Just like Miss Grenadier.
Meredith Rose flinched. Her body felt like it was on fire. Where had that odious thought come from? The two situations were farther apart than Idaho and “Baw-stun.”
Were they really? She had withdrawn from a fellow human being as surely and as haughtily as Miss Grenadier had done from her. Memory of the humiliation brought shame. Meredith Rose peeked at Ignatius to see if he had noticed her movement, then breathed a quick prayer of thankfulness when he continued to ramble on to her brother. Lout that he was, this man should never have to suffer the way Meredith Rose Macrae had suffered when Miss Grenadier marched out of the room as if fleeing from a contagious disease. Too tired to think, she fell asleep against her twin’s shoulder, only to be roused by Marcus’s voice. “Wake up, Merry. We’re here.”
“So that’s what yore name is. Mighty purty.” Ignatius Crane’s nasal drawl drove sleep away. “We don’t hold with Miss-in’ and Mister-in’ folks out here.”
Meredith Rose’s temper flared. Parishioner or not, town boss or not, school board member or not, she wasn’t going to take this churlish man’s guff. “You will either address me as Miss Macrae or refrain from addressing me at all,” she spit out.
The admiration she had seen in his eyes changed to an expression that sent a trickle of fear down her spine. Being provoked was no reason to lower herself to this man’s level. The way his eyes narrowed brought back a long-ago memory of Marcus saying, “There are some people who are better to have as friends than enemies.” Was this the case with Ignatius Crane? If so, what had she done?
Hating the need to retreat, for the second time she forced a smile. “Please don’t take it personally,” she told the now-belligerent man. “It’s just that no one has ever called me Merry but my brother.”
He gave her a suspicious look, but she was saved from having to say more by the stagecoach driver’s loud, “Whoa, you miserable critters,” and a deep masculine voice calling, “Did you get them, Len?”
“Shore did, and she’s a looker.” A hearty laugh followed.
Meredith Rose cringed. The stagecoach door jerked open. A strong hand reached in.
“Marcus Macrae? Miss Macrae? Welcome to Last Chance. I’m Briton Farley.”
Chapter 6
The respectful way Briton Farley spoke her name did much toward settling Meredith Rose Macrae’s qualms about Last Chance. So did the deeply tanned hand that gripped Marcus’s. It hinted at strength and security. Whatever else this western man turned out to be, he would be a rock in time of trouble.
Don’t be a ninny, she silently chastised herself. You know nothing about the man except his name. Yet eagerness to see if Mr. Farley’s face lived up to his hands and voice, plus the desire to look well for Last Chance, caused her to straighten her gown and adjust her hat to the proper angle. Fortunately, Marcus had stepped out of the stagecoach, followed by Ignatius. It gave her a moment to collect herself.
Taking a deep breath, Meredith Rose attempted to stand. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on the toll the long trip had taken on her normally athletic body. Her right foot buckled, and she gave a little moan.
Marcus’s head reappeared in the doorway. “What is it, Merry? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she retorted, “except my silly foot’s asleep.” So much for appearing dignified. “ ‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ ” she muttered, stamping to restore circulation.
Marcus roared, then Briton Farley’s richly amused voice said, “It’s actually ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’ ”
Astonished by the remark, Meredith Rose took her brother’s arm and stepped down from the stagecoach. What kind of man not only knew Scripture but wasn’t afraid to quote it in front of the driver, Ignatius Crane, and the large crowd behind him? She looked up. And up. Briton Farley topped her brother’s six-foot height by more than two inches. Her own five feet seven seemed puny beside him. April sunlight glistened on his bared head and turned his hair to pure gold. The sun was reflected in his laughing amber eyes and enhanced his wide, white smile. Even his worn but spotless work clothes didn’t detract from the fact that outside of Marcus, Briton Farley was the finest-looking man she had ever seen.
A vision of Herbert Calloway shimmered in the air between them. The inadequacy of her former fiancé to measure up to this western rancher/miner/president of the school board/town father brought an insane desire to laugh. How outraged Herbert would be to know the woman he’d jilted stood in the dusty street of an Idaho mining town comparing him unfavorably with Briton Farley!
Meredith Rose could feel a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She impulsively held out her gloved hand. “Thank you for the correction, Mr. Farley,” she said demurely.
“Again, welcome to Last Chance.” An unreadable expression crept into his eyes. Before she could identify it, Ichabod–Ignatius’s nasal tones clanged in her ears like an unwelcome gong. “No need fer that, Brit. I done welcomed her.”
Meredith Rose’s attention shifted to the scowling man, who glanced in her direction and added significantly, “Keep this in mind. I seen her first.”
“Don’t you be pestering Miss Macrae,” a buxom woman called from the crowd. She elbowed her way to where the Macraes stood. “I’m Katie Reilly. I own Katie’s Kitchen.” She nodded across the street at the buildings. Crisp, red-checkered curtains at the shining, many-paned windows made the café attractive. “If Ignatius comes around wanting to court you like he’s done every other unmarried girl and woman in town, you let me know. I’ll take my rolling pin to him.”
A wave of approval and laughter swept through the on-lookers. Marcus solemnly shook hands with the restaurant proprietor. “With a protector like you, Mrs. Reilly, my sister should be well cared for.” He spun toward Crane amidst a second round of crowd approval. “I believe in turning the other cheek, but there’s also a time to smite the enemy. Do we understand each other?”
Ignatius jerked his head in the semblance of a nod but didn’t back down. Meredith Rose found herself torn between humiliation, the desire to shriek, and the need to blink back tears at the championship from Marcus and Katie Reilly. “Th–thank you.” She turned to Briton Farley and asked, “If Icha–Mr. Crane bothers me, will you smite him or take a rolling pin to him, too?” Her hand flew to her mouth. Had she lost her senses, along with her good intentions to treat Ichabod–Ignatius courteously?
The rancher’s smile faded into a grim line. His eyes looked molten gold. “I’ll do more than that,” he vowed, glaring at the man who had attempted to stake a claim to the new minister’s sister, with or without her permission. His rigid stance warned Meredith Rose that although Brit resembled a sleeping mountain lion, when roused, he could be equally dangerous. His voice cracked through the silence like a bullwhip in the hands of a master. “No one, I repeat, no one is to force unwelcome attentions on Miss Macrae. Understood?”
Meredith Rose expected Crane to slink away like a whipped puppy. Instead he smirked and demanded, “Does no one include you, Brit?” He smirked again.
The mood of the crowd changed to an angry rumbling. It expressed more loudly than words the esteem in which the town of Last Chance held Brit Farley. The big man clenched his hands into fists and crouched as if preparing to spring. Primitive feelings Meredith Rose hadn’t known she possessed rose within her. Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. For one mad moment she hoped Brit would pound the repulsive Crane until he cried for mercy.
Her defender slowly relaxed. One tawny eyebrow raised. “As a member of the school board, I’m sure you understand the meaning of no one,” he quietly said. He offered his arm to Meredith Rose. “Now if you folks will come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be living.” He smiled at the crowd. “Pastor Macrae and his sister have had a long, tiring trip. There will be plenty of time for everyone to greet them later.”
Katie Reilly sniffed. “If they stay, after what Ignatius just did.”
/> Crane cast a malevolent glance in her direction, then stared at Meredith Rose. It took all her self-control to remain calm beneath his scorching gaze. Denied of the chance to “court” her, would he become her enemy—and Marcus’s? Could he stir up trouble against them?
Marcus patted Katie Reilly’s shoulder. “Let’s just forget what happened. It takes all kinds of people to make a town.” He offered the grin his twin believed could get him almost anything he wanted, and addressed the crowd. “There will be church this coming Sunday. I hope you’ll all be there.” He even gave Ignatius a friendly smile.
“We’ll be there, Parson,” a loud voice called. “Any man who stands up for his womenfolk should be able to tell us something worth hearing!” A hum of appreciation followed. It warmed Meredith Rose’s cold heart, but not as much as the strong hand that gently rested on hers for a moment before Briton Farley said, “Don’t let Crane disturb you, Miss Macrae. He’s actually harmless. Most of the folks here are good people, rougher than you’re used to, but kindhearted and real.”
“I’m surprised at the amount of brick and frame businesses,” Marcus confessed. He gestured down the street that stretched before them. Meredith Rose’s gaze followed his pointing fingers, then traveled to the wooded slopes surrounding the town. All the way from Boston, she had tried to form a picture of where she and Marcus would be living. So far, there seemed to be nothing to dread. The town nestled between the mountains like a baby in the folds of a blanket. She could hear the distant rumble of machinery that must belong to the mines, but it wasn’t close enough to town to be more than a reminder of why Last Chance existed.
“We are making a real town here.” Brit grinned. “It’s a far cry from the day my old prospector friend Charley January put up a sign in front of the log house he helped me build. It read: LAST CHANCE. POPULATION 2.” He hesitated. “After you settle in, I want you to come out to my ranch.” Again the unreadable expression Meredith Rose had seen when they first met came into his eyes. After a moment, he said, “Please forgive me if I stare, Miss Macrae. You remind me of someone who once meant everything to me.” Sadness darkened his gaze.
Meredith Rose’s spirits had been rising at finding out Last Chance wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. Now they plummeted. Had the woman been his wife? He had obviously never gotten over his loss. Why should you care? she fiercely demanded. He is nothing to you except the tool that brought you to Last Chance. The sooner you convince Marcus that God really isn’t calling him to work here, the better. What are you, a silly schoolgirl to be attracted by a sunny smile and a man who springs to the aid of maidens in distress? A modern Sir Galahad, riding on a white horse?
For the second time that day, she blurted out words best left unspoken. “What kind of horse do you ride?”
Brit blinked. “My favorite is my buckskin stallion Nez Percé.”
“What color is he?”
“Golden tan with a black mane and tail. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
So much for fairy tales. Sir Galahad wouldn’t have been caught dead on a buckskin horse, even if there had been such mounts in the days of King Arthur. She fell silent, lengthening her stride to keep up with Brit’s long steps. Was she the same Meredith Rose Macrae she had been for the first twenty-seven years of her life? So far today she had endured a boor, found at least two new advocates, longed to see Ichabod–Ignatius pounded, and felt disappointed to discover a stranger’s heart was held captive by a lost love. Yet she felt more alive than she had in years.
Perhaps it was the friendliness of the crowd who supported her against one of their own. Or the blue, blue sky and smiling sun. Whatever the reason, she felt ready to face whatever came next, even living in a schoolhouse!
When they reached the log schoolhouse sitting on a knoll and encircled by trees and wildflowers, Meredith Rose could scarcely conceal her curiosity. What would it be like inside? She didn’t have long to wait. Brit flung open the door. The familiar smell of chalk mingling with the unfamiliar tang of forest sweeping through the open windows made her homesick. In spite of what had happened, she had enjoyed teaching at Miss Grenadier’s School for Young Ladies.
She noted the carefully crafted wooden desks, so in contrast with pictures of early schoolrooms she had seen in magazines depicting backwoods schools. Open cupboards held a goodly amount of supplies. An American flag proudly stood at one side of the room; a large black wood-burning stove at the other. Meredith Rose’s gaze turned to the teacher’s desk. An open Bible rested on its polished surface.
“What a well-equipped school,” Marcus burst out. “Merry, you could do wonders here!” Remorse killed his enthusiasm but too late. The cat was not only out of the bag, it perched on the teacher’s desk and smirked at Meredith Rose.
Brit looked delighted. “Miss Macrae, don’t tell me you’re a teacher!” Words tumbled out like a mountain stream rushing to the sea. “Thank God!” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You are truly an answer to prayer.”
It took great effort, but she ignored his heartfelt exclamation and said, “I? Teach here? Preposterous! I’m sorry, Mr. Farley, but I’m afraid you will need to keep praying.”
“How do you know God didn’t send you unless you try?”
The question caught her unawares. She freed her hand and fumbled with her gloves. Putting all the chill she could summon into her voice she told him, “For one thing, I only taught such subjects as deportment, drama, music, and art.”
“Fine.” He beamed. “Our youngsters will be all the better for knowing those things as well as their ABCs. It won’t be hard. There are only a few weeks left this term, and you’ll have this summer to get ready for fall.”
If anything in the world could have changed Meredith Rose’s mind, it would have been Brit’s golden smile, his absolute confidence in her ability, and his belief that God had sent her to Last Chance. She felt herself wavering. Should she consent to teach the short session with the understanding they must replace her in the fall?
His next words came like a deluge of ice water. They steadied her determination not to be swayed by this appealing westerner. “It isn’t like you have to teach all forty-eight classes,” he assured her. “The older students help by listening to the younger children’s lessons.”
Meredith Rose gasped. “Forty-eight classes?”
Brit looked surprised. “Of course. Six subjects times eight grades equals forty-eight.” He ticked them off on his strong fingers. “Reading, writing, and arithmetic; spelling, history, and geography. Of course, if you add art and music and drama it will make a mite more work.”
Meredith Rose weakly sank into a chair, wondering if the sound in her head could be God laughing. Eight grades in a one-room schoolhouse? Six subjects for each grade? A ‘mite more work’ if she added art and music and drama? From wedding bells to school bells in a few short weeks. It was enough to make her want to tear her hair and catch the first stage out of town.
Chapter 7
How do you know God didn’t send you?“ Brit Farley’s challenging words beat in Meredith Rose Macrae’s mind. Marcus didn’t help. “Give it a try, old dear,” he said. “Children here have the right to learn. You can teach. It’s as simple as that.” His eyes darkened to the color of the Idaho night sky. “Besides, we can use the money.”
Meredith Rose gasped. “Are we that hard up?”
“We’re all right so far, but my salary is partially dependent on the offerings. Teaching would also keep you from being bored.” He waved one hand around their living quarters. Although rough compared with Boston, the small living-room and kitchen combination and the two minuscule bedrooms were comfortable. The cheap but cheerful curtains, rag rugs, hand-hewn furniture, and blazing fire in the small fireplace gave a warm and cozy feel. “You certainly won’t be spending much time doing housework!”
Meredith Rose opened her mouth to indignantly deny any intention of teaching in Last Chance, then quickly snapped it shut. If she were to persuade
Marcus to leave, they would need money until he could find a church elsewhere. Even the small amount she would earn in the few weeks remaining in the spring term would help. “I–I’ll think about it,” she promised, even though her soul revolted at the idea.
A thunderous knock sounded at the door leading outside of their quarters. Meredith Rose burned with resentment. Were she and Marcus to have no privacy?
“It’s Katie Reilly,” a voice called. “Preacher, we need your help.”
Marcus flung the door open. Katie stumbled inside and held out the small boy she carried. Blood oozed between her fingers from the child’s flannel-clad shoulder. “It’s Sammy, my youngest. I told him and told him to stay out of the street.” She gulped. “He didn’t—and a horse kicked him.”
“It weren’t my fault, Katie. Honest.” The grizzled old man who had followed Katie inside looked ready to burst into tears. “He tore out of the café and fell right in front of us. My horse tried to jump over him, but his hoof hit Sammy.”
“Aw, Ma, I ain’t gonna die,” the red-haired urchin protested. He squirmed and stared at Marcus. “Brit Farley says you know how to fix folks.” Meredith Rose marveled at the total trust and hero worship in Sammy’s eyes.
“Let’s see what we can do.” Marcus pried Katie’s fingers free from her son’s shoulder and set the boy on the kitchen table. “Bring my medical bag,” he told his sister, sliding the blood-soaked shirt off Sammy’s skinny body. “Not too bad, Mrs. Reilly. See?” He showed her the shallow groove. “This is going to sting, Sammy.” Marcus swabbed the cut with antiseptic.
Sammy screwed his face into an awful scowl, but not one tear escaped. He gave Marcus an anxious, gap-toothed grin. “You’ll tell folks I didn’t cry, right? Men don’t cry when they get to be six.”
Meredith Rose was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to scoop the child in her arms and hug him. She bit her lip and was glad that Marcus solemnly promised to make sure everyone knew how brave Sammy had been. He finished his task, put a soft bandage over the wound, and tied it off in a jaunty knot. “All done.”
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