The Rancher Inherits a Family

by Cheryl St. John

  “Miss Brewster...” he began.

  Her gaze flitted to his again.

  He took a match and striker from the small stand beside his cot and held them out to her. “Will you light a couple of the lanterns, please?”

  She did as he asked, her skirt pooling on the porch floor as she kneeled. Dust flamed inside the glass chimney and burned off quickly.

  “You know more about me than I know about you, partly thanks to my mother. No one ever has to wonder what she’s thinking.” He shrugged. “But I’m curious. What was your life like in Ohio during the war?”

  “Probably very different than the stories I’ve heard about lower states,” she answered. “The men, young and old—except the very young boys—were off fighting. My father was a banker. His family had come to Ohio from New York when he was a boy. He took a job working for the governor just as the war started, and he spent a lot of time in Washington. Daisy married about that time. Her husband was wounded at Arkansas Post and later recovered and went back to his regiment. She wrote him daily, but rarely had a letter in return. He returned for a day or two now and then between assignments. My mother became sickly, so my sister and I cared for her with domestic help.”

  She adjusted the wicks on both lamps, stood and took a seat again. “We followed the news and corresponded with neighbors and schoolmates who were off fighting. When news came of men killed, the war seemed so far away. Daisy and I attended church and oyster suppers and gatherings and received callers. We made cakes for special occasions. We had ladies over and sewed quilts for sons and husbands, rolled bandages for the field hospitals, and all the while we prayed for the fighting to end.”

  The sky had darkened, and now the golden light from the lanterns glowed on her delicate features. “I’m sure my telling seems idyllic to someone like you, who was in the thick of things, getting shot and all.”

  “Thinking of scenes like that kept a lot of us going,” he answered. “Knowing there was gentility to return to. Families, church suppers and cakes. Quilts.”

  His deep tone and heartfelt words betrayed his emotions, so he cleared his throat. “Did you write to someone special?”

  “I was merely fourteen when the struggle over slavery began. My father insisted Daisy and I continue our studies. I hadn’t time to grow into thinking about boys before they were all gone.”

  “But you’d become a teacher.”

  “Yes. And I got my father’s affinity for numbers. I’d make someone a good accountant in a pinch, but I prefer working with children. I’ll always find employment.”

  She was obviously smart and ambitious, and took pride in being able to support herself. “That’s admirable.”

  “Thank you.”

  The breeze picked up her citrusy scent and carried it in his direction.

  “What’s that scent you wear?”

  She looked at him with surprise. “Orange-flower and almond-oil toilet water. My father always gave it to me at Christmas.”

  “It suits you.”

  Marigold had lived a life very different from his, from that of his family. It had taken courage and a desire for change to come this far alone. Quite a few brides had arrived in Cowboy Creek, and he’d heard some of their stories, but he’d never stopped to consider what the journey had meant for them. Until now.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid living here. I only want to make sure you’re able to protect yourself and the children in your care.”

  “Truly, I never considered I might have to protect them.”

  “You will likely never have to. But you’ll be prepared regardless.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. For looking after the boys.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “You’re likely exhausted.”

  “I am.”

  “Good night then. Sleep well.”

  “And you.” On a delicate current of orange and almond, she departed.

  Dozens of cowboys and business owners were going to appreciate Miss Brewster’s delicate beauty and intelligence. The last teacher hadn’t lasted six months before she was married. He suspected this schoolmarm would be temporary as well. Even Russ had shown covert interest when he’d thought no one was looking. And why not? Marigold Brewster was the prettiest thing Seth had ever seen.

  * * *

  Little John cried the next morning when Marigold and the boys prepared to leave with Dewey. She kneeled and gave him a gentle hug. “You’re going to be just fine with Mrs. Halloway. She loves little boys. I’ll bet she’ll even read you a story.”

  Evelyn rubbed his back and smoothed his hair. “I have just the book, too.”

  Marigold had assured him he could come to school with them occasionally after her adjustment period had ended, but he didn’t take kindly to his brothers going without him. She cupped his chin and wiped his tears, then joined Dewey on the wagon seat and didn’t look back. Evelyn was the best person to care for Little John while his brothers were in school. She had been happy at the thought of having him with her during the day. It had, in fact, been her idea.

  Dewey pointed out hawks and ground squirrels to Tate and Harper, and then answered a dozen questions on the drive to town. As they made their way to Lincoln Boulevard, the streets were already brimming with wagons; shopkeepers swept their stoops and opened their shutters. Dewey rolled the wagon right up along the curb before the single-story wood-frame building with a small vented bell tower, and helped Marigold to the ground. The boys grabbed their tin dinner pails and jumped down. As she’d noticed on their way past yesterday, the schoolhouse was larger than she’d anticipated.

  “Looks like Mizz Aldridge is just gettin’ here,” Dewey said. “I’ll be off now.”

  She thanked him and he drove the wagon away.

  A dark-haired woman only a few years older than herself crossed the lawn and greeted Marigold. “Miss Brewster?”

  “Miss Aldridge?”

  “It was Libby Aldridge before I was married. I’m Libby Thompson now. I’m so glad you’re here.” The swell of Libby’s belly indicated the arrival of a child in the next few months.

  “I’m glad to finally be here. The trip was...eventful.”

  “Oh, my goodness, yes! Thank God you weren’t injured in the train wreck! We were aghast when we heard the news.”

  “Some bumps and bruises, but I’m fortunate to have walked away. Mr. Halloway is the one with the most injuries.”

  “The tale of him being injured while rescuing you has spread all around town. The ladies are finding it quite romantic.”

  “Oh, no. No,” Marigold declared. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Let’s take our things inside. I suppose you have more supplies you’ll be bringing?”

  “Yes, another day. I wanted to meet you and the children and become oriented this week.” She gestured to the two boys flanking her sides. “This is Tate Radner. And this is Harper. Gentlemen, say hello to Mrs. Thompson.”

  After they exchanged greetings, Libby led them into a tiny entryway below the bell tower and then further inside, where the smell of new wood, paper and chalk prevailed. To the right was a large empty classroom and to the left a smaller one with rows of double desks. “As you can see the building is only a year old. The council thought of everything. There’s an entire half of the building to accommodate growth and eventually another teacher. Wood is delivered for the stove. There’s a shared well on the next block north, and a lad brings water to us each morning.”

  “This is so much larger than I expected.”

  “The town founders firmly believe in education, and they built the school with expansion and exceptional learning in mind. Right now we use that room for activities and exercise when the weather is poor. We hold our school programs in there as well.”

  She pointed to a wooden
chest along the side wall. “The children place their dinners in the pine box when they arrive. I assign two students to pass them out at noon. Leah Gardner will be here soon. She makes a few lunches every morning for the children who don’t have much to bring. And her own isn’t even old enough for school yet.”

  “I’ve already heard a lot about her.” Marigold instructed Tate and Harper to stow their tin pails in the chest. “Are there seats available for these two new students?”

  “Yes, of course. Right now I have the children arranged according to grade levels, and the open seats are in the rear. We will do a bit of rearranging today, and then you may want to reassign seats once you’ve done an assessment and know where to place them.”

  Libby showed her the supplies provided by the school board—books, slates, chalk, paper and pencils. There were maps and a globe and even a pianoforte under an Indian blanket in the corner. “I don’t play, but occasionally Hannah Johnson comes to give a music lesson. Do you play?’

  “I’m adequate, yes.”

  “That’s excellent news. Hannah has a lot to do already, what with her dress shop and a little one, but she’s been faithful to devote a morning to us every week. My biggest challenge has been the German children. August Mason has learned some basics, and he is quite helpful in our communication, but I’m afraid the students are sorely behind. I know how important it is for their parents to have their children in school, but truthfully, I don’t know how much they’re actually getting out of the lessons. I do my best.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for them to be here and not understand what’s going on.”

  There was a tap on the open door and a slender young blond woman in a stunning plaid dress with a lace collar and cuffs entered. She carried a basket over her arm and a chubby baby on her other hip. “Good morning!”

  “I told Miss Brewster you would be here. Miss Brewster, this is Leah Gardner.”

  Libby hurried to take the basket from Leah and placed the contents in the chest.

  “We’ve been looking forward to your arrival,” Leah told Marigold with a bright smile.

  She was lovely, fresh-faced and fair, with curling blond tresses down her back. Shiny pearls bobbed on each earlobe, and her dress had been made with fine fabric and obviously sewn to flatter her curvy shape. “You live just across the boulevard, and you’re a midwife, I understand.”

  “I do, and I am. And this is my daughter, Evie.” She glanced down at the chubby baby. “I’m just that close, so if you ever need anything, send one of the older children over to get me. I have help a few days a week, so most often one of us is available. Daniel and I will want to welcome you properly with dinner at our home very soon. Of course, the church will hold a welcome party for all the brides on Sunday, since you missed out on a proper welcome the day of your arrival. We’re all so thankful there were no serious injuries.”

  “We were fortunate.”

  “I heard about the children,” Leah told her. “And Seth? How is he?”

  “His arm in in a cast, and he’s in quite a bit of pain with his ribs, but he’s expected to heal quickly. Dr. Mason took good care of him. Of all of us.”

  “My husband said there were new arrangements made for you to stay with Evelyn and Seth. How do you feel about that?”

  “I admit I’m a little overwhelmed. There are so many people to meet and so much to do.”

  “I understand completely. I was very much out of my element when I arrived here last year. Remember, you don’t have to learn it all in one day.”

  The sound of children’s voices reached them.

  Libby handed Leah the empty basket. Leah leaned toward Marigold. “Make sure this lady sits down and puts her feet up for a while this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Enjoy your first day.” Leah turned to leave and greeted the children who were entering.

  Coming to a Kansas boomtown, Marigold had expected a more primitive situation than this well-appointed school, and she was delighted to have been wrong in her imaginations. All of her communications with the superintendent and Will Canfield had been professional, and she’d been told the facility was new and the materials adequate, but still she’d had her doubts. Her living arrangements weren’t what she’d planned on, but this school exceeded her hopes.

  Nine-year-old August Mason recognized her and gave her a warm smile. She had a moment of uncertainty upon meeting seven-year-old twin girls, Abigail and Jane. Libby had apparently noted her expression of concern, because she said, “Don’t worry. After a week or two, you’ll be able to tell the Burgess girls apart.”

  Four children of various ages had the last name Ernst, three were Simmses, plus the students with German names. Altogether, including Tate and Harper, there were fourteen children. They took their seats and showed interest in the new teacher. Libby formally introduced her to the class and had each student stand and say their name and grade.

  “While you instruct the children with their numbers this morning, I will evaluate Tate and Harper to see where they are academically.” Libby took the boys to the side.

  As Marigold taught, she noticed the German-speaking children misunderstood directions and obviously had trouble communicating. Libby had seated August directly behind them, and he did his best to help them, but he couldn’t do his own work and help them with theirs.

  After they had eaten lunch and the students went outdoors to play, she and Libby spoke.

  “The Stirling and Willis children are obviously unable to communicate well enough to understand the lessons,” Marigold said.

  “It’s been a problem since the first,” Libby agreed. “They are capable, and they are learning minimal English by being here and watching the others, but their lack of understanding is a problem. August is a big help, but it’s not fair to burden him with the responsibility of making sure these other children understand.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  When school was dismissed at the end of the day, she followed August outside. “How have you and Marlys been learning to speak German? I could buy a book, but I’m not sure I’d be able to pick up a language that way.”

  “It is hard to learn with only books,” he replied. “But Mrs. Werner has helped us. She’s from Austria, and we have taught each other.”

  “Where might I find Mrs. Werner?”

  August gave her directions, and she thanked him.

  Dewey was waiting beside the wagon on the boulevard. The boys scrambled into the back. “Hello, Dewey. Do you think you could take me to the Werner home before we head back to the ranch?”

  “Yes’m,” he said and helped her up to the seat.

  The Werner place was a simple two-story wood frame two blocks north of the livery. Beatrix welcomed Marigold inside. She was young, barely over twenty, with shining brown eyes and lustrous mahogany hair, a color Marigold had always wished for herself. “You are the schoolteacher?” Beatrix asked with a thick accent. At Marigold’s nod, she welcomed her into a small informal parlor. “I will heat water for tea.”

  “No, thank you. That’s kind, but Mr. Dewey is waiting for me, and I don’t want to be any trouble. What I have to ask you won’t take but a minute.”

  “Please. Have a seat.”

  “Thank you. Mrs. Werner—”

  “Beatrix, please.”

  “Beatrix, August mentioned that he and Dr. Mason have been learning German from you.”

  “Ja. He is a very intelligent young man. Marlys speaks several languages. They help me with English—reading and grammar.”

  “Do you have children?”

  Her smile would have been answer enough. “My baby, Joseph, is sleeping now.”

  “We have a few students at school who are struggling. The Stirling and Willis children.”

  Beatrix’s expression changed to one o
f concern. “I know their parents. I am sorry to learn they are having difficulties.”

  “They’re bright and obviously lovely children. The problem is the language barrier. Mrs. Thompson has done the very best she can, but with so many students in various levels, there simply isn’t enough time to teach them English.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I was hoping you might have a few mornings or afternoons available to come to the schoolhouse and work with them.”

  Her cheeks pinkened charmingly. “I would be honored to help in any manner I can. Thank you for asking me.”

  Marigold sensed her heartfelt appreciation. “I feel fortunate that you’re willing to give your time to the students.”

  “I have time, Miss Brewster. I do not have skills like many of the other women in our community, but I do know how to help your students.”

  “Perfect.” Marigold stood. “I’m sure you’ll want to speak with your husband before you decide on days and times, but we will be grateful for anything you spare us.”

  “My Colton will be glad for me to do this,” Beatrix assured her. “I can come three days a week. Joseph sleeps in the afternoon, so I will bring his basket.”

  Impulsively, Marigold hugged the young woman and thanked her again.

  “You are very welcome.”

  * * *

  Little John was delighted to see them. He ran across the yard to meet the wagon, and held his brothers’ hands as they all walked to the house. Marigold watched Tate and Harper climb the stairs with their brother between them, and she smiled.

  “Tate! Harper!” she called out.

  “Yes, miss?” Tate replied, and they turned on the top step and looked down on her.

  “I want you to know how very proud of you I am. You are kind to each other. You look out for each other. I know how difficult things have been for you, losing your parents and getting on a train alone to come to this place you knew nothing about. You did something difficult today, too. It wasn’t easy to go to a new school. But you did your best, and you made me proud. I’m happy to be your teacher.”