A smile tugged at Susannah’s lips. “If tha are expecting nowt, tha’ll be happy with owt.”
Lucy turned wide eyes on Evangeline.
Again, Susannah laughed. “Tha looked just as confused when tha first came to Smeatley. Us words sit odd on south-folk ears.”
Evangeline squeezed Lucy’s hand. “She said that if you are expecting nothing, you’ll be happy with anything.”
“Ah. You were purposely lowering my expectations of you as teachers?”
“Neya.” Susannah shook her head. “We’re just right terrible at it.”
That set them all to laughing. How quickly Lucy and Susannah had taken to one another. They were good for each other. Susannah was often lonely amongst the other children, and had needed a friend. Lucy, under Susannah’s influence, was lighter and happier. Both girls were a balm to Evangeline’s soul.
“Us mother is coming to do t’ stories with thee,” Susannah said.
“Perfect.” Evangeline fetched her inkwell and paper from the lectern. “Would you girls straighten up here so I can meet her downstairs?”
They agreed and set to work, chatting and smiling. Susannah was patient enough to help Lucy through the unfamiliar Yorkshire words. And Lucy, bless her, had grown so immediately fond of Susannah, something she’d mentioned again and again after their visit to the Crossley home, that she was simply delighted to be with her new friend.
Evangeline hurried down the steps. Ronan sat on the bottom-most one, a slate on his lap, writing on it with a nub of chalk. She sat down beside him. He had written a full dozen words, a few of which she had only introduced him to that day.
How very tempted she was to put an arm around his shoulders, but she knew him well enough to know that touch was not always welcome, not even always from Dermot.
“You are doing so well, Ronan,” she said. “Your letters are beautifully formed. You learn words very quickly. I am inordinately proud of you.”
He nodded and kept writing.
“Do you like school?” she asked, knowing his propensity for blunt honesty.
“School is for letters and reading and bread at tea.”
He had assigned school a purpose and a place. That had always been a sure indication that James valued and enjoyed something.
“And school is with you,” he added. “And you are at supper, and you sing when the thunder happens.”
He had a place for her. She had a purpose in his life.
Tears sprang to her eyes. In recent weeks, a number of her students had thanked her for the things she’d taught them. They greeted her after church on Sundays. Little Cecilia had even told her that she loved her. Yet that moment, sitting beside Ronan as he wrote word after word and casually spoke of her as an accepted part of his life, moved her as nothing else had.
“If we have time before your father comes this evening,” Evangeline said, “we can read more stories from my brother’s book.” They did that often.
“Papa likes the stories. He told me.”
Her smile grew and grew. Ronan was opening to her more with each passing day. And to know Dermot enjoyed their story reading time was an added bit of encouragement.
Ronan looked up from his slate and toward the door. His gaze remained long enough to pull Evangeline’s attention there as well. Dermot stood framed by the light spilling in from outside. His brows pulled down sharply. His eyes did not waver from Ronan. He, surprisingly, looked almost emotional.
“Dermot?”
In a voice no louder than a whisper, he said, “He called me ‘papa.’” His apparent amazement told her a great deal of their history she’d not yet been made privy to.
She rose and crossed to him. “He hasn’t called you that before.”
He shook his head. “Not ever.”
“I do not think that means he doesn’t care for you.”
“I know it. ‘Tis simply . . .” His shoulders rose and fell. “I’ve thought of Ronan as my son all these years, but I’ve always wondered how he thinks of me.”
The boy was bent over his slate once more, seemingly oblivious to the emotions his father was experiencing, to those she was experiencing.
“James was not overly expressive either,” she told Dermot. “We came to treasure those moments when we had a glimpse into his thoughts and feelings. Those moments were precious.”
“Yes, they are.” His fond smile was soft, pleased. “I see them more and more often, though I don’t know if it’s because I’ve learned to better recognize them or because he offers more than he once did.”
“Perhaps both,” she suggested.
Dermot let a quick whistle. Ronan looked up on the instant.
“We’re planting trees in a few minutes,” Dermot said. “I know you wanted to see that.”
Ronan hopped to his feet. He brought Evangeline his slate and chalk. “These are for school.”
She took them and nodded gently. “They are for school.”
Ronan slipped past, stepping out the door.
“You’ll return for supper?” she asked Dermot.
“Of course.” He kissed her cheek, then followed his son outside.
What a day she’d had. Lucy had found some enjoyment in teaching. Susannah had shined as she’d directed Lucy’s efforts. The children were reading better than ever. Ronan had, in his own way, expressed his fondness for her. And she had been present as Dermot had experienced a precious moment with his son.
Her first days in Smeatley had been so very difficult. The contrast between then and now was drastic and reassuring.
Not even a moment passed before Mrs. Crossley stepped inside the small entryway. She glanced back once before her smiling gaze settled on Evangeline. “Dermot McCormick seems in fine spirits.”
“I believe he is pleased to be spending extra time with his son today.”
Something like a laugh entered Mrs. Crossley’s eyes. “I suspect his spirits are often lifted when he visits here.”
Though a bit of warmth touched Evangeline’s cheeks, she didn’t flinch from it. She not only had nothing to be ashamed of in the time she spent with Dermot, she was actually inordinately pleased that the town fully believed he enjoyed his time spent with her.
“Susannah tells me you have a few minutes to spend on our stories this afternoon,” Evangeline said.
Mrs. Crossley nodded. “I’ve a right lot of time, truth be told.”
Worry touched Evangeline’s mind. “You still have not found work outside the mill?”
“Not yet, but I will.” She spoke confidently, but with a hint of misgivings.
They moved into Evangeline’s humble living quarters and settled in. Not a word of the story passed between them before Susannah and Lucy burst in.
“We’ve had t’ best idea,” Susannah declared. Lucy beamed silently beside her. “T’ children are reading well now. What if us had t’ parents come hear ‘em read, see how much they’ve learned?”
A demonstration day. Evangeline hadn’t thought of that, but it was not a bad idea. The parents who had sacrificed to send their children to school would be given the chance to see the dividends those sacrifices had paid. And those in town who were unconvinced of the value of educating their children might begin to see worth in it.
A nervous excitement began to grow inside.
“We would need to choose a day when most families would be available,” Evangeline said.
“Sundays,” Mrs. Crossley said firmly. “They won’t be at t’ factory.”
Sunday, then. “And we would need to find a place large enough for everyone to gather.”
“T’ front garden is large enough,” Susannah said.
“The weather might be too parky,” Evangeline worried aloud.
“They’ll keep their coats on,” Susannah insisted.
They’d settled
the when and where and a bit of the how. That left but one unanswered question, the one that sprang into Evangeline’s thoughts in that very moment. “But will they come? I know my position in this town was thrown into chaos when my grandfather revealed my connection to him and the Bartons. I’ve not been very welcome since then.”
Mrs. Crossley and Susannah exchanged silent looks that didn’t bode particularly well.
“They are upset with me,” Evangeline said.
“More confused,” Mrs. Crossley said. “Tha are kin to a powerful family. We’ve not t’ first notion how to treat thee now.”
“I’m no different than I was before,” she said.
“Aye, but us didn’t know truly who tha was before.”
It was the same argument Dermot had made, one she didn’t entirely know how to address. “Would the people in town put aside their difficulties with me long enough to come hear their children read?”
Mrs. Crossly nodded. “I believe they would.”
Evangeline met Lucy and Susannah’s eager eyes. “We should do it.”
The weather proved remarkably cooperative Sunday afternoon. Many local families, even some who had no children in the school, had gathered in front of the schoolhouse. Some sat on blankets, others atop the large rocks scattered around. A few stood.
Evangeline’s students were both eager and nervous. They shook and bounced and smiled as their eyes darted about. She did what she could to smooth their uncertainty, but she was nervous herself. The school inspector had already offered a preliminary assessment of her teaching ability. The town would soon be given the chance to do the same.
Dermot sat a bit removed with Ronan directly beside him. She had no expectation of him joining in the readings; she was simply pleased he had been willing to come. School, after all, was not usually held on Sundays. He did, however, spend a great many Sunday afternoons with her, something she hoped was proving helpful in calming whatever uncertainties he was feeling.
The appointed time arrived, and Evangeline moved to stand before them all. Her heartbeat thudded against her temples. The thickness in her throat threatened to end her planned speech before it even began. All their eyes were on her now. She swallowed.
Say something. Anything.
But no words came. She had misled these people, and their distrust lay plainly before her. What was she do? Say?
Hugo Palmer shouted into the silence. “Ey up, Miss Blake.”
“Ey up, yussen,” she answered without hardly thinking. She’d answered in the Yorkshire manner. Would they be offended or think she was mocking them?
But grins broke out all over the crowd, even a few chuckles.
“I realize my south-folk manner of speaking likely did a right terrible job of that,” she said. “I am learning, though.”
Again they laughed, but not at her. They were clearly pleased. Relief began trickling over her.
“Your children have been learning as well, which I know is the reason you have come. I will not take up any more of their time but will, instead, give them a chance to show you how much they have accomplished.”
She motioned Susannah up. The girl didn’t hesitate for even the length of a breath.
“I’ve been helping t’ newest students. They’ve summat to read for everyone.” She motioned for her students to join her. A slow trickle quickly turned to a flow and, in a moment’s time, Susannah’s students were surrounding her.
They each took turns reading a short passage. Nothing they shared was overly complicated, yet it represented weeks of work. Evangeline watched her children as they shared their achievements. Some were hesitant, others confident. Some stumbled over their assignments, others offered a smooth, flawless performance. Throughout it all, Evangeline stood with a hand pressed to her heart, so deeply pleased. Their parents, she noticed, were equally proud.
Her more intermediate students joined Lucy at the front of the group next. Lucy’s face turned a tell-tale shade of crimson, yet she pressed onward, explaining that she had spent the last week with her group of children and they, too, had prepared something for their parents. They offered their efforts and were met with equal enthusiasm.
Evangeline stepped in front once more. “We have but one group of students left,” she said, “our most advanced group. These children have become remarkably accomplished readers in a very short amount of time, and they have prepared something particular for all of you.” She waved the small group up.
Hugo, John Crossley, Susannah, and Lucy all took their places near her.
“They mean to read to you the story of ‘The Town Beneath the Waves.’” She stepped aside, intending to allow the children full rein over their performance.
Susannah, however, held her there. “Miss Blake didn’t say that she wrote down this story in Yorkshire speak, not south-folk speak. She’s teaching us to read just t’ way we speak, in us own words.”
Apparently that bit of information was not widely known. Eyes around the crowd pulled wide and a few whispers erupted. Evangeline hoped her approach met with their approval, heaven knew it didn’t meet with the approval of the school board or the school inspector.
Susannah gave Evangeline a quick nod, an indication, she guessed, that she was now free to step aside. She slipped away and took a place beside the school, next to Dermot.
“You look nervous, darlin’,” he said.
“I am,” she admitted. “I mean for this to be an afternoon for the children to impress their parents with all they’ve learned, but I can’t help feeling a little under inspection myself.”
“From where I’ve stood,” he said, “you appear to be meeting with their approval.”
She took a deep, lung-shaking breath. “I hope you are right.”
Up in front of the gathering, Susannah continued her introductory speech. The girl certainly didn’t want for confidence. “Hugo, John and missen are known to thee and all. This is Lucy, what is sister to us Miss Blake. She helps teach t’ students. Now, she’s south-folk, so her Yorkshire speech is middlin’ at best, but she can read like she was born doin’ it.”
Lucy reddened, but laughed. Weeks earlier, Evangeline would have struggled to picture her quiet sister standing before a gathering of strangers. Smeatley had already done her good, just as it had changed and transformed Evangeline into a stronger version of herself.
All four children held up the slates on which they had copied out their portion of the story they meant to read. It was not long, owing to both the inexperience of three of the children and Evangeline’s desire to keep the gathering short, but she hoped it would be enjoyed just the same.
Hugo began. “‘One day, a weary bloke clothed in rags appeared in t’ town and tried to beg for scran and shelter.’”
John read next. “However, he were turned away from every door, apart from t’ right last one, which were home to a humble couple who welcomed him as a guest, and offered him t’ best of what they had, though they had little.”
Did the people listening realize that some of the words they read were spelled phonetically, exactly as the children spoke them? She’d argued with herself over that, wondering how far to adjust her representation of their words, how much to push them to recognize the “south-folk” versions of them. She felt she’d found a happy middle ground, but she doubted herself still.
Lucy was meant to read the next line, but she hesitated. Evangeline moved to help her, but Dermot took gentle hold of her hand.
“Let the children sort it,” he whispered.
Fast as anything, Susannah slipped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. “Do thy best,” she said. “We’ll not begrudge thee a south-folk accent tripping across us words.”
The gathering smiled and laughed a little.
“Go on, wee girl,” Mr. Crossley tossed out encouragingly.
“Aye. Tha’ll do grand,” Mr. Palme
r added.
The townspeople were showing her dear sister support, something she herself had been missing ever since her grandfather’s visit. Her heart warmed at the sound and sight of it.
Lucy nodded a bit and raised her slate in shaking hands. “‘As he gallock t’ town, t’ bloke turned around and, casting off his rags, revealed hissen as a dazzling angel.’” She released a breath so tense it was audible throughout the garden.
Susannah gave her shoulders one more squeeze, then took up her own slate. “‘To punish t’ townsolk for their unkindness, he uttered a terrible judgement upon them: “Semerwater rise, and Semerwater sink. Swallow t’ town, all save this house where they gave us scran an’ sup.” As he spoke, water rose up from t’ ground and swallowed every building in t’ town, all except t’ home of t’ couple who offered him scran and shelter.’”
The town was clearly familiar with the tale. No one needed to tell them the story was over. They launched immediately into applause. The four children bowed and curtsied.
Evangeline released a breath just as strained as Lucy had. She could not be entirely certain she hadn’t been holding her breath through the entire story.
She smiled at Dermot, relieved.
“They were brilliant,” he said.
“Yes, they were.”
She slipped back up to the front of the gathering. “That is what we prepared for you today. Thank you all so much for coming and for the honor and privilege of teaching your children. I have come to treasure and love them. Please remain as long as you’d like. Children, I will see you in the morning.”
The crowd rose and began mingling about. Evangeline fully expected to simply return to her rooms and prepare for the next day, but it was not to be. People approached her, commenting on the presentation, on the children’s reading and abilities. She was complimented, even thanked. On and on the interractions went, each as positive as the last. She was doing good and her efforts were appreciated.
The school board might not approve. Mr. Garvey might not. Her aunt, uncle, and grandfather might not. But she had made a difference in the lives of the people of Smeatley, and that was worth the world to her.
Ashes on the Moor Page 29
