Upon a Midnight Clear. Gail Gaymer Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ her eyes, she prayed. Even thinking of Mr. Hamilton sent a shudder down her spine. His voice presented a formidable image in her mind, and now she would see him face-to-face.

      She climbed from the car and made her way up the impressive steps to the wide porch. Standing on the expanse of cement, she had a closer view of the large tower rising along the side. Like a castle, she thought. She located the bell and pushed. Inside, a chime sounded, and she waited.

      When the door swung open, she faced a plump, middle-aged woman who stared at her through the storm door. The housekeeper, Callie assumed. The woman pushed the door open slightly, giving a flicker of a smile. “Miss Randolph?”

      “Yes,” Callie answered.

      The opening widened, and the woman stepped aside. “Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you in the family parlor. May I take your coat?”

      Callie regarded her surroundings as she slid the coat from her shoulders. She stood in a wide hallway graced by a broad, curved staircase and a sparkling crystal chandelier. An oriental carpet covered the floor, stretching the length of the entry.

      Two sets of double doors stood closed on the right, and on the left, three more sets of French doors hid the rooms’ interiors, leaving Callie with a sense of foreboding. Were the doors holding something in? Or keeping something out? Only the door at the end of the hallway stood open, probably leading to the servants’ quarters.

      The woman disposed of Callie’s coat and gestured for her to follow. The housekeeper moved to the left, rapped lightly on the first set of doors, and, when a muffled voice spoke, pushed the door open and stepped aside.

      Callie moved forward and paused in the doorway. The room was lovely, filled with floral-print furnishings and a broad mantel displaying family photographs. Winter sunlight beamed through a wide bay window, casting French-pane patterns on the elegant mahogany grand piano. But what caught her off guard the most was the man.

      David Hamilton stood before the fireplace, watching her. Their eyes met and locked in unspoken curiosity. A pair of gray woolen slacks and a burgundy sweater covered his tall, athletic frame. His broad shoulders looked like a swimmer’s, and tapered to a trim waist.

      He stepped toward her, extending his hand without a smile. “Miss Randolph.”

      She moved forward to meet him halfway. “Mr. Hamilton. You have a lovely home. Very gracious and charming.”

      “Thank you. Have a seat by the fire. Big, old homes sometimes hold a chill. The fireplace makes it more tolerable.”

      After glancing around, she made her way toward a chair near the hearth, then straightened her skirt as she eased into it. The man sat across from her, stretching his long legs toward the warmth of the fire. He was far more handsome than she had imagined, and she chided herself for creating an ogre, rather than this attractive tawny-haired man whose hazel eyes glinted sparks of green and brown as he observed her.

      “So,” he said. His deep, resonant voice filled the silence.

      She pulled herself up straighter in the chair and acknowledged him. “I suppose you’d like to see my references?”

      He sat unmoving. “Not really.”

      His abrupt comment threw her off balance a moment. “Oh? Then you’d like to know my qualifications?”

      “No, I’d rather get to know you.” His gaze penetrated hers, and she felt a prickling of nerves tingle up her arms and catch in her chest.

      “You mean my life story? Why I became a nurse? Why I’d rather do home care?”

      “Tell me about your interests. What amuses you?”

      She looked directly into his eyes. “My interests? I love to read. In fact, I brought a small gift for Natalie, some children’s books. I thought she might like them. I’ve always favored children’s literature.”

      He stared at her with an amused grin on his lips.

      “I guess I’m rattling. I’m nervous. I’ve cared for the elderly, but this is my first interview for a child.”

      David nodded. “You’re not much beyond a child yourself.”

      Callie sat bolt upright. “I’m twenty-six, Mr. Hamilton. I believe I qualify as an adult. And I’m a registered nurse. I’m licensed to care for people of all ages.”

      He raised his hand, flexing his palm like a policeman halting traffic. “Whoa. I’m sorry, Miss Randolph. I didn’t mean to insult you. You have a very youthful appearance. You told me your qualifications on the telephone. I know you’re a nurse. If I didn’t think you might be suited for this position, I wouldn’t have wasted my time. Nor yours.”

      Callie’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I thought, you—”

      “Don’t apologize. I was abrupt. Please continue. How else do you spend your time?”

      She thought for a moment. “As I said before, I love to read. I enjoy the theater. And the outdoors. I’m not interested in sports, but I enjoy a long walk on a spring morning or a hike through the woods in autumn— Do I sound boring?”

      “No, not at all.”

      “And then I love…” She hesitated. Music. How could she tell him her feelings about music and singing? So much time had passed.

      His eyes searched hers, and he waited.

      The grandfather clock sitting across the room broke the heavy silence. One. Two. Three.

      He glanced at his wristwatch. “And then you love…”

      She glanced across the room at the silent piano. “Music.”

      Chapter Three

      Callie waited for a comment, but David Hamilton only shifted his focus to the piano, then back to her face.

      She didn’t mention her singing. “I play the piano a little.” She gestured toward the impressive instrument. “Do you play?”

      David’s face tightened, and a frown flickered on his brow. “Not really. Not anymore. Sara, my wife, played. She was the musician in the family.”

      Callie nodded. “I see.” His eyes flooded with sorrow, and she understood. The thought of singing filled her with longing, too. They shared a similar ache, but hers was too personal, too horrible to even talk about. Her thought returned to the child. “And Natalie? Is your daughter musical?”

      Grief shadowed his face again, and she was sorry she’d asked.

      “I believe she is. She showed promise before her mother died. Nattie was four then and used to sing songs with us. Now she doesn’t sing a note.”

      “I’m sorry. It must be difficult, losing a wife and in a sense your daughter.” Callie drew in a deep breath. “Someday, she’ll sing again. I’m sure she will. When you love music, it has to come out. You can’t keep it buried inside of…”

      The truth of her words hit her. Music pushed against her heart daily. Would she ever be able СКАЧАТЬ