The Nanny's Little Matchmakers. Danica Favorite
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stood there, staring at him. “Well, let’s find her!”
Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity in the store as everyone went off in search of Isabella. Mitch paused at the counter for a moment.
“It’s all right,” Polly said kindly, her hand resting on his arm. “I’m sure we’ll find her.”
Mitch nodded. Like all of the other difficult emotions he had to suppress in life, this one should be no different. After all, Isabella disappeared all the time. She liked to hide in small spaces, where she’d curl up and take a nap. The rational part of his brain told him that Isabella was most likely somewhere doing just that. But the ache in his heart...the one that had already borne too much for any man to bear...
“Thank you,” he said simply. Then he turned to look for his daughter.
* * *
Mitch Taylor was not a cold man, Polly had decided upon meeting him. The simple way he spoke, seemingly unattached, gave an air of coldness that would have driven most people off. But there’d been a catch in his voice whenever he spoke of his children that gave him away. He might want people to think him detached, but Polly could tell by the love in his eyes that he cared deeply for his children.
She paused at a pile of blankets tossed casually on the floor. Mrs. Taylor would never tolerate such disarray in the store. Though she only spoke to the other woman briefly on her visits, Polly knew the pride Mrs. Taylor took in keeping everything in order.
Polly knelt down and moved the blankets. She spied a mass of curly black hair.
She gently touched the child. “Isabella?”
The little girl sighed and pulled the blankets back closer to her.
“I’ve found her!” Polly stood and waved Mitch over.
The relief spreading across the man’s face reaffirmed her belief that there was more to Mitch than he let on. He ran to them and immediately scooped up the little girl into his arms.
“Isabella!” He cradled her against him. Then she lifted her head, yawned and looked around.
Which is when Polly noticed that Isabella was completely unlike any of Mitch’s other children in appearance. Her mass of curls was much darker than the straight brown hair of her other four siblings. But it was the deep rich brown of Isabella’s skin that struck her the most. Especially as it contrasted with Mitch’s fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes.
Her friend Emma Jane had adopted a child, and Polly had always admired her for the ferocity with which she and her husband, Jasper, loved little Moses. But to see this strange man, who wore such a veneer of ice, loving a child so clearly not his own, it made Polly’s heart tumble in a funny manner she hadn’t expected.
“Yes, she’s mine,” Mitch said curtly, still cradling the little girl as he moved past her.
“Of course she is,” Polly said, knowing how Emma Jane and Jasper often had to correct others who made unkind remarks about Moses not being theirs. “I can see you love her very much.”
Mitch relaxed slightly, then peered down at his daughter. “You gave us quite a scare, Isabella. You mustn’t hide like that.”
“I was sweepy,” the little girl mumbled, then rested her head back on her father’s shoulder.
“Mrs. Abernathy’s lessons were too long today,” the eldest girl, Louisa, said as she joined them. “She wasn’t paying the slightest attention to Isabella and was more worried about Clara’s spelling. Rory told her that Clara cheated on her lessons, so Mrs. Abernathy rapped her knuckles. If I hadn’t been forced to work on penmanship, I might have been able to look after Isabella myself.”
Louisa gave him a haughty glare. “I’m twelve years old. I don’t see why I need lessons anymore. I can watch the younger children, and then you won’t need to hire any more dreadful nannies like Mrs. Abernathy. I’m practically a grown woman. I can do it.”
Polly fought the urge to laugh. At twelve, she’d thought herself quite the grown woman. And, in truth, she’d taken on much of those responsibilities. Her mother had been busy taking in the washing from other miners and their families, her father had been busy working in the mines. That is, when her father hadn’t been too drunk to work. It had fallen on Polly’s shoulders to keep an eye on both her younger siblings and any of the other young children in the various mining camps they’d bounced between.
But it was not a life she’d wish on any twelve-year-old child. If a girl had a choice, anything was better than the drudgery of running a household that wasn’t hers to run.
“We won’t be having this argument again,” Mitch said, shifting Isabella in his arms. “You need an education so you can have a good life for yourself.”
“I do have a good life,” Louisa declared hotly, “at least when I don’t have a horrible nanny forcing me to do useless things.”
“Your education is not useless.” Mitch’s voice held the same calmness she’d observed when she first met him. “You have no idea the doors it will open up for you.”
Louisa looked like she was going to speak, but then closed her mouth as she nodded grudgingly. Her expression was anything but accepting, but at least she appeared to be listening to her father.
Polly would have given anything to have her only responsibility be her lessons at that age. Instead, she changed diaper after diaper, wishing things could be different. It was only the Lassiters’ influence that had allowed her to have an education in the first place.
Pastor Lassiter, or Uncle Frank, as he’d lately insisted he be called by the MacDonald family, and his late wife, Catherine, had come to the mining camps as part of their ministry to spread the gospel to the miners. But more than that, they’d helped Polly’s family better their circumstances, and Polly had been able to take lessons with their daughter, Annabelle.
Uncle Frank! Polly looked around, realizing for the first time that while she’d come with the pastor, in all of the excitement, she’d forgotten him.
She spied him at the counter, talking with Mr. Taylor and his wife. Polly started toward the Taylors, noting that Mitch followed close behind.
“Ah! Polly!” Uncle Frank stepped aside to let Polly join the conversation.
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in all the excitement.” Three little heads peered from around the corner of the counter.
“Yes, I saw.” Uncle Frank smiled. “I think we stopped by in the nick of time.”
He turned his attention to Mitch. “Frank Lassiter. I’m the pastor at Leadville Community Church. Andrew wanted me to welcome you to town, let you know that we’re here for you if you need anything.”
Mitch frowned, then gave his brother a funny look. “You know I’m not much of a church-going man. The church—”
“This church is different. Trust me. Pastor Lassiter can help with your situation,” Andrew Taylor said.
Uncle Frank made a face. “Please. I’ve told you to call me Frank. We’re all the same in the Lord’s eyes, so don’t make me any more than I am.”
“I’m sure the church can’t do anything for my situation. I need a new nanny, that’s all.”
The hard set to Mitch’s jaw made Polly’s heart ache. They’d encountered a lot of pride over the years, both when Polly’s family helped take care of other miners’ children, and now with helping Uncle Frank with his ministry to the miners and the outcasts of Leadville society. Mitch wanted help. But like so many who’d been wounded in the past, accepting help from the church was almost too difficult to bear.
Uncle Frank looked over at Polly. “That is something we can help with. Polly is wonderful with children, and I know she’d be delighted to help with yours until you can find a replacement.”
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