Hortense took a noticeable deep breath.
Grace placed her hand on the doorknob. Heap burning coals. “Do you plan to stay for supper? I will be glad to share my portion.”
“No, I do not.” Curt words seemed to be pushed through clenched teeth.
“Well, then. It was interesting meeting you, Mrs. Beauregard. Your sister is a very kind woman. I’m fortunate to have such a gracious host.”
Edith nodded and smiled, looking sympathetic.
Grace went to her room and yanked the strings to remove her bonnet, then flung it on the bed. The scornful, condescending nature of that woman. The audacity that she found it acceptable to mistreat others. Grace placed her hand on the round knob of the footboard to steady herself. Her heart beat faster as she sat down on the edge of the feather mattress.
What would she do at the end of the school term? Take another teaching position in another town and be pushed farther away from her sisters? Perhaps she could stay with Edith and take in laundry. I could marry. Her fingers tightened around the wooden frame until her knuckles whited. Never. Never would she allow herself to be vulnerable to a weak man like her father or a drunken abuser like her stepfather. Someway, somehow, Grace would find a way to never be dependent upon a man.
7
“Aaaggghh!”
Josiah fell to his knees, his hand pressed firmly to his temple. From behind a shack outside the post office, two boys scattered as if chased by bullets.
Griffin took off like a roadrunner after the two culprits.
Thomas knelt beside Josiah. Teary-eyed, Josiah wouldn’t release his hand from his face.
Jed moved the boy’s fingers. There was a red mark a half an inch from the corner of his eye. Most likely the work of a slingshot. “You all right?”
Josiah nodded through the tears.
“Who were those boys?” Thomas asked.
Jed’s heart pounded. “Not sure.” And since Griffin wasn’t walking back toward the shack, he’d most likely caught up with them. “Ornery kids that don’t have half the sense you both got.”
Josiah picked up the book that had fallen to the ground and tucked it under his arm. “I want to go back home.” A single tear, like melted wax, dripped from his blue eyes. His cheeks had turned slightly pink, and he looked about as heartbroken as a lonesome puppy.
“What would I say to Miss Cantrell?” Jed watched as Josiah sniffled. “She’s expecting you to be in school today.”
Thoughts from Jed’s past connected with the moment. He paused and felt the Holy Spirit guide him. Words, like a rippling brook, flowed out of him. “I was twelve when my parents put me on a stagecoach. I didn’t know anybody in Sheldon and had never been away from our small town, which was about a four- to five-day ride.”
Josiah’s light blond hair shimmered like shafts of wheat in the bright sunlight.
Thomas’s dark eyes were riveted on Jed’s.
“I didn’t go to school after that but worked as an apprentice, making a hundred or more nails a day. And I’d be a liar if I told you I missed being in school. I’d much rather build something with my hands than sit in a desk.” He looked down at them. “But then again, I never had a teacher as polite and caring as Miss Cantrell.”
Jed stood, and the three walked toward the schoolhouse. They rounded the meadow, and the building appeared in the distance. A dainty figure in a blue dress the color of the summer sky moved by the front door. A bell rang, and the children in the play area moved to go inside.
Thomas looked at Josiah, and they both smiled. As if they read each other’s minds, they took off. Books in one hand, tin lunch pails in the other, they scampered to catch up with the others.
Jed continued forward a few more steps, his gaze drawn to the sea of blue. Without a bonnet, her hair, although pinned up, shone like the color of ale when held up to the sun. She didn’t move, but her skirt ruffled in the breeze. Jed removed his hat, pressed it against his chest, and bowed his head slightly.
She raised her right hand to acknowledge him, and even at that distance her smile was bright and joyful. She turned and went inside.
He was thankful she’d saved him from embarrassment. He could’ve stayed there for a good long while forgetting to turn away. Jed fitted his hat back on, then lengthened his stride to the shop. Distracting thoughts of a beautiful woman didn’t tarry for long. He prayed Griffin hadn’t done much damage to either of those two boys.
The doors to his shop had been opened but not propped with the rocks, and rustling filtered from someplace nearby. Jed moved quickly to see what Griffin had done. Thankfully the forge was unlit and no one was around.
“Hold still.” Griffin growled from somewhere.
Jed darted around back.
Paxton Hubbard hung from his suspenders on a hook outside the storage shed. His legs dangled violently as he tried to free himself.
Griffin stood near him, his left hand fisted just inches from the boy’s face.
“Get me down!” Paxton squirmed, his face sweaty and bright red.
“Tell me the name of the other boy.” Griffin pulled his fist back ready to strike.
“Griffin!” Jed placed his hand on his shoulder. “Get him down.”
“Not until he tells us who he was with.” Griffin brought his fist closer to the boy. “And I want the rest of the money for that ladle and skillet.”
Jed grabbed Griffin’s arm but Griffin resisted. Stubborn child. Jed pulled down on Griffin’s arm and easily drew it behind the boy’s back. Blacksmithing gave him unusual strength, a gift he’d rarely been more thankful for.
Griffin stumbled back a step, his body rigid and his eyes angry. “You can’t just let him go.”
“I’m not.” Jed placed his hands around Paxton’s scrawny torso and easily felt the boy’s ribs. He lifted him off the hook and set him down. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Paxton’s feet touched the ground, and he started to bolt, but Jed caught him by the elbow.
Griffin pushed him against the shed and shoved a long stick under Paxton’s chin.
Jed pulled Griffin off Paxton again, but this time with even more force. “Step back, Griffin. I mean it.” His gaze riveted to Griffin’s until the older boy released his hold.
Paxton looked at the ground. Dirty blond bangs hung past his eyelashes, and sweat mixed with the dirt on his sallow skin.
“Don’t ever use that sling-shot to hurt anybody ever again, especially the boys who are living with me.”
Paxton’s shoulders slumped and his arms dangled by his side, meek and humble. That would probably last only as long as he stood before a towering man.
“Sling shot broke when he pushed me to the ground anyway.” Paxton darted a look toward Griffin, and a little of his rebelliousness resurfaced.
“Serves you right,” Griffin muttered. “Ain’t you got nothing better to do than pick on others?”
Paxton shrugged in a way that answered the question honestly.
Jed opened his palm. “Let me see your shooter.”
Paxton removed the slingshot from his waistband. The slick wood had been smoothed from years of use, initials were carved in the handle. “Did you make this yourself?” The prongs lay in two pieces, one sharp angle split the base of the handle.
“My brother did.”
“Samuel?”
Paxton’s eyes turned grayer as he nodded.
Samuel was Vern Hubbard’s oldest boy. He’d died in the war. Vern had turned dark after that, not holding down a job and spending more time than usual drinking homemade brew from a neighbor’s distillery. His wife had stopped coming to church and rarely left their small home on the other side of the meadow.
“I’ll make you a deal, Paxton,” said Jed.
Griffin’s hands fixed on his hips.
“Griffin and I will help you make your own slingshot.”
“What?” Griffin growled.
“And then you will teach Thomas and Josiah how to sling the shooter as well as you.�
��
Paxton took the toy from Jed. “Can’t we fix this one instead?”
“No, son.” Jed pointed to the break. “I can glue it for you so it’ll stay together if put it in a safe place, but it’ll fall apart if you try and use it.”
Paxton nodded, his bottom lip puffing out.
“What about that other kid?” Griffin paced behind Jed. “I want his name.”
“I know who it is,” Jed told him.
“He’s my younger brother.”
“That’s a lie,” Griffin seethed.
“No, it’s not.” Paxton grew red in the face. “He’s my brother. I swear it!”
“You probably don’t even have a brother.”
Jed lifted his hand and both boys grew silent. “I’ll deal with Paxton for now.”
Griffin stomped off toward the front of the building. “And what a fine job you’re doing at that,” he hollered over his shoulder.
Jed pressed the broken pieces of wood together where they had snapped. “Go on home and come by within the next few days, whenever your ma and pa will allow.”
“Will you have it glued by then?”
“I can, but it’ll take a few days to dry. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my word, and you keep yours not to do this again.”
“Why you doin’ this?”
“Want me to change my mind?”
“No, sir.”
“Go on now before your family gets worried.” Jed nodded toward the path and wondered how long it would be before Vern Hubbard showed up.
Griffin had his back to the railing and his arms extended on the bannister. “That other one wasn’t his brother. He was fat and had red hair and freckles. They look nothing alike. So unless he’s a wretched orphan the family took in, like me, I doubt Paxton is telling the truth.”
Jed grabbed an apron from the hook and put it on. “No, the other boys isn’t his brother.”
“He tell you that, or you knew he was lyin’ all along?”
“That’s his buddy, Ollie Norton, who lives on the other side of the creek. They can pretty much be found together more often than not.”
“So, you just let him lie?”
“Raymond Norton is a violent man. I’d imagine his son would get a beating.”
“So, why do you care about him?” Griffin opened his arms. “And why should I?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Jed grabbed another apron and pushed it into Griffin’s chest.
“Well, doing right don’t seem fair.”
Ain’t that the truth. Jed grabbed his favorite hammer. “Come on now, let’s get to work.”
~*~
Spelling drills fit into Grace’s schedule after lunch.
Josiah, being the youngest, stood at the front of the line. The striped linen shirt and brown trousers were obviously second hand, but they fit him and were clean. Wyatt stood next to him and fidgeted with the brown threads that hung from the spot on his vest missing a button. Long, dark bangs fell into his eyes, and he brushed them to the side. That child had the hardest time keeping still. Three students, only a few years younger than Grace, stood at the end. Minnie, Leisel, and Oliver clustered together in the middle.
Grace brought her hands behind her back and paced the length of the line.
Thomas stood tall and looked straight ahead, except when he checked on Josiah. Thomas had his book tucked under one arm.
“Thomas, put your book back on your desk and get back in line.”
His face fell, but he did as told.
Leisel’s lips quivered as he did a poor job of suppressing a mischievous grin.
Grace stepped closer toward him. “I’m sure nothing will happen to it. Today we will begin a new assignment after each spelling drill. Elocution exercises.”
Groans filtered from many. Oration seemed to be either prized or abhorred.
“You will be responsible for reading aloud a section of speech that I chose for you based on your age or grade. This speech came from our current President.” She paced the length of the room. “Who can tell me who that is?”
Only four out of the fifteen raised their hands.
“Dorsey, do you know?” Grace asked one of the boys.
Dorsey looked at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. “Ulysses Grant.”
“That’s correct. Why didn’t you volunteer to respond?”
Dorsey shrugged.
“You are much brighter than what you think. You do the world a disservice when you keep your thoughts hidden.” Grace walked down the row. “Some of the readings are short, only a few sentences. Others are quite lengthy. The older students, of course, will be expected to do more. You will have class time until recess to read and practice your diction. I will come around to each of you as some of the President’s—”
The door to the schoolhouse pushed open. Hortense Beauregard marched inside. Dressed in pitch black, her boots thudded across the wide planks. A Basque bodice finished with a white lacy collar was secured by a cameo pin. Two layers of flouncy ruffles circled a wide hem.
“Mrs. Beauregard.” Grace forced her politeness.
The woman made her way in front of the students.
Hortense observed the chalkboards and the map on the wall. “I visit from time to time. You just go about your business as normal.” She stepped behind Grace’s desk and picked up a book of poetry.
“We just finished spelling, and I’m about to give them their first elocution exercise. Excerpts of speeches from Ulysses Grant.”
A beaming smile stretched across Mrs. Beauregard’s face. “Wonderful. Children must learn the art of speaking well. And what better model for that than the President?”
Leisel mumbled something about his father hating President Grant.
“Go ahead and take your seats. I’ll distribute what you will practice—” Grace didn’t get to finish.
“Now wait just a minute, Miss Cantrell.” Mrs. Beauregard dropped the book and moved from around the desk. “On second thought, let me look them over while they’re standing.” The woman passed each one. She smoothed loose strands of hair behind Cora’s ears and adjusted the wrinkled collar of Patrick’s shirt. She approached Thomas. But moved on to the girl next to him. Then she stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes.
Grace stepped forward. “Perhaps you can come another day. The students will memorize and recite a piece of literature of their own choosing next week. Invitations will be offered to the parents as well. I’d love for you to be our chosen guest.”
Mrs. Beauregard lowered her chin. “Really? So soon in the school year?”
“I see no reason not to do so. These children are bright and talented.”
“I do hope you’re right, Miss Cantrell. It would be unfortunate to embarrass yourself the first year of teaching.”
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. “They’ll work hard and will do Sheldon proud.”
Mrs. Beauregard harrumphed, and went out the door as if she didn’t believe a word Grace had said.
“We have to speak in front of everybody?” Leisel grumbled.
Patrick shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “My ma and pa won’t come for that, I bet.”
“Return to your seats, please.”
The students swarmed to their desks.
As Grace lifted the newspaper clippings on her desk, someone tapped her shoulder.
“Can we read aloud whatever we want?” Thomas asked.
“We will talk more about it tomorrow, but it can be any piece of writing that has particular importance to you.”
A twinkle sparked from his eyes.
Two boys in seats next to each other rolled a marble across the floor. A girl cried out because someone pulled her braids. Josiah laid his head down on his desk, his eyes closed.
Grace pulled herself together. She had work to do.
8
Pounding iron made it difficult for Jed to hear if any quibbling arose in the yard. He worked without a lunch break to finish a r
epair on a hay knife. Only then did he rest on an overturned barrel outside the shop and gaze up at the sky. A couple more hours of daylight and the workday would be done. He removed his hat and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve. The water from his canteen tasted refreshing, but his stomach growled. Jed nibbled on dried bread.
Paxton placed his new slingshot in Thomas’s hand and positioned his fingers. “Remember, you want to hold the pouch with your thumb and this finger right here. And make sure to keep your thumb straight. Pull the pouch back until it reaches your cheek. Now, look at your target.” Paxton pointed. “That tree over yonder, not the slingshot.”
Thomas complied.
“Now, let it go.”
Thomas released. The object sprang to the left and fluttered to the ground.
“Well, you’re doing better.”
Griffin plopped down in the shade beside Jed. He rubbed an apple on his shirt and then took a large bite. “You gave that varmint a new slingshot. Why’d he need one outta iron? Coulda just found a fallen branch somewhere. Been just as good.”
“Don’t know about that. Can’t imagine anybody in these parts got a slingshot like him. He’ll remember this for a good while to come.”
“What the boy needs is a spankin’, not a memory.”
Jed chuckled and then tossed a few crumbs toward a sparrow. “You ever use a slingshot, Griffin?”
“Yep.” Griffin took another bite. “Although I admit the scoundrel is a pretty good shooter.”
“Well, I imagine he’s had lots of practice. How’d you learn to shoot?”
Griffin threw the core into the distance. Then he plunked down on his back, covered his face with his hat and rested his hands on his chest.
That boy loves to talk as long as it’s not about him. Jed turned to watch the younger boys.
Thomas let out a squeal and Josiah clapped his hands together.
“It’s your turn now,” Paxton said as he placed something in the pouch and adjusted Josiah’s little fingers.
Grace like a Whisper Page 6
