Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(2)
“What are we going to do now?” Judd asked.
“We need a housekeeper,” Jason added.
His son turned dark, round eyes to Seth, looking for him to supply the answers.
“Hey, she hasn’t quit yet.” Seth tried to sound optimistic but doubted that he convinced anyone. They’d seen it all too often before not to recognize the symptoms. The housekeeper wanted out.
“We tried to be good.”
“I know.” Seth was sympathetic. He’d done his best too and had repeatedly fallen short.
Earlier that week, Seth had stopped off at the grade school for a parent-teacher conference and learned that his children’s behavior wasn’t that much different in school from what it was at home. The term their teacher had used to describe Judd was “high-spirited,” which was later translated as “disorderly, disruptive, ill-behaved, and stubborn.” His brother was a willing accomplice.
The woman assured him there was nothing malicious about their behavior, but the twins tended to be…affectionate troublemakers. It wasn’t as if Seth hadn’t noticed.
On a conscious level he realized the kids’ behavior had a great deal to do with the recent upheaval in their young lives. They’d been indulged by Sharon and Jerry and had been thrust back into life with a father who’d buried his grief in his job. Following Pamela’s accident, Seth had steadily climbed the ladder of success within the Boeing Airplane Company. He was the youngest senior engineer in the company’s history. To further complicate matters, he’d recently been assigned to the Firecracker Project. It wasn’t uncommon for him to put in fifty to sixty hours a week on the top-secret project Boeing was developing for the Department of Defense. With the arrival of the twins, Seth felt fortunate to get in a regular eight-hour day. His work had suffered, along with his health, his disposition, and just about everything else.
“I better go see if I can smooth the waters with Mrs. Hampston,” he said, inhaling deeply. This wouldn’t be fun. The middle-aged woman possessed all the tact of a Sherman tank. She lived and breathed discipline. Not that Seth was opposed to a little order. Anyone who could bring harmony to the chaos that had taken control of his life was welcome indeed. Mrs. Hampston, however, was better suited to whipping raw recruits into shape than dealing with two six-year-olds and one insecure dad.
He’d say one thing for the woman, she’d lasted twice as long as any of the previous housekeepers. One woman had left after only two nights. Another, an older, more mature grandmotherly type, had stayed as long as two weeks. In Mrs. Hampston’s case it had been an entire six weeks. He’d never been fond of the crotchety old biddy, but then Seth suspected Mrs. Hampston knew that. The fact was, she’d probably gain a good deal of satisfaction in leaving him in the lurch.
Crow had never been one of his favorite dishes, and knowing Mrs. Hampston, she’d enjoy serving it to him on a dome-covered silver platter. Taking a few moments to compose his thoughts, Seth stepped into his study and slumped onto the leather wing-backed chair next to the fireplace.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. What the kids really needed was someone who would enjoy their boisterous nature. A woman who would appreciate their creativity and spontaneity. Someone who would laugh with them instead of trying to stuff them into a mold.
A mother.
His head fell forward at the weight of his burden. Seth remembered the day he and Pamela had gone into the doctor for the ultrasound that had revealed two tiny but distinct babies. Seth’s first reaction had been sheer wonder and an incredible, breathtaking sense of excitement and joy. Twins. They were having twins. Only later had the weight of the responsibility overtaken him. He’d been able to hide his fears from Pamela. He’d even managed to sweep them aside himself…until after Judd and Jason’s birth. It helped that Pamela was a natural mother. Loving and patient. Perfect.
Then without warning Seth’s flawless world had shattered on a rain-slick street when his wife’s car had slid out of control and she’d slammed into a telephone pole. Her death, Seth had been told, had been instantaneous. The children, tucked securely in their car seats, didn’t receive so much as a scratch. But in those tragic seconds, his wife was gone. His wife and his very heart. His life was as ruined as the twisted metal that had once been her vehicle.
In retrospect it might have been easier to deal with Pamela’s death had there been someone to blame. A drunk driver. A speeder. Anyone to focus his anger and frustration upon. But there had been no one. In the beginning, he’d sought to blame God. He’d longed to shake his fist at the sky and damn Him for stealing away his very heart.
For a time anger had consumed Seth’s soul. Shortly after her funeral, he had sold the piano. Now, four years later, it seemed a bit dramatic to have given up his music, but he’d simply lost the desire for it. Music was something he’d shared with Pamela. His world had felt devoid of all that had once brought joy, and in his pain he’d destroyed everything that had connected him with his dead wife. It was his way of telling God to “take that.”
Seth’s gaze fell across the room to a row of bookcases. The hardbound version of C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe captured his attention. The well-read, much-loved book had been Pamela’s favorite, one she’d treasured since childhood. From the moment they’d learned she was pregnant, she’d talked of one day sitting with her children at her side and reading them the story she loved so much.