Upon a Midnight Clear. Gail Martin Gaymer
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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 opening widened, and the woman stepped aside. “Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you in the family parlor. May I take your coat?”
Callie regarded her surroundings as she slid the coat from her shoulders. She stood in a wide hallway graced by a broad, curved staircase and a sparkling crystal chandelier. An oriental carpet covered the floor, stretching the length of the entry.
Two sets of double doors stood closed on the right, and on the left, three more sets of French doors hid the rooms’ interiors, leaving Callie with a sense of foreboding. Were the doors holding something in? Or keeping something out? Only the door at the end of the hallway stood open, probably leading to the servants’ quarters.
The woman disposed of Callie’s coat and gestured for her to follow. The housekeeper moved to the left, rapped lightly on the first set of doors, and, when a muffled voice spoke, pushed the door open and stepped aside.
Callie moved forward and paused in the doorway. The room was lovely, filled with floral-print furnishings and a broad mantel displaying family photographs. Winter sunlight beamed through a wide bay window, casting French-pane patterns on the elegant mahogany grand piano. But what caught her off guard the most was the man.
David Hamilton stood before the fireplace, watching her. Their eyes met and locked in unspoken curiosity. A pair of gray woolen slacks and a burgundy sweater covered his tall, athletic frame. His broad shoulders looked like a swimmer’s, and tapered to a trim waist.
He stepped toward her, extending his hand without a smile. “Miss Randolph.”
She moved forward to meet him halfway. “Mr. Hamilton. You have a lovely home. Very gracious and charming.”
“Thank you. Have a seat by the fire. Big, old homes sometimes hold a chill. The fireplace makes it more tolerable.”
After glancing around, she made her way toward a chair near the hearth, then straightened her skirt as she eased into it. The man sat across from her, stretching his long legs toward the warmth of the fire. He was far more handsome than she had imagined, and she chided herself for creating an ogre, rather than this attractive tawny-haired man whose hazel eyes glinted sparks of green and brown as he observed her.
“So,” he said. His deep, resonant voice filled the silence.
She pulled herself up straighter in the chair and acknowledged him. “I suppose you’d like to see my references?”
He sat unmoving. “Not really.”
His abrupt comment threw her off balance a moment. “Oh? Then you’d like to know my qualifications?”
“No, I’d rather get to know you.” His gaze penetrated hers, and she felt a prickling of nerves tingle up her arms and catch in her chest.
“You mean my life story? Why I became a nurse? Why I’d rather do home care?”
“Tell me about your interests. What amuses you?”
She looked directly into his eyes. “My interests? I love to read. In fact, I brought a small gift for Natalie, some children’s books.