The Nanny
After the breakup of her thirteen-year-long marriage, bestselling historical fiction novelist Felice Hendricks sold her Beverly Hills mansion, moved to a brownstone on Boston's Commonwealth Avenue and promptly filled each room with eighteenth-century antique furnishings.
"How could you live in this place?" her literary agent laughingly complained. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn George Washington slept here! It reminds me of one of those restored colonial houses in Williamsburg, Virginia."
"I don't care if it reminds you of Grant's Tomb, just as long as it's the complete opposite of that modern monstrosity I shared with that creep I was married to."
The writer could not help feeling bitter. Dermot Hendricks, a moderately successful independent film producer, had left his wife for a pretty, empty-headed, young starlet with a massive head of blond hair, an annoyingly squeaky falsetto voice and breast implants. When her husband vacated the house to take up residence with his girlfriend, Felice immediately began divorce proceedings. Once the final decree was issued, the author wanted to get as far away from her ex-husband as possible, so she took their six-year-old daughter, Sahara, to LAX where they boarded a plane to Boston.
"When are we going to receive the first draft of your new novel?" the agent asked, hoping to steer the conversation toward a less emotionally volatile subject.
"Not for a while yet, I'm afraid. Between the divorce and the move, I haven't had time to do much writing."
"Need I remind you that your publisher is waiting for that book?"
"I know. Look, I'm going to hire a nanny to watch Sahara, and then I'll lock myself in my den and write. I promise."
The agent was pleased, for he knew from past experience that once Felice actually began writing, nothing short of a world war could tear her away from her computer.
Early the next morning, the local employment agency sent four experienced nannies for Felice to interview. All the candidates were educated, friendly and polite, and she found it difficult to choose one. Finally, she selected Miss Philomena Eggleston, a young woman from Great Britain who had impeccable references as an au pair.
"What do you think of the nanny I hired to watch you while I work?" Felice asked her daughter that evening at dinner.
"She talks kinda funny," Sahara replied, spearing a French fry with a plastic fork.
"That's because she's from England."
"Don't we live in England?"
"No, we live in New England, which is part of the United States."
"Oh. So, my nanny comes from Old England, right?"
"Yeah, that's about it, sweetheart. Jolly old England."
Philomena moved into the brownstone the following week, and Felice gave her a quick tour of the house.
"The living room, laundry, kitchen and dining room are all on the first floor. The master bedroom suite and the den—where I plan to spend most of my time working—are on the second floor. You and Sahara will share the third floor. You'll each have your own bedroom, and you can share the bathroom. There is also a spare bedroom where Sahara can play with her toys."
"Can I also take her outside to play?" Philomena asked with her lyrical English accent.
"If you do, I expect you to stay close to the house and to watch her like a hawk."
"Don't you worry, Mrs. Hendricks. I'll be sure that no harm comes to her," the young woman said confidently.
"You also have to watch out for yourself. Boston is a big city. There are all kinds of predators on the streets."
"If you feel that way, madam, why did you move here in the first place? Why not live in a small town where the crime rate is lower?"
"Well ...."
Felice hesitated. She had no valid reason to offer.
"I grew up here," she offered lamely. "For better or worse, it's my home."
* * *
With Philomena watching over Sahara, Felice retreated to her den and worked on her latest novel. At the keyboard of her computer, she was able to temporarily forget about Dermot and his blond bimbo. The author completely immersed herself in the world of the antebellum South as she wove a tale around Robert E. Lee, Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson and Jefferson Davis. Throughout her retelling of historical facts, she incorporated fictitious characters and an obligatory romance to hold the attention of her audience.
Meanwhile, Philomena became Sahara's best friend as well as her nanny. Every morning "Mena" and the little girl went outside to play in the brownstone's small courtyard. Sometimes the two of them walked to the Public Garden or Boston Common, where the little girl could enjoy the company of other children her age. After lunch, Philomena usually took her charge upstairs for a nap. Later, when Sahara woke up, the two would pass the time in the third-floor playroom, careful not to disturb her mother in the den below.
Although Felice dearly loved her daughter, she also cherished her chosen career. Unfortunately, she had never learned to divide her time equitably. She would be either a mother and ignore her writing or an author and let a nanny tend to her daughter. Between books, she took Sahara on vacations, bought her lavish presents and spoiled her outrageously; but while she was writing, Felice was content to let others assume her parenting responsibilities.
* * *
Even the most dedicated employees need time off from their duties, and Saturdays were Philomena's personal days. Felice supposed she could ask Mrs. Mayhew, her part-time housekeeper, to watch the child on the nanny's day off; however, the woman was getting up there in years and it was doubtful she was up to chasing after a six-year-old. Consequently, every Saturday Felice had to stop writing and watch Sahara herself.
On one such mother-daughter day, the two went to a local playground. Felice took a history book and a yellow highlighter with her, so she could diligently research facts for her book while Sahara played on the swings. After a while the little girl sat down next to her mother on the park bench. Felice, her mind concentrating on 1864 Richmond, barely took notice of her.
"This isn't any fun," Sahara complained.
"Hmm?" Felice murmured, keeping her eyes on her book as though she would miss the end of the Civil War if she looked away.
"I'm bored. I wish Mena was here."
"It's Saturday, honey. It's her day off."
Sahara continued to pout, but her mother did not notice.
"Mena doesn't read a book when she brings me to the park."
"I should hope not. I'm paying her to keep a close eye on you."
"She plays games with me. Magic games. Don't you know any magic games?"
"No. I leave those to Mary Poppins."
"Who's Mary Poppins?"
"I guess you could say she was my generation's version of Harry Potter."
"Did she go to Hogwarts, too?"
"Darling, why don't you go play on the swings with the other children? Mommy is trying to concentrate on this book."
"If Daddy was here, he'd play with me."
The mention of her ex-husband caused an abrupt change of heart in Felice. If there was to be a contest between mother and father for the child's affection, she wanted to be the undisputed victor.
"Okay," she said, closing her book, "what do you want to play? I spy? Hide and seek?"
"Can we play the magic castle game? It's my favorite."
"I've never even heard of that one. How do you play it?"
"Mena takes me to an abandoned house across town. It looks kinda scary on the outside, like those buildings you always say the city should tear down. But on the inside, it's beautiful! It looks like a fairy tale castle."
A warning bell rang in Felice's mind.
"Philomena takes you across town? She's not supposed to take you anywhere without my permission. I'll not have my daughter riding on buses or subways all over the city."
"We don't go by bus or subway. That would take too long. We use magic. I close my eyes, Mena taps me with her wand, and—puff!—we're standing in front of a magic castle."
Felice relaxed, realizing her daughter's travels were imaginary ones.
"Oh, well, if you went by magic, that's a different story."
"So can we play magic castle?"
"I'm sorry, honey; but I left my wand at home. Why don't we go to the movies and then out for ice cream instead?"
* * *
That evening, when the nanny returned to the brownstone, she was surprised to see Felice sitting in the living room reading rather than upstairs at her computer writing.
"I want to talk to you, Philomena," her employer announced, putting down her book.
"Certainly, Mrs. Hendricks," the nanny said respectfully.
Not sure how to begin, Felice tried remembering the advice she received from the childrearing books she read during her pregnancy.
"I'm a little concerned about my daughter's recent behavior. She was telling me about a game you two play, a game she calls 'magic castle.'"
Philomena smiled and replied, "Most children like that one."
"I'm not sure I approve of her fantasizing about castles and teleportation. It's bad enough she watches those Harry Potter movies. I don't want her believing that there are actually people in the world who can perform magic. Why, she even seems to think you are a witch or something, that you carry a wand around with you."
"Sahara's got a very active imagination," the nanny said with pride, as though she was the one who had given birth to the child.
"Yes, but I'd rather you didn't encourage her in these ridiculous fantasies. If you want to play games with her, I suggest you play something educational in nature."
"As you wish, Mrs. Hendricks. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"
"No. That's all. You may go upstairs now. Good night, Philomena."
Felice congratulated herself on how well she handled the situation and then went upstairs to her computer.
* * *
When Saturday came around again, Sahara turned down Felice's invitation to go to the playground.
"No, thank you, Mommy. I'd rather stay home and finish the jigsaw puzzle I started."
While Felice was secretly delighted at the prospect of being able to spend the day working, she also felt a twinge of rejection.
"Maybe we can have lunch together," she suggested.
Shortly after noon, Felice went to her daughter's room, only to find the door locked. As she raised a closed fist to knock, she heard a shuffling sound and a faint meow.
"Sahara, what are you doing in there?"
"Nothing, Mommy."
When the little girl finally opened the door, Felice noticed several short white hairs on her daughter's black sweater.
"Do you have a cat in here?"
"N-no," the girl stammered, a sure sign that she was lying.
"All right, young lady. Tell me the truth. Where are you hiding it?"
Felice looked in the closet and under the bed but found nothing.
"I know there's a cat in here. What did you do with it?"
"There's no cat!"
Tears formed in the little girl's eyes.
Felice could not find the animal at the moment, but she was certain that if her daughter was trying to hide a cat somewhere in her room, it would soon be discovered.
During breakfast the next morning, Felice again had a private word with Philomena.
"Did my daughter ever say anything to you about wanting a pet cat?"
A strange smile played around the corners of the nanny's mouth.
"She talks about all kinds of animals. Last week she said she wanted a bunny rabbit, and the week before that it was a pony."
Felice had the distinct impression that Philomena was avoiding a direct answer to her question.
"To your knowledge, is my daughter keeping a cat hidden somewhere in her room?"
The nanny's smile vanished.
"If there was a cat, I'm sure I would have seen it, Mrs. Hendricks."
As the nanny turned to leave, Felice added, "I expect you to inform me immediately if you see that animal."
A week passed and there was no sign of a cat. Felice began to wonder if perhaps the meow she had heard might have come from outside the home. But on the following Saturday, while she was in the kitchen making Sahara a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Felice heard the unmistakable sound of a small dog's high-pitched bark coming from the third floor of the brownstone. She angrily slammed the jar of Skippy down on the counter and marched upstairs to her daughter's room. Again, the door was locked, preventing her from entering.
"Sahara!" the irate mother yelled. "What have I told you about locking this door? Open it at once! Do you hear me?"
Inside there was the familiar shuffling sound before the little girl unlocked and opened the bedroom door.
"Where is it?" Felice demanded to know, as she pulled the comforter and dust ruffle off her daughter's bed.
"I told you, Mommy. There's no dog here."
"Aha!" Felice shouted triumphantly. "Last week I said you had a cat here, but I never said anything about a dog. Yet a few minutes ago I heard one bark. I know it's here."
Sahara did not answer. She just fell back onto the bed and cried.
Felice searched everywhere in the room but could not find the dog.
"I don't know what's going on here," she announced with growing frustration, "but I intend to find out."
* * *
Felice began spying on her daughter. Whenever Philomena took the little girl out to play, she would sneak upstairs and search the child's room. She would also stand quietly outside Sahara's bedroom door, listening for any unusual sounds. No further animal noises came from the third-floor bedroom, however.
The weeks passed without any further incidents, and Felice eventually forgot about the mysterious meowing and barking she had heard coming from her daughter's bedroom. Once again she buried herself in her work. Sahara did not seem to mind at all that she rarely saw her mother during the week. Even on Saturdays, the two spent only a few hours together, during which time Felice was often preoccupied with her latest novel.
"You'll be going back to school in a few days," the writer mentioned one Saturday afternoon in August as she and her daughter rode the swan boats in the public gardens. "Did Philomena take you to pick out some new school clothes like I asked her to?"
"Yeah."
"What about a backpack, pens, paper, notebook—do you need any of those things?"
"Probably."
"Why don't you have the nanny make a list, and I'll have Mrs. Mayhew pick up what you need when she does the weekly shopping?"
"Okay."
"You're not being very talkative today. What's wrong?"
Sahara shrugged her shoulders and seemed bored by the conversation.
"It's not like you to be this quiet. Aren't you looking forward to going back to school and seeing all your friends again?"
"Not really. I'd rather stay here and be with Mena."
"Don't get too attached to your nanny, darling. I'm sure she has plans to eventually go back to England. Besides, it's good for you to be around people your own age."
Sahara did not reply, and mother and daughter walked back to the brownstone in silence.
For dinner that evening, Felice made spaghetti and meatballs, one of her daughter's favorite meals. When they were done eating, Felice put the dishes in the dishwasher and went up to the den to continue working. Meanwhile, her daughter returned to her bedroom to amuse herself as best she could until the nanny came home.
As Felice was writing a chapter about Sherman's torching Atlanta, she heard a meow come from the room above.
"I don't believe it," she groaned and immediately headed upstairs.
She tiptoed to her daughter's room and quietly opened the door—at least it was not locked this time. The little girl was nowhere in sight, but a large Siamese cat was playing with a stuffed mouse on the canopy bed.
"Just as I thought; there is a cat in this house! Sahara, I want to speak to you—NOW! Sahara, where are you?"
Felice checked not only her daughter's bedroom but Philomena's as well. Sahara was nowhere to be found.
"Sahara? Where are ...?"
"What is it, Mommy?" the girl asked innocently, as Felice passed her room.
"Where were you just a moment ago?"
"Right here in my room."
"No, you weren't, but your furry little friend was. Don't try to deny it any longer. You have a cat here. I saw it with my own eyes. Now, I'm not going to leave this room until you show me where you've been hiding it."
Sahara still tried to deny the existence of the animal, but Felice did not believe her. Eventually, the little girl broke under the strain of her mother's questioning.
"There was no cat, Mommy, honest," the child cried, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "It was me. Mena taught me how to turn myself into an animal."
Felice temporarily forgot about the Siamese cat she had seen playing on the bed.
"Is this the kind of nonsense Philomena has been filling your head with? First, there were abandoned houses that turned into magic castles, and now you think you can turn yourself into a cat. I'm not going to have this insane behavior in my house any longer."
Furious, Felice turned and left the room.
"What are you going to do, Mommy?"
"I'm going to get rid of Philomena and hire another nanny."
Sahara cried and pleaded with her mother to reconsider, but the child's heartfelt entreaties fell on deaf ears.
* * *
Philomena arrived home around nine, after spending her day off visiting friends in Salem. As she headed up the stairs, she met her employer on the second-floor landing.
"I need to talk to you," Felice announced, pointing toward the open door of her den.
The nanny nodded and followed her employer inside the room.
"I thought I made it quite clear to you that you were not to encourage my daughter in these foolish fantasies of hers."
"We stopped playing magic castle, Mrs. Hendricks, just as you requested."
"But you did tell her she could turn herself into a cat, didn't you?"
"I meant no harm. I have grown to care a great deal about Miss Sahara. I feel as though she were my little sister or ...."
"I'm sorry, Philomena. I just can't condone such irresponsible behavior."
Felice picked up an envelope and handed it to the nanny.
"Here's a check for two weeks' severance pay. You can spend the night here, but I'd like you to pack your things and be out of here first thing in the morning."
Sahara, who had been eavesdropping from the hallway, burst into the room in tears.
"No! No! Mena," she sobbed, throwing her arms around the nanny, "don't leave me. I love you."
"Stop it, Sahara," Felice ordered sternly. "Go back to your room this instant."
The little girl ignored her mother and looked beseechingly into her nanny's eyes.
"I want to stay with you. Can't you do something? Please?"
"Sahara, I told you ...."
Philomena waved her hand toward Felice and uttered several words from an ancient Celtic language. Felice felt faint, and her vision blurred. Suddenly, the room around her seemed to melt into darkness.
"Mommy!" Sahara cried with surprise.
Felice looked out at the room from inside the flat-screen monitor of her computer.
"What have you done to me?" she screamed.
"I sent you where you won't be any trouble to Sahara and me," Philomena replied sweetly. "You were going to give me the sack, but Little Miss doesn't want me to go. I can understand why, the way you ignore her as you do."
"How dare you!"
"I'll be a much better mother to her than you ever were."
"I'm a well-known author. People will question my disappearance, and you'll be arrested. Kidnapping is a serious offense."
Philomena waved her arm again, and the British nanny was gone. In her place, Felice saw a mirror image of herself.
"I can't be arrested for kidnapping my own child now, can I?" Philomena asked in Felice's voice. "I also shouldn't have any trouble transferring your funds to an account in England. After I do, I'll take Sahara back home with me. We should be able to live quite comfortably on your money."
"You'll never get away with this! Sahara is my daughter. She loves me, and eventually she'll miss me."
"Will you, darling?" Philomena asked the little girl.
Sahara looked lovingly at her nanny.
"Will you let me keep a pony in England?"
"I'll give you a magic pony, one that used to be a merry-go-round horse, and you can teach him to fly like Pegasus. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes, Mena!"
Felice stared hopelessly at her child from inside the monitor.
"Now, you'd better go to bed and get some sleep, sweetheart," the nanny told Sahara. "We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
The little girl skipped happily out of the room, without so much as a backward glance at her mother's tearful face. Philomena walked toward the desk, ripped up her severance check and tossed it into the wastebasket.
"I don't need this paycheck after all, Mrs. Hendricks," she said smugly.
Then she reached across the desk and pulled the monitor's plug out of the wall.
Salem's nanny taught him many things, including how to keep his balance on the back of a Harley.
