“Did it hurt?”
“Why did they shoot your horses?”
“This one, too?”
“That’un’s all shiny and funny.”
They talked at once, and Dewey cackled with pleasure.
Evelyn and Marigold exchanged a look.
“I hope you weren’t laughing when my son had arrows sticking out of his arm and shoulder,” she called to Dewey.
“I weren’t laughin’ on account of I had a few stuck in my own self.”
“You want to show off those scars?” Seth asked.
Dewey waved away Seth’s question and ambled away toward the stables. “I got work to do.”
Seth stood and buttoned his shirt.
After giving the boys biscuits and milk and seeing that they’d washed, Marigold went to her room, leaving Seth to read their story. She fell asleep early, but disjointed dreams gave her fitful sleep. At first the soft tapping sound was part of her dream, but then she roused enough to realize the knock was actually at the bedroom door. She got up and found her wrap on the end of the bed and shrugged into it.
The hallway was dimly lit by one long window, but Seth’s broad form was unmistakable. “Seth?”
She heard the sound before she could make out what he held against his chest. A very loud, very angry meow...
“Peony?”
She reached for the cat and the bundle of fur leaped into her arms.
Seth fumbled to find the matches for the lamp on the wall just inside the door and lit it. “I caught her in the trap.”
Marigold petted the cat’s long matted fur, finding twigs and bits of grass, but she didn’t care that they fell to the floor. Peony’s heart was beating fast, and she meowed as though telling her harrowing tale of nights in the wild unknown. The relief Marigold felt was immeasurable and she probably looked foolish to the man who stood watching. She wiped a tear from her cheek with her sleeve. She glanced at him. “It must be the middle of the night. What were you doing outside?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye out.”
“From where?”
“I saw her last night. She didn’t go into the trap. I think she saw me and ran, and I couldn’t get to her in time. Tonight, I stayed in the shadows next to the house and waited.”
“You’ve been staying awake and watching for her? You told me not to worry.”
“You didn’t have to worry. There she is. Safe and sound. I knew she’d come looking for food.”
“You figured out how to catch her.”
“I grew up with two brothers. I’ve set a lot of traps.”
“But you were watching all night for her to return.”
He paused a moment, watching her stroke the cat’s fur. “It was important to you.”
Those words, spoken in his deep, soft voice, created a fluttering sensation in her chest. She couldn’t speak for a moment, could scarcely breathe. He’d waited outside in the dark, waiting for her cat because it was important to her. Because she’d cried over Peony’s escape. She settled Peony on the bed and pushed Seth out of the room into the hall, closing the door behind them.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Likely she won’t try to run again.” Moonlight from the window framed his head and shoulders.
She stretched up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arm around his neck to kiss his cheek. He leaned toward her willingly, his cast against her back, his other hand flattened behind her shoulder, but he turned his face to hers and their lips met.
Chapter Twelve
This was no peck of gratitude, but a kiss that stole her breath and made her heart pound. She wished life was as sweet and simple as this kiss. She wished kissing Seth made sense. It didn’t make sense, though, because feeling anything for him didn’t fit into her plans. He held her as though she was fragile when she wanted to be strong and brave.
She rested back on her heels, knowing she was cowardly. Denying what she felt was safe and self-protective, and Marigold was not strong or brave.
She moved away. “Thank you, Seth.”
“I don’t want your gratitude.”
Fear rested its head on her chest. She’d intended only to show her appreciation. He was the one who’d turned into the kiss. She searched his eyes. He’d gone to a lot of trouble and lost sleep, but for what reason?
“I only want to make you happy.”
His words touched her. She was tempted to kiss him again, but that would be wrong. Instead, she twisted the doorknob and let herself into her room. “Good night, Seth,” she said and closed the door.
For minutes she stood with her forehead against the jamb, her thoughts racing. Behind her came the sound of Peony’s paws hitting the floor, and a moment later the cat weaved around her ankles. She kneeled and picked up the feline. “You’re a naughty girl. I’ll give you a bath and brush you in the morning.”
Seth did make her happy.
And that frightened her even more.
* * *
Sam Mason was waiting for her when she and the boys arrived at school the next morning. A whistle sounded as a train neared the station a few blocks away.
“Mr. Mason.”
“I was hoping I’d get here early enough to have a few minutes of your time.”
“I should have a few minutes. What is it?”
“You’ve been here three weeks now—”
“Is that all? It’s seems like so much longer. Sorry. You were saying?”
“I mentioned doing an interview for the newspaper. Hopefully you’ve had time to settle in, develop a routine, get to know your students. Could you answer a few questions for me?”
“Yes, certainly. You won’t mind if I get the room ready while we talk?”
“Go right ahead.”
He asked her questions about her teaching background, about why she’d chosen Cowboy Creek and how she liked it here, and she gave him explanations.
“Can you tell me more about teaching the children who don’t speak English?”
She explained how well that was going. “And I can’t tell you what a help August is. I’ve come up with plans to challenge him, and I want to talk about those with you and Marlys soon. He’s an incredible young man.”
“Yes, he is,” Sam said with a smile. “Is there anything else you want people to know?”
“I’d like people to know I appreciate everyone who has donated time and effort to the school and the students. I’m not doing this alone.” She explained about Leah and Beatrix’s contributions, told him how adequately the council had supplied all the books and material needed, how Libby Thompson’s efforts as she resigned had been beneficial.
“And I’d like people to know how important their children are to me. I’m honored to be teaching them, and I appreciate these bright young people more and more all the time. What I want to do is have a part in their education and an influence on their lives. I am invested in helping each one of them have a better future.”
“I can assure you the parents and everyone else appreciates your dedication.”
She glanced out the door, noting Tate and Harper were playing with a few other early arrivals. “Are we finished? I want to talk to you about another student’s situation.”
“Yes, of course. What is it?”
She told him about Michael Higgins and how she’d followed him home. “Apparently before her death Michael made a promise to his mother that he’d go to school, but his father keeps him home to help set traps and do chores. The man’s missing a leg. I don’t know if it’s a war injury, but he has difficulty getting around. They don’t have much at all. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, except you know a lot of people, and you’ve seen a lot during and after the war. If I knew a way to help, I would.”
“The man’s hanging onto his pride.�
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She nodded. “I don’t even know what kind of work he’d be suited for, but anything seems better than nothing to me.”
“How do you think he’d react to me if I paid him a visit?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t shoot me.”
“I’d be interested in hearing if he was in the army, and if so, maybe he’d be willing to tell me his story. That might be an opening.”
“Maybe. Thanks, Sam.”
“Thank you.”
“Now I’d better ring the bell.”
The day went well. Michael arrived with the rest of the students, and for the first time raised his hand when a question was asked of the class. Marigold called on him, and held her breath, but he gave the correct answer. She rewarded him with a smile, and he blushed.
The maps and atlases she’d ordered from Booker & Son arrived, and Abram sent a lad over with the brown-paper wrapped packages. She had August and Ludivine carefully help her unwrap them and save the paper for a future project. Marigold cleared a table so they could inspect the books and maps. Most of the children went back to their seats, but three, including August, were enthralled and went over page after page of the colorful illustrations.
Marigold assigned the three of them—August, Garland and Jakob—to design a map on an enormous roll of paper. The map would show all the countries of the world and which languages had originated in each one. The children were enthusiastic and worked on the project all day.
When they got home from school later that day, Evelyn met them on the porch. She told the boys, “Wipe your feet, young men, and then come upstairs with me to see your new room.” She motioned to Marigold. “You, too.”
The door to the room beside Seth’s stood open, and Evelyn extended an arm. “You have two beds in your own room now. Tate, the single bed is for you.”
Their new bedding hadn’t arrived yet, and she’d made their beds with blankets and quilts of her own. She explained they’d have new ones as soon as they arrived on the train.
Tate stood beside the narrow bed, made up with a simple wool blanket. “I have my own bed?”
“You’ll have to make it yourself in the morning, too,” Marigold told him.
“Seth will be able to sleep in his own room again,” Evelyn said.
Harper ventured to the simple dark oak desk Mr. Irving had made without fancy carving, but with four dovetail drawers on the right side.
“That’s for studies when you’re older. Marigold bought it for you,” Evelyn told them.
Perhaps he was too small for such a desk right now, but they would all use it in the years to come. Marigold wouldn’t be here with them, but she could imagine them here, reading, studying. The thought brought her pleasure.
* * *
That evening, she joined the boys as Seth took them on a ride and gave them the lead. Afterward, once the children were tucked into bed, Evelyn excused herself and Marigold made a cup of tea. She set up the board and heated the iron to press a few of her shirtwaists. Seth joined her with a ledger, and worked on calculations at the table. He rubbed at the skin at the edge of the cast. “As soon as this cast is off, I’m going to Wichita to buy horses.”
“I thought you had plenty of horses.”
“This is breeding stock. You’ll help my ma with the boys while I’m gone?”
She paused and set the iron on the stove.
He noticed something in her face. “What is it?”
“I was planning to leave once you got the cast off.”
“Leave?”
“Yes.” She smoothed the fabric on the board. “Stay elsewhere.”
“Why?”
“It’s not a good idea for me to be the boys’ teacher and live here, too.” She didn’t look at him. “It’s complicated.”
He laid down his pencil. “Is this because of the kisses?”
“Only partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I told you. The children.”
He stood, pushed back the chair and moved to where she stood. “You were hired as the teacher. The boys were unexpected. They take a lot more time than you signed on for.”
“That’s not it.”
He nodded. “I’m sure my mother will be able to handle them for a couple of days. Dewey will come with me, but I could ask someone to check in on them. James, perhaps.”
She said nothing.
He went back to where he’d been working and closed the ledger. “The last thing I want is for my family or my decisions to be a burden on you. You’ve already done a lot for us, and I’m grateful.”
Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it might burst.
“I have to check the horses.” Seth left the kitchen, and his boots sounded on the back steps.
Marigold leaned on the board. Her chest ached with all the things left unspoken between them. She picked up the iron and finished her shirtwaist, then tidied up and put things away. Matters were always so serious between her and Seth. Tense. Complicated.
Why couldn’t it be easy between them, like it was between her and Buck? Why didn’t they laugh and go on picnics, play horseshoes together? Immediately she regretted those thoughts. It was unfair to compare the two. Seth was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, a man who took on responsibilities.
Buck might have a boyishness about him that was appealing, but would he look at her like Seth did? Would he lose sleep over a cat because it was important to her? Would she ever want him to kiss her the way she longed to kiss Seth?
Seth was all man. Serious perhaps, sensible, unflappable, self-controlled. But loyal and deserving of loyalty—Dewey had worked for his father, accompanied Seth on cattle drives and survived Comanches, and still worked with him. Trustworthy and dutiful—he’d cared for his mother since their father’s death, saved their ranch in Missouri, took in his friends’ children without a question. Generous and kind—apparently, he’d stayed up the better part of two nights waiting for Peony and had awakened her in the middle of the night so she wouldn’t worry any longer. Why? Because it had been important to her. She would never forget the way he’d said those words. Like he’d crawl to the end of the earth or lasso the moon if it was important to her. She placed her hand over her heart to dull the ache that persisted when she thought of him.
She grabbed a shawl and went out the back door, needing to clear her thoughts.
* * *
Seth spotted Marigold in the darkness as she walked from the side of the house, heard her walking through the grass.
“It’s cooled off,” he said from the corral fence where he was leaning.
She started, then pulled the soft shawl around her shoulders. “Considerably.” She glanced in the empty corral. “What are you looking at?”
“The stars.”
They spread out across the sky like glittery jewels. “Do you know the constellations?”
“Some.” He glanced up. “Orion. That one’s easy.”
“Orion’s even in the Bible. Did you know that?”
“I did not.”
“In Job and, I think, in Amos.”
He pointed to the stars. “Ursa Major...and Ursa Minor.”
“You do know your constellations.”
“The easy ones.” He studied the sky. “Imagine the sailors navigating ships with only these stars to guide them.”
“I can’t imagine.” She took in the whole of the night sky as she spoke. “‘Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.’”
“Who wrote that?”
“Longfellow, in a book called Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie.”
She was a wonder. “Where do you store all of that?”
“I just remember things I’ve read.”
“Probably why you
’re an excellent teacher.”
From the distance came the sound of a lowing cow.
“Sounds like such a mournful cry,” she said. Then, before he could ask her why she looked so sad herself, she continued. “I know a lot of people have suffered loss.”
She looked at him. “You and your mother. Everyone we know. It seems the whole country has been in mourning since the start of the war.”
She turned her attention back to the stars and continued.
“My story isn’t all that different from anyone else’s. I’ve told you, I lost both of my parents and my sister. But I was fortunate that my father made provisions and I had the house. What I didn’t tell you is that after Daisy was gone I took care of my niece. She was all I had left. I had written and tried to reach her father, but he never responded, so I didn’t even know if he got my letters. He followed the gold rushes. We rarely saw him. I didn’t even know if he was alive or dead. Violet and I went on, just the two of us.
“I taught school, and she was one of my students, so we were together all the time. I even put her to bed in my room because she was afraid and often ended up in my bed anyway.”
Seth didn’t know if he wanted to hear how this story ended. She’d never mentioned these things to him before. The tremor in her voice and the way she spoke of her niece made it plain this was painful to talk about.
Perhaps she needed to say the words. Maybe telling her story was a way to deal with the pain and start to heal. He was honored she felt she could trust him. If she wanted to tell him, he wanted to hear it. He wanted to reach for her and wrap her up in the safety of his arms, but she stood away from him, her arms hugging herself inside the shawl. Her sister had taken ill and died. Had her niece suffered the same end?
“We had friends, and the ladies from church. Violet had friends at school. We attended church and social gatherings. In the evenings we read and sewed and I told her about her mother and her grandparents.
“And then one afternoon as school ended and we gathered our things and left the building, Wade Berman stood outside waiting.”
Seth’s mouth was dry. “Who is he?”
The Rancher Inherits a Family Page 16
