his cheek.
He swatted her hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
“It’s not polite to hit people. You need to sit on the top step until you calm down.”
He sat but bounced right back up and clomped down the stairs.
“Luke,” Tess called.
The rebellious boy spun around. “I’m calm. See?” He gave her a toothy grin.
She hid her answering smile behind her hand. “Very well.”
Polly waited until he was out of earshot. “He’s always been a strong-willed little fellow, but he began acting out after Trudy’s death. You’re good with him, though.”
Tess warmed at the compliment. “I want to show him I care, but he’s built a wall. It will take time to bring it down, but I’ve thought of a way to remove a brick.”
She launched into an explanation of her plan, not stopping until she was done, despite the skepticism on Polly’s face. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re asking for trouble. Spencer isn’t one to embrace change on a good day.”
“I have a valid argument.”
Polly swirled her glass of lemonade. “That may be, but you’d better brace yourself for some resistance.”
She could deal with resistance. She’d overcome it a number of times when approaching her previous employers. They’d come to see things her way—eventually. Spencer was a reasonable man, so surely he’d be willing to consider her proposal.
“Absolutely not.” Spencer couldn’t believe what Tess had suggested. She’d been here all of two weeks, and yet she had the audacity to barge into his office and stick that aristocratic nose of hers where it didn’t belong. He’d come to value her opinions, but she’d gone too far this time.
“If you would allow me to explain...”
He stood behind his desk. She faced him, unflinching. Because of the high heels on her boots, the thick brown braid wound around her crown and that monstrosity of a hat, she had several inches on him. It was too bad he couldn’t wear his top hat indoors.
Although he had no intention of changing his mind, he would hear her out. “Kindly take a seat, and we can discuss this.”
She sat tall and proud. Spencer remained standing and tapped the toe of his boot. The sooner she got to the point, the sooner he could get back to work.
The forthright woman wasted no time stating her case. “I don’t want to leave the children with Polly any longer than necessary, so I’ll be direct. Parting with a loved one’s possessions can be difficult, but it’s a necessary step in the grieving process. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you to see your late wife’s things every time you open your clothes cupboard.”
“I’m fine.”
“I felt sure you’d say that, but there’s another factor to take into consideration—Luke’s feelings.”
Feelings? Why did women put so much stock in them? He had no desire to discuss his or his son’s. “Leave him out of this.”
She forged ahead as though she hadn’t heard him. “I believe much of his misbehavior stems from the fact that he’s grieving the loss of his mother. If you were to allow him to help me pack up her things and face his loss head on, I feel certain you’d see a change.”
“I’ll have a talk with him and tell him he must regain control of himself.”
Tess had the audacity to laugh in his face, a musical sound he usually enjoyed. But not today. “This is Luke we’re taking about. A mere boy. He’s too young to master his emotions.” She sobered at his frown. “Oh, dear. I’ve angered you.”
“You presume to know my feelings now?” She had no idea what he was dealing with. How waking each morning alone in the room he and Trudy had shared brought back the stabbing pain that had pierced his heart when she’d drawn her last breath. How dragging himself to the railway station day after day required Herculean effort.
She persisted. “You’re clenching your hands.”
He unfurled the fists he hadn’t realized he’d formed. “I’m not angry. I’m...frustrated. You waltz in here with no warning, interrupt my work and expect me to make a decision on the spot.” He placed his palms on his desktop and leaned forward. “Let me make myself clear. I want things left as they are. I know what’s best for my family, and you will abide by my wishes.”
“I would if I could, but I can’t keep quiet, not when one of your children is hurting. Luke let it slip that he misses his mother. Please give me permission. If not for your sake, for his.” She lifted pleading eyes to him. Warm cocoa-brown eyes with the longest lashes he’d ever seen.
“He told you he’s missing her? He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“Boys don’t like to admit weakness—even sadness—to their fathers.”
She was right. He would never think of telling his father how much he missed his mother. “Fine. You’ve made your point. You may remove all her things.”
“What would you like me to do with them? Store them in the attic? Donate them to the missionary barrels? Or...?”
He spread the next day’s train schedules on his desk. “Do whatever you’d like. I don’t care. Just don’t bring this up again. Please.” He had a job to do and didn’t have time to think about such matters.
Tess stood. Her every word was clothed with compassion. “I’m sorry this is such a difficult time for you. I wish I could do more to help.”
“Do your job. That’s all I ask.”
Sadness filled her eyes. She quickly blinked it away, sent him a polite smile and left, giving him the impression he’d disappointed her.
So be it. He didn’t need her sympathy. All he wanted was to be left alone.
* * *
Red. Every one of Trudy Abbott’s tiny dresses boasted a different shade. A petite woman, such as she’d been, could wear the vibrant color and look stunning. Tess preferred her understated blues. People made enough fuss about her height as it was without drawing more attention by looking like a red-hot poker.
The massive wardrobe in Spencer’s room held few of his items but brimmed with his late wife’s clothing. Tess pulled out a gown and laid the stunning creation on the four-poster bed. Luke sat cross-legged in the middle. He grabbed the dress and plunged his face into the folds. Was the dear boy crying?
He lowered the glossy fabric, his lips downturned in a pronounced pout. “I can’t smell her anymore. She used to smell like roses.”
“She must have worn rosewater. I do sometimes, but the scent doesn’t last long.”
He shoved the dress aside, scooted up to the headboard and leaned against it, his arms folded. He narrowed his eyes and shot daggers at Tess. “I don’t wanna help.”
“Hush now. I don’t want you to wake your sister. You can just watch, but I would like your help with one thing. I don’t know which of these dresses were your mama’s favorites. Do you?”
He shook his head, but the telltale twitch around his mouth was a clear indication he wasn’t being truthful. She held up the crimson silk, a gown so exquisite she wondered where the woman would have worn it. “Do you remember her wearing this one?”
Luke’s expression didn’t change, so Tess set the dress aside. She worked her way through a burgundy brocade, a scarlet satin and a vermillion velvet. Not