She was startled when she looked up and saw a black woman coming toward her, carrying a battered valise and trailing two little girls behind her. Maggie could hardly contain her relief when she recognized Kala, the housekeeper from Parramatta. The children, Goodness and Mercy, she remembered with a grin.

“Kala!” she cried, about to throw her arms around the woman.

Some kindly reserve in Kala’s dark, dark eyes stopped her.

“We walked all this way, missus!” crowed either Goodness or Mercy; Maggie had no way of knowing which was which.

“All the way from Parramatta?” Maggie was boggled at the enormity of such an undertaking.

Both little girls nodded, but it was Kala who spoke. It was the first time Maggie had heard her utter a word. “We hear of wedding, we come.”

Maggie was touched. She was also looking forward to seeing the expression on Eleanor’s face when she encountered Kala. “You must be very hungry and very tired,” she said to the three travelers. “Come, and I’ll see that you get something to eat.”

“Lemonade?” asked one of Kala’s young companions with a hopeful expression on her face.

Kala made an angry shushing sound and swatted at the child, who dodged her easily. “Pardon, please, missus,” she said.

When Maggie entered the kitchen building with Kala and the children behind her, Eleanor stopped her frantic cooking and smoothed her lank hair back from her face with both hands. “Well,” she muttered, clearly reading the situation for what it was. She took off her apron and marched out of the kitchen without a word. When Maggie checked her room, an hour later, Eleanor’s things were gone.

Chapter 23

ELEANOR’S PRIDE WOULD NOT PERMIT HER TO WALK around to the rear of Duncan’s house as a prospective servant might do. She set her bags down on the porch and, after smoothing her hair and her skirts, she rapped at the front door.

Her knock was answered by a sullen-looking boy with bright red hair and eyes of the same intriguing emerald green as Duncan’s. “What?” he snapped.

Eleanor sighed. “I would like to see Mr. Kirk, please.”

“He’s in Mr. McKenna’s field,” the boy said, “helping out with the work. Can you cook?”

About to turn away in discouragement, Eleanor was caught off guard by the lad’s question. She just stared at him.

“Can you cook?” the urchin repeated, this time indulgently. Eleanor enjoyed a brief fantasy, during which she boxed the little bleeder’s ears.

“Yes, I can cook,” she said coldly. “But since you haven’t the authority to hire me—”

“I’ve got that all right,” the boy insisted, swelling his little chest. “Papa said you might come here once you’d learned how hopeless it is, what you’re up against—”

Eleanor arched one dark eyebrow and bent to look directly into the lad’s freckled face. “What,” she asked, “am I ’up against’?”