Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(3)

Seth ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes as he dealt with a fresh wave of pain. Not for the first time he wondered if it’d ever get better. If he’d always feel this raw-edged anguish when he remembered Pamela. The years hadn’t eased it. Having the children with him hadn’t lessened his sense of loss. If anything, their arrival increased his awareness of what he would never have. He carried his grief with him the way some men toted around a briefcase. How different his life would be if Pamela had lived. In many ways it would have been kinder if they’d buried him along with his wife.

He walked over to the oak bookcase and slowly removed the book by C. S. Lewis. The edge of the spine was tattered by love and time. Carefully he laid open the novel in his palm. Inside, a six-year-old Pamela had carefully printed her name in large square letters. The twins were six.

The sharp pain clenched Seth’s heart. He’d done such an effective job of burying his grief that when it bubbled to the surface it almost always caught him unaware.

Instead of replacing the book back inside the oak bookcase, Seth carried it to the desk and set it carefully in a bottom drawer. He couldn’t explain why. He didn’t want to be sucker-punched a second time by glancing across the room and finding Pamela’s favorite childhood book in his face. He had enough to deal with.

Unsure how to handle the situation with Mrs. Hampston, Seth walked into the kitchen. “You wanted to talk to me.” He struck a casual pose and leaned against the counter.

Mrs. Hampston didn’t possess an ounce of fat. Everything about her was severe, right down to the polish on her black, spit-shined shoes. Disapproval radiated from her the way fire warmed a room.

“As you might have guessed,” she announced primly, “I find my services to be neither appreciated nor—”

“That isn’t so. The kids and I think you’re wonderful,” Seth countered quickly, hoping God would forgive him the lie. “I couldn’t be more grateful for your help, and—”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Webster.”

No amount of coaxing had persuaded her to call Seth by his first name. But then, he’d never been able to think of her as “Bertha,” either.

“It seems apparent to me, if to no one else,” she continued stiffly, “that I can no longer stay.”

“But you’re wrong, we’d—”

“Please, don’t attempt to sway me. My mind is made up.”

“I’d be willing to offer you a substantial raise,” Seth said, attempting to sound contrite and appreciative and failing, he feared, on both counts.

Mrs. Hampston hesitated, then cocked her chin and gave him a look of mild disgust, as if she’d been deeply insulted by the mere suggestion that she could be seduced with money.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stay until after the holidays,” he added, growing more desperate.

“Mr. Webster, apparently you didn’t understand me. When I said I’d reached this decision, I wasn’t looking for you to change my mind. I refuse to be bribed.”

“Bribed.” Seth did his best to sound confused.

“Exactly.”

If her nose got any closer to the ceiling, she’d be in serious danger of have a bird roost on it.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Seth sincerely hoped he sounded regretful, but he doubted he’d be any more successful in pulling the wool over this woman’s eyes than he was with his own children.

“I’m afraid I don’t share your regrets. Of all the positions I’ve held in my fifteen-year history of domestic service, I can never remember having to deal with a worse pair of undisciplined children. I understood when I accepted the position that the twins were considered a handful, but this is ridiculous.”

“They’re only six.”

“Exactly. Six going on thirteen. I don’t have a moment’s peace from dawn to dusk. Those two are constantly underfoot. They’re savages, I tell you. Savages.”

“I’ve already explained to the kids that goldfish can’t live in Jell-O,” Seth said. “I realize it was a shock to open the refrigerator and find the goldfish bowl filled with lemon Jell-O and three small fish.”

“The problem with the goldfish was the tip of the iceberg,” she responded, and grimaced.

“Okay, okay, so maybe those water bazookas weren’t such a good idea. I didn’t think they’d turn them on you.” By sheer willpower, Seth managed to squelch a smile. One gloriously sunny autumn afternoon, he had been washing the car while the twins raced across kingdom come, soaking each other with their fancy water guns. When Mrs. Hampston stepped onto the porch Judd and Jason had guilelessly turned their weapons on her. To put it mildly, the housekeeper had not been amused. To Seth’s way of thinking, a little water never hurt anyone.

“It isn’t the Jell-O incident or the water bazookas. It isn’t even having to routinely dig little green army men out of the bathtub drain. It’s you.”

“Me?” Seth demanded defensively. He’d bent over backward to keep the peace with Mrs. Hampston, and now she was accusing him!

“You know absolutely nothing about being a father.”

Seth’s mouth snapped shut. Like all good military strategists, she attacked his weakest point. He had no argument.

“The twins are your children, Mr. Webster, not your friends, and not cute pets. They need a firm, guiding hand. As far as I can see, you’re no example for them. None whatsoever. Swearing is one thing, but to put it bluntly, you’re a slob.”