by Jane Steen
“Well, I hope they’re watching as I bring you back. I’ll show them what this cutter can do. Hoy, get on!” He flicked the whip, and the horse almost jumped forward.
It was too fast, but at least the seminary was coming closer again. I began to relax, allowing my body to follow the movements of Judah’s, making small shifts in my position as we rocked over hidden grasses and slight dips and rises in the prairie. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all.
The sleigh lurched violently to the left. I wasn’t sure how I got there, but the next moment I felt myself skidding along in icy powder, the dried grasses over which the snow had settled tearing at my face. I must have opened my mouth in astonishment and the cold snow filled it, momentarily choking me. I was blind and deaf, and the whole world appeared to be attacking me. Something hard struck my right hip a glancing blow, and I flung my arms over my head, feeling an onrushing force sweep past me.
And then I could hear and see again. I had rolled onto my back, and my first thought was how blue the sky was.
“Nell!”
The voice seemed so far off. Was it Martin? Was I hurt? My next coherent thought was for Sarah, and a chill that had nothing to do with the snow went through me. I coughed and spluttered, trying desperately to lever myself up out of the slippery mess of grass and icy snow. Had Sarah been with me?
“Sarah!” My attempt to scream ended in a cough, and I choked, feeling my insides heave as I fought for breath. Where was Sarah?
I couldn’t see the horizon, I realized. I couldn’t see anything—no buildings, no people, just snow, grass, and sky. For a heart-stopping moment, I believed myself all alone, lost in a frozen wilderness.
And then there was a flurry of powder beside me, and Judah was there.
“Where’s Sarah?”
He looked puzzled, and I shouted my question again. Why didn’t he understand?
“Sarah? She’s back at the seminary, I suppose.”
“No . . . no.” My vision was filled with the sight of my daughter sailing through the air. “He threw her . . .”
I scrambled to my feet, my shoulder sending pain through my chest, my hip a dull ache. Suddenly, the world righted itself, and I realized I was standing in a hollow about three feet deep, with the white plains stretching beyond. I whirled round and then regretted the action as the world kept on whirling. I dropped to my knees and swallowed the bile that had suddenly filled my mouth.
“Nell. Nell.” Judah knelt beside me, gently putting his hands under my armpits and pushing me upright. I yelled in pain, and he slackened off the pressure, but by then I was righting myself of my own accord.
“Nell, your daughter isn’t here. I promise. You left her back at the seminary with Miss O’Dugan, don’t you remember? We went out on a sleigh ride.”
I turned and grasped the nearest object, which turned out to be Judah Poulton. The world came back into focus, and now I saw the seminary, its sandstone facade reflecting yellow light onto the snow beneath. Much closer to us, the sleigh stood at rest, the horse with its head lowered to the snow, seeking for grass.
I shucked off one mitten and drew my shaking hand over my mouth, tasting bile and coffee. My stomach cramped, but I took deep breaths, willing the world to remain steady. Pushing myself away from Judah, I scooped up a handful of clean snow, squeezing it into a ball I could nibble on for its fresh taste. Judah watched me with an expression more of alert attention than concern.
“Where are you hurt? Can you walk?”
I essayed two or three steps, motioning for Judah to come round on my right side so that I could grasp his arm with my good hand. Yes, I could walk. I stopped for a moment and put a hand gingerly to my hip, feeling for the ache. I located it on the salient part of my hip bone.
“Just a bruise here.” I tried to lift my left arm up a little and winced. “My shoulder hurts.” I felt it with my right hand, encountering a large, tender area that throbbed under my fingers.
“Can you bend your wrist and elbow?” Judah pulled off my left mitten and watched as I went through both of those motions. I discovered I could raise my arm up farther than before without anything more than a little discomfort. By now I was shivering with cold, my hands a raw red.
Judah moved close to me and, shedding his own gloves, enfolded both of my hands in his. My long, strong fingers were not so much enveloped by his own as mostly covered, but his warm flesh was a comfort. He gathered me to him and I went, pressing my face into his shoulder to get it out of the wind and for the comfort of the wool of his clothing against my sore skin.
We stayed like that for several minutes, and gradually I felt my shivering cease.
“We hit the edge of the hollow,” Judah said into my hair. “With the back runner. The light was just right so that I didn’t see it. You bounced out like an india rubber ball, and the runner nearly hit you. I thought for a moment the sleigh would fall on top of you.”
“I think the runner did hit me,” I said, massaging my hip as best I could while still enclosed in the circle of Judah’s arms. “Thank heaven you didn’t fall out too.”
“We would have tipped over for sure,” Judah agreed. “I took the logical course of action and threw myself over to the right. I gave the horse a sharp crack of the whip, and it jumped like a cricket; that pulled the sleigh clear.” He delivered this economical and dispassionate account in an unemotional monotone and then took a step back.
“Are you warm? If you can walk now, we should return. I’m sure our accident has not escaped the attention of everyone in the seminary.”
Sure enough, I could see several young men running in our direction. The sun shone off a blond head in the van of the group, and I thought I recognized Reiner’s easy lope, fast despite the snow. I steeled myself against the aches in my body and took a few steps forward and then, walking more easily, a few more steps at a faster pace. By the time the students reached us—Reiner indeed at the front—we had reached the sleigh, which I regarded with fear. I wanted to get on it even less now.
“Nell—Mrs. Lillington—are you badly hurt?” Reiner was bareheaded and dressed in his indoor clothing, as were the other students. They were all flushed by the run and looked like a pack of healthy young puppies. His question prompted a chorus of remarks: “You flew through the air like an owl, honest to Pete!” “What a sight!” “Mr. Poulton’s a better driver than any coachman I ever saw, and that’s the truth.”
Three of the students ran to the horse to check its condition. It was pawing at the buried grass in a determined fashion, so I had no worries on its score. One boy made a show of inspecting the sleigh, scrutinizing runners and gear as if he were about to charge for repairs.
“Hey!” A lanky, dark-haired boy called over to us, his voice switching registers alarmingly from gruff to squeaky as he spoke. “There’s a cut in this nag’s flank a half inch deep. I saw you give him a whack, Mr. Poulton; looks like you overdid it.”
“We were in danger of going over.” Judah’s voice was dispassionate. “The brute would have been in much worse case if the sleigh had toppled and dragged it down too.”
There was a chorus of assent to this remark, but the tall boy looked at Judah with a doubtful air. The wind had picked up, and I began to shiver.
“We need to get back,” said Reiner. “I’ll help Mrs. Lillington back into the sleigh.”
“I’d rather walk.” The seminary was about a quarter of a mile distant, and the idea of riding turned my stomach. “It’ll ease my hip if I walk a spell.” My head had begun to pound, slow and heavy, like the beats of a distant drum.
Reiner, with a glance at Judah, took my arm, and I leaned on it, finding his solidity comforting. He did not seem to mind the cold at all. I could feel warmth radiating from his young body, his step firm and regular as he matched his pace to my slower one.
Judah nodded and pulled himself up into the sleigh in one smooth movement. One of the boys handed him the whip, which was lying in the snow, and without a word, he cracked
it high in the air, well above the horse. The animal moved off without any apparent sign of discomfort, the sleigh running light over the snow, the rest of us trudging behind.
“I’d swear he hit the horse after the sleigh righted,” the tall boy said.
“What if he did?” asked a tubby, greasy boy who was kicking his legs through the snow with great enjoyment, his hands in his pockets. “He was probably frightened out of his wits.”
“Not him.” The other lad pulled his jacket—I had made it for him back in May—around him as tight as he could. With a strangely detached business part of my mind, I noted he already needed another one with longer sleeves. His protuberant ears glowed crimson in the cold. “Never seen a cooler customer ‘cept when I watched the cattle drive. You saw the way the sleigh tipped; it was going over for sure. Don’t think one man in ten could’ve done what he did.”
His tone of reverent admiration made the other boys laugh. A certain amount of good-natured teasing accompanied their brisk walk back in the direction of the seminary, not to mention the occasional snowball. Reiner and I walked more slowly to accommodate my injured hip.
“You gave me quite a scare.” Reiner pitched his voice low so he wasn't heard by the others.
“Oh, you weren’t nearly as scared as I was. I didn’t like the sleigh even before I flew out of it.”
“Then why did you go out in it?”
I shrugged and then winced as my left shoulder reminded me of its injury. “Mr. Poulton insisted.”
Reiner narrowed his eyes at me. “And what Mr. Poulton says is law? Did you like it when he embraced you in full view of the seminary? We all saw it,” he added needlessly, his grip on my arm tightening.
I sighed. “It wasn’t an embrace. He was warming me up.”
“Sure looked like spooning to me.”
I looked sideways at Reiner, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. A flush had appeared on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, and his pleasant homely face was twisted in derision.
“Reiner,” I said gently, “there’s nothing at all romantic about being thrown out of a sleigh into the snow, believe me. Judah Poulton isn’t courting me, and I’m not encouraging him to do so. I’m not encouraging anyone to court me,” I finished with emphasis. “Please don’t say things like that.”
“Shucks, I’m sorry.” Reiner recovered from his bad temper with the easy grace of a child and looked abashed over his outburst. I said nothing but held tight to his arm as we completed the walk to the seminary in silence.
11
Fisticuffs
March 28, 1873
Dear Nellie,
Has anyone congratulated you on surviving your first year at the Eternal Life Seminary? Sleigh rides notwithstanding. Still, I suppose after six weeks your shoulder is quite healed and I can stop worrying about you. I do, you know—I wish I could afford the time to come out and see my little friend.
Thank you for your sympathy on the passing of the peerless Tabitha Stone. Of course she hadn’t been my housekeeper for a while. Despite her objections, I managed to persuade her to accept an honorable pension in the end. I visited her often and will miss her motherly affection and her dear old face, beautiful in its wrinkled softness and its halo of pure white hair.
I had the great pleasure of seeing your former housekeeper, Bet, at Tabby’s visitation. I will whisper to you that she’s stouter than ever but say out loud that she’s in excellent health and delights in your letters with the stories about Sarah. I was also of some help to her after the funeral, moving her money out of the railroads into safer waters. Yes, I’m still worried about the railroads—there’s far too much speculation.
Hearty congratulations on gaining more dressmaking clients. The ladies of Springwood are clearly thrilled that such a talented young lady has come among them. I’m impressed by your accounting and the money you’ve been sending to me adds well to your capital. The enclosed will show you just how much. Between your business acumen and my access to the markets, you’re building a nice little nest egg that could one day represent the price of your very own house. You may be right about not needing a husband.
I object to your assumption that I never stop working—I do indeed. I spend a sufficient number of evenings in good society, some of it charming. I have purchased a new horse for riding in town, a splendid dappled gray called Gentleman. What’s more, I’ve received a few invitations to hunt and fish at the country homes of some of the merchants. I have been told—by some—that my former air of a provincial draper has quite disappeared. I’m mortified to think I might have seemed provincial.
In the midst of my busy life, I often think of you, nestled in the peaceful prairie with Sarah and Tess. How quiet and calm your life must be.
Yours in haste,
Martin
The hubbub of student voices was so loud I couldn’t make out what any one individual was saying. I could barely squeeze into the hallway for the press of bodies; the whole school appeared to be there. What on earth had happened while Tess and I had been in Springwood?
Fearing another death on the stairs or—the thought washed over me like a cold shower—some accident that involved Sarah, I pushed as hard as I could at the boys in front of me. Not realizing who I was, they naturally pushed back. The general mood, I realized, was not that of tragedy but a feral excitement, diffuse and restless in nature. The pungent smell of a crowd of young men—sweat, dust, and the cheerful willingness to regard the impossibility of daily baths as an excuse to wash as little as possible—almost overwhelmed the scents of fresh bread, salt pork, and baked beans.
“What’s going on?” I shouted into the ear of the nearest student, tugging hard at his arm to get his attention. “Is anyone hurt?”
“A fight,” he proclaimed in awestruck tones. “A magnificent fight—didn’t ya see it? It was bully.” Seeming to realize of a sudden that I was not male, he straightened up and assumed a more respectful expression, then relaxed. “Oh,” he said, “aren’t you the seamstress?”
I narrowed my eyes and gave my best imitation of Mama when a tradesman, seeing a small, dainty widow, was less than prompt to give good service. “Young man,” I poked him in the side, “where are your manners? Let me through at once.” He was only about three years younger than me, but no matter.
The knot of pushing, shoving, male humanity parted like the Red Sea, and I barged through, not without a smug smile to myself. Perhaps I was becoming more forceful with age, I thought. But the smile dissipated like autumn mist as I regarded the scene that presented itself.
Blood spattered the black-and-white marble of the hallway. Judah Poulton sat at the bottom of the stairs, his lip split and puffy, his eyes almost black with rage. A small group of students were helping someone else to his feet; he moved with difficulty, as if his ribs hurt him.
It was Reiner. He had come off worse, even though he was taller and broader—not to mention younger—than the teacher. A gush of blood streamed from his nose and mouth, staining his shirt front and darkening the wool of his jacket. His nose was already swelling, and a cut above one eye gaped scarlet.
The Calderwoods stood in silence by the chapel door. Dr. Calderwood had a hangdog expression, but Mrs. Calderwood was in the throes of an anger so acute that she trembled up to the tip of her piled-up hair. Seeing Reiner on his feet, she took four steps forward, jabbing a small finger toward him and then toward herself. Seeing him interpret the gesture correctly and move forward, she gave a similar indication to Judah. He complied at a slower pace, carefully avoiding the gouts of blood.
Mrs. Calderwood tipped her head back, fixing the two men with a beady stare. She said nothing for at least three minutes, vibrating like a kettle building up a head of steam. Judah and Reiner pointedly looked everywhere but at each other.
When Mrs. Calderwood found speech, it expressed itself in the single word, “Disgraceful!” The boys, who had all gone silent as soon as she stepped forward, acknowledged the word with flic
ks of their eyes at each other but kept still.
Mrs. Calderwood vibrated again. “Disgraceful!” She glared at Reiner, who was smearing the blood sideways onto his face in an attempt to clear his nasal passages. “To—attack—a—teacher.”
The words came out through clenched teeth, as though she was loath to bring them into contact with her lips. “And Mr. Poulton,” her eyes took on a shade of incomprehension, “to hit a student? Harder, apparently, than he hit you?”
Reiner had gone a dull red color, a nasty contrast with the blood. Judah, if possible, went even paler, but he spoke first. “We had a disagreement. We—we should have settled it outside.”
“And what, pray, was the subject of this disagreement?” Mrs. Calderwood’s nose wrinkled as if it had encountered a bad smell. Behind her, Dr. Calderwood stood helplessly, his huge hands dangling at his sides. He had a look on his face of a Great Dane who was sure it was about to get a scolding but wasn’t at all certain why.
Judah, meanwhile, stared at Reiner with a look of intense dislike and something a little like triumph. Reiner looked at his shoes, and it was Judah who spoke.
“A private matter.” His tone was even, reasonable, and he seemed to have recovered his composure. He gazed straight ahead, not avoiding Mrs. Calderwood’s eyes but not exactly looking at them either.
I decided it was time to ask the logical question. “Who struck the first blow?” My voice sounded high and clear in the echoing space, and I felt a hundred pairs of eyes turn toward me. I could feel—obviously, I could not see—Tess behind me, her distress radiating outward. I was sure this distress was for Reiner; she didn’t like Judah.
The crowd behind me shifted. “Lehmann,” came a cracked, adolescent voice from its midst.
“He threw a good ‘un,” agreed another voice.
