“I know you do. But you need the shots for your diabetes.”
“I hate ‘betes.”
His smile was bittersweet. Harris leaned over to kiss the soft hair on the top of her head. “Ah, my favorite perfume,” he said, inhaling the scent of her.
“I’m not wearing perfume, Daddy,” she replied as she always did when he said this to her. It was a little game they played and her response told him the storm was over.
“I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
She kept her eyes on the doll while she maneuvered the tight bodice of the pearly gown over the doll’s impressive breasts. He waited patiently for her to finish the snap at the tiny waist and set the doll aside. When she raised her eyes to him, he began in a calm voice.
“We have a problem. Or, rather, I have a problem. I’m not doing a very good job taking care of you.”
Marion’s eyes rounded in surprise. Clearly she’d not expected this.
“You need someone who can give you your medicine and watch over your diet.”
“You can do that.”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t. We both know it’s not working out.”
“I won’t kick—”
“Honey, it’s not just that. Well, it is, in part,” he said teasingly, wrapping an arm around her and tucking her close. Marion rested her head against his chest. “I work long hours. I’m gone a lot. You need someone to keep an eye on you all the time.”
“Why can’t Maggie take care of me?”
“Maggie works at the clinic, honey. With the birds.”
“How come the birds get everything?” she asked, sitting up to face him with a scowl on her face. “I’m sick now, too.”
Harris wondered at the level of resentment she had to feel to make that comparison. “The birds are my job, honey. But you’re my heart.”
That seemed to appease her somewhat. She sighed raggedly and leaned back against her father’s chest. “You mean I’m going to get a new baby-sitter, right? Like Katie?”
“Sort of. You know how Katie went home to her own house every night? Well, I’ve hired a lady to stay here with us.”
“You mean, she’s going to live here? In our house?”
“Yes.”
Marion turned in his arms to look into his face. Her own was alert with interest. “Is she gonna be like a mother?”
“Heavens no,” he said with a light chuckle. Then, seeing the light dim in her eyes, he said more tenderly, “Well, maybe a little. She’ll read to you, cook your meals and help you get dressed in the morning. Most important, she’ll make sure you get your medicine.”
“You mean my shots?”
“Yep. Those, too.”
Marion scrunched up her face. “I don’t want her to come. She’s not my mama. This is our house.”
“Hold on, now. That’s not the right attitude. It’s her job to help you and it’s your job to be cooperative. You have to help us take care of you.” He reached into his shirt pocket to pull out a folded white paper. He opened it and held it up to the bedside light.
“I put an ad in the newspaper and I got a few replies. Miss Majors is the one I chose to be your caretaker,” he replied. “She’s a nurse, so she knows a lot about diabetes and how to take care of you. A lot better than I can.”
“I want you to do it.” Her voice was more frightened than belligerent.
“Would you like me to read her letter?”
“I don’t care.”
Harris cleared his throat and began to read.
Dear Mr. Henderson,
I am replying to your ad for child care in the Charleston Post and Courier. The ad was very timely as I’ve just arrived in town and am looking for a position. I am from Rutland, Vermont, where I worked for the past decade as a pediatric nurse.
You are probably wondering why I would seek out a position in child care instead of nursing. I have had offers. Please rest assured that I have not lost my license or committed some violation or crime. You will find my complete résumé attached, along with multiple references. Please contact them if you feel the need. I know I would if it were my child.
To be frank, I have worked for many years in an emergency room and I feel the need for a respite from my career. I moved to the south for a change in climate as well as a change in lifestyle. When I saw your ad, it seemed a perfect solution. I am very familiar with the treatment of juvenile diabetes and welcome the chance to care for one child rather than many.
If you are agreeable, and if my credentials meet your standards, I can take the position as caretaker for your daughter immediately for the term of one year.
Naturally, we should allow for one month’s trial period, after which one or the other of us can cancel the arrangement without penalty or blame.
I look forward to meeting both you and Marion. Tell her that I love to read and play games, that I know lots of card tricks and that I’m curious to learn what she likes to do, too.
Most sincerely,
Ella Elizabeth Majors, R.N.
Harris sat in the resulting quiet looking at the letter in his hands. He’d read the letter a dozen times since receiving it a week earlier. He’d been very impressed with her résumé and every person he’d telephoned on her long list of references only had the highest words of praise for her abilities. They’d said she was bright, clean and neat, punctual, efficient, responsible. All qualities that made her a first-rate nurse. There was nothing, however, about how well she played with children, or whether she could cook, or even if she was kind.
But once again, Harris counted himself lucky. He’d requested some medical knowledge in his ad but he hadn’t expected a nurse. The personnel director of the hospital had assured him that Ella Majors had no skeletons in her closet when he’d asked what her reason was for leaving. In closing, the woman’s voice had lowered and she’d made one comment that lingered in his mind.
Sometimes, a nurse in the emergency room just sees one too many children die.
He wondered as he folded the letter back up if that was the case for Miss Majors. If it was, he thought, cringing at the memory of the gut-wrenching fear he’d felt while waiting for Marion in the emergency room, he certainly could understand the woman’s need for a break.
“Is that all, Daddy?”
He nodded, tucking the letter back in his pocket. “Yep, that’s it. Except, of course, she’s coming. I expect she’ll be here by lunchtime tomorrow.” Please God… “So, what do you think?”
“I dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Is she pretty?”
He smiled at the child’s question. “I have no idea.”
Marion yawned wide and blinked sleepily. “Okay. I just hope she doesn’t smell bad.”
He laughed out loud and squeezed his daughter with affection. “I sure hope so, too.”
Later that night, after Marion was asleep, Harris walked around the mews of the resident raptors, then strolled through the medical pens where the injured birds were housed. It was his customary evening walk and the birds knew him—his looks and movements—so they were not flustered by his presence. Likewise, he was