Longing for Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

days he’d spent in getting there, waiting, and getting back. He believed the story she’d told about missing one train and its ruining her schedule. The fair part of his brain knew he couldn’t hold that against her, but he still felt frustration bubbling deep inside. Nothing about hiring this new housekeeper had gone as it should.
    As he flung dirty straw into the waiting wheelbarrow, his mind churned over the aggravation of it all. His late wife would have known all the questions to ask. She would have found the perfect housekeeper. He had managed to hire himself a sharp-tongued, demanding, stern-faced bundle of difficulty. The passage of nearly four years had lessened a great deal of his pain over Vivian’s death, but in moments like this, he missed her acutely. Their marriage had not been perfect but neither had life without her.
    He led his black gelding back into its newly cleaned stall, speaking to it reassuringly. A little attention and some affectionate rubbing of its nose and the animal seemed to forgive him for the disruption to its otherwise peaceful afternoon.
    “I have made a mess of things, Copperfield.” He hung a bucket of oats on its peg inside the stall. “There’s a woman in my kitchen. A young Irish woman, with a tongue capable of filleting a man with little effort. But one I cannot, in good conscience, send off.” He pushed out a weary breath. “I have a feeling I should prepare for a disaster.”
    Copperfield whinnied appreciatively as he swallowed a mouthful of oats.
    Joseph smiled a bit at that. “I know. She’ll feed us edible food for the first time in half a year. That is definitely worth something.”
    Especially when he reminded himself how hard his daughters worked to eat the food he cooked for them. Further, they’d taken to sleeping in the tiny corners of their beds that weren’t piled high with toys and clothes awaiting washing. The house was a mess. Their meals were a disaster.
    Miss Macauley would have to stay. The girls needed her. He would put up with a great many things for his girls’ sake.
    He pushed the wheelbarrow from the barn and out to the dump pile. A storm was brewing overhead. He watched the dark, churning clouds. They would be pounded with rain, he was absolutely certain.
    What was taking Ian so long?
    Joseph wanted his girls home before the storm broke. Little Ivy’s health wasn’t always good, and a thorough wetting might lead to lung inflammation.
    A gust of wind snapped the open barn door back and forth, pulling his eyes in that direction. Miss Macauley had left her battered traveling bag and violin case there.
    Joseph grabbed her belongings and made his way to the house. It seemed as good an excuse as any to check on his new housekeeper. He hesitated a moment on the porch before shaking his head at himself. This was his house. Why should he second-guess his decision to go inside? He’d never done so with the last housekeeper.
    He turned the knob and gave the door a push, his hands full. The wind did the rest of the work for him, flinging the door completely open. Miss Macauley stood near the stove, a startled expression on her face as she looked at him. Leaves and dust blew in as the wind rustled loose tendrils of hair in her face. In that unguarded moment, she looked almost approachable, not at all like the shrew she’d seemed out in the yard.
    “You left these by the barn.” He held up the carpetbag and fiddle case.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    He inwardly cringed at hearing himself addressed that way. The servants who had worked in his home during the years he was growing up had scraped and bowed and sirred his father through nearly every waking moment. Father required their subservience as his due. Mother kept them in line with threats of dismissal and looks of haughty superiority. His distaste for such palpable class distinctions was one of the things that had driven him west.
    Still, he’d argued with his new housekeeper enough that day. He could