Frontier Engagement

by Regina Scott

  “Your smile,” he said with another shake of his head. “It could make a man go all weak at the knees.”

  His teasing nearly had the same effect, and she was afraid that was his intention. He seemed determined to make her like him, as if afraid she’d run back to Seattle otherwise. She refused to tell him she’d accepted his offer more from desperation than a desire to know him better. And she certainly had no intention of succumbing to his charm.

  She clasped her hands together in her lap, one up, one down, fingers overlapping, and made herself look out over the horses. Sunlight through the trees dappled their black coats with gold.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “What about you? Why were you named James?”

  “It’s from the Bible,” he said, shifting in his seat as one of the wheels hit a bump. His shoulder brushed hers, solid, strong. “Pa named us for the first apostles: Andrew, Simon, Levi, John and James. I suspect you’ll like my brother John. He reads a lot.”

  He glanced her way as if expecting agreement. Most likely he thought she read a great deal as a schoolteacher. That had been true once. She’d loved reading stories of kings and queens and gallant knights, imagining they were like her own life. A shame their stories had proved more real than the one she’d lived.

  “Reading is important,” she acknowledged. “But putting what we read into practice is even more so.”

  He laughed. It came so easily, freely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever laughed like that.

  “Now that would depend on what you read, ma’am,” he told her. “Pa left us epic poems and adventure novels. I’m not sure how well we’ve put those lessons into practice.”

  “Well,” Rina pointed out, “you do live in the wilderness. That is considered romantic in some circles.”

  “No circle I belong to.” He swatted at a branch that hung over the track. “But at least Wallin Landing is becoming more civilized all the time. We have four cabins, a good-sized barn and the schoolhouse. Next is Catherine’s dispensary. Before you know it, we’ll have a town.”

  A town. There was something fine about the idea of building for the future. But was it any more real than the stories Mr. and Mrs. Fosgrave had told?

  The pattern had always been the same. The three of them would journey to a new town and seclude themselves, careful to hide the horses and carriage somewhere for easy access. This practice was for their safety, the woman she’d called mother had insisted, lovely blue eyes tearing up at the supposed memories. And Rina had learned not to ask too many questions about the past, for it had always upset the dear lady.

  But somehow the story would slip out—how her father and mother had been deposed by a cruel tyrant, how even now their loyal subjects were massing to retake the throne. Bankers would extend credit, expecting to be repaid in gold. Society hostesses would vie with each other to fete them. The horses and carriage would come out of hiding, perhaps even join in a few races for which her father would be handsomely paid. Life would be wonderful, until her father would wake her in the night with news that they were no longer safe. And then away they’d go again.

  She’d been as shocked as the inhabitants of the last town, Framingham, Massachusetts, when the Fosgraves had been unmasked. Someone had finally questioned her father’s web of lies and discovered that there was no kingdom of Battenburgia, no king and queen with subjects eager to reinstate them, certainly no princess waiting for her prince to arrive. The reality was a long series of debts run up by two charlatans with no intention of ever paying anything back.

  She’d been fortunate not to have been indicted with them.

  “Don’t blame Alexandrina,” Mrs. Fosgrave had said from the stand the day the judge had pronounced sentence, those blue eyes brimming with tears. “She never knew the truth. She isn’t even our daughter. We found her abandoned when she was about two, and we thought she’d make a nice addition to the story.” Her gaze had pleaded with Rina for understanding. “We did become fond of her.”

  Rina’s hands were fisting in her lap now just remembering the moments before the judge had sent the Fosgraves away to prison, allowing her to go with no more than an order not to follow in their footsteps. No one in Framingham had been willing to befriend her. Her darling horses had been sold to help pay the debts.

  She’d managed to convince the judge to let her sell most of her clothing for living expenses rather than to pay off the Fosgraves’s debts. The only other things she’d kept were Mr. Fosgrave’s pocket watch and a miniature of the three of them, buried safely in her trunk. When she’d seen the advertisement in the paper about Asa Mercer’s expedition to bring schoolteachers to Seattle, she’d known what she must do.

  She might not be a princess, but she’d been raised with the education of one—having been tutored in every town by the very best instructors. Her education was the one thing they could not take from her. It was the one thing she could give to someone else.

  She forced her fingers apart and pressed her hands into the smooth fabric of her gown. Everything she had believed had been a lie. That didn’t mean she couldn’t believe in something else, even if she hesitated to believe in someone else.

  James Wallin was the perfect example of someone she should suspect of telling tales for his own profit. He was confident, and he was glib. He was relaxed behind the reins, as if nothing and no one could shake him. Didn’t he realize that they were driving farther from the safety of Seattle every second? Shouldn’t he be looking for catamounts, bears, savages? Was he even armed?

  Catching her watching him, he grinned again, and despite all her thoughts, something inside her danced. Dangerous fellow. She refused to be taken in.

  “Tell me about Wallin Landing,” she said. “What prompted you to start a school?”

  “It was Catherine’s idea,” he said. “You’d have to ask her.”

  A vague answer, but she supposed he might only be the messenger. He certainly talked as easily as he laughed, going on to tell her all about his widowed mother, four brothers and sister, the addition of Catherine to their group. But what impressed her more than his easy manner was his skill behind the reins.

  Her father had taught her to drive early, on a lark, he’d said. Now she could only wonder whether he had been preparing her to help make a quick escape if needed. Either way, she’d learned to love the feel of the reins in her grip, knowing that all the power of the team was hers to control.

  Sitting beside other gentlemen who pulled on the leather and sawed at the bits had been painful in the extreme. James Wallin gave the horses their heads, only correcting them if they strayed too far from the path. He guided them effortlessly, as if from long practice. And he seemed to trust them as she’d trusted her team.

  “I haven’t seen many steeldusts in Seattle,” she ventured at one point.

  “Steeldusts?” He gazed at his team. “Is that what they are?”

  She’d never met a man who didn’t know the sort of horse he owned. Her father had examined every aspect, from the size of their ears to the conformation of their hindquarters. He’d known breed and lineage, could gauge strength and stamina. Or at least so he’d claimed.

  “I believe that’s the name given them in Texas,” she said, suddenly doubting. Had her father made up the name like he had everything else? Maybe she didn’t know as much about horses as she thought. “I heard they are prized by cattlemen.”

  “Well, I’m hardly a rancher,” James said with a laugh. “My family prefers oxen. I’d ridden with friends from time to time, but these are my first horses. I bought them off a fellow in town who was giving up his stake. They had a certain dash.”

  She smiled. “Oh, they have dash, all right. See those high haunches? All power. A steeldust can run a quarter mile on good track in a few seconds.”

  He glanced her way. “You seem to know a lot about horses.”

  His
tone was admiring, but her stomach sank. When would she learn? She had to guard every word now, not to protect a so-called family secret but to prevent being tarred by it. “My...family owned a team much like yours,” she told him. “They raced a few times. Not that I condone the practice.”

  “We can’t control our families,” he assured her as if he knew firsthand. “Though that doesn’t keep us from trying.”

  Her breath came easier. He wasn’t going to press her for details. “What are your team’s names?” she asked.

  To her surprise, he glanced ahead as if to estimate the distance to their destination. When he spoke, he lowered his voice. Did he fear the trees would overhear him?

  “The fellow who sold them to me didn’t think much of naming horses,” he said, gaze more serious than she’d seen. “Neither do my brothers. Drew says you don’t name your tools or your saw.”

  To her, horses were far more than tools. They were intelligent, caring creatures whose loyalty you were blessed to earn. Yet if he didn’t believe in naming them, he probably wouldn’t understand that.

  He turned toward his team once more, and she could see their ears twitching back to listen to him as he spoke again.

  “I disagree with Drew,” he said as if making a confession. “My horses are more than bone and muscle, meant only for turning a field or tugging out a stump. I rely on them, and I know they rely on me. They believe in me when no one else does. I think of them as Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival. Lance is a little bigger and prouder, but Percy has the greater heart.”

  What beautiful sentiments! His look was soft, paternal even. Rina had to fight the urge to touch his shoulder, tell him she understood.

  And he knew the legend of King Arthur? Perhaps Le Morte D’Arthur had been one of the books his father had left him. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d read it, believing that her parents’ kingdom was as marvelous as Camelot.

  Now it wasn’t a kingdom awaiting her, but a frontier schoolhouse. After traveling thousands of miles and counting off the months, she was about to achieve her dream of teaching. She could hardly sit still as James guided his team out of the woods at last. A clearing opened up around her, wide pastures surrounded by curly-topped cedar and fir pointing to the darkening sky. A large, two-story log house sat across one end of the clearing, with a barn to the south of it. But what drew Rina’s eye was the building at the back of the clearing, up against the hillside.

  The newly peeled logs gleamed gold in the setting sun. The brass bell on a stand outside the planked door looked as if it would ring for miles. She could imagine children lining up outside, eager to come in for lessons. Her heart swelled. This could be her school.

  This might be where she could make a difference, where her life would count for something.

  Chapter Three

  From far too close, a gun roared.

  Rina gasped and ducked away from the sound, pulse racing.

  “It’s all right,” James assured her, reaching out a hand. But the gun barked again.

  “Are we under attack?” she cried.

  “Not at the moment,” James promised with a gentle smile as he reined in near the school. “That’s just how we call folks to dinner.”

  Rina managed to catch her breath and nod. She had to remember she was far from the world into which she’d been born. But she’d hardly imagined she’d be fired on the moment she reached Wallin Landing!

  “James!” The call came from the house, where Rina noticed a young woman with straight blond hair. She hung a gun on a hook near the door on the rear porch, lifted her pink gingham skirts and came running to meet the wagon. Her smile broadened her heart-shaped face as she gazed up at Rina.

  “You’re here! Thank you so much for coming! I can’t wait to see what you’ll teach us. I’ve read all of Pa’s books and any John could get, but I know there’s so much out there to learn. I love history, but I’m not terribly good at math. John says I just need more practice.”

  “This is Beth,” James said when the young woman paused for breath. “She’ll be one of your students. She’s enthusiastic. About everything.”

  Beth’s full cheeks turned red, and Rina felt for her.

  “Any student who enjoys learning will be a blessing to teach,” she told the girl.

  Beth beamed. “Thank you. I promise not to talk so much in class. Or at least I’ll try. Dinner’s nearly ready. Will you eat with us?”

  Rina glanced at James for guidance. He’d said the teacher was to have her own place, but perhaps she should eat with the family nearest the school until they were all sure the position was hers.

  James eyed his sister. “Who cooked tonight?”

  She raised her head and stuck out her chin. “Levi, but I helped.”

  James nodded. “It’s safe, then, Miss Fosgrave. Levi does a decent job, but I’d beware of John’s cooking.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, eyebrows wiggling. “Far too creative with the sauce, and don’t get me started on his use of cinnamon.”

  Beth giggled, but Rina felt herself slipping into those deep blue eyes. She forced herself to look away. “I’d be honored to join you for dinner, Miss Wallin. Give me a moment to change out of my travel dirt.”

  Beth’s eyes widened as if Rina’s propriety awed her, but James straightened.

  “No need,” he said. “We’re all nice and dirty in our family.”

  With another giggle, Beth excused herself to hurry back to the house. Rina frowned at James. Why would he refuse her? The Fosgraves had changed clothes at least four times a day. She only wanted to look her best for the people who would hire her.

  “I do not believe my choice of attire is any concern of yours, Mr. Wallin,” she informed him.

  “Oh, yes it is,” he declared, hopping down. He came around the wagon to her side. “Until one of my brothers shows up, I’m the one who’d have to ferry that trunk of yours to the school so you could change.” He bent and pressed a hand to his lower back with a groan. “’Bout near crippled me the first time.”

  Rina shook her head, fighting a smile. “You do not strike me as particularly feeble, sir.”

  He straightened. “Not in the least, but I’ll admit to being lazy as the day is long. I’ll let Drew carry your trunk. I’ll take the more delightful task.” He held up his arms. “Fair warning, ma’am, as I promised. I mean to take you in my arms. Only to help you down, of course.”

  The ground was a long ways below. She knew she needed his help to get off the bench, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to feel those hands on her waist. She must have hesitated a moment too long, for his smile faded.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Fosgrave,” he said, lowering his arms. “I seem to keep offending you. It isn’t intentional. I’m just used to teasing people I like.”

  He liked her? Why would he like her? She’d given him no reason, hadn’t been particularly encouraging. She was no longer someone whose favor he needed to curry. Of course, as friendly as he seemed to be, he probably liked everyone and they liked him in return. Yet she couldn’t help feeling as if he’d given her something precious.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Wallin,” she said, offering her hands. “Of course you may assist me.”

  He slipped his arms up under hers and lifted her down as carefully as if she were made of fine crystal.

  “Certainly not feeble,” she told him with a smile as he released her.

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he said, removing his hat and waving toward the house. “After you.”

  Rina lifted her skirts and crossed the ground, where close-cropped grass grew in tufts. The scent from the Sound was softer here, tempered by something—perhaps fresh water and new growth? The heels of her shoes clacked against the boardwalk that surrounded the house as he darted ahead to open the door for her.

  Rina
stepped inside and glanced around, not sure what to expect. She’d only visited a few houses in Seattle, and those had been Spartan, especially compared to the homes the Fosgraves had preferred to rent.

  The Wallin cabin seemed designed for comfort. The plain wood walls of the spacious room were made warmer by the colorful rag rug in the center of the plank floor, the pieced quilt draped over the bentwood rocker by the stone hearth. Stairs set into the far wall must have led up to the sleeping area. The openings on either side of the hearth gave access to another room that seemed to be used as a kitchen if the tangy smells coming from that direction were any indication.

  An older woman, curly reddish hair turning gray, was standing by the fire, hands clutching her dark green gown. Beth waited beside a long table flanked by benches, with a hardwood chair at either end. Nearer to hand, a woman with pale blond hair neatly confined behind her head gazed at Rina and James, light blue eyes assessing. Even in the blue-flowered cotton gown and with an apron tied around her waist, Catherine Wallin looked elegant to Rina.

  Her old traveling companion came forward with a smile. “Miss Fosgrave, isn’t it?”

  Rina returned her smile. “Yes, thank you. How kind of you to remember me, Mrs. Wallin. I can only hope we find that we suit each other.”

  Catherine frowned as if she wasn’t sure of Rina’s meaning. She glanced around Rina for the door, where James stood. He crossed to Rina’s side.

  “You know how I am, Catherine,” he said. “I have on occasion exaggerated to make a point. Can you blame Miss Fosgrave if she wanted to make sure I was telling the truth before committing to being our teacher? She graciously agreed to come here for her interview so you wouldn’t have to travel all the way into town.”

  He was coloring the facts, even now. Her list of requirements had not been given all that graciously.

  “Oh, I see,” Catherine said, but by the look on her face, Rina thought she saw more than James intended. “That was very considerate of you, Miss Fosgrave. We can talk more after dinner.”