Winnie Griggs - The Holiday Courtship

Miss Whitman glanced toward the next room again. “Alex and Chloe are tired and very likely apprehensive about their future here. As I said earlier, the best thing for them at the moment is to get them to your place so they can get comfortable with their new home.”

Why couldn’t she just give a straight answer to his questions? “Does that mean you can’t help Chloe?”

She gave him a don’t-be-silly look. “Not at all. I’m only saying now is not the time to talk about it.”

“And just when do you suggest we talk?” He was beginning to wonder if she really could help his niece after all.

“Since your aunt didn’t arrive as planned, are you in a position to provide them with a meal tonight?”

The way she hopped from subject to subject made him dizzy. “I’ll take them to Daisy’s,” he answered, making said plan on the spot.

But she gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Taking them to a restaurant is probably not the best idea. Much better to feed them at home, where they won’t feel on display.”

And just how did she expect him to do that, especially when she’d already guessed his cupboard was bare? “That’s all well and good, but—”

She raised a hand to stop him. Naturally she’d have a suggestion. “There’s a simple solution. I can come by your place later this afternoon and cook a simple meal for you.”

Her generous and unexpected offer, made with such no-nonsense confidence, set him back a moment. Putting aside the fact that her I-have-all-the-answers attitude set his teeth on edge, it was mighty tempting to accept her offer. After all, a home-cooked meal—and such interesting company—for the kids’ first day at his home was more than he could have hoped for just a few short minutes ago. But how far into her debt did he want to go? “I couldn’t impose on you—”

She interrupted his admittedly halfhearted protest. “Nonsense. I want to do this. And after the meal, the two of us can talk in more detail about how we might best help Chloe.”

Her use of we made it sound as if she planned to have some long-term involvement in Chloe’s life. For some reason that perked him up. “All right. If you’re sure it’s not imposing on your kindness too much, then I’d certainly welcome your help.”

“That’s settled, then.” She stood and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Chandler—this is something the three of you will be able to work through.”

Hank stood as well. She certainly had an air of confidence about her—he hoped it was justified. Though he wondered how long eventually would take. “Can I give you a ride to the boardinghouse?”

“Thank you, but there’s no need. You just get those two children home and insist they lie down for a nap.” She looked at him. “And I suggest you do the same.”

Sleep did sound good, but there was too much to be done for him to waste time on a bit of shut-eye this afternoon.

“By the way,” she continued, “the children may decide they want to be together, at least at first. I wouldn’t make much to-do over it if they do. It’s natural for them to want to cling to something familiar in a situation like this, and right now the only familiar thing left in their world is each other. And Smudge.”

“If you’re going to shop for the makings of our meal, just have the shopkeepers put the cost on my account.”

She nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you at your place in about an hour.” And with that, she headed for the door.

Hank slowly followed her back into the sweet shop, watching her walk ahead of him. There was nothing tentative about this woman. She moved the same way she talked, with confidence and authority. The knowledge that she planned to help him, that he was no longer facing this alone, gave him renewed energy.

Miss Whitman, for all her I-know-best attitude, had provided him with the first flicker of hope for Chloe since he’d left Turnabout four weeks ago, and for that he was grateful. If the schoolteacher could truly do what she said she could, he’d certainly not begrudge her any amount of superior attitude.

She paused beside the children for a moment, saying something to them, touching Alex lightly on the shoulder, Chloe on the arm. And he could see the children respond to her, if not warmly, at least respectfully.

How did she do it, get them to relax around her like that? For a few moments, when he’d first walked into the Blue Bottle, he’d seen his niece and nephew as they were meant to be—sitting at the table, sipping cocoa and smiling.

Then they’d spied him and gloom settled over them once more.

He tried not to take it personally. It seemed, though, that he was a reminder to them of everything they’d lost.

Would that ever change?

Perhaps with the schoolteacher’s help, he could learn the secret to earning their trust.

But first he needed to earn her trust.

* * *

Janell stayed behind at the sweet shop after Mr. Chandler and his charges had departed. Over the past year and a half, she and Eve had become very good friends. It was the first time she’d let herself get close, really close, to anyone since she’d moved to Turnabout nearly seven years ago.

“Those poor children,” Eve said, putting her hand protectively over her abdomen. “Mr. Chandler is going to have his hands full caring for them, I’m afraid.” Then she smiled. “But I can see already that he’s going to have some very competent help.”

Janell and Eve had shared a great deal about their pasts with each other as their friendship grew, so her friend knew all about what had happened to her sister, Lizzie. “I certainly intend to do what I can to help them. I wasn’t able to stay and help Lizzie as much as I would have liked. I feel like perhaps God is giving me a second chance with Chloe.”

Eve also knew about her shameful secret, the one that had driven Janell from her family and home in Illinois and brought her to Turnabout. Eve was the only one here who knew.

Because if anyone else found out, it would likely mean the end of Janell’s stay in Turnabout, something she couldn’t bear.

Eve patted her hand. “What happened was no fault of your own. But we both have scars from our past to deal with, so I’ll say no more. Just let me know how I can help.”

“Would you mind letting Verity know I won’t make it to choir practice this evening and probably won’t sing with the choir at church tomorrow?” The choir director and several of the members had made a habit of stopping here for a cup of tea before choir practice on Saturday evenings.

“Of course. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”

Talk of the choir reminded Janell of something else.

She gave Eve a sympathetic smile. “Is Leo still smarting over what happened at the Thanksgiving festival?”

Leo, Eve’s adopted son, was part of the children’s choir and had been selected for a small solo part at the festival. However, when he’d stepped forward to sing, his voice had cracked. The boy had turned candy-apple red and rushed off the stage in embarrassment.

Eve nodded. “I’m afraid so. Telling him it’s a natural part of growing up for a boy hasn’t helped.” A touch of worry invaded her expression. “He’s already told Verity he won’t be taking part in the Christmas program.”

Verity had formed a children’s choir last spring and had worked wonders with the group ever since.

“As it happens,” Janell said, “I’ve been thinking about working with some of the children to put on a short nativity play in conjunction with the children’s choir Christmas Eve program. Do you think Leo might be interested in taking part?”