Once More a Family

by Lily George

  Jack was not her husband in truth, and their talk of being partners, as though they were embarking on a business venture, reinforced that fact. As a woman who considered herself the equal of any man, she mustn’t let herself be swayed by a man’s mere touch.

  Usually Jack was the one who ran away, but now she was seeking the respite of the outdoors to hide her profound embarrassment—and confusion.

  Chapter Seven

  Ada pulled the team of bays to a halt before the schoolyard gate. She hadn’t gotten lost; nor had the horses startled when she was driving, so that was another small victory. Perhaps she was getting more used to life on the prairie. In truth, she welcomed bringing Laura home this afternoon. Driving out gave her the chance to get away from the house for a little while, which was nice. Being away from home meant she would be able to, perhaps, distract her thoughts from the curious turn they had taken. That afternoon, out in the garden, she kept mulling over her strange new feelings about Jack.

  Laura might still be difficult to manage, sulky and stubborn, but her presence would force Ada to think about something other than Jack Burnett’s touch, and especially the way it made warmth spread through her, bringing with it a wave of dizzy confusion. However bewildering, his touch was most welcome. In fact, she could almost embrace her stepdaughter for the diversion.

  Ada gathered her skirts and jumped down from the carriage. The horses stood absolutely still, so calm that there was no need to tie them to the hitching post. They weren’t going anywhere.

  She let herself through the gate and made her way up the path to the schoolhouse. In contrast to the imposing, ivy-covered brick facade of Mrs. Erskine’s facility, this school was a humble frame building. The walls glowed a clean white, so dazzling that she had to shade her eyes from the brilliance. A small brass bell hung beside the bottle-green door. All the windows were open, allowing the breeze to blow through the classroom. As she approached, she heard the hum of voices and what must be Miss Carlyle’s crisp, clear tones ringing out.

  “Class, we will release after we recite the prayer from my homeland I’ve taught you.” Miss Carlyle made a sharp rapping sound, as though she had hit a blackboard or a desk with a stick. “Ready? Let us say it loudly and clearly together.”

  There was a rattle and clatter as the students rose to their feet. In rhythmic, singsong chant, they recited:

  “Christ with me,

  Christ before me,

  Christ behind me,

  Christ in me,

  Christ beneath me,

  Christ above me,

  Christ on my right,

  Christ on my left,

  Christ when I lie down,

  Christ when I sit down,

  Christ when I arise,

  Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

  Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

  Christ in every eye that sees me,

  Christ in every ear that hears me.”

  Ada bowed her head as she listened, and when they finished, a smile touched her lips. What a lovely way to end a school day.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Carlyle,” the class called out as a body.

  “Good afternoon, boys and girls. Class dismissed.”

  Ada pressed herself against the wall of the school as the door was flung open. Children of all shapes and sizes tumbled out, laughing, calling and joking with one another. Only Laura hung behind, and her normally reserved expression melted into one of sudden relief when she spotted her stepmother.

  “Hello, Laura,” Ada said, holding her arms out for an embrace. Normally Laura would shun any touch from Ada, but she practically ran toward her, returning the embrace fiercely. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Laura nodded vigorously. Behind her, Miss Carlyle stepped out of the schoolhouse.

  “You must be Mrs. Burnett. How do you do?” Miss Carlyle extended her hand in greeting.

  Ada tucked Laura beside her on the wooden step and shook the teacher’s hand. “Miss Carlyle. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What a pretty prayer that was. You said it was from your homeland?”

  “My people are Irish,” Miss Carlyle responded, tilting her chin proudly. “I learned that one from my grandmother when I was a girl in Kentucky. Of course, it sounds much more musical if you have a bit o’ the blarney in your voice, as my Gran did.”

  Ada smiled. “I can imagine. How did Laura fare today?”

  Miss Carlyle glanced fondly at Laura, her green eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her spectacles. “She did very well, indeed, especially when you think of the changes she’s had to endure in the past few days. She is quite articulate and expresses herself far more clearly than most children her age. She was so far advanced in her studies that I skipped her a few grades. Her boarding school did well by her, and I’d rather her be challenged than bored.”

  “I agree.” Ada’s heart surged with hope. “I shall be very happy to tell her father that—and her grandfather, when I write to him.”

  “She will need time to make friends,” Miss Carlyle continued. “Academically, I can say without reserve that she will do quite well. But her social skills are lacking. I imagine she feels isolated from the other children, given her experience.”

  Ada nodded slowly. She must come up with a plan to assist her stepdaughter in making friends. How did one make friends, anyway? When she was growing up, her chums were her schoolmates, and they were all the same. Everyone came from wealthy or noble families—or both—and were sent to boarding school together. They dressed alike, talked alike and ran in the same social circles. Out here, life was different. Ada scanned the children leaving the schoolyard. Some, like Laura, were dressed in good dresses and wore shoes. Others ran barefoot and had ragged clothing.

  “We will work on it together,” Ada vowed. “Miss Carlyle, I will be picking Laura up each day. Her father doesn’t want her to walk home, at least not until she learns the ways of the prairie better.”

  Miss Carlyle nodded. “Of course.”

  Ada bade the teacher goodbye, and Laura did the same, politely and without prompting. Well, that was something. Perhaps going to school would help to ease her stepdaughter out of her sulk.

  She helped Laura into the wagon and then got in beside her. Gathering the reins, she started the bays down the road toward home before she spoke.

  “How was the first day? Miss Carlyle said you are quite bright. That must make you feel better.”

  Laura sighed. “I suppose.”

  “What about the other children? Did you find anyone you might want to befriend?” Somehow, she felt she was prying, peppering her stepdaughter with questions to set her own mind at ease. After all, she had promised herself that she would wait to write to St. Clair until after Laura started school. She had to be truthful in her account, but it would help a great deal if everything worked out beautifully.

  Laura shook her head. “Some of the other children smell bad.”

  Ada gasped and then laughed—more out of shock at her stepdaughter’s forthrightness than anything else. Miss Carlyle was right. Laura was quite articulate when she was moved to speak. “Oh, dear. Well, you must remember that not everyone has had your advantages. You know, you are a very fortunate young lady.”

  “I know.” Laura heaved another gusty sigh. “You aren’t mad at me for saying that?”

  After a pause, Ada shook her head. “No. You were being honest. Although you should never say that sort of thing when others can hear you. You don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Save that sort of frankness for me, or start confiding in a diary.”

  Laura gave her a reluctant smile. “Thank you. It felt good to say it out loud.”

  Genuine curiosity tugged at Ada. “Have you felt you couldn’t say things aloud?”

  “Not since I told Father that I didn’t want him to marry you,” she admitted. “I don’t want to make anyone angry but—” she twisted her hands in her lap “—life in Texas is so strange! The maids don’t seem to know t
heir own duties. The wind blows in gusts like a train. My teacher says things like ‘donkey’s years’ when I suppose she means that something is old.” She paused, her eyes wide at her own temerity. “Oh, I am sorry.”

  Ada pulled the horses over to the side of the dirt road and burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. Everything Laura said was true and very akin to how she had been feeling since she first landed at the Winchester Falls station. “Oh, mercy,” she said, drying her eyes with her gloved fingertips. “What refreshing candor, and well beyond your years.”

  “Are you teasing me?” Laura gazed at her stepmother, confusion written plainly across her features.

  “Indeed not. It just felt good to hear someone else say it.” Ada experienced the warmth of compassion flowing through her. “I’ve been feeling much the same way ever since I arrived. If you thought it was strange here, imagine coming from New York. I’ve been doing my best, I can tell you, but it has been a struggle.”

  For the second time since they had met, Laura broke into a genuine grin. It was funny. Even though she was reported to be her mother’s spitting image, her smile looked precisely like her father’s, especially when he was in a teasing mood. Did Jack know that his daughter favored him? Probably not.

  “Thank you for not being angry with me,” Laura said with a giggle. “I suppose it’s not polite to point these things out.”

  “No, but I think it’s nice to be able to say them every now and then. Just between the two of us.” Ada put her arm around her stepdaughter’s thin shoulders. “But we won’t say it to anyone who might be hurt by it.”

  Laura returned the embrace, which was another unexpected thing. Ada said a quick, silent prayer of gratitude. Through His grace, she had found common ground with her stepdaughter.

  She gathered the reins and steered the horses back onto the road. They lapsed into silence, but it was a comfortable one now. Before them on the road, grasshoppers clicked and jumped. Hawks circled lazily in the bright blue sky, and wind tousled the long prairie grass. The view wasn’t as formally pretty as the parks in New York, but somehow, she felt freer here. Back at her father’s house, she was all about forcing her father to accept her as a rational creature. Out here, she was trying to keep the peace. It helped, a great deal, that she was no longer as deeply concerned about her own hurts as she had been. She was too busy trying to help Laura with her difficulties.

  “Father treats me like a child,” Laura said quietly, her gaze fixed on the sky.

  “I imagine he still thinks of you as the baby you were, growing up here. Before you were moved to St. Louis.” Ada guided the horses around a bend in the road. “Of course, your behavior of late hasn’t helped that impression. It’s childish to sulk, Laura. You’re bright. You should show how grown-up you are rather than acting like a baby.”

  Laura’s cheeks flushed pink. “I know. I just hated the way he told me about you.”

  “I agree the entire matter was handled poorly,” Ada said in sympathy. “Nothing can be done about it now. Of course, I imagine that if you start being sweet, you run the risk of losing face.”

  Laura shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I guess. How did you know that?”

  Ada gave a little laugh. “I have two younger sisters and had quite the acrimonious relationship with my own father. It doesn’t do to steep in bitterness, Laura. It poisons your soul.” She heaved a sigh. That lesson had been hard learned since Father’s death. “Even if you can’t bring yourself to forgive him yet, well, you’ll have to start behaving in a more grown-up manner. You must begin to take responsibility.”

  “For what?” Laura turned in her seat. A small smile was quirking the corners of her mouth, thankfully. Her honesty had not lost her the common ground they’d gained.

  “Where should we start…” Ada murmured. “Well, your journey to and from school is a good example. Your father fears that you can’t handle walking by yourself. Would you like to try driving, instead? If he can see that you handle a team of horses, he might begin to think of you as someone who can handle walking by herself.”

  “May I? Oh, Ada.” Laura clasped her hands together. “I want to drive so badly.”

  “Here you go.” She handed the reins to her stepdaughter. “I know you have had training as a horsewoman. Mrs. Erskine told me that you were quite the competent rider.”

  Laura giggled nervously and then fell into silence, concentrating on guiding the horses down the road. Bets and Jenny were both so gentle they did not need a heavy hand. But if something happened, she would be here to help Laura.

  She always wanted to take care of her stepdaughter.

  The glow that had been kindled when she met the scrawny little waif in the parlor at Mrs. Erskine’s had continued to grow steadily since that day. While she had never considered marriage, and did not ever plan on having children, it was becoming clear that her preconceived thoughts about both were too black-and-white.

  Laura was her stepdaughter in truth, even if she wasn’t a wife in fact.

  *

  Jack walked up the drive toward the house. He told himself that he needed to come in early after a day of riding to wash up before having supper with Laura and Ada. If he were really honest with himself, though, he wanted to hear about Laura’s first day of school. He also wanted to take a walk with Ada. Since she was set on the chapel, he would make sure she had the chance to pick which part of the ranch to deed to the church. There was a real pretty point just on the other side of the hill, one that had a rugged and yet spectacular view of the valley below. Perhaps he could convince her to come and see it.

  The clip-clop of horses’ hooves made him turn, and he spotted his carriage. Ada and Laura were sitting side by side, pretty smiles on both their faces. They drew closer, and he saw that Ada was not driving. Instead, Laura held the reins.

  Fear paralyzed him as they sailed down the road, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Grasshoppers and jackrabbits leaped out of the path before them. If the horses bolted…if the horses shied…if Laura dropped the reins and they grew tangled in the wheels—a half-dozen scenarios played themselves out in his mind and he watched their approach, horror-struck.

  “Father,” Laura called as soon as she spied him. “Look. Ada said I should try.”

  He forced himself to nod at her, but his head bobbed slowly, as though he were moving through molasses. If he made any sudden movement, he could spook the horses. Bets and Jenny were calm enough creatures, but he had felt the same about other horses before. Occasionally, he had ended up in a ditch or flat on his back in the dirt when he let down his guard.

  He waited for what seemed like an eternity until Laura had guided the horses around to the front of the house. After she drew them to a halt, he found the power to walk again. But he didn’t walk. He ran as fast as he could, grasping hold of the reins as Laura jumped down from the seat.

  His mouth was too dry to permit speech. He busied himself with tying the horses to the hitching post and gave his daughter a tense smile while she crowed about her driving skills. Then he went around to the other side of the carriage and helped Ada down, anger beginning to replace the fear that had struck him.

  “Father, you don’t seem a bit pleased,” Laura said finally when he hadn’t responded to any of her victorious cries.

  “I’m not.” If he didn’t pace himself, he’d blow up.

  “But, Ada said—”

  “What were you thinking, Ada?” He turned to his wife. All the color had ebbed from her face. “Don’t you know how dangerous driving can be?”

  “It’s not—” Ada began.

  “All it takes is a second. I’ve experienced it myself, out on the range,” he continued, cutting her off with a quick wave of his hand. “A rattlesnake darts out of the brush, and the horse flinches. My daughter’s not old enough to be handling that kind of responsibility.”

  “Don’t shout at her,” Laura reprimanded him, her hands on her hips. “She didn’t know you had forbidden it.” />
  Ada looked helplessly from angry father to angry child. Then, suddenly, she broke into laughter. “You two look just alike. Oh my. Even your scowls are identical.”

  Jack looked at his daughter and recognized himself in her expression. He forced himself not to laugh, but a smile crept over his face anyway.

  Laura stamped her foot. “Be nice to Ada, Father. She doesn’t deserve to be yelled at.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at them both in turn. “I was scared, that’s all. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

  Ada flushed a becoming shade of pink and turned away briefly. He had said it mainly to quell his daughter’s ire, but if he thought about it, it was true. He couldn’t lose either one of them now. He had come to rely on Ada in the short time they had been married, and now that Laura was here, he would never let her go back to the boarding school in St. Louis.

  “Laura, you can drive, but only when you are accompanied by one of us,” he continued. “Ada is a good horsewoman, and I trust her to handle herself well in an emergency. And you can only drive on the dirt lane leading up to the house. I don’t want you running off across the prairie, not until you know it better. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Why did she refuse to call him Pa? He’d have called her out on it, but they had just achieved a tenuous peace. He would have to wait for another time to bring it up.

  “I agree, Jack.” Ada’s color had returned to normal, and she gave him a brisk, impersonal smile. For some reason, that was disheartening. He’d like to see her blush again. She was so pretty when she blushed.

  “Well, now that we have the matter of my daughter’s driving settled, I want to show you a piece of our land.” He emphasized the word “our” ever so slightly. “I think it would work well for the chapel.”

  “Wonderful.” Ada turned to Laura. “Would you like to come along, Laura? You haven’t seen much of the ranch.”