Family of Her Dreams. Keli Gwyn

his fine features, drinking her fill.

      At length he nodded. “I’ll give you one week.”

      A week? Her previous employers had offered a one-month trial period. Torn between a desire to laugh or shout, Tess gave an unladylike snort, which she covered with a cough.

      In her experience overbearing men like Spencer Abbott responded to a show of force. She couldn’t resist the urge to slip in a hint of sarcasm, too. “How generous—but entirely unnecessary. I’ll prove my worth to you in a day.”

       Chapter Two

      Spencer wasn’t one to refuse a challenge. If Miss Grimsby was bold enough to claim that she could impress him in a day rather than asking for a month as he’d expected, she deserved the opportunity to try. The sooner he found out if her assertion was valid, the sooner he’d know if his search for a housekeeper was over.

      As much as he detested the thought of a woman he didn’t know helping raise his children, Peter’s wife had vouched for Miss Grimsby. Polly had never steered him wrong.

      While Spencer was certain Miss Grimsby could fix better meals than those he’d eaten lately, how would she deal with Luke? The poor tyke had taken to misbehaving. Having a different woman watching him every few days didn’t help matters.

      Miss Grimsby seemed to have the strength of character necessary to tame his spirited offspring. Not that Lila would pose a problem. She’d not even begun to walk. Ever since Trudy’s dea— Ever since the service his little girl had been content to play quietly with her blocks.

      “You may start now. I’ll run you out to the house and return at suppertime. Mrs. Carter, an elderly widow from church, is with the children now. She’ll show you around.”

      She gave a decisive nod. “That would suit me just fine.”

      Spencer stopped his wagon beside Miss Grimsby a few minutes later and hopped down to help her onto the seat. She climbed aboard before he reached her. Her independent streak didn’t surprise him, but her agility did. He wouldn’t have expected a woman that tall wearing boots with three-inch heels to move as quickly or gracefully. But there she sat looking as composed as any woman of leisure, the smooth plane of her neck exposed as she peered over her shoulder at the shops across the street from the depot.

      “I noticed a general store earlier. Would you mind if I run inside for a moment before we get underway?”

      Spencer groaned inwardly. “No, but make it quick. I’ve got work to do.”

      “I’ll be back in a trice.”

      He slipped his gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket. He’d give her five minutes. If she wasn’t back by then, he’d hitch his team to the post and tend to some paperwork. Waiting on a woman wasn’t something he had time for. He closed his eyes to block the bright summer sun and made a mental list of all he had to accomplish that afternoon.

      The wagon rocked as Miss Grimsby climbed aboard. “I’m sorry I took so long, but someone was ahead of me.”

      Three minutes wasn’t long. Three minutes was astonishing. Unsure what to say, he grunted an acknowledgment. He pocketed his watch, took the reins and started the one-mile trek to his spread.

      With each clop of the horses’ hooves, the stabbing pain he experienced every time he saw the place intensified. Memories abounded, as sour as they were sweet. He and Trudy had worked hard to make the house a home. Although she was gone, he could see her everywhere. Why, he fancied he could even smell the rosewater she’d favored.

      “What was she like?”

      “Huh?”

      “Your wife. You looked sad. Were you thinking about her?”

      An inquisitive housekeeper was not what he needed. “That’s not something I care to talk about, especially with a stranger.”

      “I’m sorry. I thought—”

      “You thought wrong. I need a job done. Nothing more.” That had come out harsher than he’d intended. She was only trying to help. Even so, he didn’t trust himself to talk about Trudy without choking up. Silence was safer.

      “I’ll pray for you. I know what it’s like to lose a loved one and feel that vacant ache.”

      He bit back a retort. How could she possibly understand what he was going through? She’d never been married and left with two children to raise alone. “Pray if you like but no more questions please.”

      She bowed her head.

      For some reason her gesture comforted him. He’d reached the point where he no longer knew what to pray and trusted the Spirit to intercede for him “with groanings which could not be uttered,” as it said in Romans. If Miss Grimsby’s prayers could help, he wouldn’t turn them down.

      When she opened her eyes, they held unasked questions, but the compassion he’d seen before was there, too. She smiled, and the future didn’t seem quite as bleak as it had. Perhaps she was as capable as she’d said and would solve his immediate problems. He’d know soon enough.

      * * *

      Tess remained silent the rest of the way to Mr. Abbott’s place. He’d made it clear her attempts to offer sympathy were unwelcome. She could understand. Each child who’d come to the orphanage handled grief differently. Some wept. Some talked about their losses, while others kept their own counsel. Some blamed themselves and suffered guilt, while others lashed out in anger. And there were those like her soon-to-be employer who did their best to go on with their lives despite the near-crippling pain.

      As she’d prayed, a sense of peace had descended on her—along with a sense of purpose. She wasn’t here to get what she wanted. She was here to give of herself to this hurting family. All those years comforting others had prepared her for this. She would offer the care and comfort Mr. Abbott’s motherless children needed, and she would lift some of the burden their grieving father carried.

      Above all she would guard her heart. Even though she was drawn to him, she mustn’t let herself care too much. This was a job like any other, and she would do well to remember that.

      They approached a two-story ranch house painted bright red with white trim. All the windows were open, curtains peeking from beneath the raised frames. A wraparound porch beckoned her to slip into one of the ladder-backed rocking chairs gracing it and spend time sipping lemonade with a friend. She’d often dreamed of having such a house, although the one in her dreams was blue—a lovely slate blue with burgundy trim.

      Mr. Abbott parked the wagon, and she was on the ground in a heartbeat. He held out a hand toward the stairs. “After you.”

      She passed through the open front door and nearly gagged. What was that horrid stench? It smelled worse than the rotten eggs some of the more daring boys at the orphanage had hurled at Mr. Grimsby’s carriage once—before he’d meted out the swift punishment he was known for.

      “Luke!” Mr. Abbott bellowed and charged inside.

      That didn’t bode well. Tess followed on his heels. They reached the kitchen where a full-figured woman with white hair attempted to wipe a squirming baby girl’s jam-spattered face. Mr. Abbott’s four-year-old son ran circles around the dining table in the adjoining room, whooping like an Indian on the warpath.

      Everywhere Tess looked, chaos reigned. Soiled shirts had been draped over chair backs, newspapers and toys were strewn about and a path had been worn through the dust coating the floorboards. Although she’d only been there two minutes, she itched to get to work restoring order and a sense of harmony.

      Mr. Abbott addressed the older woman, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “What happened?”

      “That boy of yours snuck up behind me when I was checkin’ the fire and chucked some salve in the stove.”

      “What