Drops of Gold(9)

“Papa, you’re home!”

He laughed. “Of course I am, dearest. I told you I would be.”

“I am better now, Papa.” She smiled, her dimples deep and charming. “Not a single spot.”

“Not a single spot.” He mimicked her declaration with a chuckle and tapped her wee nose. “Grammy missed you and wished you could have come.”

“And Flip?” Caroline’s enormous blue eyes grew ever larger.

“And Flip,” Layton acknowledged. “And Corbo and Chasin’. Stanby. Charming.” Caroline’s butchered versions of his brothers’ names had always been endearing.

“Holy Harry?” She smiled wider.

“You know he doesn’t like to be called that.” Layton pulled her closer, loving the smell of childhood that always surrounded her.

“You and Flip call him that,” Caroline reminded him.

Layton set Caroline on her feet once more. “We shouldn’t, but Flip is a troublemaker.”

Caroline giggled and slipped her tiny hand inside his. He readily admitted he was a doting father. He couldn’t imagine being anything else.

“What have you done while I was gone?” he asked.

“We have had ever so much fun.” Caroline’s gaze wandered from him. She giggled and squealed then pulled her hand free of his. “Mary!” she called out as she laughed and ran back into the yard.

Layton stood empty-handed and confused. Caroline was usually so clingy when he returned from even a short absence. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks and back for less than five minutes, yet Caroline was already gone.

He watched her scamper away, braids flying behind her. A mere few seconds without her, and he was lonely again.

Caroline giggled, the very picture of childish enthusiasm as she paused to scoop snow into her two tiny mittens. Cheeks plump and pink, she ran again, snow slipping through her fingers.

“Press it together so it sticks,” an unfamiliar voice instructed.

Layton couldn’t tear his eyes from his daughter. Something had changed in Caroline. Some of her shyness, her reticence, had slipped away in the ten days he’d been away from Nottinghamshire. She’d pulled away from him without a backward glance. Caroline had never done that before.

He was sorely tempted to call his daughter back to him.

Magical, musical laughter rent the air, laughter as pure as a child’s but not juvenile in the least.

“A direct hit,” the same mysterious feminine voice declared, laughter bubbling at the ends of her words. “You have slain me!”

“Oh no, Mary!” Caroline cried. “It’s only snow. Snow can’t hurt you.”

“Then you think I will live after all?”

Layton studied Caroline, her innocent features clouded by the pensive expression he too often saw on her face. Who was this stranger pressing thoughts of death on his child? Could she not see the girl was upset by it? Layton strode determinedly to where his daughter stood.

“It’s only snow,” Caroline repeated.

“And you have had enough snow for today.” Layton’s tone left no room for argument. He lifted Caroline into his arms once more, his contentment returning in an instant.

“It’s only snow, Papa.” Caroline looked intently into his eyes as if searching for confirmation. “Mary will be fine, won’t she?”

“Mary”—He couldn’t help the edge in his voice, for he heartily disapproved of this Mary—“will suffer no ill effects. From the snow.” Yes, he meant that to be a warning.

“Oh, Papa! I am so glad!” Caroline threw her tiny arms around his neck and nuzzled his face. Layton smiled despite his perturbation with the still-unidentified Mary. “I never want Mary to go. Ever! She is ever so much fun. And she made my hair not fuzzy. She laughs and laughs. And we sing songs. And she tells me the most wonderful stories. And—”

“Good heavens, Caroline!” Layton chuckled in spite of himself. “You are a fountain of words since I’ve returned. Is this what spots do to four-year-old girls, or did you just miss me?”

“Oh, I did, Papa!” Caroline tightened her arms around him. Her head dropped almost wearily against him.

Layton breathed deeply of her, happily forgetting all around him. This was home.

“Miss Caroline should sleep well this afternoon.” That same unfamiliar voice interrupted the moment.

Layton grasped Caroline a fraction tighter and turned his attention to the woman he’d not bothered to look at yet. Now, his daughter securely pressed to him, he took a good, long look. The woman stood confidently before him in a tattered black coat and poorly mended gloves, her fiery red hair flying in every direction while her bonnet—“serviceable” was the closest thing to a compliment it could be given—hung limply behind her.