The Nanny

Mrs. Flanders’s lips turned down as she looked Annie over. “Don’t you know how to dress? Do you think you’re still working in the fields, girl?”

Annie’s cheeks flushed and she ran her hands down the rough fabric of her shirt. “Well, no, but—”

“Get on in there and see to those children and their supper.” Mrs. Flanders turned on her toes with a huff, leaving Annie standing in the doorway.

She glanced around. No one else was about—no one to tell her anything further, or give any more direction. Certainly no one to welcome her to the Ingalls home. So she struck out on her own.

Annie ventured into the house toward the dining room she’d seen earlier today. Still she saw no one. The only sound was a clock ticking somewhere.

Four children having supper and it was this quiet? Annie smiled to herself. It seemed the Ingalls brood minded their manners while inside; only outdoors did they behave like wild animals.

But when she entered the dining room, Annie saw but one person seated there. Josh.

He sat at the head of the table, eating from blue china, reading a newspaper. The rest of the table, which seated twelve, was empty. A crystal chandelier hung overhead; a sideboard sat against one wall, along with glass cupboards full of delicate china sparkling in the light. There was a fireplace with a beveled mirror above it, and a silver tea service on a cart in the corner.

Josh ate in silence, so absorbed in his reading he didn’t notice her standing there.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ingalls?” Annie said.

He jumped. When he saw her, his chest swelled, and she could have sworn his cheeks deepened in color, causing an odd knot to twist in the pit of her stomach.

“Where are the children, Mr. Ingalls?” she asked, surprised that her voice sounded so soft.

He looked at her as if she’d spoken some foreign language. “Children?”

“Yes, sir. The children. Your children.” She gestured with her hands, encompassing the room. “Have they finished their supper already?”

He gazed at her a while longer, trying, it seemed, to make some sense of her question. Or was it something else? The way he looked at her made her stomach flutter.

Finally, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “They don’t eat in here.”

“Oh.” When he said nothing further, Annie asked, “Where do they eat?”

He looked lost again, as if he’d forgotten the question as quickly as she’d asked it. “They, ah, they eat in the cookhouse.”

“The cookhouse?”

He shifted in his chair, forcing a frown. “I’m not certain how satisfactory a nanny you’ll be, Miss Martin, if you can’t even find the children.”

A wisp of anger twirled through Annie, and she was certain it showed in her face. She forced it away. “Very well.”

The cookhouse was attached to the main house by a short, enclosed passageway, which Annie located by following her nose. Delicious smells drew her to the rear of the house and down three steps to the stone walk.

Inside the cookhouse a massive open hearth covered the far wall. A cookstove sat near it along with two worktables, rows of cupboards, and hanging pots and pans. A white-haired woman in an apron—most likely the cook—and two young girls—her assistants, probably—busied themselves chopping vegetables at one of the worktables. They glanced up only briefly when Annie walked in, then went back to their chores.

Near the entrance, the three older Ingalls children sat by themselves at a round table in the corner. Only Cassie ate. As if she were starving, she held her plate to her mouth, raking in the food. Drew sat with his feet tucked under him on his chair, waving his fork around as if it were a bird. Ginny’s elbow was firmly planted on the table, her cheek resting on her palm, and she was dragging her spoon listlessly through her potatoes and peas. Annie had no idea where the baby was or who was minding it.

She drew in a breath. Well, this certainly wasn’t the picture of family closeness she’d expected.

“Hello, children,” she said.

They all looked at her, then at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Drew asked.

“Didn’t your father tell you?” Annie asked, annoyed that Josh hadn’t informed the children she’d been hired. “I’m your new nanny.”

Drew sprang to his knees in the chair. “We don’t need no nanny.”

“We can take care of ourselves just fine,” Ginny informed her.

“Yeah,” Drew said. “Go away!”

“Yeah!” Ginny echoed.

“We don’t want you here!” Drew said.

“Now, just a minute,” Annie said calmly. “I’m sure that if you’ll—”

Drew turned his plate over in the center of the table. Cassie screamed.

“Stop that!” Annie reached across the table to grab Drew as he snatched Cassie’s plate away. She screamed again. He dumped the food on the table.

“I said stop that!” Annie insisted.

Ginny poured her cup of milk in the mess and started screaming, too. Cassie stood straight up in her chair, stomping her feet, wailing at the top of her lungs.

“I said, don’t—” A gob of food hit Annie’s cheek. “Stop it! All of you! This instant!”

Drew dived for Cassie’s milk. Annie swooped across the table and grabbed it first.

“No!” she shouted, and jerked it out of his grasp.

“What the devil is going on in here?” Josh’s voice boomed.

Annie whirled, flinging milk up his shirt and across his face.

Everyone froze. Dead silence fell. Annie gasped and covered her mouth. The children stilled like little stone statues.

Josh just stood there for a moment, milk dripping from his chin, soaking into his shirt, trickling down his trousers. Then calmly—too calmly—he turned to Annie.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Miss Martin?”

Not waiting for an answer, he stomped up the stairs, wiping his face with his shirtsleeve. Annie gulped, wiped the food from her cheek with a napkin and hurried after him, following him through the house and into his study.

“What the hell was that all about?” Josh demanded, flinging his arm in the direction of the cookhouse. “Is that your idea of taking care of those children? I hired you to make sure things like that don’t happen. What the devil were you thinking?”

“Stop shouting at me!” Annie clenched her fists at her sides.