Tanner (Bachelors and Babies Book 14)

by St. John, Cheryl

  Raylene glanced ahead. An unfamiliar man and woman waited on the brick walk in front of her house.

  “Missus Cranford?” the man said to her as she approached.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Memphis, and this is Rose. We’re John Jay’s parents.”

  Raylene immediately smiled and reached to shake each person’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you both. John Jay is a fine young man. Would you like to come in for a glass of iced tea?”

  “Oh, no, thank you, ma’am,” Memphis said. “We don’t wanna be a bother. We just hoped for a minute of your time.”

  His wife gave Raylene a broad smile. “Our son told us you’d be willin’ to teach school at our Willow Creek Baptist church.”

  “Yes.” Raylene nodded. “I suggested it, and John Jay said he would speak to you. Did you think it over?”

  “Our council met and agreed. We’d be honored to have you teach the children. If it’s all right with you, ma’am, the two men who teach would like a meetin’ with you to decide which subjects best suit each teacher. They’re teachin’ basics now, but both men have jobs as well.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan. They could come over any time that’s convenient for them.’

  Memphis spoke up. “If you have time, they’d like to meet at the church this evenin’. If not, somethin’ else can be arranged.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll be there this evening.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Memphis bobbed his head. “We’ll be on our way now.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Elated, Raylene entered the house, donned an apron and checked on the covered roast she’d left in the oven. She couldn’t wait to share her news with the others. She had spoken with Meriday about this, and together they’d agreed it was important for Raylene to offer, and Meriday was happy to do her part by caring for Lillian during the hours she’d be gone.

  John Jay joined them again, and their little group enjoyed a pleasant dinner. Raylene was always happy to set the table with her mama’s china and silver. It reminded her of home and of a carefree life when she’d had hopes and dreams. For a few hours, she was able to forget the past, the present, what had to be done tomorrow, and simply enjoy the food and the company.

  That evening she assured Mr. Bell that Meriday would care for Vivian while he looked after his animals and Raylene was at her meeting. Memphis and Rose were at the Willow Creek Baptist church when she arrived. Several other parents, and the two freedmen who also taught, joined them.

  “I’m sorry, missus,” Henry Davis told her, “but we don’t have cash money to pay our teachers. The families are indeed very generous to share from their gardens or meet any other needs they are able to.”

  “I offered to do this because I want to,” she said emphatically. “I don’t expect anything in return. I can be here two mornings a week if that’s suitable.”

  It took about an hour to agree on which subjects each of them would instruct and which days they would be present. Raylene’s classes would cover reading, writing and spelling. She left with a primer, so she’d be familiar with the lessons.

  Mr. Bell was sitting comfortably on the porch with Vivian lying on his chest when she arrived home. “How was your meeting?”

  “It went well. I’ll be teaching reading and writing two mornings a week.”

  “That’s generous of you, Mrs. Cranford. What you’re doing will make a difference in those children’s futures.”

  She perched on the railing. “I hope so.”

  “I know so. Sometimes having one person who cares makes all the difference. You care and you are intelligent. They will shine.”

  She often had the sense that he considered her frivolous, but his remark revealed honest appreciation for what she was doing. “Thank you.” She glanced aside at the stars visible from their position under the porch roof. “I want to do something important.”

  “Taking care of Lillian is important too. It’s important to me, and it will be important to her and to her development. Running this boarding house is important. Where would Mrs. Hobbs or Miss Cameron or Abraham be if your home wasn’t available? Where would Lillian and I be for that matter?”

  She looked back at him in the near-darkness. He wasn’t what she’d expected from the owner of the livery. He was educated, well-mannered, kind…and he loved that baby. Something about that fact threatened to peel back a couple of her protective layers. “What do you want to do, Mr. Bell?”

  He glanced aside as though considering what to say and then looked at her again. “I’m waiting for the right piece of land to become available. I came back to Colorado planning to start a ranch.”

  That news didn’t really surprise her, but it did make her feel oddly left out. She was nothing to him. She rented him a room and took care of his niece. Why she’d feel deserted if he bought land and moved away couldn’t be justified with coherent thought. He would need a woman to run a ranch beside him, someone to help plant and harvest as he’d mentioned his mother doing…a woman to make jam and have more babies.

  “That sounds nice,” she said.

  Octavia Gaines wouldn’t blow away in a stiff wind. She was ranch wife material. And she was pretty. Very pretty.

  His plans were none of Raylene’s business.

  “I’d better get some rest.” She stood. “Goodnight, Mr. Bell.”

  Chapter Five

  Raylene’s misgivings about her abilities proved unfounded the first morning she showed up to teach. The children had obviously been coached, and each one introduced him or herself. They also thanked her with a little note or cut-out drawing, immediately endearing themselves. She was encouraged by their thoughtfulness, and the morning went well.

  She applied herself to learning their names. John Jay’s younger brothers were stairsteps in age; Polidore, Marcus and Israel looked like their father and were every bit as well-mannered and cheerful. There were only two girls among them, and Raylene planned to speak with families about sending their daughters.

  The building was small and crudely constructed. The sixteen children sat uncomfortably on long flat benches. In order to work on their papers, they were forced to sit on the floor. A pathetic assortment of well-worn readers didn’t supply enough of any one book for the children to read together or work on the same lessons, so she divided them into groups to give consistency to her efforts.

  The two men volunteering had suppled a ledger with notes about each child’s abilities and how they had assessed grade levels. Most, no matter their age, were beginners, learning numbers and the alphabet. Polidore and Marcus were the only ones over nine or ten years old, however. The rest of the older children were apparently working.

  It didn’t take long to learn that everyone’s favorite time—including her own—was when she read aloud to them. She read from a book of short stories by a new author named Mark Twain. The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County and Other Sketches was a collection of short stories previously published in periodicals and newspapers. The first story was the ludicrous telling of a man who liked to gamble on anything, and so he bet forty dollars on a jumping frog, and then cheated at the game. The children enjoyed the story, but she belatedly wondered if she’d hear objections from parents about gambling. Next time she would read them poetry.

  It was a lengthy walk from the church to home, and she stopped in at the mercantile on the way.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cranford,” Della Jenkins called out from behind a counter.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Jenkins. It’s still late morning, but it seems like afternoon.”

  “How are you and that little Lillian getting along?”

  “Just fine. I haven’t been around babies much, but she seems extremely good natured.”

  “And you can thank your lucky stars for that. One of my sons cried from mid-morning to near evenin’ every day of the week until he was six weeks old or so. Cried at night too. I used to be so tired, I’d fall asleep with my
face in my supper. Then he just turned it off, and we didn’t hear him cry nary a whimper after that.”

  “Oh, my goodness.”

  “What can I get for you?”

  “May I look at a catalog with children’s books please?”

  Della pulled a bound publication out from under the cash drawer. “Lillian is a little young for reading, isn’t she?”

  “I need a few books to read to school students. But I’ll likely read to her as well.”

  “Oh, are you helping Mr. Holden?”

  Della referred to the teacher at the Twin Springs elementary school. “No, I’m teaching children two mornings a week at Willow Creek Baptist Church. Does one of your catalogs have McGuffey readers? I’d like to see how much they cost.”

  “The Negro children?”

  “Yes.” Raylene looked up to gauge the woman’s expression. “The Freedmen’s Bureau doesn’t supply teachers or funds for Northern schools. And it seems our city council takes issue with allowing those children to attend the public school.”

  The woman turned and stacked tins of Golden Treasure Vanishing Cream on a shelf behind her. “I agree, and it’s a shame those youngin’s don’t have certified teachers, but I’m sure you’re capable. It’s going to take time. Folks around here aren’t used to having the Africans alongside like you are.”

  Raylene thought about her words a moment. “Perhaps you’re right. I grew up with them in our home and on our farm.”

  She thumbed through the catalogs Della opened for her. Perhaps she could buy one new reader at a time. She selected three books to order, paid for them and said goodbye. She would look through her uncle’s library. It was possible there were books there she could read to the class.

  For about twenty seconds, she considered making a stop at the livery to see where Mr. Bell worked, but decided he might get the wrong idea, so she hurried home. She’d missed Lillian.

  Somehow Meriday had talked Raylene into packing a basket for the bidding picnic. She still didn’t know how or why she’d relented.

  “You weren’t there to see what happened the last time,” Raylene had complained. “No one bid on my basket. It was mortifying. The poor boy who finally bought my lunch only bid because his mother twisted his ear.”

  Her friend had given her a stern look. “More people know you now.”

  “And still don’t like me. I’m coming directly home after church.”

  “They’re raising money.”

  “If the money was really for a good cause, they’d pay for a certified teacher for Willow Creek.”

  “You can’t fix the whole world in one day, Raylene.”

  At the break of dawn, Meriday had awakened her to say she wanted to prepare their dinner early, so together they fried chicken and made potato salad. When Meriday handed her a basket as she tried to slyly leave for church, Raylene had pushed it back.

  “I have never seen you back down from something difficult.” Meriday looked her in the eye with a direct challenge. “Hold your head up and put your basket on that table with the others. You don’t want those biddies to know they got the best of you, do you?”

  Raylene had glared at her, snatched the basket and huffed her indignation all the way to church, where a stout woman on the fundraising committee took her basket and recorded her name. Mr. Bell arrived a few minutes after, but he always sat with Lillian in one of the rear pews. She couldn’t concentrate on the songs or on Reverend Bailey’s preaching. It was his first sermon as incoming clergyman, and she was angry with herself for her lack of focus.

  After the service, Reverend Bailey’s wife greeted her. “Good morning. I’m Jennie. I haven’t made your acquaintance yet.”

  Surprised to be addressed in such a friendly manner, she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Missus Raylene Cranford.”

  Jennie Bailey’s expression didn’t falter as did most people’s when they heard her distinctive drawl. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Cranford. I hope you’re staying for the basket picnic?” She leaned in closer. “Honestly, I wouldn’t suggest bidding on one of mine. I’m not an accomplished cook. I have threatened my husband to buy all of ours back, so no one else is the unfortunate recipient.”

  Raylene chuckled at the woman’s self-deprecating humor. “I confess I am still learning to cook myself. I require supervision.”

  Jennie linked her arm through Raylene’s. “What’s your specialty so far?”

  Unaccustomed to the friendly touch, she glanced aside to see who might be watching. “I’ve become proficient at frying chicken. Once you know how to heat the skillet, coat and season properly, it’s easy as long as you turn it when it’s perfectly golden. I don’t claim to hold a candle to any of these other women, however, and especially not the ranchers.”

  As they exited the building, Mary Standifer showed interest in their conversation, and Stella Emerson joined her to peer from across the way. Stella lived with her aged father and worked as a seamstress.

  “Your hat is charming, Mrs. Cranford,” Jennie said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one like it.”

  “My mother loved hats,” Raylene replied. “She had them made to match her dresses. This is one of hers.”

  “Well, it looks stunning on you. Is your mother still alive?”

  “No. She passed away about three years ago. I don’t have any family. Only my friend, Meriday.”

  “Oh.” She glanced around. “Is she here this morning?”

  “She attends the Willow Creek Baptists’ Church.”

  Without a flicker of a reaction, she said, “Hopefully I will meet her another day.”

  Her demeanor gave Raylene the courage to suggest, “Perhaps your family would accept an invitation to dinner. Meriday and I operate a boarding house, and currently we have four boarders. Five, if you count the baby, but of course she sleeps through meals. We have plenty of room around the table for three more.”

  “That sounds delightful! You’re the first to open your home to us. That makes me feel very welcome. Thank you.”

  “Sunday after next?” Raylene asked.

  “It sounds perfect. Let’s go see how this basket lunch unfolds. Which one is yours?”

  “Mine has a napkin with an embroidered rooster peeking over the edge. You will see there are identifying ribbons and bandanas and different checks to set each one apart.”

  “I’d better go find my husband and make sure he buys mine. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Raylene nodded and watched her move through the other churchgoers on the wide green lawn. It had been a long time since another woman had treated her in such a respectful manner. Della Jenkins aside—the storekeeper had always been cordial. She stood to the side, knowing better than to approach any of the tables and have her offer of help rebuffed.

  Almira spotted her and approached. “Meriday kindly packed me a basket, so I could participate. She made one for Miss Cameron as well.”

  “She was a busy bee this morning,” Raylene answered. She should have taken her basket home and eaten alone.

  “Attention, ladies, gentlemen and children!” Frank Hazzard, the white-haired church elder called out. “It’s time to commence our auction and picnic. As you know, this year’s baskets will go toward the purchase of new hymnals. So, gather ‘round, and we’ll get started.”

  The idea of new hymnals irked her when the Willow Creek students had only an assortment of cast-off readers with broken bindings. They could purchase many much-needed supplies and a lot of books with the funds raised from this event. Raylene buried her critical thoughts and remembered Meriday’s words. She couldn’t fix the world in one day.

  Claudia Dunaway, a widowed rancher’s wife, raised the first basket, and the bidding began. The first two belonged to the Jenkins’, and were sold after three bids.

  “This one is Claudia Dunaway’s,” Frank called. His announcement brought a chorus of bids and the sale received applause as the buyer came to get it. Raylene would have bid herself if she could
have found her voice.

  Her basket was in line to be the fifth one auctioned. Her mouth got dry, and her heartbeat quickened. If she was ever going to be struck by lightning, this would be the opportune time. She looked up at the clear blue sky. She might not speak to Meriday at all this week.

  “This pretty basket here belongs to Mrs. Raylene Cranford,” Frank announced. “This dinner sure smells good.”

  Seconds felt like hours.

  She dared glance at a few faces in the crowd, spotting Mary Standifer and Stella Emerson together. Mary whispered something near Stella’s ear, then both grinned and looked her way.

  Not even a drop of rain.

  “Two bits!” a male voice called.

  Raylene’s attention shot to the good Reverend Bailey and his pretty wife, looking hopeful.

  “Thirty cents!” another male voice called out.

  Raylene had never seen the young man before. He dressed like the ranchers in dungarees and a pressed white shirt with a neckerchief at his throat. He must have known who she was, because he nodded at her with a flirtatious grin.

  She breathed a huge sigh of relief. Even if she had to share lunch with a total stranger, she wouldn’t be humiliated today.

  “Fifty cents!”

  A murmur ran through the crowd as the bidding got exciting.

  She was certain that had been Mr. Bell’s voice.

  “Sixty!”

  That had been Jennie Bailey. Raylene gave her a big smile.

  “One dollar!”

  Heads turned, and Tanner Bell held a silver coin in the air. “I can keep going.”

  The people around him chuckled at his determination.

  “Goin’ once, goin’ twice for one dollar. Sold!” Frank called.

  Carrying his niece in a lightweight white wrap, Mr. Bell threaded his way forward for his lunch.

  Heads turned as the females sized up Raylene, obviously unhappy with their new competition.

  He made his way to where she stood. “I have my lunch.”