No, it wasn’t possible. And yet, she’d seen how Laura’s eyes had lit up when she talked about Mr. Morgan. How she’d said he was a good man from a good family.
Annie picked up a rock and flung it clear to the garden. She had no interest in Mr. Morgan or any man for that matter. She’d seen man’s cruelty as far back as she could remember. Men who made women do horrible things. Men who beat women and even children. Men who’d grabbed hold of her and would have forced her to do things she hadn’t wanted if she hadn’t been able to connive herself out of their hands with empty promises and fast feet.
How could she ever trust a man when her own father had run off and left her when she was just a child?
Riley smashed another nail into the board then straightened and attempted to wobble the gate, but it held steady. He nodded, satisfied with the job he’d done. Once the fence surrounding the schoolyard was fully mended, Miss Laura would no longer have to worry about the children accidentally slipping through a gap and getting lost or hurt.
Picking up the top board on the pile, he sidestepped to another section of the fence. Glancing down the road to where the fence ended, he calculated how much time it would take to repair the whole thing. He’d need more boards, and finding them would take more time than repairing the broken sections. There were probably some around his folks’ place.
He stood and pressed his fists against the small of his back as he stared off to the west. Could he go back there? See his parents’ dreams reduced to nothing but the skeleton of a house and crosses on a hill?
Heaving a heavy sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. There may be things at the house he could use. Things he’d want besides his ma’s teacup. His gut churned at the thought of returning to his ravaged home, but his mind was made up. He’d go back once, make a good, thorough search of the place, and then he’d find out who he needed to talk to about selling the land. There were too many memories—too many broken dreams—too many reminders of his failure for him to ever live there again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Swinging the milk bucket in one hand, Annie squinted at the brilliant light of the sun just peeking its head over the hills to the east. The air smelled fresh—free of the perpetual Texas dust—after last night’s thunderstorm. The trio of barn cats, one black with a white chest and paw, one pure white, and a striped gray tabby, greeted her with their eager meows. The gray leaned against her skirts and gazed up scolding her with a long fussy cry for being late. “I’m sorry, Penelope, but I didn’t sleep well last night and was a bit late getting up. Come along. I’ll have your breakfast soon enough.”
Halfway to the barn, Annie spied something wadded up just outside the entrance. Stopping beside it, she glanced around then snatched up the heavy blanket. The pungent scent of mildewed wool overpowered those of the new day. “Pee-yew. Where did you come from?”
Could the storm have blown it clear to their house from one of their neighbors? Wrinkling her nose, she tossed the grimy coverlet over a fence rail and slipped into the barn, blinking at the shadows. She glanced around, hoping not to encounter their new handyman. The knot in her stomach uncoiled. Maybe he was already out working somewhere. She scanned the yard, taking in the newly mended fence but didn’t see him. Maybe the man wasn’t an early riser, but with him having been a soldier, she expected the opposite.
Mr. Morgan’s horse lifted her head over the gate and nickered, as if she hoped Annie had brought her breakfast. Annie walked to the stall and scratched the intelligent-looking horse between the ears. “You’ve sure got a pretty face, gal.”
Startled by her own words, she peered over her shoulder, glad to see the door to the tack room was closed. Talk like that could reveal her ruse.
The white cat and the black, a pair she called Salt and Pepper, sat back several feet and meowed, as if complaining that she wasn’t supposed to make a stop before the cow’s stall. Bertha’s nose appeared between two slats and she bellowed, low and deep. Several of the hens that were pecking the barn floor flapped their wings and hightailed to the back of the barn, squawking. Were all the critters upset with her today?
“Sorry, girl,” Annie said to the mare. “Miss Bertha doesn’t like to wait for the morning milking.”
She set the milk pail down and grabbed an armful of hay from the small stack in the corner, carried it into Bertha’s stall, and dumped it in the feed bin. The eager cow shoved her face down, grazing Annie’s hand with her damp nose. Annie jumped but then giggled, wiping her hand on her apron. “Hold your horses, old cow, before you eat my hand.”
She fetched the bucket and milk stool, and settled down beside the brown cow. Her hands made a swishing sound as she rubbed her palms together to warm them and then began milking. The familiar psst echoed against the bottom of the empty bucket, sending the scent of fresh milk spilling into the air. The bold tabby stood on her back legs and leaned a paw against Bertha’s hind leg. Her cries joined those of the other two until Annie laughed at the pitiful spectacle they made. “You critters are more demanding than the children when dinner is late.”
She squirted the milk from one teat at the tabby. The cat’s tongue went into action, quickly licking the white liquid off her face. Annie grinned and gave the other less friendly cats a squirt, then resumed filling the bucket. She enjoyed their plaintive begging each morning. Laying her head against Bertha’s warm side, she remembered how thinking about Mr. Morgan had kept her awake much of the night.
How would she keep her secret from him?
She’d already made several careless mistakes. Stiffening, she realized if he’d been watching her milk, he’d have figured out she could see because of how she’d given each cat a drink. Her stomach clenched. His being here made everything more difficult. If he discovered her secret, would he tell others? If the townsfolk found out, they might toss Miss Laura out on her backside for deceiving them all these years.
Being dishonest and sneaky had been the only way of life Annie had known until she came to Waco and learned that she and her pa were the oddity. But Miss Laura wasn’t like her. She had made a rash decision and only deceived people to protect a starving and abandoned thirteen-year-old. Miss Laura was good and decent, and decent folks worked hard. They didn’t steal. Or generally lie. She searched the corners of her mind but couldn’t remember her daddy working a day of his life, unless you counted gambling. Playing cards was hard work, so he’d said, but she suspected he just plain enjoyed trying to win coins away from the other players.
Bertha swung her head around, eyed her, and uttered a deep bawl. Annie stopped milking, knowing thoughts of her daddy must have caused her to tug too hard. She sat up straight and placed her hands on her knees, pushing back the anger and hurt that tended to well up like a building thunderstorm whenever she thought about her father. After seven years, her heart still hurt that he had abandoned her. Did he ever think about her? Regret his decision? Was he even alive now?
Annie sighed. What did it matter? She loved having a place to call home. She loved having clean clothes and a place to take a bath at least once a week. She’d never return to that other way of life, no matter what.
Pepper waved his paw in the air, drawing Annie’s attention. He sat on her left side next to Salt, both felines watching her like a pair of starving orphans who longed for a meal but were afraid to ask. On her other side, Penelope finished licking her paw before she stretched and crept toward the pail. She glanced up at Annie and meowed.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Annie waved her hand, scattering all three cats. Penelope darted to her right, between the slats and into the next stall scattering a pair of nesting hens. The cat stopped and looked back. Annie grinned and started milking again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Penelope’s head jerk around, her back arch, and the fur on her tail lift.
Suddenly, the pile of hay Penelope stood on moved. Something—or someone—groaned. Annie’s heart jolted at the same moment the gray tabby hissed. Screeching, Penelope dashed back in her direction a
nd flew past the cow. Annie grabbed the pail just as Bertha sidestepped. She fell backwards off the milking stool, and the pail flew up, showering her with warm milk. She gasped and lay on the hard-packed ground for a moment, and then her gaze zipped back to the stall beside Bertha’s. Had some wild animal hidden in the hay?
Suddenly a huge form rose up, and the hay fell away. Annie’s stomach lurched. It wasn’t an animal. It was a man—a man with a blanket covering his face.
She rolled sideways and attempted to crawl across the barn floor toward the pitchfork, but her knees kept snagging the skirt of her dress, impeding her progress. She glanced over her shoulder, then stood up and ran the rest of the way. Who would stay in their barn without permission? Was he a raider? She’d read in an Austin newspaper about how soldiers with no homes to return to were riding across the state, stealing, killing people, and doing unimaginable things to women. Snatching up the big fork, she spun back around, hoping with all her heart that the man just wanted a place to sleep and would move on.
But if the man had more nefarious ideas, she was prepared to protect Miss Laura and the children, no matter the cost.
Someone held Riley tight. Something covered his face. Hot, stale air did little to fill his lungs. He was going to suffocate if he didn’t get his face uncovered. His arm broke free, and he fought against the cloth trapping him, his hands clawing at the coarse fabric. Sweat rolled down his cheek, and his heart thundered like the hooves of a charging cavalry regiment.
He gave another hard yank and broke free. Sucking in precious air, he blinked, and his mind sharpened. His blanket hung over one shoulder, a corner of it in his hand. He snorted a laugh. A dream—that’s all it was. He hadn’t been captured. His frantic heartbeat slowed and he looked around. Last night, he’d lain down on the bed in the tack room, but how had he gotten out here? He plucked strands of hay off his shirt, trying to make sense of things. Had he been sleepwalking?
A shadow darkened the barn entrance, drawing his gaze. He squinted against the bright light and stood, dusting off his clothes. “Miss Sheffield?”
The poor woman looked as if she’d been caught in a downpour—at least the top half of her did. Strands of her wet, light brown hair had turned darker and hung limp across her shoulders. She had that pitchfork pointed at him again. What had he done this time?
She frowned, and he’d swear she was gawking at him if he didn’t know better. “Mr. Morgan?”
“Who else were you expecting to be here this early?”
Her chin lifted and her pretty lips puckered. “I sure wasn’t expecting anyone to be buried under a mound of hay. You scared me half to death.” She ducked her chin. “Your unexpected presence frightened the cow and caused me to spill the milk—all over myself. And now I doubt we’ll have enough for the children’s breakfast.”
His gaze fell on the upturned bucket and stool, lying on the dirt floor in front of him. He scratched his head, the fog of sleep still muddying his thoughts. Just what had he done to cause all that?
“What in the world were you doing in that stall?” She walked over to the barn wall and leaned the hayfork against it then strode back to the center of the walkway and shoved her hands to her hips? “Well, are you going to answer me?”
He knew exactly how one of the children must have felt when she scolded them for doing wrong, but at the moment, she looked more like an irritated hen that had dishwater dumped on her than a teacher. He sure had a way of ruffling her feathers. Riley couldn’t help grinning.
She blinked and her expression changed from anger to something he couldn’t quite decipher. “Never mind. I don’t want to know anyway.”
She dipped her head and plodded forward slowly. Holding up her skirt, she took a step then swung her foot around in front of her from one side to the other and back, then she took another step, and swiped her foot again.
Riley stood there, intrigued, by her odd actions.
One more swipe, and her foot connected with the pail, making a hollow thunk. So she was searching for the bucket. He’d never considered how difficult such a simple task must be for people who couldn’t see. How did she manage to feed and milk the cow then carry the pail back to the house without stumbling under its weight? He bent down to pick it up for her, but she leaned down at the same time, and their foreheads conked together.
“Ow! Oh!” She held one hand to her head and hauled back and clobbered him on the arm with her fist. “You’ve got to be the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Just trying to help.” He felt bad for hurting her, but a chuckle slipped out in spite of his trying hard to hold it back. He’d been miserable and had shoved down his emotions for so long that her being so upset over something so petty as a little spilt milk just hit him funny.
She scowled and continued to rub the red spot over her left eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me?”
He tucked his lips together and shook his head, trying extrahard to contain the amusement making his shoulders bounce. “Uh … no, ma’am.”
She stomped her foot, pressed her hands against her hips, and lifted her face to his. For being so useless, her pretty brown eyes bore straight into his, or so it seemed. She huffed out a sound, something between a cat hacking up a hairball and a horse’s whiffle, spun around, and marched out of the barn.
Bertha mooed, long and deep, as if scolding him too.
Riley’s chest bounced as he attempted to not laugh. For someone who was so gentle with the children, Miss Sheffield sure had a short temper and no patience with him. It made no sense that her actions would tickle his funny bone, but they did. He shook his head, righted the stool, and stuck the pail under the cow. Maybe he could offer an apology for scaring and embarrassing her by finishing the milking. He hoped the old cow had enough left so the children didn’t go without.
Resting his head against the cow’s side, he let his thoughts drift to Miss Sheffield again. He’d seen some women during the war, but most of those had been haggard from the exhausting duties of nursing wounded soldiers or doing laundry from sunup to sundown for more men than he could count. They’d been thin from the lack of good food and most times covered with grime. No, he’d rarely seen one with Miss Sheffield’s wholesomeness, or one whose skin looked as soft as a horse’s muzzle. Or whose big, brown eyes lit with fire in spite of their ineffectiveness. Her spirit reminded him of Miranda’s.
Riley stiffened. He didn’t want to think of Miranda and the pain she’d caused. He shook his head. He had no business thinking of Miss Sheffield either. He was a man with nothing to his name except a piece of property he didn’t want. Soon, he needed to go into town and see about selling it.
CHAPTER SIX
Laura loved teaching the children, but she coveted the few moments that she was able to get away each week. As she and Annie approached the edge of town, she lifted her nose and sniffed, catching a sweet fragrance on the warm breeze. “Someone’s baking today.”
“Yes, and if I wasn’t so nervous about going into town, I’d be hankering for a bite even though we just finished our noon meal.” Annie’s steps slowed. “Maybe I should go back and stay with Mrs. Alton in case one of the youngsters won’t take a nap.”
Shaking her head, Laura chuckled. “I don’t know why you get so anxious every time you go to town.”
“It’s not the townsfolk that concern me but the strangers. The men who gawk at me and even try to start up a conversation.”
Laura wrapped her arm through Annie’s, slowing her pace. “You’re a pretty young lady, and it’s only natural that they study you. Men like to watch women. It’s just how they’re made.”
“Well, it makes me feel like there are ants crawling all over me.” Annie shuddered, but her lips twitched and a grin broke out on her face. “I have a hard time not laughing sometimes when they learn I’m blind. You should see their expressions. Some are saddened, but most are horrified and back away as if I have some disease they could catch.”
Laur
a understood how Annie felt. Most men looked at her the same way since she was generally in the presence of a blind student or Annie whenever she came to town. “I know, but I don’t think it’s funny at all. It makes me angry. People need to be educated. A blind person can live a good life, as long as they learn some crucial skills.”
“You’re preaching again.”
Laura glanced sideways at Annie, biting her lips to keep from grinning. “My apologies. I do get on my soapbox at times.”
“Yes, you do.” Annie peered out from under her bonnet, smiling.
Love for the younger woman flooded Laura’s heart. How would she have managed all these years without Annie’s help and companionship? The feisty orphan had blossomed into a pretty woman—a bit headstrong at times, but a responsible hard worker and the best of friends, in spite of their age difference. She dreaded the day Annie would leave, yet she knew that day was coming, even though Annie would argue the point.
She still wasn’t certain she’d done right by the ragtag orphan who’d appeared on her doorstep seven years ago. Yes, she had learned manners and proper etiquette for a female and she’d forsaken pick-pocketing, but Laura never should have forced Annie to pretend to be blind. That was the only thing she’d lived to regret, but how else would it have been possible for the girl to stay at the school? Mr. Morrow was a kind, generous benefactor, but he had made it clear that only blind children were to live at the Wilcox School for the Blind. She could argue the point that at thirteen, Annie had been more an adult than a child, but regardless, she didn’t have it in her heart to turn the starving girl away. She knew how hard it was to grow up without a father—and poor Annie had neither father nor mother.
“What are you going to do if Mr. Morrow’s letter isn’t there?” Annie nibbled on her lower lip.
Laura glanced across the field beside them, taking in the blanket of multicolored wildflowers swaying in the breeze. In the nine years that she’d run the school, Charles Morrow had never been late with a payment, and the fact that he was this month more than worried her. What would happen to the school if something happened to Mr. Morrow? With all the expenses from the war, the town wasn’t able to support them, and the small monthly fee that only half the parents could afford to pay wouldn’t keep them in food for a week.
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