The Nanny Solution (4 page)

What was it?

She sat back. It wasn't her business, nor did she want it to be. There was already too much shared knowledge between them. His quiet suspicion when she revealed her silly plan for employment proved that much. Victoria tightened her jaw. She knew she couldn't live off charity forever and knew she would never survive without a more substantial plan.

She had only one choice. She would settle in first and then ask around. Even a job as a store clerk would suffice, especially considering Uncle Walter's plan to have her marry his business partner. Victoria felt her face heat, and she glanced over at Mitchell. Thankfully, he didn't notice. She with her careful observation and he with his suspicion, they were proving to be quite a pair, reluctant bearers of each other's secrets. It would be better if they stopped learning so much of each other's business. It was quite unacceptable.

“Well, your ranch sounds very interesting,” she said in a clipped tone, effectively ending the conversation as she deliberately turned her attention to anything but him.

The train wended its way around some rolling hills, the trees' lovely fall colors beginning to wane. The children grew bored of their game and their eyelids sank. Thankfully. She had no idea how to mind four children and a baby for three days.

Before long, Emily began to fuss again, her legs pulling up and her face scrunching into a pained expression. Victoria reached for her and to her horror realized the child needed changing.

In her haste to punish her mother, she'd leaped into a situation she hadn't fully appreciated. Lifting the baby up, she knew they needed to visit the washroom first. Victoria threw a slightly panicked look at Mitchell, but the late nights with the baby and caring for his other children had taken their toll on him. He was fast asleep.

The porter passed at that moment and she asked him for another bottle of warm milk. He nodded and continued forward. The woman across from her stood at the same time Victoria stood, her expression knowing as her nose wrinkled. “If you nursed your baby, that mess wouldn't smell so bad.”

What a crass remark. Victoria battled the embarrassment she knew she shouldn't feel. “I'm not her mother. The baby's mother died giving birth.” She lifted her chin and continued. “I've been employed to assist with the children.” There, she'd said it again. She'd been employed.

Would it get any easier?

The woman's gaze softened as she looked down at the dozing children. “They're motherless! Poor things.” Unexpectedly, the woman rolled her gaze up and down Victoria's outfit before allowing it to drift over to Mitchell. “A mighty fine father he is.” She flicked her head to her husband, who sat with his chin to his chest, his eyes closed. “This one has yet to hold our baby.”

The woman then narrowed her eyes. “So you're not his new bride, eh? Gives me hope if I ever get rid of this layabout.”

Victoria's eyes widened. Good gracious, how was she to answer that? “I—I need to change the baby before the milk comes.”

The woman stopped her passage, her raw-boned features tightening in an intense stare. “My doctor told me that my milk ain't no good and that new stuff they sell is better. But I can't see how God would give us something bad for our babies. Too bad you can't nurse her. I've always had plenty, I keep telling my husband.”

Still horrified at the unrefined topic, Victoria looked down at the woman's baby as it rested comfortably in a basket tucked between the facing seats.

At a sharp turn, the car rattled back and forth, causing both women to grab each other. After the train returned to its usual rhythm, the young mother's fingers lingered on the smooth fabric of Victoria's smart outfit. “That's a lovely thing you're wearing. And a fine cut to it. Ooh, I'd do anything to own something like that.”

A smile grew on Victoria's lips as the idea formed. “You don't say?”

* * *

Mitch awoke slowly, with great resistance, as if being pulled from a pit of thick mud. The car was warm, suppressing his desire to rouse. Though he eased open his eyes, he still kept them hooded. The train's rhythm made it easy to just sit there, his head rocking slightly as he leaned against the window. He felt as if he'd slept all night, but the setting sun blazed through the windows on the opposite side of the train. He'd slept for only a few hours, for the fall days were short.

Below, he could see Emily sleeping in her basket, a look of contentment on her face. And across from him, he noticed Matthew and John playing a game. Scratch cradle, by the looks of the taut string Matthew held. John was trying to maneuver his fingers inside to pull up on several lengths at once.

Beside him, Mitch noticed with his eyes still only half open, sat Victoria. She looked stunning in a warm, rose dress, the color practically glowing as the setting sun now cast gold and orange upon it. She had Ralph on her lap, and together they held the string of their own game of scratch cradle. Across from Ralph, perched on the opposite seat, was Mary, listening carefully to Victoria's soft instructions on which strings to pluck. Because of the heat, all the children had abandoned their coats and hats.

Wait.
Opening his eyes more fully, Mitch frowned at Victoria. A warm, rose-colored gown? It was flattering on her, but that wasn't the gown she'd been wearing when he'd dropped off to sleep.

Did she think that afternoon dresses were necessary even on the train? Had she continued the old-fashioned habit of wearing certain attire depending on the time of day?

His frown deepened as his gaze expanded beyond her. The sun chose that moment to tuck itself behind a rolling hill, and he could see more easily the woman who'd been eclipsing the burnished rays of early evening.

That young mother across the aisle wore a dark green outfit. Even now, she sat preening herself, smoothing some imaginary wrinkle or untucking an errant line of lace.

He straightened. Was she wearing Victoria's fine clothes?

Chapter Four

F
ully awake, Mitch stared. Not only was the woman wearing Victoria's dress, but she was also wearing her excessively fancy bonnet, too. What on earth was going on?

Mary chose that moment to pull up on some of the strings and the knots tightened around Ralph's fingers. They all laughed and Victoria cried, “You've made the soldier's bed! But where is the soldier?”

“He's shooting the bad men,” Ralph yelled out.

Victoria laughed and hugged him. He looked up at her, his youthful eyes wide with innocent curiosity. “Miss Templeton, are you going to be our new mommy?”

Even the two older boys froze. Immediately, Victoria's gaze shot from Ralph to slam into Mitch's. She swallowed hard. Though he'd seen her horrified when she'd held Emily for the first time, this instance topped that occasion.

Her lips parted, and her cheeks flushed. She looked totally and quite attractively lost. Quickly composing herself, she cleared her throat. “Now, look what we've done. We've woken your father.”

“No. I awoke a short time ago.”

“Daddy, Miss Templeton—”

“Shush yah, Ralph,” Victoria chided, and Mitch heard her Boston accent clearly in her words. “The train isn't the place to ask those questions.”

Mitch unfolded his arms. “That's right, Ralph. We will discuss this when we get to the ranch. Now is the time for more important things.” He rolled his gaze over to Victoria. “Like asking Miss Templeton about her new gown.”

Automatically, Victoria shot a look across the aisle at the woman, who, satisfied her outfit was perfect, chose to watch the passing scenery. Victoria turned back to Mitch. He leaned forward. “And why is that young lady across the aisle wearing your old one?”

Her color deepened. “Please don't make a fuss. I can explain.”

As he leaned back, Mitch loosened his tie. He must have been dog-tired to fall asleep with that thing strangling him. “You don't have to answer to me, Victoria. May I call you that? I didn't buy the gown for you. I was merely curious as to why you switched.”

“We didn't switch. I gave my outfit to her,” she said. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Really? I'm interested in hearing the details.”

“While you were sleeping, Emily fussed again. I think she had an upset stomach. I asked the porter to warm more milk for her, but she obviously needed something better.”

“Yes, the milk makes her fussy. The doctor said it's because it's so rich and that she needs to get used to it.”

Victoria looked dubious and lowered her voice. “The young mother told me that nursing is better. Then she said she'd do anything for an outfit like mine. By the way, it's an outfit, not a gown.”

Mitch felt his eyes widen. “So you just gave it to her?”

“Allow me to finish.” Victoria huffed. “I purchased the woman's services for the duration of this trip. She will nurse Emily and change her if I am unavailable. And I must say that since she took over those duties, the baby has slept like a...well, a baby!”

He couldn't believe his ears. “You sold your outfit for milk? I would say that she got the better end of that bargain.”

“I don't believe so.”

Mitch gaped at her. Was the simple task of caring for a child that distasteful?

Simple task? He halted his internal grumblings. Since returning to Boston and discovering that Agnes had died in childbirth, he'd been awake several times each and every night. The baby's reasons were obvious, but the children's crying had hurt more, especially that of Mary, who seemed prone to night terrors.

No. He would not call caring for children a simple task.

Nor was it one to trade off for a scrap of material.

He folded his arms. “Was your job that distasteful?”

“No, but I now have a child in my care who isn't fussy. And you don't have to purchase milk at every stop, thus saving you money.”

Mitch leaned back. He hadn't thought of that. It was certainly a consideration. They had only about twenty minutes at each stop, and in that time, Mitch would have to find a store that sold both this new-fangled baby's milk, plus some food for four children and two adults.

Victoria lifted her brows knowingly. “And you won't have to tip that porter as much at the end of this trip.”

After starting a new game with Mary holding the string and Ralph trying his skill, Victoria added, “I've saved you time, money and aggravation.”

“But I certainly cannot pay to replace that outfit for you.”

“You don't need to, Mitchell.” She sniffed. “May I call you that?”

He nodded. He preferred Mitch, but Mitchell seemed more akin to Victoria's personality.

“You can give me the money you were going to spend on milk and the tips for warming it.”

“It still won't cover the cost of that outfit.”

“I have others.” She leaned back against the padded backrest of the seat and sighed, her attention turning to the children.

The conversation was over. Annoyed for some reason, Mitch worked his jaw. While he was asleep, Victoria had transformed from a horrified socialite to a canny businesswoman, and yet, right now, she was leaning back as if she was sitting in luxury beyond measure, all the while doting on his children.

This proved once again that he was better off single. Women were too fickle. Who would consider these seats that pleasurable? Even the woman across the aisle didn't think so. The bustle of the green outfit prevented her from sitting back and she sat so rigidly, she could have been sealed in concrete. Victoria appeared not to be bothering any longer with her usual perfect posture.

Who could figure out women? Not he.

* * *

Victoria's mother would have died of pure horror if she'd known what her daughter was doing this very minute. Corset-less, she was slouching back in a seat in second class like a coquette in a canteen.

Victoria nearly gasped out loud. Had she actually thought those words?

Mitchell was still frowning at her. “Perhaps this situation is my fault. I should have asked you first if you liked children.”

She straightened, opening her mouth as if to argue back. How could he ask that? Then she gasped. Was that really why she'd foisted little Emily onto the first nursing mother she'd spotted? Because she hated children?

No
. “I don't think it's that at all,” she replied. “I simply don't have any experience with children. And being cloistered in a train car with a baby whose milk makes her sick is not a good introduction. Not to mention how the poor child is in pain. I simply used some common sense.” Realizing that she had some wisdom, and yes, some initiative, she lifted her chin. “I actually found teaching the other four scratch cradle to be rather enjoyable. Before you woke up, we'd had quite a laugh trying to figure out what shapes we'd produced. They got sillier the more we played.” She blinked and turned away. “I'm sorry if you feel you've made a mistake in hiring me.”

His answer was clipped. “I just find it irrational that you sold an expensive outfit to avoid work you'd been assigned.”

Victoria was sure that wasn't his reason. His tight words told her there was more to it.

Though, what he said made sense. It was irrational to sell an expensive outfit on the spur of the moment. Mercy, was she as foolish as her mother, who'd sold her expensive mourning outfits for a train ticket that would have cost a quarter of what the clothes were worth?

Victoria bit her lip. She'd been hurt by her mother's departure from Boston without her. Abigail's decision to sell her clothes had then epitomized the strained situation. For the cost of a train ticket, her mother had destroyed Victoria's hope that they could work out their dire finances together.

She stole a look at Mitchell. And for the cost of a wet nurse, Victoria had destroyed Mitchell's belief in her. Her empty stomach flipped. Yes. She was as foolish as her mother. Someday, she might need him as a reference, especially if she was to seek employment in Proud Bend. What would Mitchell tell a potential employer? That she'd sold a fine outfit to avoid work?

Tears sprang into her eyes. Suddenly, she was an impoverished girl who'd probably never secure employment. Everything was falling apart.

“I'm hungry.”

Which boy said it, Victoria couldn't guess. But when she turned her attention to the three children sitting on the bench seat in front of them, plus the one still on her lap, Victoria didn't need to know. They all stared hollowed-eyed at their father.

“At the next stop, I'll purchase some food for you,” Mitchell growled.

His frown deepened, despite the children appearing satisfied at the promise. She leaned close to Mitchell. “Is there a problem?”

Mitchell consulted his pocket watch. It was a basic model, nothing like the elaborate one Charles had owned. Victoria's heart tripped up. Had her stepfather purchased his with some of her inheritance? She hadn't seen the watch for some time. Had he then sold it to finance his gambling?

“According to the schedule, we aren't expected to make another water stop until after dark.”

“Water stop?” she asked.

“For the train. Steam is lost and they need to refill the boiler in the locomotive. I'm sure they'll replenish supplies in first class and take on more coal if necessary, but these stops are mostly for water. There aren't many track pans to scoop it up as we pass.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “So how is that a problem?”

“I'm afraid the general store won't be open then, which means I must rely on the local roadhouse. Except anything I buy will be wasted, for the children won't eat what those people pass off as food. And to purchase something here from the porter will cost a ridiculous amount, I'm afraid.” He grimaced. “I saw to the baby's needs, and purchased the bedding we'll use, but I didn't have time to get any food.”

Victoria sat back, then bolted forward, and not from her ingrained habit of sitting upright in a corset and bustle. Ralph clung to her as she cried, “Wait! I can help!”

She squeezed Ralph into the opposite seat between his siblings and stood. With a wave, she called the porter over. Several passengers, including the woman now wearing her beautiful outfit, peered up at her, obviously looking for any distraction from the boredom that was their trip. Victoria asked the young man to retrieve her portmanteau, the one she'd asked to have available.

“What are you doing?” Mitchell asked.

The porter returned and after opening her case on the seat, she began to rifle through it. It was an appallingly gauche act, one she would have never expected she'd do, but she was glad her housekeeper had the wisdom to pack what Victoria was now searching for.

Victoria hauled out a wicker box. “Found it!” She plunked it onto Mitchell's lap, and then closed the case. The porter took it away again. Victoria sat down and took back the box.

“Treats and sweets from my housekeeper,” she declared.

Immediately the children clamored around her. Victoria couldn't help but smile. It was like Christmas morn to them, she was sure. With great fanfare, she removed the lid.

Her maid had hugged her one last time before Victoria had left for the depot, whispering in her ear that the housekeeper had tucked into her portmanteau some treats for the long journey.

“Whatever for?” Victoria had asked her.

“So those men Mr. Charles owed money to don't get all the good stuff in this house,” her maid had hissed fiercely. “That's what Mrs. Handelson said. She said she won't have their filthy paws snatching up all the fine food she'd made and saved.”

Victoria now blushed at the memory. Her mother would have never told the staff the reason for their predicament, but the walls had ears. Everyone in the household, from the housekeeper down to the errand boy, would have known. It had been an embarrassing moment for Victoria, to hug her maid goodbye and at the same time learn the staff knew all about their dire situation.

What else did they know? That her mother had sold expensive outfits for little more than a pittance? They would, for Abigail's maid had conducted the sale.

Shoving away the humiliation, Victoria smiled brightly at the children. “What do we have in here?”

She didn't know herself, but found a Jaffa orange, so big and bright and firm it surely must be the first of this year's harvest. Several mince tarts covered in sturdy, honey-glazed pastry sat beside it. Sugared almonds and a few boiled eggs were tucked all around them, along with multiple crisp-looking biscuits, although some had broken. Deep down was a wedge of old cheese wrapped in a fine linen napkin. Victoria lifted the tarts to discover two meat pastries underneath. She recognized Mrs. Handelson's signature decoration on the tops. She let out a silly squeak of delight, more for the children's sake, when she spied some bricks of precious chocolate in one corner.

“We have a feast here!” she whispered to the children, thankful for the provisions. “But what should be first?”

“To give thanks?” Matthew suggested.

Victoria smiled. The boy would make a fine gentleman someday. After they said grace, during which she was sure the children kept their eyes open for fear the food would vanish, she dug back into the box.

“Let's start with the two meat pastries.” She pulled them out and carefully broke them, a half for each child. They were gone as fast as she handed them out. She gave them each a piece of cheese and as equal a portion of broken biscuit as possible before handing the orange to Mitchell.

“Perhaps you could peel this?”

Her face fell. His expression was anything but thankful.

* * *

Mitch begrudgingly began to peel the orange. “Where did you get an orange this time of year?”

“It's a Jaffa orange. They come from Palestine, but usually just before Christmas. My mother has a fondness for them because they are so sweet.”