Whirlwind by Cathy Marie Hake

to be a blessed escape. But it wasn’t. Millie was alone with her worries. Devising a few methods to entertain her charge the next day kept her occupied for a brief time. Next, Millie slipped into the nursery to fetch her Bible. She sat by the lamp and traced the top of her Bible to locate the thin silk ribbon that held her place. The seventh chapter of Matthew lay before her. Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?
    Her heart lurched. Please, Lord—could you please watch over Isabelle? Bread and fish—those would be far better than what she’s had today. You gave me this job when I didn’t even ask for it, Father. I have faith that you will shower her with blessings.
    Arthur’s cot creaked, and he cooed a few sleepy sounds. Millicent paused a moment and examined her heart . . . Arthur was darling, but the warmth she felt toward him didn’t begin to compare with the fierce love she held for Fiona and Audrey. Isabelle was right. I was with my girls four long years. Love grew deep and strong in that length of time. This is different. One short week can’t possibly be long enough for the affection I feel for this sweet little boy to develop into anything more. Relieved by that insight, Millicent set aside her Bible. She tiptoed over and tugged the blanket up to Arthur’s shoulders. A few of his baby curls coiled around her fingertips. Incredibly soft as they were, she didn’t have to fight with herself much to draw her hand back.
    It was still too early to turn in. Millicent took out a ball of crochet string and a hook. Frank’s plan to cultivate an elite clientele made sense. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what the latest fashions and patterns were. Diamonds? Flowers? Scallops? No more did she start a portion than she’d unravel it.
    Time unraveled, too. Mr. Tibbs returned. “I’ve a cuppa tea for you, miss. Do you mind my taking the hamper out of the nursery?”
    “I’ll get it. I don’t know whether Arthur is a light or a heavy sleeper.” She emerged from the nursery with the wicker hamper, but the steward wasn’t there. “Mr. Tibbs?”
    “Here, miss.” He emerged from the other bedchamber. “I just turned down Mr. Clark’s bed. The Haxtons’ nanny said her youngest charge usually wants a cup of milk at midnight. Shall I bring some for young Master Clark, just in case?”
    “No, thank you. Arthur is a year and a half. At his age, if he awakens, he needs to go back to sleep.”
    “Very well.” He opened the hamper, took out the heavy canvas bag inside, and inserted a replacement. “I’ll have the lad’s laundry back by midmorning tomorrow.”
    “Thank you, and good night.”
    Millicent retired for the night. Carefully locking the chamber door, she let her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. Each layer of clothing rustled, but when she unfastened her bustle, she accidentally also undid the latch on her hoops. The eighteen-inch diameter metal cage collapsed on the floor and atop the previous layers, one ring at a time, in a quiet series of chimes. Arthur slept through it all.
    The door to the cabin shut. Steady, solid steps sounded in the parlor. They crossed toward the other room. Mr. Clark, no doubt. To her surprise, they then grew louder and louder. Closer.
    Millicent’s breath caught as the steps halted outside her door.

Five
    E ven though Mr. Tibbs had twice sought him out and reported that he’d been in the suite and Miss Fairweather was doing right by the young master, Daniel still needed to assure himself that his son would have immediate attention if he awoke. Daniel tapped on the nursery door.
    “W-what is it?”
    Those three words sounded petrified. “I’m making sure my son hasn’t been left alone again, Miss