Loving Helen by Michele Paige Holmes

drink could spill, then helped her bring the glass safely from the table to her lips. “Let me guess,” he said. “You were Maid Marian.”
    Beth scrunched up her nose and frowned. She set her drink at the edge of the table. “I was Robin Hood. Watch me shoot an arrow.” She jumped up, knocking the glass on its side as she thrust her left arm forward. Her right arm drew back, fork still clutched tight in her fist.
    “No, Beth!” Samuel and Miss Helen exclaimed at the same time.
    “Whish,” Beth shouted. Her right hand punched forward, fingers straight, mimicking an arrow, and the fork flew from it, across the table. Miss Helen ducked, but not quite fast enough, and the potato-laden fork stuck fast in the curls topping her head. Beth clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes grew large.
    “Beth!” Samuel reprimanded sharply. He stood, then reached for her as she turned from him. He leaned forward, hand outstretched to grab her, but again she was too fast, and he found himself with only a sleeve dipped in gravy for his efforts as she ran from the room, crying.
    “Please see to it that she gets safely to the nursery,” Samuel instructed the servant closest to the door. With a nod the man was off, and Samuel and Miss Helen were left alone, each appearing somewhat worse for the experience.
    As he returned to his seat, he watched her work to dislodge the fork from her hair.
    “I’m sorry,” she began, but he held his hand up before she could say more.
    “Do not apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”
    “But it was I who told her of Robin Hood, who gave her the idea.”
    “You suggested she throw her silverware at you during dinner?” Samuel asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
    “No.” Miss Helen succeeded in extracting the fork, though a sizeable dab of potatoes remained.
    He looked away, but not before a burst of laughter sprang from his lips. He brought a fist quickly to his mouth, attempting to cover his mirth, but it was no use. She looked so utterly ridiculous.
    Instead of seeming affronted by his behavior, Miss Helen’s shoulders sagged with evident relief, and her mouth turned up in a smile as well. “You are a fine one to laugh, with your sleeve dripping gravy on the tablecloth.”
    “So I am,” Samuel said, holding up his arm and laughing harder. “We’re quite a pair.”
    Miss Helen’s smile faltered.
    “I know I should not be amused,” Samuel said, believing she did not find the situation humorous after all. “Beth’s behavior was atrocious; I am a terrible father.”
    “You are a wonderful father.” She reached out, placing her hand on his arm. “Beth is a very fortunate little girl. She loves you dearly, and she will grow out of these behaviors.”
    Samuel looked down at Miss Helen’s hand on his arm and constrained himself from placing his hand over it. During the past weeks, he’d learned that she did not like to be touched, especially unexpectedly. That she had voluntarily reached out to him said much — both about the changes she’d made since her arrival, and about the level of friendship they had attained. He dared not jeopardize that by reciprocating her warmth.
    “Thank you.” He lifted his gaze to hers and was pleased when she did not look away. An entirely pleasant, comfortable feeling settled in his chest. “Beth and I are both fortunate to have found a friend in you, Miss Helen.” The truth of his statement tempered his laughter. They were most fortunate. He did not wish Miss Helen to find a position elsewhere. He wished, somehow, that she might continue on here.

 
    Samuel attached the miniature fireplace to the dollhouse wall while Miss Helen hung the last of the curtains on the windows. Between the two of them, over the past few weeks, the house had transformed into a masterpiece. He had built the furniture; she’d painted it. He’d finished the stairs; she’d laid carpet. He’d shingled the roof; she’d papered the inside. He’d