Janell from her family and home in Illinois and brought her to Turnabout. Eve was the only one here who knew.
Because if anyone else found out, it would likely mean the end of Janell’s stay in Turnabout, something she couldn’t bear.
Eve patted her hand. “What happened was no fault of your own. But we both have scars from our past to deal with, so I’ll say no more. Just let me know how I can help.”
“Would you mind letting Verity know I won’t make it to choir practice this evening and probably won’t sing with the choir at church tomorrow?” The choir director and several of the members had made a habit of stopping here for a cup of tea before choir practice on Saturday evenings.
“Of course. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”
Talk of the choir reminded Janell of something else.
She gave Eve a sympathetic smile. “Is Leo still smarting over what happened at the Thanksgiving festival?”
Leo, Eve’s adopted son, was part of the children’s choir and had been selected for a small solo part at the festival. However, when he’d stepped forward to sing, his voice had cracked. The boy had turned candy-apple red and rushed off the stage in embarrassment.
Eve nodded. “I’m afraid so. Telling him it’s a natural part of growing up for a boy hasn’t helped.” A touch of worry invaded her expression. “He’s already told Verity he won’t be taking part in the Christmas program.”
Verity had formed a children’s choir last spring and had worked wonders with the group ever since.
“As it happens,” Janell said, “I’ve been thinking about working with some of the children to put on a short nativity play in conjunction with the children’s choir Christmas Eve program. Do you think Leo might be interested in taking part?”
Eve smiled. “As long as it doesn’t require him to sing, he just might.”
“Then I’ll speak to him about it at school on Monday.”
Janell took her leave and headed for the boardinghouse, her thoughts once again focused on Mr. Chandler and his charges. Her pace was brisk, her mind racing. Already she was making mental lists of all the things she could do—in both the short and long term—to help the three of them. The first thing she’d do would be to write a letter to Dr. Carson, the doctor who’d been such a help with Lizzie. Since he worked at St. Matthew’s School for the Deaf, he would have access to some of the most current information and materials to help someone like Chloe.
She would also write to Lizzie and get her thoughts on what would help the girl the most from an emotional perspective.
One thing she could do immediately, though, would be to dig through her trunk and find the book she had on sign language. It would be a good place for Mr. Chandler and the children to start.
Twenty minutes later, Janell had the letters written, had retrieved the book and was headed back out of the boardinghouse. She had a number of errands to run before heading to Mr. Chandler’s home. Post the letters, stop by the butcher shop and the mercantile and also stop in at the schoolhouse to pick up a few things.
Janell offered up a little prayer of thanksgiving. God was giving her the opportunity to help this little girl, to share what she’d learned with Lizzie with someone else in need. And she was determined to see it all the way through—not turn tail and run as she had before.
Mr. Chandler had appeared to be a little reluctant to accept her help. Thank goodness he’d finally come around—once she explained things properly he’d see that there was merit to what she could offer.
The sawmill owner was someone she hadn’t really had the opportunity to interact with during her time here in Turnabout. As a teacher her main interactions were with the schoolchildren and their parents. Being a member of the church choir gave her another social outlet. And being a teacher, she was very circumspect in her dealings with single men.
Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed him before. After all, he was the kind of man one couldn’t help but notice. Tall and lean, with a firm jaw and gray eyes, he didn’t say much, but there was an air of quiet command about him. She got the sense that he was a man of good character and was well liked in the community.
And now that she’d had a chance to interact with him on a personal basis, she found that he was also a very intriguing man. In fact, she was surprised none of the single ladies or matchmaking mamas here in town had set their sights on him. Being married would certainly make his current situation easier—for both him and the children.
Not that she had any aspirations on that score herself. Her world revolved around the schoolchildren and the choir—that was enough for her.
It had to be.
Because she was living a lie, had been ever since she’d moved to Turnabout. Marriage was not an option for her any longer, something she’d come to terms with a long time ago. It was why she discouraged any attempts by the local gentlemen to come calling. Why she told herself she could live a fulfilling life teaching other people’s children, even if she’d never have one of her own.
And most days she could make herself believe that. Being with Mr. Chandler today, however, had stirred up some emotions best left dormant.
Janell brought her wandering mind back to the matter at hand. Yes, the sawmill owner had the makings of a fine family man, and all things considered, the children could definitely have done worse in finding a guardian than Mr. Hank Chandler.
Hank awoke abruptly, feeling disoriented. It took him a moment to remember he was back in his own home and not still in Colorado.
He hadn’t intended to sleep, just rest for a minute. But getting the children settled in had taken longer than planned. He’d shown them their rooms, but unfortunately, the rooms were not quite as ready as he’d hoped.
Alex and Chloe had set their things down and looked around like a pair of lost waifs. He brought in their trunks, which held all the tangible possessions left from their prior lives. The one with their parents’ things, at least those items he’d felt they would want someday, he’d carted up to the attic.
When he’d insisted they take naps, they’d complied with almost apathetic nods. A few minutes later, when Alex crept into Chloe’s room, Hank had heeded Miss Whitman’s suggestion and pretended not to notice. He had to admit, having someone like the schoolteacher in his corner was a blessing.
Hank swung his feet to the floor. Later, after the kids were up, he would set up the new bed he’d ordered for Chloe’s room. He’d need it once his aunt arrived anyway, since she’d be sharing his niece’s room during her stay. And that fact would probably earn him yet more resentment from Chloe, but there was no help for it.
For now, if Alex chose to make use of his aunt’s bed before she arrived, he supposed he could turn a blind eye.
Hank tried to clear the last of the fog from his brain as he stood. He’d come into the parlor intending to check on the fireplace. That done, though, he’d stretched out on the sofa, telling himself it would just be for a few minutes, just long enough to find a bit of peace from the headache that had plagued him since...well, since he’d got that telegram four weeks ago.
How long had he slept? What if the children had awakened before him? He headed down the hall and opened Chloe’s door just wide enough to look inside.
To his relief they were still sound asleep. He closed the door, then straightened. Miss Whitman would probably be here soon—he should get a few things in order before she arrived.
But as Hank neared the kitchen, he heard soft humming. A heartbeat later, he picked up the scent of something cooking. What in the world?
He paused on the threshold. Sure enough, Miss Whitman stood at the stove