Principal's Off-Limits Nanny: A

Small-Town Ex Boyfriends Dad

Romance Elise Savage
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/principals-off-limits-nanny-a-small-town-ex-boyfriends
-dad-romance-elise-savage/
Copyright © 2024 by Elise Savage

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical
methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Huachuca Publishing, PO Box
6226, Huachuca City, AZ 85616.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and
products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by: Get Covers
 Contents

Blurb and Characters

1. Vincent
2. Faith
3. Vincent
4. Faith
5. Vincent
6. Faith
7. Vincent
8. Faith
9. Vincent
10. Faith
11. Vincent
12. Faith
13. Vincent
14. Faith
15. Vincent
16. Faith
17. Vincent
18. Faith
19. Vincent
20. Faith
21. Vincent
22. Faith
23. Vincent
24. Faith
25. Vincent
26. Faith
27. Vincent
Epilogue - Faith
Sneak Peak
 Blurb and Characters

Returning to my small-town roots, I can't believe my new job is with my ex-boyfriend's dad.

Vincent, a widowed principal, seeks someone to bring joy to his daughter Astrid's life. His pain and Astrid's need for a
motherly figure collide.

Accepting the job feels like stepping into a forbidden realm, given our past connection and the 18-year age gap.

Their laughter fills my ears and warms my heart. I'm a family member. A welcome guest in their love-filled bubble.

His vibrant eyes, shared glances, and that stolen kiss lit a million fires in my soul.

The town gossip, an age gap, and the memory of my ex create complications.

Yet, every grumpy, dominant inch of him stirs desires I can't ignore.

Can I resist temptation, or will my return to Ashland rewrite our story?

The allure of forbidden love may just be too tempting to resist.

1) MMC – Vincent Miller: 49-year-old Vincent is just trying to return normalcy back into his life. When his wife Gretchen
passed away five years ago, it left not only a void in his heart, but it completely destroyed Astrid, his now 10-year-old
daughter. With the new school year about to begin, he needs to hire a nanny since Astrid gets out of school earlier than he'd get
off of work. And because Astrid would rather be home after school and not in after-school activities, Vincent honors that by
deciding to hire a nanny.

2) FMC – Faith Young: 31-year-old Faith has just moved back to Ashland after realizing the big city isn't for her. It's a breath
of fresh air to be back in her hometown, and even though she wishes her parents still lived there, she promises to settle into a
new life there. She comes across a job posting for a nanny and decides to take the job since she loves children. Not only that,
but she knows the girl due to a guy she dated in the past.

3) Child – Astrid Miller: 10-year-old Astrid can't seem to find the fun in life anymore. After losing her mother to heart disease
five years ago, Astrid has pretty much withdrawn from wanting to play with other kids and has isolated herself. Vincent tries to
be patient with her and hopes that one day, she'll begin to feel like her old self.
 Chapter 1

Vincent

“WHAT AM I GOING to do?”

I stress out loud to myself while clicking through my emails. I have about three more days before school resumes in town.
Being the town principal for all the schools, which aren’t many due to living in a small town, means I must be present on the
first day. The problem is that my daughter Astrid is in elementary school and that school lets out the earliest.

I have to be on the clock until every school has let out for the day. The high school gets out at 4:15 pm, while the elementary
school lets out at 2:15 pm. It would be fine if my ten-year-old daughter Astrid attended an after-school program or went home
with a friend, but she refuses. Ever since my late wife Gretchen’s passing, my daughter hasn’t been the same.

She’s withdrawn and no longer enjoys the things she used to love. She’s pulled away from socializing, especially with her best
friend Molly, and wants to stay to herself. She told me she feels better at home, and I must do whatever she’s most comfortable
with.

The problem is that I’ll need someone to be here with her until I get home. With Ashland being a small town, all businesses are
local and family-run. Teenagers and young adults work in their family businesses, so finding my daughter a nanny is harder. The
few applicants I’ve gotten are elders who need more watching than they can watch a child.

“If Jimmy was here....” I start to say while rubbing my temples in frustration. Of course, the thought of my estranged son gives
me more of a headache. It would be nice to imagine he’d step in and look after his sister for me.. but I knew that wouldn’t
happen. When Gretchen passed away five years ago, Jimmy left Ashland right after her funeral and hasn’t been heard from
since.

He doesn’t even call us, and his neglecting his sister hasn’t helped what she’s already going through. Jimmy likes to blame us
for having Astrid when he was 22 as the reason for him acting out. In truth, Jimmy had always been a troubled and rebellious
boy. His mother and I did all we could to stop him from going down the wrong path.

It had been his destiny to go down that path no matter what we could have done to prevent that.

It breaks my heart that he would abandon his little sister like this. He is the only sibling she has. I grew up understanding that
you should love and care for your family. The older siblings look after the younger siblings and protect them.

Jimmy has never been that kind of brother to Astrid, and she has always wondered if it was her fault for the way Jimmy wanted
nothing to do with her.

I’m about to exit my email when the doorbell rings, piquing my curiosity. I wonder if it’s a package I have to sign for as I stand
up from the couch and leave the living room. I look through the peephole and recognize a familiar face before opening the door.

I squint as I try to remember where I know the young lady from before my eyes widen in recognition.

“Faith Young? Wow, if this isn’t a surprise!”

Faith had moved out of town years ago for the big city. She’s always been close to our family since she dated Jimmy in high
school. Even after their breakup, Gretchen and I still liked to have her around.

“Hey, Mr. Miller. I hope I’m not interrupting. I just moved back into town, and while browsing job openings, I came across
your nanny posting for Astrid. Please tell me that it still hasn’t been filled?”

It’s incredible how much life and time can change someone. Faith grew up here, so I knew her and her whole family. As a
young adult in her early twenties, she babysat Astrid when Gretchen and I finally had her towards our late thirties.

Hearing her asking for the nanny position I desperately needed to fill made me feel all the weight finally lift off my shoulders. I
grinned with a curt nod of my head.

“Yes, it is. But I need your whole day to be available for emergencies at her school if she has to stay home sick from school
and when she gets out. I have no problem paying you eight hours or more daily during the week, even when you don’t have
her.”

Her eyes light up at that, and I see we have a deal before she opens her mouth. “Wow. I have no problem keeping my days
open. I’m still settling down from the move and still have many boxes to unpack. And I’m still buying furniture for my
apartment, which works perfectly for me.”

“Well, let me know if you need any help with that,” I offer because that’s just the kind of person I am. I always try to be helpful,
even when my demeanor doesn’t match that. Being a principal means you have to have an authoritative side to you.
Commanding respect and being the person to help staff and students fall in line.

The best schools excel in excellent academics and keeping an organized structure within the system.

Growing up, it had been my dream to become a principal, and I used to get made fun of by my peers for such a career dream. I
admit that I can sometimes come off as cold after losing Gretchen. My daughter and I had been submerged in darkness for so
long that I was still clawing to the surface toward the light.

“I’ll be sure to hold you to that if I need the help. Thank you again. Is there anything you need from me besides my resume and
references…”

I burst out laughing, which cut her off mid-sentence. Her eyebrows draw in from being confused at my laughter. “My apologies,
I’m not laughing at you. I understand why you’d ask if I need any of that, but I don’t. I know you, Faith, and Astrid is in great
hands with you. You also know my house like the back of your hand, or still should, since nothing has changed. I’m more eager
than nervous to have you looking after Astrid for me.”

“I guess it was silly to think I needed that, huh? I just got used to having to do that while living in the city. They do full federal
background checks before hiring you for a job.”

I rub the back of my head because that is a bit much. Given that the city population is much higher than our small towns, I could
understand. We already know enough about someone’s business who lives here and rarely get out-of-towners who move here.
Our sheriff’s station has always been enough to help keep crime and violence down here.
“No, you’re fine. Is it okay if I call you later to set up a time to discuss the job further?”

“Of course!” She digs through her purse and pulls out a pen, confusing me. “I can write my number down…”

“Faith, we live in the country but still have technology here. I have my phone,” I tease her while pulling out my cell phone. She
grabs it with a flustered face to put her number in before handing it back to me.

“I guess I’ll be going now. Thank you so much again for the opportunity. I promise I won’t let you down.” She waves goodbye
at me before stepping off the porch to walk down the walkway. I stare after her with this smile on my face before stepping fully
back into the house and closing the door behind me.

My fist lightly knocks against my daughter’s door to announce my presence. “Hey, sweetie, do you mind if I come in to talk?”

There’s continued silence before her small voice finally comes through the door to say I can come in. I turn the doorknob and
step inside to see my daughter lying in bed. She’s dressed in her pajamas while watching cartoons on her television.

Her face is blank, an expression I’ve unfortunately gotten used to over the years, with no excitement in her eyes while watching
cartoons. After her mother’s passing, my daughter shrunk into her shell and became withdrawn. It didn’t help that my idiot,
heartless son also took off right after his mother’s funeral, never to be heard from again.

In her eyes, we started as four in a family, and now we’re down to a duo. There are even times she’s afraid that she’s going to
lose me next. I do my best to reassure her that I’m not going anywhere, but since she doesn’t open up to me, I’m unsure if she
believes that.

I sit on the edge of her bed as she grabs her remote to pause the television. I hope the news I give her will elicit a smile from
her. Astrid had been very close to Faith, like when a kid has their favorite counselor at summer camp. She had been four years
old when Faith moved away six years ago.

“So, I finally found a nanny to watch you when you leave school. They’re even going to pick you up from school if you don’t
want to walk home alone…”

“It’s okay if I still walk home by myself. I like walking alone.” Hearing that causes sadness to fill up in my heart. My daughter
has already been alone enough since pushing her friends away. She has a best friend, Molly, with whom she has been best
friends since preschool.

But ever since Gretchen passed, Astrid hasn’t spoken to anyone outside her school guidance counselor and me about anything
other than school. I take this as her still grieving, but it still worries me to see a child her age so withdrawn, mainly when she
used to be so friendly.

“I understand, and that’s fine. You remember Faith, right? She used to come around and babysit you when you were younger.”

“Faith?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Yes, I remember her. She still sends me postcards, birthday cards, and Christmas cards.”
“She’s moved back to town and wants to be your nanny.”

“Oh my gosh?!”

Her enthusiasm surprises me. I haven’t seen her face light up like this for years, not even during her last few birthdays and
Christmases. A grin spreads across my face to see my little girl showing this level of happiness.

“I will see if she and I can meet tomorrow to discuss the job further.”

“I want to see her! I haven’t seen her in so long!” Astrid sounds excited and whiny at wanting to see her once favorite
babysitter. I nod my head.

I then stand to my feet to exit my daughter’s bedroom with warmth in my heart. Something tells me that Faith being back will
help turn things around for my little girl.

I’m unsure if it’s my intuition or just how things are looking up already after Faith’s arrival. For the first time in such a long
time, I don’t feel helpless about the situation concerning my daughter.

My smile touches my eyes as I sigh happily over Faith, seemingly coming to the rescue. Thinking about how well she’s
permanently bonded with Astrid.

I’ll still do my part to ensure my daughter progresses positively into being the bright, happy child she used to be. But now I feel
I’ll have more help with Faith stepping in to help in ways I struggle.

I hope she can help Astrid become the happy child she’d always been.
 Chapter 2

Faith

THAT WENT BETTER THAN I had expected it to….

I think to myself in delight while lying across my queen-sized bed in my one-bedroom apartment. I had gone to the Miller’s
with high hopes that I’d be given the job. I didn’t even mind if I had to interview for it if it meant being hired for it.

I’ve never worked a job that didn’t involve children. I started babysitting at thirteen when I wanted to earn extra money. I
babysat for all my teenage years and early twenties until I moved to Reinford, a big city that drew my attention.

Once I moved to the city, I got a job as a daycare teacher, discovering how different hiring is in the city compared to the town.
You had to build resumes. Some jobs even prefer references before hiring you. And the background check involving running
your fingerprints in the system?

It had all been such a major shock to me since things were more simplistic in small-town living. Fingerprints in Ashland were
usually run through the system only to catch criminals, and that’s it.

Working at the community center or as a cashier at one of the mom-and-pop shops temporarily was easy for me. But seeing the
nanny posting for Astrid caught my attention. I had missed that beautiful girl so much and had done my best to stay in contact
with her.

I have never missed a birthday or holiday to send her cards, even gifts, to show her that I still think of her. The bond I share
with her has been one of the best bonds in my life. As a daycare teacher, I have met plenty of children and enjoyed looking after
them. But they have never given me the kind of connection I have with Astrid.

Amazingly, she turned out to be such a great kid despite the kind of brother she has. My eyes roll slightly at the thought of my
ex-boyfriend. How out of place it always seemed with him and his family because his parents had always been such great
people. I’d seen people go down the wrong path in life in town, and it wouldn’t be a surprise, given the kind of parents they
had.

Jimmy should have never turned out like he had in the loving, caring home he had grown up in. I remember how much he
resented me when I started babysitting Astrid. We had been broken up for a few years by then, and he figured that since we
were over, so was my relationship with his family.

He didn’t even care about his family that much and just wanted to be spiteful. Now that I think about it… is it okay that I took
the job? Is it a good idea after all?

I know that he still hasn’t been back since his mother’s funeral. I heard that gossip while checking out at the grocery store, and
a lovely older lady I knew welcomed me back to town. When I inquired about how some families were doing, one bit of gossip
was about Jimmy not coming to visit or speaking to his family.

I find that so sickening, given that his sister lost their mother at such a young age and his father lost his wife. How can you not
want to be there for your family and ensure they’re doing all right? Jimmy’s heartless ways are one of the main reasons I ended
the relationship in the first place.

Being with such a negative person who doesn’t care about anything in life other than themselves can drain you both mentally
and emotionally. I feel relief that he’s probably never returning to town, but who can predict the future? He could very well one
day decide to come back to town.

And I know he’d make my life miserable out of spite if he found out I’m watching his little sister.

“Okay, let’s stop thinking about him. I didn’t get such an evil person out of my life to have them back on my mind again,” I say
aloud, in some form of pep talk. I then begin pushing him out of my mind as a random thought crosses my mind.

Mr. Miller looked so handsome today. Has he always been like that?

I gasp out loud in pure shock over such a bold thought. I have never looked at Mr. Miller that way in my life. Being in my
thirties and growing up had changed a lot for me. Before I left Ashland, I had nothing but care and respect for the man.
Something I still have for him to this day, but I also find him attractive.

Age did nothing but enhance his good looks as he wore his forties well. I can tell he either works out or eats a balanced diet
that helps to keep him in shape. The smell of his sandalwood scent when I had been on the porch also caused me to smile as if
the smell traveled home with me instead of being just a tiny memory in my head.

“I’m being ridiculous right now. Get it together, Faith,” I giggle as my mind returns to thoughts of that precious little girl. I’m
nervous to see her again in person after all this time. I’m frightened and worried that she may resent me because I moved away.
I had been helping her and Mr. Miller with their grieving before I moved.

At the time, I had been given an opportunity in the city as a daycare teacher, which excited me. But I couldn’t help but feel
guilty during my time in the city these last few years. My parents had been the ones who encouraged me to move to the city.
They had been the first to move from Ashland and thought I would get more experience in living life if I tried to do so outside
of town.

It had been an enjoyable experience for the first two years… until I realized how much I missed the small town. I never had to
worry about traffic or violent crimes while in Ashland. The crime, if you could call it that, in Ashland had always been silly
teenagers pulling pranks and dares that got them into trouble.

The big city had crimes ranging from pickpockets to actual assault. I realized how dangerous it was to be a single woman
walking somewhere at night and set a curfew to always be home before the streetlights turned on.

I never had those kinds of worries in Ashland, and I believe being back will help lessen my anxiety. And maybe spending time
with Astrid again will help me overcome the loneliness that’s swept me up for the past couple of years.

I can’t help but feel the warmth in my heart over the anticipation of having fun with Astrid.
It’s eight p.m. when I finally get the call from Vincent. I had just finished eating dinner and was ready to wash the dishes when
my phone rang from the kitchen table. I pick it up, notice the nameless number, and assume it to be Vincent. With a deep exhale,
I pick up my cell phone and answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Faith. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not at all. I’ve just finished eating dinner.”

“Okay, well, I’ve told Astrid that you’re going to be her nanny. She’s over the moon about it.”

My heart skips a beat in excitement at hearing that. All the nervousness I have been feeling was like a balloon being deflated.
No longer am I worrying over how Astrid will take me back fully into her life.

“I’m glad to hear that because I also look forward to watching her! I’ve missed her so much and worried she wouldn’t want me
to be her nanny.”

“Nonsense! She doesn’t hate you for having to move. I explained to her that sometimes people try to explore life by leaving the
place where they spent all of their lives. She has always appreciated everything you’ve sent her over the years.”

Hearing that makes taking the job less frightening for me. All the guilt I have felt up to this point transforms into relief as I
smile in appreciation. I know there are some things that children can’t understand, and maybe she still doesn’t know why I
moved, but I’m glad she doesn’t resent me for it.

“I’m hoping you spending time with her will turn things around. She’s been down and withdrawn ever since Gretchen passed
away. She’s still pushing away her friends and Molly by saying she wants to spend time alone. She doesn’t enjoy painting or
anything she used to love to do.”

I lower my head in sadness at hearing that. I know that people grieve differently and that some return to themselves faster. To
hear that Astrid, being as young as she is, continues to suffer over the loss of her mother weighs on my heart.

I still have both of my parents, so I’d never understood the loss of a parent. Thinking of losing either of my parents fills my
heart with so much hurt. I know their day will come since we all have to go one day. I’m just hopeful it won’t be anytime soon.

“You know I’ll do anything I can to help. Maybe I can wean her back into her favorite activities. I’ve seen people get back into
doing the things they’ve loved after taking a step into trying it out again. Maybe all we need to do is put a paintbrush in her
hand and see what happens?”

All I can do at this point is offer suggestions to see if he agrees.

“That doesn’t sound bad at all. We should take it one day at a time with that. I’ve been afraid of pushing her into things because
I don’t want her to break down or me to make things worse.”
I nod my head, even though he can’t see me. “I agree and don’t want her to feel any more down than she already feels. But I’ll
do whatever I can to get her to have fun again.”

“Thank you, Faith. You have no idea how glad I am that you moved back to town. I have a feeling that this will be good for
Astrid.”

We finally say our goodbyes and end the call with me smiling so widely and looking forward more than ever to seeing that
sweet girl and spending time with her, just like old times.

I stare into space, thinking of what I can do for Astrid. I have a strong sense of duty mixed with a spark of excitement. Astrid,
the lovely and lively girl I knew, seemed so far away now. It hurt to think about how much pain she was in, but I was
determined to help her feel better.

The disgust I felt for Jimmy had me shaking my head, and I prepared to help that young girl out of the darkness that had befallen
her.

As I walk around my room, I start to think of many things I can do. I whisper, "Art," and look over at my art supplies sitting in
the corner of the room. Astrid loved painting from a very young age. Even when she was a child, she was naturally good at it.
It's possible that I can get her to paint again and use color and shapes to show how she feels.

I thought out loud, "Nature could also heal," as I thought about the lovely parks and trails close to our town. I remember Astrid
enjoyed gathering flowers and leaves when we went for walks. Getting some fresh air and being around plants might help her
feel better.

After that, I thought about cooking. Astrid had always been interested in the kitchen. We might be able to bake cookies or even
pizza at home. I could picture her face getting excited as she worked the dough or sprinkled cheese on the pizza base. Cooking
with her could be a fun way to pass the time and a sneaky way to ensure she was eating right.

After that, there were books. Astrid loved stories so much she could eat them up. We could bring this passion back to life.
There are a few books that might interest her that I could bring over. Reading might help her escape her sadness by taking her to
other places.

There was also the idea of having her friends over for a movie night or a sleepover. Getting back in touch with people she
knew could help her move forward after being alone.

It was hard to keep my cool because I had so many ideas. I didn't want Astrid to feel stressed or like I was forcing her to do
something. I knew that grief wasn't a straight line because I had been through it myself. It was okay to have both good and bad
days.

I slowed down and took a deep breath to remind myself to wait. It wasn't going to happen overnight. As a nanny, you had to do
more than take care of kids; you also had to offer emotional support, understanding, and patience. I was ready to help Astrid get
through this challenging time. I only hoped that, over time, I could help make her life a little better.

Even though there were problems ahead, I smiled. It would take a long time to get better, but with love and patience, I was
hopeful. Before I fell asleep that night, I thought about Astrid and how excited I was to see her again soon.
 Chapter 3

Vincent

I HAVE THREE MORE hours at work but can’t stop thinking about my little girl.

She had her first day at school today and is currently at home with Faith. All morning and early afternoon, my eyes would
glance at my office phone whenever it rang. Picking it up, I’d think it was the elementary school guidance counselor calling me
about my daughter.

Informing me that her first day isn’t going well or she’s so withdrawn that she isn’t even answering her teachers when called
on. Instead, it’s all school matters concerning other students, and I take that as a sign that maybe Astrid had a good day back at
school after all.

I'm going through the papers on my desk without paying attention because I'm thinking about Astrid. Mrs. Mitchell, my
secretary, walks in with her usual big smile, which fades a bit when she sees how worried I appear.

"Principal Vincent, are you frowning because of the budget reports?" she asks, trying to keep the mood light.

I tell her with a tight smile, "No, it's not the reports. Only personal things."

Her eyes light up with understanding, leaving me to think without asking anything else. I want to thank her for that. Everybody
in this small town knows everything about everyone else. It's nice to have people who respect your space every once in a
while.

I look at the clock on the wall and see that it’s around the time Astrid has been home for an hour. I called Faith's number three
times today, hoping to hear a good update on my daughter. She doesn't answer the phone until the third ring.

"Hey, Vincent," Faith finally answers in a bright voice. It sounds like things are still going great, lessening my worry.

"Hi Faith, how is Astrid?" I get right to the point with my voice tinged with anxiousness.

"We're making progress! She's thinking about starting painting back up. She told me about this beautiful watercolor painting she
saw in her homeroom. And while working on her homework, her mind kept returning to that painting."

The words she spoke made me feel so much better. Before she became depressed, Astrid found comfort in painting. I predicted
that as she got older, she’d also use it as a form of stress relief. "That's good news, Faith. I hope she doesn’t change her mind. I
think her painting out her feelings may help her start opening up. She keeps so much bottled in that it does worry me."
"Yeah, I thought that would make you happy hearing that. And I agree. I learned early on that bottling things can negatively
affect you and how you interact with others. I think once she eventually opens up, it’ll cause her to break out of the shell she’s
pushed herself into." Faith sounds so optimistic, and I am getting my hopes up even higher.

All I’ve ever wanted for the last few years is to see more smiles on my daughter’s face. Often, I’d beat myself up by thinking I
was not doing enough to help my daughter find her smile and happiness again.

"Faith, I appreciate everything you do. It means a lot. It might sound strange since this is your first day as her nanny, but I even
mean from back then. You were always good with Astrid."

"You’re welcome, but you don’t need to thank me. Astrid and I get along so well. She’s almost finished with her snack, and I’m
helping her with the introduction assignment for homework, so I have to get going.”

“Of course. Thank you again, and I don’t think I’ll be home late. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good. See you later.”

The call ends, and I feel much lighter and calmer. It gives me hope and determination that Astrid will finally be all right. I
return to work immediately, but my mind is still on Astrid. I look at the picture of her on my desk every once in a while. It was
taken when she was happier when her eyes were bright with joy and curiosity instead of cloudy with depression.

When she would talk my head off excitedly about everything that happened at school, with her friends, or at Molly’s house, I
remember when she and Molly had so many sleepovers and play dates until Gretchen passed away. After that, Astrid refused to
sleep outside the home and declined all invitations for Molly to visit or for her to go to Molly’s. I hope the two girls will
reconcile and start having fun together again.

I'm feeling better as the day comes to a close. It could be Faith's words of comfort or the thought of Astrid finding her love for
painting again. No matter what happens, I make it my mission to do what I can to help my daughter.

I will do anything to make my little girl laugh and shine again. As I pack up to leave for the day, the weight on my shoulders
feels overwhelming.

I can’t wait to get home and see her.

Because I wanted to get home to Astrid, I turned off my office computer, put my things in my briefcase, and left early. The
school's long hallways seem to go on forever before me, but I'm moving forward because I can't wait to see my daughter.

I could have stayed at the office longer going over documents, but I decided they could wait until tomorrow. Astrid is my
priority, and I’m too anxious to talk to her. I want to hear in her own words how her first day at school went.

As I walk around the school grounds, I think about how Faith, being back in town and being Astrid’s nanny, is already turning
things around. I had tried to get Astrid interested in painting for years but to no avail. After spending a couple of hours with
Faith, Astrid tells her about a painting at school, inspiring her to paint again.
Maybe I’m eager to see if my daughter has a smile on her face and the familiar chipper tone in her voice. If she’s excited about
tomorrow, the weekend, or even the holidays, like she used to be. I know my happy daughter is still in there but is concealed by
sadness and sorrow.

When I get home, I see something that warms my heart. Astrid is sitting at the kitchen table doing her homework. Not in her
bedroom, hiding away from the world like I expected her to be.

Sunlight in the late afternoon gives the room a warm glow that makes the sight look more impressive. I stop to admire my
daughter. The way she focuses on her work with determination on her face.

Faith sits at the table with her, patiently waiting for any questions my daughter may ask her. Clearing my throat to make my
presence noticed, Astrid looks up from her paper to glance at me.

“Hi, Daddy,” she smiles at me with warmth in her eyes before returning to her work. I don’t want to disturb her since she’s
working so diligently, so I walk over to lean down. I kiss her on the forehead and gesture for Faith to quietly follow me, so as
to not disturb Astrid.

We go into the hallway and drop our voices to talk in private.

“How has her behavior been while doing homework?”

“She’s been all right. Seems to be okay with it.”

“I only ask because anything she’s worked on, even if it’s a regular crossword puzzle, frustrates her easily when it doesn’t go
her way.”

“To be fair, she’s just doing an introductory assignment, answering questions and writing about herself. She’s supposed to
present it in class tomorrow. But I’ll watch her when she finally receives homework for the school subjects. What do you
normally do when she gets frustrated?”

“I try to get her to talk about why she is frustrated, but she shuts down. So, it’s been a struggle to find a way to calm her down
faster when she gets upset.”

Faith rubs the back of her neck and seems deep in thought for a moment before answering. “I’ll try something. Even if it’s going
to sit outside for some fresh air or taking a walk to see if that helps.”

“That all sounds great. I wish I had thought of that before. I will retake her seeming interest in painting as a win for the day.
Let’s hope that she tries to get back into it.”

“Baby steps, Mr. Miller.”

“Please call me Vincent, Faith. No need to be so formal,” I grin in amusement at her. She giggles, and a weird feeling comes
over me. I feel delight from her laughter and how beautiful her smile looks while doing it.

Where did that feeling and thought come from?

I push it out of my mind and decide to get away from her until I get my mind together. “Well, I need to head upstairs to put my
briefcase up and unwind from work. I’ll return shortly. You can head home once she finishes her homework.”

“Sounds good to me! I’ll return there now to see if she needs me.” She gives me another smile before disappearing back into
the kitchen.

Leaving me standing there with confused feelings and a racing mind.

 Chapter 4

Faith

WHEN I RETURN TO the kitchen, I see Astrid sitting at the table with her eyes on a textbook.

She has a severe look on her face, and it fills me with curiosity. I can't hold back my interest as I rejoin her. "Hey, what’s with
that face?”

Astrid lifts her head to look at me, and I can feel the frustration coming from her. She complains as she sighs and points to a
complex math problem on her worksheet. "This one just doesn't make sense to me.”

I raise an eyebrow in confusion because when I stepped into the hallway with her father, she had been finishing up her
introduction assignment. Where did math homework come from? I then remember how much things have changed since I was a
kid. It usually took the fourth day or second week of school for us to begin receiving homework.

It was the first day of elementary school, and Astrid was already receiving math homework.

Wanting to help her, I move closer and suggest, "Should we work on it together? I'll show you the step-by-step way and
carefully explain everything." My words are meant to reassure her and clear up her doubts. Astrid agrees and nods her head.
There is a spark of hope in her eyes again.

Seeing her face relax from the frustrated expression is a relief as I reach for her textbook.

We start our journey through the complex problem and work through its many layers together. I break it down into manageable
pieces and carefully explain the complicated parts to make them easier to understand. Astrid's understanding grows over the
next hour, and I feel satisfied.

Once she can complete a problem independently, I’ll praise her quickly.

“See? It gets simpler once you work the problem out.”

We keep working on the rest of her homework, and Astrid feels pleased about the progress. I can't believe how quickly Astrid
understands new suggestions when they are presented differently. As we get closer to the end, Vincent's worry about Astrid's
inability to show how she feels makes me think of something.

"Astrid, have you ever thought about drawing or writing about how you feel?" I ask with growing curiosity. I always felt that
hobbies were also a way to relieve stress. Musicians express their feelings through music. Artists express it through art. Astrid
may be prone to opening up if she’s given a way to do so in her own way.
“You can do that?” She asks me innocently as I smile widely at her.

"Of course! It could be beneficial. Imagine talking to yourself about it. It will help you understand and express your feelings
better." Astrid shows genuine interest in these creative outlets, with intrigue growing in her eyes. After that, we spend the rest
of the afternoon drawing, coloring, and even writing. To my delight, Astrid seems to enjoy these activities and seems drawn to
using art to express her feelings.

As we work on our new artistic projects, time goes by quickly, and we don't notice it. I love spending time with her and am so
glad to be here for her. She deserves to be showered with so much love, and I’ll do that for her.

A deep sense of accomplishment washes over me as we clean up our supplies. Today has been truly unique, full of significant
steps forward and progress. I'm looking forward to more days like today when I can continue to help Astrid and make sure she
knows I hear and understand her.

I can't help but smile as I look lovingly at Astrid, who has walked over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. I instantly wonder
what we can do tomorrow that will help her have fun.

I haven’t left yet because Astrid asked me to come to her room. When she came home from school today, she went straight to
the kitchen to start her homework. Now that she has finished, she wants to show me the bedroom to give me a cute tour.

When I follow Astrid into her room, I'm immediately struck by how girly it looks. There are many drawings on the walls, soft
toys everywhere, and a pastel color scheme. The room design speaks to the bright kid she used to be before her mother’s
passing.

As she talks about her favorite books and the teddy bear she's had since she was a baby, I can't help but be proud of the smile
on her face. The smile her father says she rarely shows due to the depression she’s been in.

I look up and see a flash of something shiny. I look over at a small nightstand beside her bed and see an old photo in a simple
wooden frame that has lost its color over time. It's a picture of Jimmy and me. My chest aches, and I'm filled with a lot of
different feelings: anger, regret, and confusion.

I still don’t know what I ever saw in Jimmy. It had been one of those situations as a teen where you aren’t exactly sure what
your taste in boys is, and it’s easy to be interested based on their attractiveness.

Jimmy is an example of being good-looking on the outside but ugly on the inside.

"Oh, you mean that?" Astrid peeks around the corner to see what I'm fixed on. "The picture is old. Mom kept it because she
thought it was important for our family history. You know, he only got worse when she passed away, right?"

My heart aches for the poor girl. Even with her brother abandoning her, she still loves him so much that she’s trying to make
excuses for his poor behavior. I can agree that he did get worse after Gretchen passed, but he had still been a horrible person
before her passing.

I get sick whenever I see Jimmy's face after all these years. It makes me think of the bad times I've been trying to forget. An old
history full of lies and pain. He’s the type of person who should be alone for the rest of his life because he doesn’t have it in
him to treat people kindly.

"Are you still mad at him?" When Astrid asks, she breaks the silence between us.

I look at her in shock. Her face looks grave, which is very different from how she usually looks, which is curious and young.
Then it hits me how much she's been trying to keep inside and how much she's been trying to figure out on her own. I take a
deep breath and prepare to discuss this touchy subject.

"I wouldn’t say mad about how our relationship didn’t work out, but more disappointed. When it comes to feeling mad, it’s
more about how he treated you and your father. After your mother passed, it would have helped if he had stuck around and tried
to be there for you two. Instead, he was very hateful and took off. He left you and your dad. His loved ones."

"Why?" she asks, in an almost whispery voice. "Why does he not like me?"

My face falls at hearing that. I forgot that the innocence of a child will make them question things to the point where they
automatically believe they are at fault.

"Astrid, it's not that he didn't like you," I try to tell her, but my heart hurts. "He was used to being the only child in his family.
Everything changed when you came along. But that doesn't make what he did okay. He owed you more and should have been
there for you. As the older sibling, you are supposed to look after the younger sibling."

I pause while trying to keep my emotions in check.

“That’s why I ended up babysitting you because he refused to. He felt that it wasn’t his job to. But it is normal for older
siblings to watch over the younger ones. He didn’t care.”

I hope being truthful doesn’t hurt her more than she’s already hurt. But at ten years old, I think the more honest I am about her
brother, the more she’ll stop blaming herself for Jimmy's decisions on her own.

"Do you think he'll come back?"

My knuckles turn white as I hold onto the edge of her bed. "Astrid, I'm not sure. I know it's not your fault, however. I will
always be here for you, no matter what. It’s been years since Jimmy took off, so I doubt he will. But understand this, you and
your father are much better off without him."

She nods, and her eyes show that she gets it. I feel the weight of the promise I made to her, which I plan to keep. Jimmy may
have given up on his duties, but I'm not going to. For Astrid, I'm here to stay. Returning to Ashland made me feel like I’d finally
returned home.

Even during the good times in the city, it never felt like the city was my home.

There is a moment of silence before Astrid's voice breaks it again. "Do you think he thinks about us still?"

I take a moment to think about her question. "I believe he does. I believe he feels the weight of his decisions, just like we do.
People sometimes don't want to face their mistakes or the results of their actions because they are too afraid. But your brother
is stubborn and will continue to do whatever he believes is best for him."

Astrid's eyes shine with tears that haven't dried yet. "I want him to see how much I've changed. How much I've grown.”
"I know, sweetheart," I say with kindness. "But remember that someone else's approval doesn't change your worth or what
you've done. This person you've become is strong and smart. You should be proud of yourself. Even if Jimmy were here, he
probably wouldn’t appreciate how much you’ve grown. But you have to remember that’s his problem, not yours."

Astrid gives me a small smile, and for a moment, it seems she’s finally understanding things concerning her brother. "I’m so
happy that you’re back, Faith."

Her tiny arms wrap around me in a hug, and I become emotional. "Astrid, I'm thankful for you too. I will always be here for you
because I’ve always loved having you in my life."

We sit there longer, wrapped up in warmth in that hug. A hug that it seemed she needed more from me.
 Chapter 5

Vincent

THE WARM, GOLDEN LIGHT from the sun keeps bathing our small town.

I'm back in my favorite spot by the kitchen window with a mug of coffee. I take a moment to enjoy how peaceful it is in the
afternoon and how time seems to stand still for a while. It's a comforting and moving reminder of how the short moments can be
ordinary and extraordinary.

Today is a day off from school to honor one of the founders of Ashland. Astrid had insisted that Faith still come over and play
with her, something Faith didn’t mind. She told me she’d be doing this for free and not to pay her for it.

From where I am, I can see Faith at the garden table helping Astrid with her stuff. I can't help but look at her. When she's
focused, her forehead furrows, and when something makes her laugh, it sounds like the most beautiful melody. These little
things make me realize how beautiful she is.

"Vincent," I immediately scold myself. "She used to date Jimmy. She's also 18 years younger than you. I'm afraid that's not
right." But hearts are independent, and mine beats fast whenever I see her. It’s such a weird and unexpected experience for me.

I had long accepted that Gretchen would be the only woman I ever loved or had feelings for. Then enters Faith, who returns to
town and becomes my savior by becoming Astrid’s nanny. Astrid’s been smiling and laughing lately due to Faith being around.
She’s helping her return to herself. I will forever be grateful.

It only gets more apparent over the next few days how much I want Faith. I see her in the early morning light, with her hair
falling over her shoulders and her eyes sparkling with a mix of sleepiness and excitement. My chest hurts. I admire her a lot
when she laughs at something Astrid says, with her head thrown back and her eyes wrinkled.

Now I can go to work without any worries about my daughter? Astrid seems to be doing better in school. She’s still socially
withdrawn from her friends, but her teachers have said she participates more in class when she isn’t volunteering to answer
questions.

When she gets home, I know she will finish her homework with Faith’s help, and then they will have fun together until I make it
home.

When we eat lunch one afternoon on my day off, I can't take my eyes off Faith. What a beautiful woman. I love how she tucks a
stray hair behind her ear and how she looks when she’s deep in thought. Undoubtedly, I am trying to develop more ways to get
my daughter to engage.

There's a tightening feeling in my chest that comes from both pure interest in Faith and guilt. I care about Faith. I’m grateful for
her excellent effect on Astrid and how she has made our lives brighter. But I also struggle with the thought that my feelings
might go too far, given our situation.

I consider myself her elder, being in my forties, but I also have to remind myself that she’s in her thirties, not her twenties. That
she’s not some young girl fresh out of college or something.

She’s a grown woman—a lovely one at that.

The sun leaves orange and purple marks on the sky as the sun goes down. As I clean up after dinner, I'm standing at the kitchen
sink and trying not to look out the window at Faith. Sometimes, I don’t want to think about how her laugh sounds or how her
eyes shine when she smiles. And I'm trying, but I'm failing.

She’s been at the house all day just enjoying time with Faith and is due to head home soon. While Astrid is upstairs washing up
before bed, Faith is outside, continuing to clean up the art supplies they were using before dinner.

She walks out of my sight, and I know she’s about to enter the house. My chest tightens, and my breathing grows heavier as I
brace myself for her presence.

“Thank you again for today, Vincent. I’m going to head home now. Dinner was amazing, and I forgot how much I love
barbeque.”

“No need to thank me, Faith. I’ve enjoyed having you around. Astrid especially enjoyed it. Get home safely,” I smile at her, and
she returns the smile before nodding. She exits the kitchen, and I sigh at the feelings she stirs inside me.

After two days, I invite Faith to my house for a casual dinner to discuss Astrid's progress. Astrid's feelings have been all over
the place, but she's been more open and having fun again lately. I'm thankful that Faith has been there for me throughout this
journey.

I had started the school year stressed out and trying to figure out how to help my daughter. Within a short time, Faith has slowly
begun to bring Astrid out of her shell. Instead of watching with a blank stare, she laughs along with cartoons like she used to.

Joy has returned to her eyes, and she’s beginning to get excited about things like she used to. Astrid is already asleep due to her
not getting much sleep last night. She had talked me into a movie marathon last night that kept her up while I fell asleep on the
couch.

Her body started towards tired in the late afternoon, and she ate an early dinner before bed. I’m nervous because it will just be
Faith and me having dinner together. I don’t think I’ve shared a meal with her since her return to Ashland without Astrid being
present.

My heart is beating fast as I prepare the meal. I've grown very good at making lasagna over the years, and I decided on it as the
meal of choice for tonight. The aroma causes my stomach to rumble in anticipation of the hearty meal. I set the table carefully
and decide to clean the kitchen while the lasagna continues to bake.

Faith shows up right on time and looks as beautiful as ever. I invite her in and take her jacket to hang in the coat closet. She
follows me into the kitchen and to the table where the lasagna pan sits in the center. There’s also a basket of breadsticks that I
baked from the frozen bag I purchased from the store.

A pitcher of iced tea sits next to the breadsticks as Faith sits down before I can pull her chair out. I feel embarrassed and hurry
to sit down, hoping she doesn’t notice my flushed expression.

Is the failed chair pull-out attempt a sign that I should stop being ridiculous and interested in Faith?

When we sit down to eat, the conversation flows, with Astrid being the topic of discussion. Discussing Astrid is why I invited
Faith to dinner, but I was unsure how we’d begin the conversation.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for Astrid. I’m continuing to get positive progress reports from her teachers that she’s
more engaged in class and paying more attention.”

“No need to thank me. Astrid has always been a smart kid. I understand how loss can have a heavy effect on someone,
especially a child. I think you were trying to be careful, and it’s what had you refraining from getting her to open up. But once I
began to do so, I realized that she started coming out of her shell.”

I nod my head while cutting into my plate of lasagna. “She seems to be happy about life again. Spending more time outside in
the backyard like she used to instead of being cooped up in her room. It’s such a relief every morning I wake up and see that
smile on her face.”

“I think as long as we continue to take it a day at a time, things will continue looking up. Astrid has to move at her own pace to
be open to doing more and speaking up more.”

I agree with her as we continue discussing my daughter. An hour has flown by with us finishing our second plate of food, and
we’ve wound down on talking about Astrid. Another topic comes to mind, and I wonder if I’m brave enough to bring it up to
her.

No longer able to hold it in, I take a deep breath and hope this goes well.

"Faith." I try to remain calm and ignore the knot in my stomach. "I've been meaning to tell you something."

She looks at me with eyes full of wonder. "Really? What is it?"

"I... I feel something for you, Faith," I finally tell her, lifting the weight off my chest. As I hold my breath and wait for her
answer, the room goes silent. I then realize I can’t just stop there and need to add more. Otherwise, I may make her
uncomfortable if she’s not already feeling like that.

“I’m sorry if it sounds strange or awkward for you to hear. But I realized I couldn’t continue without telling you how I felt. I’m
very attracted to you. Not just because you’re beautiful. I’m attracted to your strength. Your relentless desire to help my
daughter. How kindhearted of a person you are.”

Now, I go silent to see what her response will be. She stares at me with her widened eyes, and I immediately panic. Did I
cross the line? I should have kept this to myself after all.

She blinks, and her face shows that she is shocked. Then, she surprises me when a smile slowly appears on her face. “I’m glad
you said that because I feel the same about you.”

My eyes open wider in surprise at hearing that.

She continues smiling at me, and I believe her smile and reciprocation of my feelings pull me to my feet. I round the table to go
over to her side. I lean down and, without warning, softly press my lips against hers.

She kisses me back, making me feel relieved that I wasn’t overstepping boundaries.

We finally break the kiss and bashfully stare at one another. Afterward, we begin to clean up dinner together without another
word about the kiss. Each leaves the other to think about what happened.
 Chapter 6

Faith

AS I SLOWLY CLOSE the door behind me, my dimly lit apartment fills with a deafening silence that wraps me in its lonely
embrace.

I press hard against the cool door and close my excited eyes. The memory of Vincent's soft kiss is still on my lips, making me
feel woozy. While it was only a moment, I couldn't eliminate the sincerity and warmth that filled the frame of reference.

I’ve never felt that kind of feeling before when I’ve kissed someone. No sparks had ever flown with the other guys. The very
small few I had kissed. Vincent’s lips had my heart skipping, filling me with strange excitement.

Being attracted to him is one thing, but he completely surprised me by telling me he’s also attracted to me. In my eyes, his
initiating the kiss meant that he was interested in me. It sends shivers of both excitement and nervousness throughout my body. I
would have been fine being attracted to him and never telling him about it.

Astrid is my priority, and being her nanny is vital to me. I now become worried that this will taint our professional
relationship, or any relationship Vincent and I share. I’d hate if things become awkward with us to the point that he either asks
me to leave the nanny job or I decide to quit.

Something I felt had been so exciting seconds ago quickly became terrifying. But the thought of the kiss instantly has me back in
a daydream.

I find myself touching my lips unconsciously as if I want to hold on to the essence of that fleeting connection so that the taste of
his affection will always be with me. It's like a piece of me still holds on to that particular moment, playing it repeatedly in my
mind like a favorite tune that will never end.

I walk into the living room with heavy steps and sit on the gray plush couch. The fabric gives way to my weight like it's tired.
My mind is a crazy whirlwind of thoughts, all wanting to be heard, and battling with each other in a complicated dance of
contradictions.

The voice of reason, that annoying part of me, tells me I'm wrong for having these thoughts about Vincent. He is, after all,
Jimmy's father, and it’s not ideal to go for the father after already dating the son.

There are still some doubts in my mind, but the part of me that felt those electric sparks starting a fire inside me and the part
that felt something shifting deep inside me during our secret kiss is getting louder and more robust.

I laugh as I push the thought of Jimmy out of my mind. He has long since faded into the background of my life, leaving only bad
memories and a faded picture of a destroyed relationship. Why should he be considered a factor in my attraction to his
father? What's the point of letting his shadow control my decisions and stop me from being happy?

I'm lost in my thoughts and keep pacing back and forth across the living room. The worn carpet soaks up the restless energy
from my every step. Stopping suddenly in front of the full-length mirror, I look at myself and see that I no longer look like the
woman I used to be.

She is no longer the shy girl afraid of how life back in Ashland will turn out for her. Instead of her, there is a woman who has
changed, full of newfound strength and a quiet confidence that hums inside her.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun with my thoughts about Vincent, but I don’t believe he kissed me without reason. That kiss alone
has me thinking that we may spend time with each other outside of me being Astrid’s nanny. Or perhaps I’m very hopeful of that
to the point of wanting to speak that into existence.

And if Vincent is the person who might be able to give me that elusive happiness, then why should I pass up the chance? Why
should I ignore the things making my heart beat faster, and the whisper of fate leading me to an uncertain but hopeful future?

Faith, it was just a kiss. You’re jumping the gun.

I let out a tired sigh as I leaned against the wall, my eyes closed and looking for comfort in the darkness. I still remember
Vincent's smile, kindness, and how he looked at me like I was important to him.

There was interest in his eyes, the same interest growing in my heart, and I can't deny that it stirred something deep inside me.

Should I not feel this way about Vincent? I don't know, and honestly, I don't care. I only know that I'm following my heart, and
this is the first time in a long time that my heart is taking me somewhere fabulous.

My mind keeps returning to that brief moment, that stolen kiss that burned a million fires in my soul. A smile is on the corner of
my lips because I know Vincent feels the same way about me and is caught in the complex web of feelings between us. It makes
my heart skip when I think about all the possibilities.

Suddenly, a wave of peace washes over me, and it stays with me until it's completely gone. I'm on the right track for the first
time in a long time. The universe is working to lead me to an unknown destination.

I'm unsure where this path will lead us, but I'm more than ready to start this journey of love, self-discovery, and endless
possibilities.

I feel more determined than ever before as I finally head to my room to prepare for bed.

My heart beats quickly with thoughts of Vincent as I finish getting ready for bed. It makes me think of how excited and nervous I
was when I had my first crush in school. This seems more intense than the first crush feeling. Do I feel this way? A crush on an
older man who is also my ex’s father? I think to myself, laughing with shock and disbelief.

The thoughts of Vincent led me to want to send him a text. I sit down on my bed after grabbing my phone from the nightstand.
My fingers are shaking a little because I'm both excited and nervous. As I carefully type a message to Vincent, my heart races
as I press send. It says, "Goodnight, Vincent. Thank you for dinner tonight.." on the screen. Slowly but surely, the seconds pass,
and my heart beats faster and faster in my chest.

For some reason, I anticipate his response and whatever he will say to me. Will he give me a mild reply back or send me
something sweet? The next thing I know, half an hour has passed by. There's nothing, however. No answer. I check my phone
every few minutes, because I need his message. The screen stays blank, and my heart is sinking.

A red flush of shame is moving up my face and burning my cheeks. Finally, there's the familiar pain of being let down. I tell
myself that he must be asleep already, and my heart clings to that last thread of hope. I know that's not true, however. Vincent
stays up late, as he’s always been like that. He has to get up early for work, but he’s always been a night owl.

"Stop overthinking, Faith," I tell myself, as I keep my eyes on the silent phone. The bright screen is the only light source in the
otherwise dark room. It casts long shadows that move around like my doubts are growing. But the silence on the other end is so
loud that it's making the pit in my stomach feel like I’m hollowing out.

Now I feel that I’ve wasted my time. An hour has finally passed, and you would have thought I daydreamed about that kiss
happening and it not being honest. I sigh in disappointment and feel silly at this moment.

My phone gets thrown back on the nightstand too hard. Why did I bother to text him? Maybe I jumped the gun? But he told me
he was interested in me and kissed me.

As I crawl into bed, thoughts of Vincent keep going through my mind. I lay there and stare at the ceiling while feeling different
emotions. The excitement has faded away, replaced with heavy disappointment and embarrassment.

I force my mind to shut off the racing thoughts so that I can try to go to sleep.

Vincent is the last thing that comes to mind as I fall asleep.

 Chapter 7

Vincent

I’VE REACHED MY LUNCHTIME at work and don’t have much appetite.

I visited the high school’s guidance counselor because I needed her advice. I’m glad I’m working at the high school today as I
go down the hallways to the counselor’s office.

I lightly knock on the door and wait for the voice telling me to come in. I turn the knob and enter the office to Mrs. Harper
sitting behind her desk. She has a bowl of beef stew in her office that she’s enjoying. I immediately feel bad and begin to
apologize.

“Excuse the interruption. I can come back another time…”

“Nonsense!” She dismisses that with a wave of her hand. “I’m just sitting here eating. If you need anything from me, you know I
am always happy to help.”

“I just need some advice…” my voice trails off as she nods her head, inviting me to take a seat across the desk from her. I
close the door behind me and take a seat. I fiddle with my fingers in silence before finally finding my voice.

“It’s about Astrid. As always, I’m worried about her shutting people out of her life. She doesn’t spend time with her friends
and never wants them to visit. She and Molly used to be like two peas in a pod, and she wouldn’t even go to Molly’s to play
with her. I miss the days she’d paint a new picture and proudly hang it on the refrigerator each week.”

My heart aches at the sadness I feel for my daughter and how her happiness seems to have become a distant memory. I admit
that she’s gotten better since Faith became her nanny. But I’m worried about how long this will last. I don’t want this to be
temporary, and then, one day, Astrid wakes up feeling depressed again.

I don’t want to get my hopes up that everything is all better now when that’s not the case.

Mrs. Harper takes a moment to enjoy a spoonful of the tasty stew and then leans back in her chair. She looks at me with a
thoughtful gaze, and her eyes are full of understanding and empathy.

She starts softly, her voice filled with compassion. "Vince, it can be rough for young people like Astrid. They often withdraw
into themselves as they try to make sense of the complicated world around them and find their place in it. Astrid has already
done that with the loss of her mother. If she continues like this, it will continue worsening over time.”

Emotion hits me because I had expected that’s what it would be.

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
administer such an oath, but must send for a magistrate competent
for the purpose. Unfortunately for him, the impeachment of Judge
Pickering was a precedent directly opposed to this doctrine. He was
compelled to submit while the Senate unwillingly took the forms of a
court.
Giles’s view of impeachment, which was the same with that of
Randolph, had the advantage of being clear and consistent. The
opposite extreme, afterward pressed by Luther Martin and his
associate counsel for the defence, restricted impeachment to
misdemeanors indictable at law,—a conclusion not to be resisted if
the words of the Constitution were to be understood in a legal sense.
Such a rule would have made impeachment worthless for many
cases where it was likely to be most needed; for comparatively few
violations of official duty, however fatal to the State, could be brought
within this definition. Giles might have quoted Madison in support of
the broader view; and if Madison did not understand the Constitution,
any other Virginian might be excused for error. So far back as the
year 1789, when Congress began to discuss the President’s powers,
Madison said: “I contend that the wanton removal of meritorious
officers would subject him to impeachment and removal from his
own high trust.” Such a misdemeanor was certainly not indictable,
and could not technically be brought within the words of the
Constitution; it was impeachable only on Giles’s theory.
The Senate became confused between these two views, and
never knew on what theory it acted. Giles failed to take from its
proceedings the character of a court of justice; but though calling
itself a court of justice, it would not follow strict rules of law. The
result was a nondescript court, neither legal nor political, making law
and voting misdemeanors for itself as it went, and stumbling from
one inconsistency to another.
The managers added to the confusion. They put forward no
steady theory of their own as to the nature of impeachment; possibly
differing in opinion, they intentionally allotted different lines of
argument to each. In opening the case, Feb. 20, 1805, one of the
managers, George W. Campbell of Tennessee, took the ground that
“misdemeanor” in the Constitution need imply no criminality.
“Impeachment,” said he, “according to the meaning of the
Constitution, may fairly be considered a kind of inquest into the
conduct of an officer merely as it regards his office.... It is more in the
nature of a civil investigation than of a criminal prosecution.” Such
seemed to be the theory of the managers and of the House; for
although the articles of impeachment reported by Randolph in
March, 1804, had in each case alleged acts which were inspired by
an evil intent to oppress the victim or to excite odium against the
Government, and were at least misdemeanors in the sense of
misbehavior, Randolph at the last moment slipped into the indictment
two new articles, one of which alleged no evil intent at all, while both
alleged, at worst, errors in law such as every judge in the United
States had committed. Article V. charged that Chase had issued a
capias against Callender, when the law of Virginia required a
summons to appear at the next court. Article VI. charged that he
had, “with intent to oppress,” held Callender for trial at once, contrary
to the law of Virginia. Every judge on the Supreme Bench had ruled
that United States courts were not bound to follow the processes of
the State courts; Chief-Justice Marshall himself, as Giles threatened,
must be the first victim if such an offence were a misdemeanor in
constitutional law.
That a judge was impeachable for a mistake in declaring the law
seemed therefore to be settled, so far as the House and its
managers could decide the point. Judge Chase’s counsel assumed
that this principle, which had been so publicly proclaimed, was
seriously meant; and one after another dwelt on the extravagance of
the doctrine that a civil officer should be punished for mere error of
judgment. In reply, Joseph H. Nicholson, Randolph’s closest ally,
repudiated the theory on which he had himself acted in Pickering’s
case, and which Giles, Randolph, and Campbell pressed; he even
denied having heard such ground taken as that an impeachment
was a mere inquest of office:—
“For myself, I am free to declare that I heard no such position
taken. If declarations of this kind have been made, in the name of the
managers I here disclaim them. We do contend that this is a criminal
prosecution for offences committed in the discharge of high official
duties, and we now support it,—not merely for the purpose of
 removing an individual from office, but in order that the punishment
inflicted on him may deter others from pursuing the baneful example
which has been set them.”
The impeachment, then, was a criminal prosecution, and the
Senate was a criminal court; yet no offence was charged which the
law considered a misdemeanor, while error of judgment, with no
imputed ill-intent, was alleged as a crime.
Staggering under this load of inconsistencies, uncertain what line
of argument to pursue, and ignorant whether the Senate would be
ruled by existing law or invent a system of law of its own, the
managers, Feb. 9, 1805, appeared in the Senate chamber to open
their case and produce their witnesses. Upon the popular
imagination of the day the impeachment of Warren Hastings had
taken deep hold. Barely ten years had passed since the House of
Lords rendered its judgment in that famous case; and men’s minds
were still full of associations with Westminster Hall. The
impeachment of Judge Chase was a cold and colorless performance
beside the melodramatic splendor of Hastings’s trial; but in the
infinite possibilities of American democracy, the questions to be
decided in the Senate chamber had a weight for future ages beyond
any that were then settled in the House of Lords. Whether Judge
Chase should be removed from the bench was a trifling matter;
whether Chief-Justice Marshall and the Supreme Court should hold
their power and principles against this combination of State-rights
conservatives and Pennsylvania democrats was a subject for grave
reflection. Men who did not see that the tide of political innovation
had long since turned, and that the French revolution was no longer
raging, were consumed with anxiety for the fate of Chase, and not
wholly without reason; for had Marshall been a man of less calm and
certain judgment, a single mistake by him might easily have
prostrated the judiciary at the feet of partisans.
By order of the Vice-President the Senate chamber was arranged
in accordance with his ideas of what suited so grave an occasion.
His own chair stood, like that of the chief-justice in the court-room,
against the wall, and on its right and left crimson benches extended
like the seats of associate judges, to accommodate the thirty-four
senators, who were all present. In front of the Vice-President, on the
right, a box was assigned to the managers; on the left, a similar box
was occupied by Justice Chase and his counsel. The rest of the floor
was given to members of the House, foreign ministers, and other
official persons. Behind these a new gallery was erected especially
for ladies, and at each end of this temporary gallery boxes were
reserved for the wives and families of public officers. The upper and
permanent gallery was public. The arrangement was a mimic
reproduction of the famous scene in Westminster Hall; and the little
society of Washington went to the spectacle with the same interest
and passion which had brought the larger society of London to hear
the orations of Sheridan and Burke.
Before this audience Justice Chase at last appeared with his
array of counsel at his side,—Luther Martin, Robert Goodloe Harper,
Charles Lee, Philip Barton Key, and Joseph Hopkinson. In such a
contest weakness of numbers was one element of strength; for the
mere numbers of Congressmen served only to rouse sympathy for
the accused. The contest was unequal in another sense, for the
intellectual power of the House was quite unable on the field of law
to cope with the half-dozen picked and trained champions who stood
at the bar. Justice Chase alone was a better lawyer than any in
Congress; Luther Martin could easily deal with the whole box of
managers; Harper and Lee were not only lawyers, but politicians;
and young Hopkinson’s genius was beyond his years.
In the managers’ box stood no lawyer of corresponding weight.
John Randolph, who looked upon the impeachment as his personal
act, was not only ignorant of law, but could not work by legal
methods. Joseph H. Nicholson and Cæsar A. Rodney were more
formidable; but neither of them would have outweighed any single
member of Chase’s counsel. The four remaining managers, all
Southern men, added little to the strength of their associates. John
Boyle of Kentucky lived to become chief-justice of that State, and
was made district judge of the United States by a President who was
one of the Federalist senators warmly opposed to the impeachment.
George Washington Campbell of Tennessee lived to be a senator,
Secretary of the Treasury, and minister to Russia. Peter Early of
Georgia became a judge on the Supreme Bench of his own State.
Christopher Clark of Virginia was chosen only at the last moment to
take the place of Roger Nelson of Maryland, who retired. None of
them rose much above the average level of Congress; and Chase’s
counsel grappled with them so closely, and shut them within a field
so narrow, that no genius could have found room to move. From the
moment that the legal and criminal character of impeachment was
conceded, Chase’s counsel dragged them hither and thither at will.
Feb. 9, 1805, the case was opened by John Randolph. Randolph
claimed to have drawn all the articles of impeachment with his own
hand. If any one understood their character, it was he; and the
respondent’s counsel naturally listened with interest for Randolph’s
explanation or theory of impeachment, and for the connection he
should establish between his theory and his charges. These charges
were numerous, but fell under few heads. Of the eight articles which
Randolph presented, the first concerned the judge’s conduct at the
trial of John Fries for treason in Philadelphia in 1800; the five
following articles alleged a number of offences committed during the
trial of James Thompson Callender for libel at Richmond in that year;
Article VII. charged as a misdemeanor the judge’s refusal, in the
same year, to dismiss the grand jury in Delaware before indicting a
seditious printer; finally, Article VIII. complained of the judge’s
harangue to the grand jury at Baltimore in May, 1803, which it
characterized as “highly indecent, extrajudicial, and tending to
prostitute the high judicial character with which he was invested to
the low purpose of an electioneering partisan.”
Serious as some of these charges certainly were,—for in the
case of Callender, even more than in that of Fries, Chase’s temper
had led him to strain, if not to violate, the law,—none of the articles
alleged an offence known to the statute-books or the common law;
and Randolph’s first task was to show that they could be made the
subject of impeachment, that they were high crimes and
misdemeanors in the sense of the Constitution, or that in some
sense they were impeachable. Instead of arguing this point, he
contented himself by declaring the theory of the defence to be
monstrous. His speech touched the articles, one by one, adding little
to their force, but piling one mistake on another in its assertions of
fact and assumptions of law.
Ten days passed in taking evidence before the field was cleared
and the discussion began. Then, Feb. 20, 1805, Early and Campbell
led for the managers in arguments which followed more or less
closely in Randolph’s steps, inferring criminality in the accused from
the manifest tenor of his acts. Campbell ventured to add that he was
not obliged to prove the accused to have committed any crime
known to the law,—it was enough that he had transgressed the line
of official duty with corrupt motives; but this timid incursion into the
field of the Constitution was supported by no attempt at argument. “I
lay it down as a settled rule of decision,” said he, “that when a man
violates a law or commits a manifest breach of his duty, an evil intent
or corrupt motive must be presumed to have actuated his conduct.”
Joseph Hopkinson opened for the defence. Friends and enemies
joined in applauding the vigor of this young man’s attack. The whole
effort of Chase’s counsel was to drive the impeachers within the
limits of law, and compel them to submit to the restrictions of legal
methods. Hopkinson struck into the heart of the question. He
maintained that under the Constitution no judge could be lawfully
impeached or removed from office for any act or offence for which he
could not be indicted; “misdemeanor,” he argued, was a technical
term well understood and defined, which meant the violation of a
public law, and which, when occurring in a legal instrument like the
Constitution, must be given its legal meaning. After stating this
proposition with irresistible force, he dealt with Article I. of the
impeachment, which covered the case of Fries, and shook it to
pieces with skill very unlike the treatment of Early and Campbell.
Barton Key next rose, and dealt with Articles II., III., and IV., covering
part of Callender’s case; he was followed by Charles Lee, who
succeeded in breaking down Randolph’s interpolated Articles V. and
VI. Then Luther Martin appeared on the scene, and the audience felt
that the managers were helpless in his hands.
This extraordinary man—“unprincipled and impudent Federalist
bulldog,” as Jefferson called him—revelled in the pleasure of a fight
with democrats. The bar of Maryland felt a curious mixture of pride
and shame in owning that his genius and vices were equally
remarkable. Rough and coarse in manner and expression, verbose,
often ungrammatical, commonly more or less drunk, passionate,
vituperative, gross, he still had a mastery of legal principles and a
memory that overbalanced his faults, an audacity and humor that
conquered ill-will. In the practice of his profession he had learned to
curb his passions until his ample knowledge had time to give the
utmost weight to his assaults. His argument at Chase’s trial was the
climax of his career; but such an argument cannot be condensed in
a paragraph. Its length and variety defied analysis within the limits of
a page, though its force made other efforts seem unsubstantial.
Martin covered the same ground that his associates had taken
before him, dwelling earnestly on the contention that an impeachable
offence must be also indictable. Harper followed, concluding the
argument for the defence, and seeming to go beyond his associates
in narrowing the field of impeachment; for he argued that it was a
criminal prosecution, which must be founded on some wilful violation
of a known law of the land,—a line of reasoning which could end
only in requiring the violation of an Act of Congress. This theory did
not necessarily clash with that of Martin. No hesitation or
inconsistency was shown on the side of the defence; every resource
of the profession was used with energy and skill.
The managers then put forward their best pleaders; for they had
need of all their strength. Nicholson began by disavowing the idea
that impeachment was a mere inquest of office; this impeachment
was, he said, a criminal prosecution intended not merely to remove,
but to punish, the offender. On the other hand, he maintained that
since judges held their commissions during good behavior, and could
be removed only by impeachment, the Constitution must have
intended that any act of misbehavior should be considered a
misdemeanor. He showed the absurdities which would rise from
construing the Constitution in a legal sense. His argument, though
vigorous and earnest, and offering the advantages of a plausible
compromise between two extreme and impracticable doctrines, yet
evidently strained the language of the Constitution and disregarded
law. As Nicholson himself said, he discarded legal usage: “In my
judgment the Constitution of the United States ought to be
expounded upon its own principles, and foreign aid ought never to
be called in. Our Constitution was fashioned after none other in the
known world; and if we understand the language in which it is
written, we require no assistance in giving it a true exposition.” He
wanted a construction “purely and entirely American.” In the mouth
of a strict constructionist this substitution of the will of Congress for
the settled rules of law had as strange a sound as Luther Martin
could have wished, and offered another example of the instinct, so
striking in the Louisiana debate, which not even Nicholson,
Randolph, or Jefferson himself could always resist.
Rodney, the same day, followed Nicholson; and as though not
satisfied with his colleague’s theory, did what Nicholson, in the name
of all the managers, had a few hours before expressly disclaimed,—
he adopted and pressed Giles’s theory of impeachment with all the
precision of language he could command. Nicholson seemed
content to assume impeachment as limited to “treason, bribery, or
other high crimes and misdemeanors;” but in his view misbehavior
might be construed as a misdemeanor in a “purely and entirely
American” sense. Rodney was not satisfied with this argument, and
insisted that the Constitution imposed no limit on impeachment.
“Is there a word in the whole sentence,” he asked, “which
expresses an idea, or from which any fair inference can be drawn, that
no person shall be impeached but for ‘treason, bribery, or other high
crimes and misdemeanors?’... From the most cursory and transient
view of this passage I submit with due deference that it must appear
very manifest that there are other cases than those here specified for
which an impeachment will lie and is the proper remedy.”
The judges held their offices during good behavior; the instant a
judge should behave ill his office became forfeited. To ascertain the
fact “officially, or rather judicially,” impeachment was provided; the
authority of the Senate was therefore coextensive with the complaint.
Rodney stated this principle broadly, but did not rest upon it; on
the contrary, he accepted the respondent’s challenge, and undertook
to show that Chase had been guilty of crimes and misdemeanors in
the technical sense of the term. Probably he was wise in choosing
this alternative; for no one could doubt that his constitutional doctrine
was one into which Chase’s counsel were sedulously trying to drive
him. If Rodney was right, the Senate was not a court of justice, and
should discard judicial forms. Giles had seen this consequence of
the argument, and had acted upon it, until beaten by its inevitable
inconsistencies; at least sixteen senators were willing to accept the
principle, and to make of impeachment an “official, or rather judicial,”
inquest of office. Judge Chase’s counsel knew also that some half-
dozen Republican senators feared to allow a partisan majority in the
Senate to decide, after the fact, that such or such a judicial opinion
had forfeited the judge’s seat on the bench. This practice could end
only in making the Senate, like the House of Lords, a court of last
appeal. Giles threatened to impeach Marshall and the whole
Supreme Court on Rodney’s theory; and such a threat was as
alarming to Dr. Mitchill of New York, or Senator Bradley of Vermont,
as it was to Pickering and Tracy.
When Rodney finished, the theory of impeachment was more
perplexed than ever, and but one chance remained to clear it. All the
respondent’s counsel had spoken in their turn; all the managers had
expounded their theories: John Randolph was to close. Randolph
was an invalid, overwhelmed by work and excitement, nervous,
irritable, and not to be controlled. When he appeared in the box, Feb.
27, 1805, he was unprepared; and as he spoke, he not only made
his usual long pauses for recollection, but continually complained of
having lost his notes, of his weakness, want of ability, and physical
as well as moral incompetence. Such expressions in the mouths of
other men might have passed for rhetoric; but Randolph’s speech
showed that he meant all he said. He too undertook to answer the
argument of Luther Martin, Harper, and Hopkinson on the nature of
impeachment; but he answered without understanding it,—calling it
“almost too absurd for argument,” “a monstrous pretension,” “a
miserable quibble,” but advancing no theory of his own, and
supporting neither Campbell’s, Nicholson’s, nor Rodney’s opinion.
After a number of arguments which were in no sense answers, he
said he would no longer worry the good sense of the Court by
combating such a claim,—a claim which the best lawyers in America
affirmed to be sound, and the two ablest of the managers had
exhausted themselves in refuting.
Randolph’s closing speech was overcharged with vituperation
and with misstatements of fact and law, but was chiefly remarkable
on account of the strange and almost irrational behavior of the
speaker. Randolph’s tall, thin figure, his penetrating eyes and shrill
voice, were familiar to the society of Washington, and his violence of
manner in the House only a short time before, in denouncing
Granger and the Yazoo men, had prepared his audience for some
eccentric outburst; but no one expected to see him, “with much
distortion of face and contortion of body, tears, groans, and sobs,”
break down in the middle of his self-appointed task, and congratulate
the Senate that this was “the last day of my sufferings and of
yours.”[143]
The next day the Senate debated the form of its final judgment.
[144] Bayard moved that the question should be put: “Is Samuel
Chase guilty or not guilty of a high crime or misdemeanor as charged
in the article just read?” The point was vital; for if this form should be
adopted, the Senate returned to the ground it had deserted in the
case of Judge Pickering, and every senator would be obliged to
assert that Chase’s acts were crimes. At this crisis Giles abandoned
the extreme impeachers. He made a speech repeating his old
argument, and insisting that the House might impeach and the
Senate convict not only for other than indictable offences, but for
other than high crimes and misdemeanors; yet since in the present
case the charges were avowedly for high crimes and misdemeanors,
he was willing to take the question as Bayard proposed it, protesting
meanwhile against its establishment as a precedent. Bayard’s
Resolution was adopted March 1, a few moments before the hour of
half-past twelve, which had been appointed for pronouncing
judgment.
The Senate chamber was crowded with spectators when Vice-
President Burr took the chair and directed the secretary to read the
first article of impeachment. Every member of the Senate answered
to his name. Tracy of Connecticut, prostrated by recent illness, was
brought on a couch and supported to his seat, where his pale face
added to the serious effect of the scene. The first article, which
concerned the trial of Fries, was that on which Randolph had
founded the impeachment, and on which the managers had thrown
perhaps the greatest weight. As the roll was called, Senator Bradley
of Vermont, first of the Republican members, startled the audience
by saying “Not Guilty.” Gaillard of South Carolina, and, to the
astonishment of every one, Giles, the most ardent of impeachers,
repeated the same verdict. These three defections decided the
result; but they were only the beginning. Jackson of Georgia, another
hot impeacher, came next; then Dr. Mitchill, Samuel Smith of
Maryland, and in quick succession all the three Smiths of New York,
Ohio, and Vermont. A majority of the Senate declared against the
article, and the overthrow of the impeachers was beyond expectation
complete.
On the second article the acquittal was still more emphatic; but
on the third the impeachers rallied,—Giles, Jackson, and Samuel
Smith returned to their party, and for the first time a majority
appeared for conviction. Yet even with this support, the impeachers
were far from obtaining the required twenty-three votes; the five
recalcitrant Northern democrats stood firm; Gaillard was not to be
moved, and Stone of North Carolina joined him:—the impeachers
could muster but eighteen votes. They did no better on the fourth
article. On the fifth,—Randolph’s interpolated charge, which alleged
no evil intent,—every member of the Senate voted “Not Guilty;” on
the sixth, which was little more than a repetition of the fifth, only four
senators could be found to condemn, and on the seventh, only ten.
One chance of conviction remained, the eighth article, which covered
the judge’s charge to the grand jury at Baltimore in 1803. There lay
the true cause of impeachment; yet this charge had been least
pressed and least defended. The impeachers brought out their whole
strength in its support; Giles, Jackson, Samuel Smith, and Stone
united in pronouncing the judge guilty: but the five Northern
democrats and Gaillard held out to the last, and the managers saw
themselves deserted by nearly one fourth of the Republican
senators. Nineteen voices were the utmost that could be induced to
sustain impeachment.
 The sensation was naturally intense; and yet the overwhelming
nature of the defeat would have warranted an excitement still
greater. No one understood better the meaning of Chase’s acquittal
than John Randolph, whose authority it overthrew. His anger showed
itself in an act which at first alarmed and then amused his enemies.
Hurrying from the Senate chamber to the House, he offered a
Resolution for submitting to the States an amendment to the
Constitution: “The judges of the Supreme and all other courts of the
United States shall be removed by the President on the joint address
of both Houses of Congress.” His friend Nicholson, as though still
angrier than Randolph, moved another amendment,—that the
legislature of any State might, whenever it thought proper, recall a
senator and vacate his seat. These resolutions were by a party vote
referred to the next Congress.
Randolph threatened in vain; the rod was no longer in his hands.
His overthrow before the Senate was the smallest of his failures. The
Northern democrats talked of him with disgust; and Senator Cocke of
Tennessee, who had voted “Guilty” on every article of impeachment
except the fifth, told his Federalist colleagues in the Senate that
Randolph’s vanity, ambition, insolence, and dishonesty, not only in
the impeachment but in other matters, were such as to make the
acquittal no subject for regret.[145] Madison did not attempt to hide
his amusement at Randolph’s defeat. Jefferson held himself
studiously aloof. To Jefferson and men of his class Randolph seems
to have alluded, in a letter written a few weeks later, as “whimsicals,”
who “advocated the leading measures of their party until they were
nearly ripe for execution, when they hung back, condemned the step
after it was taken, and on most occasions affected a glorious
neutrality.”[146] Even Giles turned hostile. He not only yielded to the
enemies of Randolph in regard to the form of vote to be taken on the
impeachment, and fairly joined them in the vote on the first article,
but he also aided in offering Randolph a rebuke on another point
connected with the impeachment.
In the middle of the trial, February 15, Randolph reported to the
House, and the House quickly passed, a Bill appropriating five
thousand dollars for the payment of the witnesses summoned by the
managers. When this Bill came before the Senate, Bayard moved to
amend it by extending its provisions to the witnesses summoned by
Judge Chase. The point was delicate; for if the Senate was a court,
and impeachment a criminal procedure, this court should follow the
rules that guided other judicial bodies; and every one knew that no
court in America or in Christendom obliged the State, as a
prosecutor, to pay the witnesses of the accused. After the acquittal,
such a rule was either equivalent to telling the House that its charges
against Chase were frivolous and should never have been
presented, or it suggested that the trial had been an official inquiry
into the conduct of an officer, and not a criminal procedure at law.
The Republicans might properly reject the first assumption, the
Federalists ought to resist the second; yet when Bayard’s
amendment came to a vote, it was unanimously adopted.[147] The
House disagreed; the Senate insisted, and Giles led the Senate,
affirming that he had drawn the form of summons, and that this form
made no distinction between the witnesses for one party and the
other. The argument was not decisive, for the court records showed
at once by whom each witness was called; but Giles’s reasoning
satisfied the Senate, and led to his appointment, March 3, with
Bradley, an enemy of impeachment, as conferrees to meet
Randolph, Nicholson, and Early on the part of the House. They
disagreed; and Randolph, with his friends, felt that Giles and the
Senate had inflicted on them a grievous insult. The Report of the
conference committee was received by the House at about seven
o’clock on the evening of March 3, when the Eighth Congress was
drawing its last breath. Randolph, who reported the disagreement,
moved that the House adhere; and having thus destroyed the Bill, he
next moved that the Clerk of the House should be directed to pay the
witnesses, or any other expense certified by the managers, from the
contingent fund. He would have carried his point, although it violated
every financial profession of the Republican party, but that the House
was thin, and the Federalists, by refusing to vote, prevented a
quorum. At half-past nine o’clock on Sunday night, the 3d of March,
1805, the Eighth Congress came to an end in a scene of total
confusion and factiousness.
 The failure of Chase’s impeachment was a blow to the
Republican party from which it never wholly recovered. Chief-Justice
Marshall at length was safe; he might henceforward at his leisure fix
the principles of Constitutional law. Jefferson resigned himself for the
moment to Randolph’s overthrow; but the momentary consolations
passed away, and a life-long disappointment remained. Fifteen years
later his regret was strongly expressed:—
“The Judiciary of the United States,” mourned the old ex-President,
[148] “is the subtle corps of sappers and miners constantly working
underground to undermine the foundations of our confederated fabric.
They are construing our Constitution from a co-ordination of a general
and special government to a general and supreme one alone....
Having found from experience that impeachment is an impracticable
thing, a mere scarecrow, they consider themselves secure for life;
they skulk from responsibility; ... an opinion is huddled up in conclave,
perhaps by a majority of one, delivered as if unanimous, and with the
silent acquiescence of lazy or timid associates, by a crafty chief-judge
who sophisticates the law to his mind by the turn of his own
reasoning.”
The acquittal of Chase proved that impeachment was a
scarecrow; but its effect on impeachment as a principle of law was
less evident. No point was decided. The theory of Giles, Randolph,
and Rodney was still intact, for it was not avowedly applied to the
case. The theory of Judge Chase’s counsel—that an impeachable
offence must be also indictable, or even a violation of some known
statute of the United States—was overthrown neither by the
argument nor by the judgment. So far as Constitutional law was
concerned, President Jefferson himself might still be impeached,
according to the dictum of Madison, for the arbitrary removal of a
useful tide-waiter, and Chief-Justice Marshall might be driven from
the bench, as Giles wished, for declaring the Constitution to be
above the authority of a statute; but although the acquittal of Chase
decided no point of law except his innocence of high crimes or
misdemeanors, as charged in the indictment, it proved impeachment
to be “an impracticable thing” for partisan purposes, and it decided
the permanence of those lines of Constitutional development which
were a reflection of the common law. Henceforward the legal
profession had its own way in expounding the principles and
expanding the powers of the central government through the
Judiciary.
 CHAPTER XI.
The Louisiana treaty, signed in May, 1803, was followed by two
years of diplomatic activity. The necessary secrecy of diplomacy
gave to every President the power to involve the country without its
knowledge in dangers which could not be afterward escaped, and
the Republican party neither invented nor suggested means by
which this old evil of irresponsible politics could be cured; but of all
Presidents, none used these arbitrary powers with more freedom
and secrecy than Jefferson. His ideas of Presidential authority in
foreign affairs were little short of royal. He loved the sense of power
and the freedom from oversight which diplomacy gave, and thought
with reason that as his knowledge of Europe was greater than that of
other Americans, so he should be left to carry out his policy
undisturbed.
Jefferson’s overmastering passion was to obtain West Florida. To
this end two paths seemed open. If he chose to conciliate, Yrujo was
still ready to aid; and Spain stood in such danger between England
and France that Godoy could not afford to throw the United States
into the hands of either. If Jefferson wished the friendship of Spain,
he had every reason to feel sure that the Prince of Peace would act
in the same spirit in which he had negotiated the treaty of 1795 and
restored the right of deposit in 1802. In this case Florida must be let
alone until Spain should be willing to cede, or the United States be
ready for war.
On the other hand, the President might alienate Spain and grasp
at Florida. Livingston and Monroe warmly urged this policy, and were
in fact its authors. Livingston’s advice would by itself have had no
great weight with Jefferson or Madison, but they believed strongly in
Monroe; and when he made Livingston’s idea his own, he gave it
weight. Monroe had been sent abroad to buy Florida; he had bought
Louisiana. From the Potomac to the Mississippi, every Southern man
expected and required that by peace or war Florida should be
annexed to the Union; and the annexation of Louisiana made that of
Florida seem easy. Neither Monroe, Madison, nor Jefferson could
resist the impulse to seize it.
Livingston’s plan has been described. He did not assert that
Spain had intended to retrocede Florida to France, or that France
had claimed it as included in the retrocession. He knew the contrary;
and tried in vain to find some one willing to say that the country to
the Perdido ought to be included in the purchase. He made much of
Marbois’s cautious encouragement and Talleyrand’s transparent
manœuvres; but he was forced at last to maintain that Spain had
retroceded West Florida to France without knowing it, that France
had sold it to the United States without suspecting it, that the United
States had bought it without paying for it, and that neither France nor
Spain, although the original contracting parties, were competent to
decide the meaning of their own contract. Believing that Bonaparte
was pledged to support the United States in their effort to obtain
West Florida, Livingston was anxious only to push Spain to the
utmost. Talleyrand allowed him to indulge in these dreams. “I have
obtained from him,” wrote Livingston to Madison,[149] “a positive
promise that this government shall aid any negotiation that shall be
set on foot” for the purchase of East Florida; while as for Florida west
of the Perdido, “the moment is so favorable for taking possession of
that country, that I hope it has not been neglected, even though a
little force should be necessary to effect it. Your minister must find
the means to justify it.”
When the letters written by Livingston and Monroe in May, 1803,
reached Washington, they were carefully studied by the President,
fully understood, and a policy quickly settled. When Jefferson wrote
to Senator Breckenridge his ideas on the unconstitutionality of the
purchase, he spoke with equal clearness on the course he meant to
pursue toward Spain in order to obtain Florida:[150]—
“We have some claims to extend on the sea-coast westwardly to
the Rio Norte or Bravo, and, better, to go eastwardly to the Rio
Perdido, between Mobile and Pensacola, the ancient boundary of
Louisiana. These claims will be a subject of negotiation with Spain;
and if as soon as she is at war we push them strongly with one hand,
 holding out a price with the other, we shall certainly obtain the
Floridas, and all in good time.”
This was not Livingston’s plan, but something quite distinct from
it. Livingston and Monroe wanted the President to seize West
Florida, and negotiate for East Florida. Jefferson preferred to
negotiate for West Florida and to leave East Florida alone for the
time.
Madison had already instructed[151] the minister at Madrid that
the Floridas were not included in the treaty, “being, it appears, still
held by Spain,” and that the negotiation for their purchase would be
conducted by Monroe at Madrid. Instructions of the same date were
instantly sent to Monroe,[152] urging him to pursue the negotiation for
Florida, although owing to the large drain made on the Treasury, and
to the “manifest course of events,” the government was not disposed
to make sacrifices for the sake of obtaining that country. “Your
inquiries may also be directed,” wrote Madison, “to the question
whether any, and how much, of what passes for West Florida be
fairly included in the territory ceded to us by France.”
The idea that West Florida could be claimed as a part of the
Louisiana purchase was a turning-point in the second Administration
of Jefferson. Originating in Minister Livingston’s mind, it passed from
him to Monroe; and in a few weeks the President declared the claim
substantial.[153] As the summer of 1803 closed, Jefferson’s plan
became clear. He meant to push this claim, in connection with other
claims, and to wait the moment when Spain should be dragged into
the war between France and England.
These other claims were of various degrees of merit, and
involved France as well as Spain. During the quasi war between the
United States and France, before Jefferson came into power,
American commerce in Spanish waters suffered severely from two
causes. The first consisted in captures made by Spanish cruisers,
and condemnations decided in Spanish courts; the second was due
to captures made by French cruisers, and condemned by French
consuls in Spanish ports, or by courts of appeal in France, without
regard to the rights or dignity of Spain. With much trouble, in August,
1802, at the time when Europe and America were waiting for the end
of Leclerc’s struggle with the negroes and fevers of St. Domingo,
Pinckney succeeded in persuading the Prince of Peace to let the
claims for Spanish depredations go before a commission for
settlement; but Godoy obstinately refused to recognize the claims for
French depredations, taking the ground that Spain was in no way
responsible for them, had never in any way profited by them, and
had no power at the time they occurred to prevent them; that France,
and France alone, had committed the offence, and should pay for it.
Pinckney resisted this reasoning as energetically as possible; but
when Cevallos offered to sign a convention covering the Spanish
depredations, and reserving the Franco-Spanish claims for future
discussion, Pinckney properly decided to accept an offer which
secured for his fellow-citizens five or ten millions of money, and
which left the other claim still open.[154] The convention of Aug. 11,
1802, was sent to the Senate Jan. 11, 1803, in the excitement that
followed Morales’s withdrawal of the entrepôt at New Orleans. The
Senate deferred action until the last moment of the session; and
then, March 3, 1803, after Nicholson and Randolph had appeared at
the bar to impeach Judge Pickering, Pinckney’s claims convention
was taken up, and the nine Federalists were allowed to defeat it by
the absence of Republican senators. The majority reconsidered the
vote and postponed the whole subject till the next session. Thus,
owing to the action of Federalist senators, when Jefferson in the
following summer, after buying Louisiana, looked about for the
means of buying Florida, he found these classes of claims,
aggregating as he supposed between five and ten million dollars,
ready to his hand. Monroe was promptly ordered to insist upon
treating both classes alike, and setting both of them against the
proposed purchase of Florida. “On the subject of these claims you
will hold a strong language,” said Madison.[155]
A third class of claims could be made useful for the same
purpose. Damages had been sustained by individuals in the violation
of their right of deposit at New Orleans in the autumn of 1802.
“A distinction, however, is to be made,” wrote Madison, “between
the positive and specific damages sustained by individuals and the