Family of the Heart. Dorothy Clark
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wiped away the tears blurring her vision. She covered Nora’s small bare feet with part of the skirt of her long nightgown, took hold of one little hand and began to hum a lullaby. Quietness settled over her as she rocked, her tense nerves calmed. She kissed Nora’s warm, baby-smooth forehead, touched a strand of silky golden curl, then leaned back and closed her eyes. She had been unsuccessful in her attempt to get Mrs. Quincy to talk about Clayton Bainbridge or his wife over tea. Maybe tomorrow.
The thought of him brought the memory of Clayton Bainbridge helping her to her feet. The feel of his hands, so warm, so strong yet gentle on her arms. The way his eyes had looked as he gazed down at her.
Sarah opened her eyes and stared down at the child in her arms, disquieted and troubled. Clayton Bainbridge had made her feel…what? She searched for the right word for the unfamiliar emotion that had made her want to turn and run from him, then frowned and gave up. What did it matter? It was of no importance. It had been only a momentary aberration caused by her fear of the storm that had quickly disappeared when Clayton Bainbridge had returned to his customary, unpleasant anger.
Chapter Five
What a beautiful day! The only reminders of the thunderstorm were the areas of damp, dark earth beneath the bushes where the sun’s rays hadn’t yet reached, and the colorful memory of flowers that littered the ground. Sarah sighed and crossed the back porch to the stairs. The storm had stripped the beauty from every branch and stalk in the enclosed garden. Not one flower was left intact. Still, the storm was over and the horrible constriction in her chest had eased. She took a deep breath of the clean fresh air and helped Nora down the steps to the brick pathway.
“Well, Nora, what shall we do first?” She reached down and straightened the pinafore that protected the toddler’s yellow dress. “Do you want to go sit in the pergola and watch the birds take their baths?”
“Birds!” Nora’s lace-trimmed sunbonnet slipped awry at her emphatic nod. Sarah laughed, adjusted the bonnet and took hold of her charge’s tiny hand. Hoofs crunched against gravel. She looked toward the carriage house, saw Clayton Bainbridge mount his horse and start down the path toward them. She smiled as he neared. “Good morning, Mr. Bainbridge.”
“Miss Randolph.” Clayton gave her a brief nod, touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and rode on.
Not so much as a glance at his daughter. Sarah stared after him, anger flashing. But as she watched him ride toward the road, her anger dissipated, vanquished by an odd sort of sadness. It was almost as if she could feel his unhappiness, his loneliness.
“’Quirrel!”
Nora’s tiny hand pulled from her grasp. Sarah brushed the strange sensation aside and watched Nora run, as fast as her little legs would carry her, toward the squirrel that was scampering along the railing of the pergola. Her anger sparked anew. If Mr. Clayton Bainbridge was lonely, he had no one but himself to blame. She would not waste sympathy on a man who wouldn’t even look at his own daughter. But despite her adamant avowal, a remnant of that odd, sad feeling lingered. And irritation at his abrupt departure. She stepped to the gate and looked down the empty gravel path. “You could have stopped a moment to bid us good morning, Mr. Bainbridge.”
“What’s that, miss?”
Sarah started, turned to see Mr. Quincy emerge from the shadow at the far end of the carriage house. He was pushing a wheelbarrow. Her stomach flopped. Thank goodness he had not heard her clearly. She shook her head. “Nothing, Mr. Quincy.” Her nose identified the rotted stable leavings in the wheelbarrow when he drew near. “Is that for here in the garden?”
“Yep.” He glanced over the shoulder-high wall and a smile deepened the lines radiating from the corners of his piercing blue eyes, poked dimples in the leathery skin covering the hollows of his cheeks. “’Pears like the little miss is enjoyin’ this fine day.” He dropped the back legs of the wheelbarrow to the ground and straightened. “I’ll come back later and spread this mongst the flowers an’ such. I don’t want to ruin Miss Nora’s playtime. Young’uns need to be outside where they can learn about God’s creations, not be—” He clamped his lips shut, gave her a brief nod and turned away.
Not be—what? Sarah took a breath. “A moment, Mr. Quincy.”
“Yes, miss?”
The set look on his face told her he had said more than he intended—and did not mean to compound the error. The question hovering on her lips died. She would get no information from him. “Do you know when Mr. Bainbridge will return?”
“Not till supper, miss. Leastwise, he had Mrs. Quincy fix him a box lunch, so he must be figurin’ on a long day.”
“I see. Then—” Sarah spun at a sudden squeal from Nora.
“’Quirrel, all gone.” Nora’s lower lip pouted out, trembled.
“’Pears like you’ve got a problem.” Mr. Quincy chuckled and walked away.
“It will be all right, Nora.” Sarah hurried down the path and scooped the little girl into her arms for a hug. “You frightened the squirrel when you yelled.” She walked to the pergola, sat on the wooden bench and settled Nora on her lap. “Shh.” She laid her finger across her lips and softened her voice to a whisper. “If we sit still and are very quiet, the squirrel will come back.”
The admonition worked until the disturbed birds returned to their bathing and feeding.
“Bird.” Nora pointed and squirmed to get down. Sarah helped her off her lap, then sat watching as Nora ran from one bird to another, squealing with delight when they fluttered into the air only to land a few feet away and resume their feeding.
The toddler’s laughter brought a smile to her own lips. One that disappeared in a small gasp when Nora stumbled and tumbled facedown onto the grass. She rushed to the railing, waited. Nora pushed to her hands and knees, got her feet under her and ran after another bird, her sunbonnet now flopping against her back, her blond curls bobbing free.
Sarah relaxed. It seemed the only damage done by the fall was the smear of green on the pristine white pinafore and that bit of torn lace dangling from the bottom of Nora’s pantalettes. The laundress would not be happy. But what did any of that matter in the face of the child’s happiness?
Sarah frowned and returned to her seat. Young’uns need to be outside where they can learn about God’s creations, not be—Kept quiet in the nursery all day? Is that what the former nanny had done to Nora? Of course, the woman was probably following orders. But still, how could she treat Nora like that? It was unnatural to keep a child hidden away like…like some unwanted possession. Did the child’s happiness count for nothing?
Sarah’s thoughts leaped backward, focused on the cruel woman her mother had hired to care for her when she was Nora’s age. Nanny Brown had cared nothing for her happiness. The woman had made her life a misery. And her mother and father had not cared about her happiness, either. They had left her behind with Justin Randolph when they ran off. How could parents disregard the needs of their children?
Sarah took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her waist. She had struggled for so long after her mother abandoned her to overcome the horrid, empty feeling of being forsaken and unloved. She could not let Nora feel that way. And the little girl would if something did not happen to change Clayton Bainbridge’s cold, callus treatment of her. Because, though he provided for Nora’s every physical need, he had abandoned her in his heart. Why? He seemed considerate of others. What caused him to treat his child this way? There had to be a reason.
Sarah pushed the question aside to concentrate her attention on Nora. The toddler was no longer chasing the birds but had squatted on the brick path and was poking at something on the ground. She rose and hurried down the steps to discover what had captured the little girl’s attention. “Oh. You found a worm.”
“Worm.” Nora’s tiny finger poked at the pink, squiggling worm trying to escape.
Sarah bit back an admonition to not touch the thing,