Family Lessons

by Allie Pleiter

  It was gone now. She’d pulled that formality out from underneath him like a rug. Mason. He could hear how it played across her lips even now, that shock of surprise that popped her eyes wide and turned her cheeks bright pink. He’d known he was in for trouble when she crossed the street resolutely toward him. Why wouldn’t that woman keep her distance? Hadn’t he given her enough reasons to stay away from him? Her stubborn streak must run a mile wide.

  Mason found himself smiling, and wiped his hands down his face in frustration. Clever as she was, couldn’t she see that no good would come of caring for him? He’d lost the right to love or be loved, and no amount of her stubborn optimism could change that. The light in her eyes could never outweigh the dark in his past. He couldn’t afford to ever let Holly Sanders—Miss Sanders, he corrected himself with a befuddled shake of his head—near enough to tangle his brain.

  “Sheriff!”

  If Mason needed the perfect—or most relentless—distraction, it just walked though his door. Beatrice Ward stalked up to his desk and planted a fussy yellow basket full of eggs down on his desk. He peered inside with raised eyebrows. “Easter was last month, ma’am.”

  Before he’d met Beatrice Ward, Mason didn’t think a woman could hrumph like that. She made that noise with more spite than even his grandpa could ever muster. “They’re not for you. These are for baking projects at the church this afternoon. I simply found my cause could not wait, so I came right here.”

  The old biddy had never met a cause that could wait, near as Mason could tell. Everything was an urgent matter to Beatrice Ward. Bucky Wyler once joked he thought Miss Ward ate panic for breakfast, and it looked as if she’d downed a whole heaping plate of it. “What seems to be the trouble, Miss Ward?”

  “Those urchin boys cannot be controlled. Ruffians, the lot of them. I have grave concerns about what might happen if they’re not properly supervised.”

  “Miss Sanders starts classes back up next week, and I expect they’ll have plenty to do when that happens.” He stacked the county notices and slid them in a desk drawer.

  This took the woman aback. “We’re educating those vagrants? I hadn’t even considered that.” This clearly wasn’t a pleasant prospect in her eyes.

  “I always took you to be in favor of book learning. You said Miss Sanders was the best educated mind in Evans Grove, and that’s why she ought to be the one to go to Newfield.” Mason longed to add, “and we all saw how that fared, didn’t we?” but knew better than to poke an angry bear like Beatrice on one of her streaks.

  She sniffed, her nose high in the air. “An education is wasted on someone unwilling to better themselves.”

  Here Holly was so ready to see good in those children, and Beatrice Ward could see nothing but faults. It made Mason wonder just who ought to be heading up the Ladies’ Benevolent Society in town. Near as he could tell, Miss Ward didn’t have a benevolent bone in her body. “They seem eager to me.” It was true. When they weren’t trying to act like they didn’t care, the boys were near desperate to have someone see them as worthy of placement. It’s what made yesterday’s meeting so painful to watch. “That Liam fellow struck me as right smart.”

  The mention of the scrappy redheaded boy made Miss Ward’s eyes narrow in disgust. “He’s the worst of them, Sheriff. He has crime in his eyes—you of all people should be able to see it. He’s no good. They’re all no good. Last night only proved that, don’t you think?”

  “Last night only proved that cute, sweet little girls are easier to place than a squirmy herd of boys. And then there’s the quiet girl—Heidi’s her name, isn’t it? Surely a woman of your Christian charity could see her potential?” It bothered Mason that he’d used the same words Holly had just proclaimed to him.

  Miss Ward leaned in and tapped her temple. “I don’t think she’s all together, personally. We’ve no place for feeble-minded waifs here.”

  Feeble minded waifs? Mason nearly rolled his eyes. “What is it you’d have me do, ma’am?”

  “Confine them to the schoolhouse.”

  Mason thought of the two cells behind him—there wouldn’t be much difference. “They’re children, Miss Ward. Locking them up in the schoolhouse will only cause more trouble. Little ones need to get out and play, to be occupied.” Again, it irked him that Holly Sanders’s words kept coming out of his mouth.

  “We can’t have them running around town.” She plucked her basket up off the desk, signaling that she’d said her piece and would now expect him to do something about it.

  “Miss Sanders just told me she was on her way to ask Charlie Miller if he could use one or two of them as helpers. Give them chores and such.”

  She sniffed again, making Mason wonder if the only reason she’d joined the Selection Committee was her sheer insistence at being involved in everything. “It’s not an ideal solution.”

  “Ideal went out with the dam. We’re all just doing the best we can.”

  “My leg’s still killin’ me, Sheriff! I’m dyin’ here. I swear I’m expirin’ this very moment!” Evidently, the bandit thought an audience might better his case.

  Beatrice Ward nearly flinched at the reminder that she was in the same room with murderous thieves. She clutched her basket of eggs close. “I’ll be going.”

  “If you see Doc Simpson,” Mason called to her as she made quickly for the door, “let him know he’s got an impatient patient over here.”

  The look Miss Ward gave him in return let Mason know she’d just assume the man’s leg fester and fall off for his sins.

  Mercy? No, sir, life didn’t have much mercy, no matter what Holly and her kind chose to believe.

  Chapter Nine

  “That’s that.” Mason pulled the cell door shut and tucked the keys back into his pocket. An hour ago he’d loaded the four handcuffed criminals—still moaning and complaining—into the back of a wagon and put them on the train to Greenville to stand before the circuit judge. They could have a lengthy wait; judges traveled from town to town. He’d have to travel to Greenville when the time for their proceedings came, but that was a welcome price to pay to have those bandits out of Evans Grove. Not only were they unpleasant company, but he just plain didn’t like the thought of them anywhere near Holly, Miss Sterling, or the children.

  Holly. Hang it all, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her as Holly now that he knew she thought of him as Mason. In the restored silence of his office, she seemed to push into his every thought.

  He was almost grateful—almost—for the knock on his door. “Hello there, Reverend.” He tried not to be annoyed that he’d had more conversations with Reverend Turner in the past week than in the past two years.

  “Good afternoon, Mason. Those bandits off to justice?” He nodded to the now-empty cells.

  “That’s my hope. What can I do for you?” Mason motioned to the chair in front of his desk.

  The Reverend sat down, resting his hat on one knee. “Well, I suppose the bandits are tied in to why I’m here. Some of the children—mostly the boys—are asking what will happen. I’ll be honest. I don’t care to see a grown man say they want to ‘watch ’em swing,’ but it disturbs me to hear it out of an eleven-year-old boy’s mouth.”

  “They’re just frightened boys mouthing off, Reverend. I don’t know that you need to worry much.”

  “I’ve talked with Miss Sanders, and she feels the best thing we can do is give them the facts. Tell them what’s going to happen—in a way that’s fit for their ages, of course—so their imaginations don’t run wild off their high-strung emotions.”

  Mason pursed his lips. “That sounds like something Miss Sanders would say. That woman can turn anything into a lesson.” He pulled open a drawer where his copies of the county records were kept. “I’ll write her up some facts and she can tell them whatever you all think they can handle.” He gave Turner a long look. “But the men’ll hang, Reverend. Some, if not all. Not many ways to pretty that up into a happy tale fit for tots.”


  The pastor folded his hands in a way that made Mason nervous. A quiet, careful, you’re-not-going-to-like-what-I-say-next kind of gesture. “No one’s expecting you to tell them fairy tales.”

  It took Mason a handful of seconds to register Turner’s words. When he did, he cocked his head in stunned disbelief. “Me?”

  “You are the sheriff. To them, you are the law, and this is about crimes and punishments.”

  “I hardly think...”

  “Don’t forget, Mason, they saw you shoot a gun, too. They need to understand the difference between what you did and what those bandits did. What little structure they had has been turned upside down and they need to know it’ll be set to rights.”

  Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not your man. Not on this one.” Bad enough that Holly seemed to think he was an honorable man, one to admire. He couldn’t stomach the thought of standing up in front of a bunch of youngsters and pretending to be someone who always knew the right thing to do.

  “Miss Sanders thinks you are, and I agree.” It was then that the good Reverend wielded his best leverage. “Miss Sterling thinks it’s a fine idea, and so does Miss Ward.”

  Now he was sunk. Once Beatrice Ward got it into her head that something ought to be done, she was like a swarm of hornets. Turner knew it. Holly did, too, hang her. There was only one way out, and it pleased him about as much as hugging a hornet’s nest. “Then we’ll all meet with the children. That way Miss Sanders, Miss Sterling and you can fix any missteps I’m bound to make when I explain how a bad man hangs for what he’s done.” He gave the final words a sufficiently dark emphasis, hoping his reluctance to be this week’s justice lesson came through loud and clear.

  “Miss Sanders told me to tell you she’ll have the children gathered tomorrow at ten.”

  Did she, now? “Mighty presumptuous of our good schoolmarm to assume I’d agree to this.” He raised an eyebrow at Turner, swallowing a “you were in on this, too” accusation. The reverend’s resulting smirk set Mason’s teeth on edge.

  “Well, you know Beatrice.”

  Oh, he knew Beatrice Ward all right. And so did Holly, who Mason was certain had dropped this particular bug in the old meddler’s ear. Mason had to admit he’d just been soundly outfoxed. There was a good reason Turner waited until today’s train for Greenville had left. Mason had a mind to saddle up his horse and invent a need to turn in court paperwork this minute. There had to be something to do, some way to appease the children—and maybe even to keep Holly from thinking she’d won this round. He found himself thinking of clever Liam. What would Liam ask of Holly if she put him to a task he dreaded? “Well, in that case, I’ll need cookies.”

  That stopped the reverend midrise as he stood to take his leave. “Cookies?”

  The thought of Holly Sanders, hands on her hips, directing an amused scowl at Liam—or was it at him?—made Mason grin just a bit. “You don’t expect me to tell stories to children without them getting cookies to take their minds off the big, bad wolf, do you?”

  * * *

  Holly couldn’t decide if she should scowl or smile as she opened the teacherage door the next morning to Sheriff Wright. “What kind of sheriff requires cookies for something like this?”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets, his expression softening just a bit. “One who never wanted to do it in the first place?” The way reluctance played across his face, Holly couldn’t help but think the man looked entirely too much like Liam.

  “Well, I certainly can’t argue with the power of cookies to soothe the childhood mind.” Holly nodded toward the basket behind her that Charlotte had brought over the hour before. “I know they work with me. Why don’t you come in. We ought to talk before you give your lesson.”

  Her use of the word “lesson” returned the sour look to his face. He clearly didn’t want to be here, but at least he had cleaned himself up for the occasion. The fresh shirt and shave seemed almost out of place on the usually mussed sheriff. For a split second, her heart wondered if the effort was for her, or for the children, but the look in his eyes told Holly she might not be his favorite person right now.

  “I shouldn’t be giving lessons on anything,” he nearly muttered.

  “Yes, you should.” She held up the basket. “You knew enough to ask for snacks. You’re a natural.”

  “You don’t play fair, bringin’ in Miss Ward like you did.” He took his hat off to reveal combed hair. Holly thought about making a comment, but kept silent. He was here against his will, but he was here, and that ought to count for something.

  “Beatrice simply recognized a good idea when she saw one.”

  “You mean when you handed her one.”

  This was going to be hard for everyone, but it truly needed to be done. Best to get on with it. “We really should prepare and the boys are in the schoolhouse, so here will have to do.” She watched how he kept his elbows close to his sides as if one wrong turn would knock something over. Knowing what she did about his sparse office and his curt personality, it was likely he found her house full and fussy. A mouse house, the old familiar, critical voice in her head whispered. She cringed, wondering why she felt compelled to defend her house to a man who’d seen it before. Everything had too many meanings with him—she never knew what to think or how to act anymore around this man.

  “It’s nice.” His tone was tight and obligatory.

  Holly motioned to the table and took one seat while Mason settled himself gingerly in the other. “I’d offer you some tea, but I don’t think we have time.”

  “I’m not much for tea,” he said with a forced smile. He did manage to eye the cookies, raising one mischievous eyebrow in a request she was helpless to refuse. How could a man so dark show such glimmers of amusement?

  “One.” Holly found herself using her teacher voice.

  Mason managed a slip of a genuine smile as he took two. Dickens surprised her by coming out of hiding to inspect him. Mason’s smile faded a bit at the yellow-eyed appraisal, but he didn’t mention the cat so neither did she.

  “I’ve asked all the schoolchildren to come, not just the orphans.”

  He didn’t look happy about a larger audience. “Why?”

  “What happened at the railroad tracks has ended up affecting our entire community. We should deal with it as an entire community.” Holly reached down to give the cat a soft stroke down his smooth back. “Plus, it gives a way for the orphans to meet Evans Grove’s other children before Monday’s classes.”

  He put the cookies down, interest lost. “I’m not sure I’m eager to be an entire school’s civics lesson.”

  “It’s all of us. You, me, the reverend and Miss Sterling. Why don’t you think of it more as a conversation than a lecture? The children will have lots of questions.”

  Mason ran a hand down his face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He eyed her. “I can’t be the one to give them lessons on right and wrong. I’m not...that kind of man.”

  The way his jaw tightened, Holly realized just how far Mason saw himself from righteousness. And yet he upheld the law with a fierce determination. No wonder the man always looked as if there were a war going on behind his eyes. “You’re exactly that kind of man. You’re the sheriff.”

  He rolled his eyes the way he did every time she offered him any kind of affirmation. “Aren’t we just inviting them to spend too much time thinking of something best forgotten?”

  She leaned in. “Are you likely to forget it anytime soon?”

  He leaned back and gave a reluctant sort of growl.

  Holly eyed the clock on her mantel and smoothed out her skirts. “Ready?”

  “No.”

  “No matter, that.” She reached to catch his elbow, but stopped herself. “It will be fine, you know, and it’s the right thing to do.”

  * * *

  Mason walked into the schoolhouse feeling like an outnumbered man heading into battle. Holly had rearranged the seats so that all of the children sa
t in a big circle, with some of the parents standing behind them. The setup made him feel less like he was on stage, but the sea of upturned faces—not to mention Beatrice Ward’s beady eyes—still set his nerves on edge.

  Holly introduced each adult to the children in the room. Beatrice produced an irritated cough until Holly introduced her as well, making sure to declare her title as Chairman of the Evans Grove Ladies’ Society. “Bad things happen sometimes,” Holly began once the introductions were completed, “but good people—clever people—can often find ways to make good things happen out of bad ones. The Bible tells us all things work together for good for those who know God, and that’s exactly what’s happened here in Evans Grove.”

  “That doesn’t mean,” Reverend Turner went on, “that the bad things always go away. Some bad things, like Mr. Arlington being shot, can’t be changed. It’s all right to be sad about that, because Mr. Arlington was a nice man doing good work.”

  “The children and I will miss him very much,” Miss Sterling added with a bit of a wobble in her voice.

  “He was nice,” Friedrich added, stubbing the floor with his foot. “Those men were bad.”

  Holly looked up at Mason, cuing him to take that opening. “It’s never right to take a man’s life like that,” he began, fighting the awkward feeling in his chest. “What those men did was wrong in a lot of ways. They were trying to take what wasn’t theirs and they had no reason at all to do what they did to Mr. Arlington.”

  “They were robbers and killers, that’s what they were,” Patrick pronounced, his eyes narrow and angry. “Robbers and killers hang.” He put so much emphasis on the word that Heidi flinched and Lizzie clutched her rabbit tighter. Mason could just imagine the scenarios boys like that were describing amongst themselves. Holly’s idea was starting to make sense.