Upon a Midnight Clear. Gail Martin Gaymer

a child.”

      David nodded. “You’re not much beyond a child yourself.”

      Callie sat bolt upright. “I’m twenty-six, Mr. Hamilton. I believe I qualify as an adult. And I’m a registered nurse. I’m licensed to care for people of all ages.”

      He raised his hand, flexing his palm like a policeman halting traffic. “Whoa. I’m sorry, Miss Randolph. I didn’t mean to insult you. You have a very youthful appearance. You told me your qualifications on the telephone. I know you’re a nurse. If I didn’t think you might be suited for this position, I wouldn’t have wasted my time. Nor yours.”

      Callie’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I thought, you—”

      “Don’t apologize. I was abrupt. Please continue. How else do you spend your time?”

      She thought for a moment. “As I said before, I love to read. I enjoy the theater. And the outdoors. I’m not interested in sports, but I enjoy a long walk on a spring morning or a hike through the woods in autumn— Do I sound boring?”

      “No, not at all.”

      “And then I love…” She hesitated. Music. How could she tell him her feelings about music and singing? So much time had passed.

      His eyes searched hers, and he waited.

      The grandfather clock sitting across the room broke the heavy silence. One. Two. Three.

      He glanced at his wristwatch. “And then you love…”

      She glanced across the room at the silent piano. “Music.”

      Chapter Three

      Callie waited for a comment, but David Hamilton only shifted his focus to the piano, then back to her face.

      She didn’t mention her singing. “I play the piano a little.” She gestured toward the impressive instrument. “Do you play?”

      David’s face tightened, and a frown flickered on his brow. “Not really. Not anymore. Sara, my wife, played. She was the musician in the family.”

      Callie nodded. “I see.” His eyes flooded with sorrow, and she understood. The thought of singing filled her with longing, too. They shared a similar ache, but hers was too personal, too horrible to even talk about. Her thought returned to the child. “And Natalie? Is your daughter musical?”

      Grief shadowed his face again, and she was sorry she’d asked.

      “I believe she is. She showed promise before her mother died. Nattie was four then and used to sing songs with us. Now she doesn’t sing a note.”

      “I’m sorry. It must be difficult, losing a wife and in a sense your daughter.” Callie drew in a deep breath. “Someday, she’ll sing again. I’m sure she will. When you love music, it has to come out. You can’t keep it buried inside of…”

      The truth of her words hit her. Music pushed against her heart daily. Would she ever be able to think of music without the awful memories surging through her? Her throat ached to sing, but then the black dreams rose like demons, just as Nattie’s singing probably aroused sad thoughts of her mother.

      David stared at her curiously, his head tilting to one side as he searched her face. She swallowed, feeling the heat of discomfort rise in her again.

      “You have strong feelings about music.” His words were not a question.

      “Yes, I do. She’ll sing. After her pain goes away.” Callie’s thoughts turned to a prayer. Help me to sing again, Lord, when my hurt is gone.

      “Excuse me.” David Hamilton rose. “I want to see if Agnes is bringing our tea.” He stepped toward the door, then stopped. “Do you like tea?”

      Callie nodded. “Yes, very much.”

      He turned and strode through the doorway. Callie drew in a calming breath. Why did she feel as if he were sitting in judgment of her, rather than interviewing her? She raised her eyebrows. Maybe he was.

      In only a moment, David spoke to her from the parlor doorway. “Agnes is on her way.” He left the door open, and before he had crossed the room, the woman she’d seen earlier entered with a tray.

      “Right here, Agnes. On the coffee table is fine.” He gestured to the low table that stretched between them. “Miss Randolph, this is Agnes, my housekeeper. She’s caring for Nattie until I find someone.”

      “We met at the door. It’s nice to know you, Agnes.” The woman nodded and set the tray on the highly polished table.

      “Agnes has been a godsend for us since we lost Miriam.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, glancing at him. “Would you like me to pour?”

      “No, I’ll get it. You have plenty to do.” With a flicker of emotion, his eyes rose to meet the woman’s. “By the way, have you checked on Nattie lately?”

      “Yes, sir, she’s coloring in her room.”

      “Coloring? That’s good. I’ll take Miss Randolph up to meet her a bit later.”

      Agnes nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. David poured tea into the two china cups. “I’ll let you add your own cream and sugar, if you take it,” he said, indicating toward the pitcher and sugar bowl on the tray. “And please have a piece of Agnes’s cake. It’s lemon. And wonderful.”

      Callie glanced at him, astounded at the sudden congeniality in his voice. The interview had felt so ponderous, but now he sounded human. “Thanks. I take my tea black. And the cake looks wonderful.” She sipped the strong tea, and then placed the cup on the tray and picked up a dessert plate of cake.

      David eyed her as she slivered off a bite and forked it into her mouth. The tangy lemon burst with flavor on her tongue. “It’s delicious.”

      He looked pleased. “I will say, Agnes is an excellent cook.”

      “Has she been with you long?”

      He stared into the red glow of the firelight. “No—a half year, perhaps. Miriam, my past housekeeper, took Nattie—took all of us—under her wing when Sara died. She had been with my parents before their deaths. A longtime employee of the family. She retired. Illness and age finally caught up with her. Her loss has been difficult for us.”

      He raised his eyes from the mesmerizing flames. “I’m sorry, Miss Randolph. I’m sure you aren’t interested in my family tree, nor my family’s problems.”

      “Don’t apologize, please. And call me Callie.” She felt her face brighten to a shy grin. “Miss Randolph sounds like my maiden aunt.”

      For the first time, his tense lips relaxed and curved to a pleasant smile. “All right. It’s Callie,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Is that short for something?”

      “No, just plain Callie.”

      He nodded. “So, Callie, tell me how a young woman like you decided to care for the elderly. Why not a position in a hospital, regular hours so you could have fun with your friends?”

      She raised her eyes to his and fought the frown that pulled at her forehead. Never had an interview caused her such stress. The man seemed to be probing at every nerve ending—searching for what, she didn’t know. She grasped for the story she had lived with for so long.

      “When I graduated from college, I had romantic dreams. Like Florence Nightingale, I suppose. A hospital didn’t interest me. I wanted something more…absorbing. So I thought I’d try my hand at home care. The first job I had was a cancer patient, an elderly woman who needed constant attention. Because of that, I was asked to live in their home, which suited me nicely.”

      “You have no family, then?”

      She swallowed. How could she explain her relationship with her