicent peered at the watery contents of her tin bowl. No aroma wafted up from it—but she couldn’t tell whether or not that was a point in its favor. “I’m not sure what they’re feeding us.”

“Frank, I’m glad you offered to pray.” Isabelle sighed. “God would have known I was lying if I said I was thankful for this.”

Millicent whispered in her sister’s ear, “I’m thankful—after this kind of fare for the passage, it won’t be hard to cinch myself in.”

“But we paid more for this ship than we would for another because it included meals.”

Wrinkling her nose, Millicent shuddered. “If you think it smells down here now, just imagine the reek if everyone had brought food with them.”

Frank bowed his head. “Lord, grant us the strength to endure this voyage and direct us as we embark on a new life. We pray for your protection and providence, and thank you for the warmth of this meal. Amen.”

“The bowl is warm. It makes my hands feel good.” Millicent continued to cup it in her palms.

Isabelle arched a brow. “You’re dawdling so I’ll test the first bite.”

Millicent shook her head. “There weren’t enough spoons. You eat first, then I’ll use your spoon.”

“Here.” Frank’s arm shot past his wife. “Take mine. You should have told me.”

“Nonsense.”

“We’ll share my spoon.” Isabelle took a bite, then passed the spoon to Millicent. “Eat up, Frank. Millie and I are used to sharing, aren’t we?”

“Indeed.” Millicent scooped up a small bite and plastered on a smile as she lifted the spoon to her mouth. “Mmm—I see a carrot.”

“Vegetable soup.” Frank’s spoon clanked against his tin bowl. “Not bad. Not half as good as yours, lamb, but nothing ever is.”

All around them, children huddled on the lowest and highest bunks to eat while their parents stood. Because the other bunks didn’t fold up, the passengers moved the straw mattress off the center bunk and used the wooden board as a table.

“Fairweather!”

Since she was closest to the doorway, Millie handed her bowl to Isabelle. “Someone’s calling for me. I’ll go see—”

“No. I will.” Frank set his empty bowl on the deck. Muttering an apology, he bumped over their knees as he climbed out to the aisle. A moment later he returned. “Millie, the room steward wants your letter of recommendation.” She and Isabelle had to stand up so Frank could raise the lowest bunk to allow her access to her portmanteau. He took the letter and came back. “Isabelle, I want you to pray. Millicent, I’d like a word with you.”

It wasn’t as if they could find a quiet space and have some privacy. Frank hovered over Millicent and spoke in a low, forceful tone. “The family you went to see—you said nothing.

Is there something I should know?”

“Mr. Clark’s a widower traveling with his young son.”

Frank’s jaw hardened as he pulled away. Then he dipped his head again. “In one cabin?”

“A suite.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “There’s a parlor with a bedchamber on either side of it.”

He nodded. “If your bedchamber has a lock on it, you take the job. I want you out of here. With you gone, I’ll do away with the center bunk and Isabelle can sleep on the bottom one without thinking she’s trapped in a casket.”

“I understand, but I’d want to pray about it.”

“Isabelle’s already praying. If God wants you to have this job, they’ll send for you.” Frank shifted—more from nervousness than from the boat’s rocking, since his motions didn’t correspond to the
Opportunity
’s movements. “It’s not because of the money, Millie. The Lord knows we could use it, but that’s not why. Isabelle frets over you. Knowing you’d be better off would relieve her of so many worries.”