Her Holiday Family. Winnie Griggs

door. “But we’ll have to go outside.”

      “Okay.” Molly, now all smiles, came down the last three stairs and held out her hand.

      Surprised by the trusting gesture, Eileen hesitated for just a moment, then accepted the girl’s small, pudgy hand into her own. Together they exited the house and Eileen led her to the porch swing.

      When Molly saw it, she giggled in delight. “A big rocker swing. I like your com-prize.”

      “Compromise,” Eileen corrected again, but more gently this time. She sat down on the swing and the little girl scrambled up into her lap.

      As Eileen set the swing gently into motion, Molly snuggled down more comfortably in her lap, leaned her head against Eileen’s chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth again. A happy sigh escaped her as she cuddled her rag doll.

      Placing her arms around the child, Eileen felt something deep inside her stir to life.

      * * *

      “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” Fern’s eyes were wide, her tone bordering on hysteria.

      “You were tired.” Simon kept his tone matter-of-fact, trying to keep her from panicking. “And I’m sure Molly hasn’t gone far.”

      “That Mrs. Pierce lady scared her. I don’t think she even wants us here.” Fern was obviously looking for someone to blame. “Maybe we should find someplace else to stay.”

      He was surprised by how strongly the urge to defend Mrs. Pierce kicked in. “Fern, this is Mrs. Pierce’s home, which means she’s allowed to make the rules. She’s just not accustomed to being around children, especially as large a group as we have. Give her time to get used to you all and she’ll come around. Besides there is no other place, unless you want everyone to be split up.”

      Simon ushered the agitated girl out of the bedchamber and toward the stairs. He’d checked in on all the kids a few moments ago, just to assure himself they were settling in okay, when he’d discovered Molly’s bed was empty.

      He’d crossed the room to see if Molly was hiding somewhere. Unfortunately Fern, who was the toddler’s roommate, had awakened. And now she was blaming herself. Truth was, Simon knew this was his fault. He should have made certain they all knew to stay in their rooms until the clock chimed the hour.

      “Maybe we should just call out for her,” Fern suggested. “Sometimes she likes to hide.”

      Simon shook his head. “Not yet. I don’t want to wake the others and get them worried unless we need to. I’m sure she hasn’t gone far. Let’s just look around a bit first.”

      He and Fern checked the corners and niches on the second floor then headed downstairs. “Can you think of something she likes to do or someplace she likes to go that would give us a clue where to look?” Simon asked. Regrettably, he didn’t know enough about Molly or any of these kids to figure it out for himself.

      “She might try to find the kitchen if she was thirsty.” Fern’s tone was doubtful.

      “All right. You check the kitchen—down that way I believe—and I’ll see if Mrs. Pierce is still in the parlor to find out if she’s seen her.”

      Fern nodded and took off at a sprint.

      He’d already turned in the opposite direction, How would the widow feel about the interruption? Would she help in the search or lecture them on discipline? Not that he minded squaring off with her under less troubling circumstances—getting a rise out of her was actually quite entertaining.

      When he looked in the parlor he found it disappointingly empty. He even checked behind the sofa and softly called Molly’s name to make sure the little girl wasn’t hiding.

      When he stepped back out in the hallway he noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Molly was too small, of course, to open the heavy wooden door. But if someone else had left it open...

      He quickly crossed to the entryway, pushed open the screen door and stepped out on the porch. He could see the front gate was closed, which eased one worry at least. Perhaps she—

      A movement he’d caught from the corner of his eye grabbed his attention.

      There, on a porch swing that he hadn’t even noticed when they arrived earlier, sat Mrs. Pierce with a sleeping Molly cuddled on her lap. And the widow had the sweetest, gentlest smile on her face, for all the world as if Molly were her own beloved child. The soft expression transformed her, turned her from an ice queen to an achingly sweet image of maternal devotion.

      Then Fern came up behind him and he heard her quick intake of breath. Before he could stop her, the girl gave vent to her feelings.

      “What are you doing with Molly?” There was outrage and accusation in the girl’s tone.

      Mrs. Pierce stiffened and the softness disappeared from her expression. In its place a cooler, more impersonal facade settled in. Simon felt a physical sense of loss at the transformation.

      “The child insisted on being rocked.” Her tone was dispassionate. “It was this or let her wake the house with her crying.”

      “You should have called me.” Fern marched forward. “I know how to take care of her.”

      Simon knew Fern was still rattled by Molly’s unexpected disappearance, but rudeness was never a proper response. “Apologize for taking that tone with Mrs. Pierce,” he said quietly but firmly.

      Fern threw him a defiant look, but he kept his gaze locked to hers and his expression firm. After a moment she turned back to Mrs. Pierce. “I’m sorry.” But her tone was anything but contrite. She stiffly bent down to take Molly from Mrs. Pierce’s arms.

      “As you wish.” Mrs. Pierce smoothed her skirt across her now-empty lap, then stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my needlework.”

      Simon wanted to let her know that he appreciated her tenderness with the toddler, that Fern hadn’t really meant what she’d said. But the kids had to be his first concern right now. So he settled for giving her a quick thank-you.

      She acknowledged it with a frosty nod, barely pausing as she stepped past him into the house. The ice queen had returned with a vengeance.

      He turned back to Fern, careful to keep his irritation out of his voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “I’m going to put Molly to bed.” That touch of defiance had returned.

      He stepped in front of her. “Give her to me.” When she balked, he gave an exasperated shake of his head. “She’s too heavy for you to carry up the stairs. Once I’ve got her in bed, you can tuck her in and fuss over her all you want.”

      With a reluctant nod, Fern handed a still-slumbering Molly over. The three-year-old was definitely a sound sleeper. Simon crossed the foyer to the staircase, noting that Mrs. Pierce had returned to the parlor and had her head bent over her sewing. She was as composed as if nothing had just happened. If Fern’s tone had upset her there was no sign of it.

      Simon quickly carried the little girl up the stairs and placed her in her bed. Then he left Fern to tend to her while he headed back downstairs to see the widow.

      He had some fence-mending to do on Fern’s behalf.