“You don’t seem frightened.” She glanced around the dimly lit basement. Itwasa little spooky.
“I’m not. I like ghosts.” He headed up the stairs.
“Really?” She followed him. What a strange little guy.
He paused halfway up the stairs then turned to look at her. “My mama is a ghost,” he said quietly.
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“When she died, she became a ghost.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“Your mother…died?” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, staring into his face. Was he toying with her? Perhaps not. His expression remained somber as he mumbled yeah.
“I’m sorry, Mishka.” She sighed. “I know that’s hard. My mother died when I was a girl.”
Back on the first floor where cheerful light was flooding through the foyer windows, Meredith was still pondering the news of a deceased mother. She hadn’t expected this. But it made sense—a troubled preadolescent girl bullying her bright little brother, the nannies who didn’t want to remain here…
She said a silent prayer for this mysterious little family as she was led upstairs for the next part of her tour. Maybe she could be of some help to them.
6
Meredith felt uncomfortable yet curious as she peeked into the master bedroom. She really didn’t think the boy should be showing his absent father’s room on his house tour, but the young boy just marched in like he owned the place, pointing out what he felt were items of interest in the masculine room. Like in the halls, a couple of mounted trophy heads hung on the walls. An elk and an antelope stared blankly across the room at each other with glassy eyes. The whole thing kind of gave her the creeps, but she said nothing as she studied them.
“Papa used to go hunting with his father and brothers. Once in Africa. And once in America. But not anymore. He still has his guns, but he told me he won’t kill any more animals again. Ever.”
She was curious about what had gotten him to that decision but didn’t want to ask. Instead, noticing there were no photos on his bureau, she inquired about that. “I haven’t noticed any personal photos in your house, Mishka. Not of you children…or family or anything.”
“I have a picture album in my room. Grandmama helped me make it.”
“Oh, maybe you will show me sometime.”
“Sure. We can do that.” He paused. “That’s Mrs. Warner’s bell for dinner. We better go down now. She can get quite contrary if we’re late. We’ll take the secret stairs.” He took her hand and led her down a narrow back stairway to the kitchen and servants’ quarters where his sister and Mrs. Warner seemed to be in some kind of dispute.
“Whycan’twe eat in here?” Katerina demanded as Mrs. Warner was shooing her out of the kitchen toward the formal dining room. Mishka and Meredith followed to see three proper place settings waiting on the large table, complete with a white tablecloth and linen napkins.
“Because your father has told me in no uncertain terms that you are only to eat in the kitchen when you don’t have a nanny to eat with you. You now have a nanny, so you may eat out here.”
“I’m too old for a nanny,” Katerina said indignantly.
“Call her a governess if it makes you feel better.” Mrs. Warner shot an I-told-you-so glance at Meredith. “Makes no difference to me.”
“Fine. I’ll call her a nanny since she’s probably only here to take care of my baby brother anyway. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and she’ll teach George good manners.”
“I have good manners,” he protested.
“You do not,” Katerina argued. “Everyone knows you eat like a pig.”
“You’re a pig,” he shot back.
“Enough bickering,” Mrs. Warner said sharply. “Your father expects youbothto practice your good manners and eat like civilized people in the dining room. So no arguments.” She pointed at Katerina. “Especially you, young lady. You’re old enough to know better.”
Katerina stuck out her tongue as soon as the older woman’s back was turned. Then, seeing she’d been spied by Meredith, sheslid into a chair with a glowering expression. She clearly planned to make this difficult every step of the way. Meredith would need to be on her toes with both these children from here on out. Not only that, but her own table skills were about to be tested. Having been raised by a dad who liked dining in the living room with old westerns playing loudly on the TV, she was hardly an expert on etiquette. And she was expected to be of help to these children? She frowned at the complicated table settings and silently prayed for wisdom.
After Mrs. Warner served their dinners, Meredith nodded at the children then bowed her head and, without asking their consent, said a quick but heartfelt blessing. “And I pray you will help me to be of help to this family,” she added. “Amen.” When she opened her eyes, both children were staring at her with wide eyes.
“Have you never heard anyone ask a blessing?” She unfolded her napkin.
“Papa does sometimes,” Mishka confessed. “But not like you did. You sounded like you were really talking to God.”
