Family of the Heart by Dorothy Clark Page B

himself to blame. She would not waste sympathy on a man who wouldn’t even look at his own daughter. But despite her adamant avowal, a remnant of that odd, sad feeling lingered. And irritation at his abrupt departure. She stepped to the gate and looked down the empty gravel path. “You could have stopped a moment to bid us good morning, Mr. Bainbridge.”
    “What’s that, miss?”
    Sarah started, turned to see Mr. Quincy emerge from the shadow at the far end of the carriage house. He was pushing a wheelbarrow. Her stomach flopped. Thank goodness he had not heard her clearly. She shook her head. “Nothing, Mr. Quincy.” Her nose identified the rotted stable leavings in the wheelbarrow when he drew near. “Is that for here in the garden?”
    “Yep.” He glanced over the shoulder-high wall and a smile deepened the lines radiating from the corners of his piercing blue eyes, poked dimples in the leathery skin covering the hollows of his cheeks. “’Pears like the little miss is enjoyin’ this fine day.” He dropped the back legs of the wheelbarrow to the ground and straightened. “I’ll come back later and spread this mongst the flowers an’ such. I don’t want to ruin Miss Nora’s playtime. Young’uns need to be outside where they can learn about God’s creations, not be—” He clamped his lips shut, gave her a brief nod and turned away.
    Not be—what? Sarah took a breath. “A moment, Mr. Quincy.”
    “Yes, miss?”
    The set look on his face told her he had said more than he intended—and did not mean to compound the error. The question hovering on her lips died. She would get no information from him. “Do you know when Mr. Bainbridge will return?”
    “Not till supper, miss. Leastwise, he had Mrs. Quincy fix him a box lunch, so he must be figurin’ on a long day.”
    “I see. Then—” Sarah spun at a sudden squeal from Nora.
    “’Quirrel, all gone.” Nora’s lower lip pouted out, trembled.
    “’Pears like you’ve got a problem.” Mr. Quincy chuckled and walked away.
    “It will be all right, Nora.” Sarah hurried down the path and scooped the little girl into her arms for a hug. “You frightened the squirrel when you yelled.” She walked to the pergola, sat on the wooden bench and settled Nora on her lap. “Shh.” She laid her finger across her lips and softened her voice to a whisper. “If we sit still and are very quiet, the squirrel will come back.”
    The admonition worked until the disturbed birds returned to their bathing and feeding.
    “Bird.” Nora pointed and squirmed to get down. Sarah helped her off her lap, then sat watching as Nora ran from one bird to another, squealing with delight when they fluttered into the air only to land a few feet away and resume their feeding.
    The toddler’s laughter brought a smile to her own lips. One that disappeared in a small gasp when Nora stumbled and tumbled facedown onto the grass. She rushed to the railing, waited. Nora pushed to her hands and knees, got her feet under her and ran after another bird, her sunbonnet now flopping against her back, her blond curls bobbing free.
    Sarah relaxed. It seemed the only damage done by the fall was the smear of green on the pristine white pinafore and that bit of torn lace dangling from the bottom of Nora’s pantalettes. The laundress would not be happy. But what did any of that matter in the face of the child’s happiness?
    Sarah frowned and returned to her seat. Young’uns need to be outside where they can learn about God’s creations, not be —Kept quiet in the nursery all day? Is that what the former nanny had done to Nora? Of course, the woman was probably following orders. But still, how could she treat Nora like that? It was unnatural to keep a child hidden away like…like some unwanted possession. Did the child’s happiness count for nothing?
    Sarah’s thoughts leaped backward, focused on the cruel woman her mother had hired to care for her when she was Nora’s age. Nanny Brown