Children of the Storm

you can endure them, how do you know they won't take an immediate dislike to you? Suppose, after a couple of days, they decide that you're just not right for them or for their kids, or something, and they let you go? All that time you'll have wasted, all that money for airplane fares, ship fares!”
        Patiently, trying not to show her anger, Sonya had said, “Mr. Dougherty's paying all my travel expenses.”
        “Yes, but that wasted time if they-”
        “I'm sure, if for some strange reason, we don't hit it off well, Mr. Dougherty won't quibble about paying my return fares and giving me a handsome check for severence pay. You keep forgetting, Lynda, that he's a millionaire.”
        “I still think this is a mistake.”
        If Sonya had wanted to be truthful with the Spaulding girl, she would have had to agree that the whole situation was just a bit unusual. However, she knew that a single agreement, on even a matter that was basically inconsequential, would only give Lynda more confidence, more fuel to carry on her pessimistic tirades, her heated role as a doubting Thomas. And Sonya had had quite enough of these one-sided conversations, for they showed her more about Lynda Spaulding than she really wanted to know. So she worried in private.
        Joseph Dougherty was an alumnus, one of the most distinguished alumni, of Sonya's own university. Regularly, he donated rather large sums of money to the school to help in the construction of this science lab, or that students' lounge, or this sculpture garden… Naturally, when he required a tutor for his two children, he preferred to hire someone who was also a graduate of his alma mater, and he turned the selection of that someone over to Dr. Walter Toomey, the Dean of Student Personnel and a personal Mend of the Dougherty family.
        When she had been called to Dean Toomey's office, at the end of August-she had been a full-year student, finishing four years of work in only three years, and she had thus been completing her education in August-she had not known what to expect-but she had certainly never anticipated that the conference involved an offer of employment from a millionaire!
        “I've taken the liberty,” Dr. Toomey explained, once he had given her the general outline of the job and her potential employers, “of sending Mr. Dougherty your records from the university. He has seen them, given his final approval. If you want the job, it's yours.”
        “But he's never even met me!” she'd said, incredulous.
        “Mr. Dougherty's a very busy man,” Toomey had explained. “He doesn't have time to interview potential employees. And he trusts my judgment, for we've been friends for a good many years now.”
        “But with all the people you could have chosen, why choose me?” Sonya asked, beginning to be excited, but still wary.
        “Come, Miss Carter,” Dean Toomey said, smiling gently, “you're being far too modest.”
        “No, really, I-”
        “For one thing, you've got the highest grade average in your field, in your graduating class. For another, during your three years here, you've been constantly involved in extra-curricular activities: drama club, the campus peace movement, the yearbook staff, the newspaper… You're known as a doer, someone who accomplishes things, and you're also known as an optimistic, immensely pleasant young woman.”
        Sonya was flushed bright red, and she did not make any comments.
        “Furthermore,” Toomey said, “You've got a degree in nursing, an excellent spare talent for a governness and tutor who will be spending much time with active young children.”
        She had seen the logic of that, but still she worried about meeting her employers. She needn't have worried, for they were quite personable people, the Doughertys.
        Now, on Distingue, the roast had been served, complete with six different vegetables, all rather exotic, and Joe Dougherty was questioning her about her trip from Boston, punctuating her remarks with amusing anecdotes about his own experiences with airlines-lost baggage, a martini that was accidentally made completely with vermouth and no gin.
        Helen Dougherty was more quiet than her husband, though she was in no way aloof or snobbish. She was an exceptionally lovely woman, with high, aristocratic cheekbones, a pert nose, thin but somehow friendly lips, a rich fall of auburn hair framing her delicate face. She was a