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The older woman turned and smiled at her. “Thank you, dear.”

“Do you think you could teach me?”

“To do what?”

“To cook, like this.” Lillian closed her eyes as she indulged in another forkful.

The housekeeper dried her hands on a towel and sat across from her at the small worktable. “You don’t know how to cook?”

Lillian shook her head. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t. At the manor—my grandparents’ home—we had an entire kitchen staff, and I was always shooed out.”

Mrs. Goodman studied her for a moment. “Of course I’ll teach you. Every woman needs to know how to cook. Every man, for that matter.” She chuckled. “I’m a bit surprised, though.”

“Why?” The last bite tasted just as good as the first, and Lillian was sorry to be finished.

“Well, I noticed your clothes and trunks and such, and I wondered why you would be in need of work?”

A shiver ran up her spine, but Lillian shook it off and breathed
deep. It was best to be honest up front. “My mother was an only child. She and my father died when I was a baby. While it’s true my grandfather is a very wealthy man, I’ve longed to live my own life. To find purpose and follow my parents’ dreams.” She looked away. “He—my grandfather—disowned me when I left.”

“Gracious, child. That’s terrible.”

Lillian leaned forward. “Please keep this to yourself, Mrs. Goodman. My grandfather doesn’t wish to speak to me or hear from me, and I’d rather just move on with my life from here.” Tears pricked her eyes.

“Of course, Miss Porter.” The woman leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “But I can’t help wondering, if you’re his only family—”

Lillian held up a hand. “I know. And I will try to reach out to him . . . in time, but my grandfather is a stubborn man. As stubborn as they come.”

“Then we’ll just have to be your family now.” The older woman nodded. “Mr. Goodman—God rest his soul—and I were never blessed with children, and the Coltons have become my family.”

The tears threatened to spill. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodman. I don’t have anyone else. I’ve been pretty sheltered most of my life. I’ve had a proper education and was trained in what my grandparents thought important, but I doubt arranging flowers and speaking French are of very much value here.”

Mrs. Goodman sniffed and wiped the corners of her eyes with her apron. “Well, aren’t we a pair? Let’s get you to your room. I’m sure that a good night’s sleep will be just the thing for you.” She hopped out of the chair like someone half her age. “Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”

Picking up her things, Lillian followed Mrs. Goodman, and they took another hall toward the back of the house.

“This is the library—where Mr. Colton does most of his office work for the farm. If you can’t find him anywhere else, he’s most likely in there. I’ll show you the upstairs tomorrow. There are four more bedrooms and a sitting area.” She kept walking. “And this hallway leads to our wing. Your room is there on the left, and my room is on the right. The room at the end of the hall is our own private bathroom and water closet.”

Lillian opened the door to her room. Her luggage sat at the foot of the bed. A beautiful mahogany bed with matching dresser were the main pieces in the room, but there was also a comfortable sitting area, an armoire, and bookcase. The room was papered in a light blue rose pattern with all the trim painted in white. A quilt in all shades of blue covered the bed, and deep navy-blue cushions adorned the bed and the small couch. It took her breath away. And the tears started in earnest. Smiling through them, she turned to the older woman. “Mrs. Goodman . . . I . . . I . . .”

“I’m glad you like it, dear. Now, you get to bed. If you need anything during the night, I’m just across the hall.” And for the second time that day, Lillian found herself wrapped in a warm hug.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

A
clock somewhere in the house chimed midnight. Lillian was weary to the bone, and yet she couldn’t sleep. So she’d unpacked her small bag and found a lovely cream sunbonnet that Carla must have tucked in there among her things. How sweet of her—if only everyone would treat each other with such kindness. It made tears well up in Lillian’s eyes. Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she went back to unpacking and decided she might as well tackle the trunks.

When the last item was tucked away, she lay in bed again, only to toss and turn. All the details that had skittered through her mind on the trip were now in front of her. All the adjustments. No staff to press garments or help her dress. And her hair! Goodness, she could manage a bun and a braid on her own, but she’d had someone arranging her hair since before she could remember.

Fiddlesticks. She was thinking like a selfish child, all worried about such petty things. She was here to work, and work she would. All the trappings of her former life were just that. Trappings. It was time to focus on what the Coltons needed.
What Jimmy needed. The past was the past. Lillian would look forward, not back.

Her mind swept in a hundred different directions. Excitement and nervousness flowed through her. But oh, how she needed rest. Getting up again, she reached for her robe and then wrapped it around her. Maybe a glass of water would serve to cool her nerves and help her to relax. All the tension of the past few weeks pressed in on every part of her body. She headed to the kitchen and prayed for sleep.

As she passed the library, a shaft of light shot out into the hallway. Mr. Colton must still be awake. Maybe if she kept her steps light, he wouldn’t notice her.

But the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks. Only a foot from the door, she debated turning around and heading back to her room until she heard her name.

“—Miss Porter. Lord, I’m so ashamed of my behavior toward her tonight. But we need her so desperately. Please . . .” His words became muffled.

Lillian stepped closer and peered around the door. Mr. Colton had his head in his hands, elbows on the desk. His lips were still moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. Then he shook, almost as if he were crying. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and Lillian felt like an intruder. She stopped looking and turned back toward her room.

“Oh, God. Please help me. I need to find a way to help my son. I feel him slipping away, and I’m afraid. I can’t lose him, too. . . .”

Woodward Colton’s words reached her ears as she walked back to her room. New determination surged through her. That broken man crying out to God couldn’t be a murderer. She wrapped her arms around herself and returned to her room.

There was a little boy who needed her.

God had brought her to this olive farm for a purpose. And she would do everything in her power to fulfill it.

The morning came sooner than Woody would have liked, but the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen made his stomach growl. Today was a new day. He splashed cold water on his face and dressed. Maybe Miss Porter would be able to break down Jimmy’s invisible walls. Hopefully she’d had enough rest and would at least feel up to meeting with Woody about his expectations for her job.

As he headed to the dining room, he heard voices. Jimmy? Could it be?

His heart leapt and he tried to muffle his steps and listen. A childish giggle came from the dining room. Unable to contain his excitement, Woody rushed to the dining room and pushed the swinging door open.

Jimmy sat at the table laughing. The baby bunny they’d rescued tickled Jimmy’s chin with its nose. The tiny animal sat ensconced in some sort of sling around his son’s neck. Another giggle came from the boy. It wasn’t words, but it was something.

Lillian bustled in from the kitchen with a tray of biscuits in her hand. Her dark brown hair hung in a long braid, and her green eyes glistened with merriment. As she set the biscuits down on the table, she smiled at Woody. “Good morning, Mr. Colton.”

He swallowed and found his tongue. “Good morning.” How long had it been since he’d heard his precious child laugh?

She turned and headed back to the kitchen as Woody looked on. Her yellow dress was beautiful and sunny, but far too fancy
for a nanny on a farm. Another giggle from Jimmy tore his gaze from the door. The bunny was now rubbing his ears up against the boy’s neck.

Lillian returned with Mrs. Goodman and they both carried platters of steaming food. They set them down, wiped their hands on their aprons, and took their seats.

“Aren’t you going to sit, Woody?” Mrs. Goodman placed a linen napkin in her lap as if nothing were awry and this was an average, ordinary, everyday kind of meal.

He blinked several times. All heads turned to him. He’d been standing in the same spot since he’d entered. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Of course.” If they could all pretend this was normal, so could he.

Jimmy reached a finger up to pet the head of the bunny.

“Son—”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr. Colton,” Miss Porter expertly interrupted, “we gave the rabbit a good scrubbing this morning, didn’t we, Jimmy?” She widened her eyes at Woody, nodded, and put on a stiff smile as if to say,
“Keep your mouth shut, Colton.”

Mrs. Goodman also smiled and nodded.

Remembering the unfortunate incident the evening before with his harsh words, Woody realized he needed to slow down and think before speaking. Of course she hadn’t audibly said the words—he could well imagine them—but how had the astute Miss Porter known he was about to scold the boy?

“We fashioned the sling for him this morning to help keep the bunny warm. And this way, Jimmy can keep a close eye on him.” She slathered butter and preserves onto her biscuit as if nothing were amiss.

“That’s a wonderful idea.” At least he hoped it was. What did
he know about baby brush rabbits? Other than they were a nuisance to the vegetable gardens. But watching Jimmy smile was enough for him. “Why don’t we thank the Lord?” He reached out his hands, to Miss Porter on the left and to Jimmy on the right.

“Don’t forget to mention Mr. Whiskers,” Miss Porter leaned in and whispered.

“Mr. Whiskers?”

“The bunny.”

“Oh. Yes, Mr. Whiskers.” He looked over to Jimmy and gained a smile from his son. Bowing his head, Woody found himself already baffled by the morning’s events. Was he dreaming this? “Thank You, Lord, for this beautiful day and the bounty that is set before us. May we always be truly thankful, and may we serve You with our energy and time today.” He cleared his throat. Exactly what did one say to the good Lord about a bunny? “Thank You, Father, for helping Jimmy to save Mr. Whiskers. May he thrive in our care. In Jesus’ name we pray these things. Amen.”

He took a bite of bacon and placed his elbows on the table as he chewed, steepling his fingers. “Miss Porter, I wonder if—”

“Mr. Colton, forgive me for interrupting, but if you don’t mind, I would prefer it if you would call me Lillian. At least around the farm. Miss Porter is such a mouthful.” She picked up her biscuit again. “I’ve told Jimmy that he may call me Miss Lillian.”

If
his son ever spoke again. Woody pushed the negative thought aside. “Of course—”

“Mrs. Goodman has shown me all around the house and kitchen, so I’ve asked Jimmy to show me his favorite places around the farm today, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine.” He finished his piece of bacon and reached for another, unsure whether she was finished.

“I’ll need to sit down with you at some point and discuss where he is with his lessons. Mrs. Goodman has already told me that the school is too far of a walk for Jimmy right now.”

“Yes—”

“And then possibly sometime in the coming weeks, you could start teaching us about the olive farm. Jimmy and I need to learn all we can to help.” She finally stopped long enough to take a bite out of the biscuit she’d held aloft for the last few minutes.

Mrs. Goodman looked at him from across the table. She gave him a very slight nod as she sipped her coffee.

So, no. He hadn’t imagined the craziness of this morning. Something was up, and Mrs. Goodman and Miss Porter were in on it together. With a glance to Jimmy, he nodded back and played along. “Yes, of course.”

Mrs. Goodman and Miss Porter chattered about recipes and the fluffy biscuits while Woody watched his son. For the first time in a long time, he saw a bit of color in the boy’s cheeks. How that happened overnight, he had no idea, but he wouldn’t complain.

“You’d better eat, Jimmy.” Miss Porter smiled and winked at his son. “I hear there’s a fishing hole around here, and I need someone to teach me how to fish.”

Jimmy’s eyes grew and he nodded his head, but he still hadn’t touched his food, just kept petting the bunny. Certainly the woman could see how thin his son was. Ah, but maybe that was her tactic. Just treat him as though nothing were wrong. Treat him just like she would any other child.

Woody glanced at Miss Porter and saw her unspoken request of help. “Oh yes.” He jumped in, even though he wasn’t sure
he knew the rules of this new game. “We’ve got a great fishing hole. Jimmy knows all about it. But it’s quite a ways from the house, so you’ll need your energy.”