“Our gate is a rectangle with a moon,” Gwendolyn pronounced. It bothered him that the little girl offered it like the grandest of compliments.
Miss Landway raised one eyebrow, a “what are you going to do with that?” gesture that made Daniel feel as if he were being tested. It should have been the other way around. Even ten minutes later, Daniel still hadn’t quite figured out how Miss Landway had turned the tables on him so that he walked away without uttering one word of the lecture on appropriate reality he had planned. An hour earlier, he had thought his biggest fear in regards to Miss Landway was the possibility that she would leave. Now he had a new fear entirely—that she would stay, and fill the children’s heads with dreams that were out of their reach.
His mother’s admonition echoed in his brain as he made his way back to his office, stumped and more than a little worried. “Be careful what you pray for—the Good Lord just might give it to you.”
Daniel was just sitting down to enjoy his weekly indulgence of an hour’s quiet reading before Saturday supper when the sound of yelling reached his rooms. He put down his book and cocked his ear, listening. No, it wasn’t yelling, it was crying. Girls crying. Several girls crying. Something was most definitely amiss.
Ignoring his disappointment, Daniel pushed himself out of his chair and made for the door. The cries were coming from the dining hall, where Mrs. Smiley and the girls ought to be setting out the dishes for supper. Had someone cut themselves? Was one of the girls ill? He started walking in the direction of the noise, half expecting to be ambushed by one of the children or staff coming to get him, but he met no one on his way toward the torrent of girlish tears.
Of all the things Daniel steeled himself to see, a flock of angry girls slamming down tin plates in tearful fits was not on the list. No one seemed to be injured, but each of the five girls on supper table duty that afternoon was crying.
“I want some,” the youngest girl moaned as she slapped a napkin into place. “Why can’t we all have them?”
Daniel scanned the room for Mrs. Smiley, hoping for an explanation to the sea of unhappiness swirling before him. He found her, two tables away, having angry words with...with Ida Landway. While Mrs. Smiley was easy to irritate on a good day, Daniel was at a loss for what Miss Landway could have done to not only raise the ire of Mrs. Smiley, but each of these girls, as well.
Dodging past a sniffling nine-year-old brandishing a fistful of forks, Daniel made for the teacher. “Mrs. Smiley, what has gone on?”
Miss Landway’s eyes snapped up at the question, and Daniel could see the nurse was upset. It wasn’t surprising; despite her cheerful name, Mrs. Smiley’s tongue could curdle milk when she got angry—he’d had to have more than one conversation with the woman about keeping her temper under control. When the older woman turned, however, Daniel’s jaw slacked.
Baby Meredith Loeman, the youngest occupant of the Parker Home for Orphans at just over a year old, wiggled a pair of bright pink booties at him from Mrs. Smiley’s arms.
“I don’t suppose I need to explain it to you now,” Mrs. Smiley snapped.
As if to drive the point home, wails of “I want pink socks” and “Why can’t Nurse Landway knit me socks?” and “I hate my socks!” surged up behind him.
The only thing stronger than the matron’s glare was the look of stunned regret in Miss Landway’s eyes.
“She hasn’t got a lick of sense, this one.” Mrs. Smiley cast a disparaging glance in Miss Landway’s direction. “Giving a trinket like that in front of all the girls.” She scowled at Miss Landway. “What did you think would happen when you did such a thing?”
“I...I...” The nurse looked at him, her eyes wide and startled. “It’s just a pair of socks.”
Daniel swallowed a weary sigh. This was why gifts were such a tricky business at the orphanage. But before he could explain that to Miss Landway, he needed to calm down the children. “Girls,” he began in his best “let’s all be sensible” administrative voice, “y’all are already wearing socks. Perfectly fine socks.”
“Perfectly dreadful socks!” Little Mary Donelley could always be counted on for a dramatic interpretation. “They’re plain old white and mine has a hole in the heel.”
He walked toward Mrs. Smiley, trying hard not to be charmed by the chubby pink legs wiggling pink booties. Most women he knew would be cooing and tweaking such pink-booted toes. The handmade booties were adorable little things that would have made for a very welcome sight—were they anywhere else but an orphan home. Why? The “I want some!” whine from behind him served as a painful example. No wonder Mrs. Smiley was completely uncharmed by Meredith’s clear delight in her present—the poor old woman was likely to have a tiresome evening as a result of Miss Landway’s innocent little gift.
Daniel held his hand out. “I wonder if I could take a look at those.”
“Gladly.” Mrs. Smiley plucked them off Meredith’s feet with a huff so loud even Daniel almost winced. Miss Landway certainly looked as if the sound pierced her ribs.
Daniel pocketed the pink socks and nodded in Miss Landway’s direction. “Why don’t you and I have a cup of coffee in the other room? Mrs. Smiley and the girls can finish up in here.”
Once inside the staff dining room, Miss Landway pulled the door shut behind her with one hand while the other went over her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
She looked as if she might cry, and Daniel was surprised at how deeply her regret touched him. It wasn’t right how unfair this place could be to anyone trying to make a difference. Daniel remembered how the need to do something—anything—for these children had nearly drowned him in his first days at the orphanage. He’d given a sweet to one of the girls when she’d banged a finger and found himself amid a similar storm of “Why can’t I have one?” howls.
He searched for something soothing to say. “It was a generous and kind impulse, Miss Landway.”
She slumped down on one of the dining chairs, distressed. “I had no idea it would cause such a ruckus. I just wanted to put a bit of cheery color...”
“I believe your heart was in the right place.” Daniel moved to the sideboard and poured two cups of coffee. “You simply need to learn how to channel such impulses into things that benefit all the girls without singling out one.” He held up a cube of sugar in a silent inquiry, and she nodded, parking her chin on one hand. “It’s one of the most difficult things about working here, and one of the reasons I asked you to clear any ideas with me.”
“They’re just socks.” Her moan sounded as if it could have come from one of the girls.
Daniel set the cup and a small pitcher of cream down in front of the nurse. “No, they’re not. How can I get you to see that?”
Miss Landway dumped a generous portion of cream into her coffee. The woman did nothing by halves, he was beginning to see that. “So I can’t do anything for one of them, I have to only do things that can be done for all of them?” She made it sound dreadful.
“I think what just happened should make that obvious.” He collected his own coffee and sat opposite her.
“But they’re individuals. Each of them is unique. Their differences ought to be celebrated, not ignored by making sure everything they have is exactly the same.”
Daniel remembered that urge, and felt a tinge of regret that practicality had squelched it out of him so effectively. “In a perfect world, I’d agree, but...”
Her eyes sparked. “But nothing. Don’t you go telling me we don’t live in a perfect world. That’s a poor excuse