Ashes on the Moor

by Sarah M. Eden

  “And now you have made Evangeline and Lucy suffer as well,” Mr. Farr said. “While I wish I had raised a daughter who could change that fault in herself, I very much fear you will continue to wield your disapproval of their mother as a weapon.”

  Mrs. Barton’s expression hardened. “Perhaps it is a good thing she is not remaining in Smeatley.”

  “That is a topic I wish to address.” Evangeline squeezed Dermot’s fingers then stepped forward, facing her grandfather with the bearing of a warrior. “The law gives you guardianship of Lucy, but she is my sister, and I will not relinquish her without a fight, and fight you I will, if I must. The school where you sent her was a purgatory. Forcing her to live away from her only remaining family was a cruel and heartless thing to do.”

  Mr. Farr was clearly surprised by her fierce words.

  “I may be losing my place as a teacher, but I am fully able and willing to find another position. Further, I have more than earned the right to have access to some part of my inheritance, the smallest bit of which would allow me to secure a new home for myself and Lucy and see to our needs while I secure a new source of income. I have learned to support myself, to run a household, and to live an independent life. I have earned the right to have Lucy with me.”

  Evangeline did not cower as she spoke to the man who held such power over so many lives.

  “If you will not allow Lucy to remain with me, if I am forced to go to Leeds in order to have her with me, so be it. But know that I will stand her champion every moment of every day, and I will do the same for myself. A lady may do as she is told, but this woman will do what she must.”

  “Good heavens,” Mrs. Barton gasped.

  Dermot caught Lucy’s eye. The girl beamed with pride. Dermot couldn’t hold back a grin of absolute admiration.

  “Before you begin storming the citadel,” Mr. Farr said, “allow me to tell you what I have in mind. I’ve been giving thought to what I want my mill to be in Smeatley. We’re building housing for our workers so they’ll not live in squalor. We’re making changes to the hours and the demands on those employed in the factory so the workers will not be so miserable. And I’m looking to offer schooling to the children working there so they’ll not miss an education simply because their families are in need of money.”

  “Are you in earnest?” Evangeline watched her grandfather with wide, hopeful eyes.

  He nodded. “I mean to open a school at the mill, so they can spend a little time each day learning.”

  “That is a wonderful idea,” Evangeline said.

  “I know.” Mr. Farr was nothing if not confident. “And I’d like you to be the teacher. Despite Mr. Garvey’s objections, I believe you’re a fine teacher. Your students read for me, you’ll remember, and did a bit of deciphering. I was impressed, just as Garvey ought to have been.”

  “You were impressed?”

  “Not merely by your teaching.” He lifted a stack of papers from a finely carved side table. “These were nearly impossible to overlook.”

  Evangeline glanced back at Dermot. He shrugged, not knowing what the papers were. She stepped closer to her grandfather, eyeing his mysterious pile.

  “Bits of writing?” She was clearly confused.

  “Pleas,” Mr. Farr explained. “Written by your students.”

  She took a shaky breath. “May I read them?”

  “I’d assumed you would.” He gave the pile to her.

  Evangeline returned to Dermot’s side. Her gaze was glued to the papers in her hand. “They are forming their letters more precisely.”

  Dermot knew too little of such things to agree or disagree. “What have the children written?”

  “I’m almost afraid to read them,” she admitted on a whisper.

  “You needn’t be,” Lucy insisted, a little too knowingly.

  “You had a hand in this,” he guessed aloud.

  Lucy shrugged. “Susannah and I might have borrowed some paper.”

  Evangeline’s brows turned sharply downward as she focused fully on the words scrawled out before her. Her lips moved silently as she looked over each page in turn. A brief smile. A soundless laugh. A sheen of tears.

  “They love you,” Mr. Farr said. “More to the point, they have faith in you. They credit you with all they have learned and are begging for you to remain.”

  Her eyes hadn’t left her students’ notes. “I have done some good here after all.”

  “A world of it,” Dermot said.

  Mr. Farr hooked his arms behind his back and rocked on his feet. “You are a fine teacher and a fierce defender of those in your care. This town could not do better for its children.”

  “But the committee will insist—”

  “The committee only has power over schools run by the town,” Mr. Farr said. “Private schools have far more freedom.”

  Evangeline pressed the stack of papers to her heart with one hand and took hold of Dermot’s hand with the other. Her voice emerged a touch breathless. “Privately run schools like one sponsored by a mill?”

  “Precisely.”

  Evangeline looked at Dermot, hope in her eyes. He tossed convention aside and slipped his arm around her waist.

  Mr. Farr gave a slight smile. “It would be difficult, teaching students who can’t spend much time with you each day, but I’ve every faith in you, my girl. Anyone who can deliver a scolding as precise and bold as the one you just did can certainly undertake a challenge such as this.”

  He’d offered her the opportunity to remain in Smeatley, to continue working. It seemed almost too good to be true. Having been the recipient of far too many of life’s disappointments, Dermot held his breath.

  “What of the children who do not work at the mill, whose families are not employed there?” Evangeline asked. “I cannot abandon them. Any new teacher the board selects will follow Mr. Garvey’s dictates, stripping them of their language and ignoring what they need in favor of what he wants. I cannot resign them to that.”

  Mr. Farr had a ready answer. “I’ll turn no student away, whether they work for me or not. They’ll simply pay their fee to our school rather than to the school board.”

  “What of those whose fees are being paid by the board?” Evangeline pressed. “They would be the poorest and most vulnerable of families.”

  “We can convince the school board to pay that fee to our school instead.”

  “I believe that we could work out an agreement,” Mr. Barton said.

  “That is not surprising,” Mrs. Barton muttered.

  “I believe the factory school would be very busy,” Evangeline said. “I do not know that I can single-handedly manage such a large undertaking.”

  “I will help,” Lucy said. “Susannah Crossley and I—we’ll both help. We already are.”

  “They are,” Evangeline acknowledged. “A teacher could not ask for two better assistants, but two such able helpers could ask for far more than volunteering their time and efforts.”

  Mr. Farr arched an eyebrow. “You are a shrewd negotiator, granddaughter.”

  “A family trait.”

  A smile of appreciation touched his stern face. “I would pay the girls for their efforts as well, though Lucy would be required to continue her own education.”

  Lucy turned pale. “I won’t go back to that school, Grand­father.”

  Evangeline pulled her sister firmly to her side. “I won’t allow you to send her back.”

  “We won’t,” Dermot added, keeping them both near.

  Mrs. Barton’s eyes pulled wide with shock at the bold declaration. Mr. Barton seemed nearly as surprised. Evangeline, however, stood firm, apparently convinced that Dermot would defend her sister as fiercely as she did. Their future was not yet entirely decided, but they had vowed to build it together and that was reassurance enough for her.

  M
r. Farr held his hands up in a gesture of calm surrender. “I don’t mean to send Lucy back. I will arrange for a tutor or governess. Your mother would have wanted that.”

  Mrs. Barton scoffed and turned away, crossing the room to the window.

  “Remaining will likely mean enduring continued unkindness.” Mr. Farr didn’t have to say from whom. “I wish I could promise you otherwise.”

  “Her bitterness will not poison me.”

  Mr. Farr turned to Dermot. “And I’d like to talk with you about expanding your back-to-back housing project as well as the possibility of another mill in a few years’ time.”

  “Another mill?” ’Twas an enormous undertaking, one that would see him in fine fettle.

  “I’m not fully decided, but I’m considering it.”

  “I’ll think on it, as well,” Dermot said. “Though I’ll not make any decision until Evangeline has made hers.”

  “‘Evangeline’?” Mr. Barton eyed him curiously. “Are the two of you on a Christian-name basis?”

  Dermot silently dared him to condemn them for it. Mr. Barton smiled with approval. Mr. Farr did the same. Mrs. Barton blessed them all by not bothering to turn around, though she was likely glowering at the window.

  Evangeline looked at him. “Rows and rows of houses and a mill, Dermot. That’s years’ worth of steady, reliable work that would see you quite comfortable. You would have everything you’ve ever worked for.”

  “We’ve discussed this already, my dear. If life’s taking you to Leeds, it’s taking me there as well. In Leeds, you would have all the comforts; I’m certain your grandfather would see to that. If that’s what you’re wanting, that’s where we’ll go.”

  “No regrets?” she pressed.

  “Not a one,” he vowed.

  “And we would be together,” she said softly.

  “Always,” he answered.

  “I want to teach the children, whether at the town school or the factory school. I want to see you build your houses and realize your dreams. I want to stay in Smeatley.”

  He pressed the briefest of kisses to her forehead. “Smeatley, it is.”

  “That bargain ought to be sealed with more of a kiss than that,” Mr. Farr said. He offered his arm to Lucy. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

  Lucy accepted the invitation. She motioned for Ronan to follow them, which, to Dermot’s surprise, he did.

  Mr. Barton stepped past his wife. “Come along, Berta. We’ve a dinner to host.”

  She followed, though reluctantly. The misery that existed between the couple was tragic. Dermot hoped Evangeline would not be subject to it very often.

  A moment later, Dermot and Evangeline were alone.

  “I am still amazed that you would have gone to Leeds if I’d been required to go there,” she said.

  “I’d have gone to the ends of the world, darling.”

  She brushed her fingers along his jaw. “For such a disagreeable man, you’ve proven surprisingly tenderhearted.”

  He turned his head enough to kiss her hand.

  “You’ve changed us all, Evangeline Blake.” He wrapped his hand around hers, holding it lovingly. “You’ve changed us for the better.”

  “And we get to stay,” she said.

  “We.” He smiled, something he didn’t use to do so easily. “I like the way that sounds.”

  “So do I.”

  He caught her gaze with his. “We never did seal our bargain.”

  Her mouth turned up at the corners. “I suppose we didn’t.”

  Dermot set his hands at her waist. Evangeline hooked a finger around one of his jacket buttons, her head tipped up toward him.

  “Do you know you smell like flowers?”

  She smiled. “Is that a good thing?”

  “I like flowers.” He slid his hands around to her back, relishing the warmth of her in his embrace. “But I love you.”

  Dermot brushed his lips over her cheek, not truly a kiss, but a personal, tender touch. Her eyelids fluttered and closed.

  “And I love you, Dermot McCormick,” she whispered. “So deeply. So much.”

  “And I am going to kiss you, so deeply, so much.”

  She smiled, her eyes still closed. ’Twas an invitation he didn’t intend to ignore. He pressed his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms about his neck, her fingers threading into his hair. He feathered kisses along her jaw. She sighed, leaning into his embrace.

  “I thank the heavens for bringing you here,” he whispered in her ear.

  She slipped her hand from his neck to the side of his face and lightly kissed him. “Be certain to thank the heavens for allowing us to stay. Together.”

  “Together,” he repeated, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

  He kissed her once more, relishing and cherishing the moment. He had been alone for so long, convinced he always would be. But they’d found one another, and they’d found love.

  He held her, amazed at his good fortune. They would be required to join the others soon enough, but for now, this moment was theirs. He wished it would never end.

  “Dermot?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Does this mean you are lifting your one knock per day limit?”

  He laughed. “You may knock whenever you like and as often as you’d like. Until the day my door and your door are the same.”

  “I like the way that sounds.”

  He held her to him. “So do I, my dear. So do I.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dermot held Evangeline’s hand as they stepped out of the chapel and into the snow-dusted churchyard. Theirs was not the most highly attended wedding in the history of Smeatley, but looking out at the beloved faces of her students and their families, the bright and cheerful eyes of her sister, and Ronan walking beside his father, Evangeline could not imagine a more perfect gathering.

  She, of course, would have wished for her parents and brothers to have been there. But Grandfather had come from Leeds. He had felt more like family these last weeks, kind and attentive. Either he had changed from the gruff and cold man he’d been during his visits to Petersmarch, or she had misunderstood him all those years ago. Whatever the reality of the situation, she was grateful for his presence.

  “Miss Blake! Miss Blake!” a handful of voices called out.

  Dermot squeezed her fingers. “You’d best greet your little ones, else they’re liable to knock you down—and me with you.”

  She touched the tips of her gloved fingers to his cheek. He understood well the deep affection she had for these children and they for her.

  “On with you,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She turned to face her students, offering them a broad smile. “I’m so pleased you’ve come.”

  They thronged her, peppering her with questions and echoing her name in the way they always did when wishing for her undivided attention.

  John Crossley managed to make himself heard. “Are we to have school tomorrow, Miss— Mrs. McCormick?”

  “Miss Susannah and Miss Lucy will oversee school this week while I am away.”

  “We will miss thee,” Cecilia Haigh said. She spoke more often than she once had, though she would never be an orator.

  “I will miss you, as well.” Knowing how close she had come to losing her students and the life she dearly loved, Evangeline did not wish to be apart from them long. But the joyous reason for her absence far outweighed the pain of temporary separation.

  The reminder brought her gaze to Dermot. Dear, kindhearted, loving Dermot. He had been at her side during some of her most difficult days. Knowing they need never be separated again brought her profound relief.

  He held his hand out to her again. She took it, warmth spreading through her.

  “Have I told you often enough that I love you?” sh
e asked.

  He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers. “You have, but I’ll not object to hearing it a few more times.”

  She leaned into his one-armed embrace. “I do love you. Coming here and meeting you is one of the best things that has happened in my life.”

  “And in mine.” He pulled her closer. “We make a fine team, you and I. And together we will make a beautiful life.”

  He bent and kissed her. As he did, the church bells rang.

  Tradition in Smeatley held that the bells rang to mark a wedding, tolling out a jubilant celebration. No longer would their peals reverberate against Evangeline’s heart with loss and sorrow. From that day forward, they would soar with hues of love and sing of new beginnings.

  Acknowledgments

  I had the invaluable opportunity to walk through the Bradford Industrial Museum’s Moorside Mill in West Yorkshire. The incredibly knowledgeable volunteers were second-to-none, answering my endless stream of questions and encouraging my deep fascination of this bygone era, allowing me to watch the massive machinery run and experience the sounds, smells, and sights of a working nineteenth-century textile mill. The museum’s fully restored 1870s back-to-back houses were a researcher’s dream come true. Walking through them, studying the style and layout, made such a difference in my understanding of these mill-town houses.

  The Cliffe Castle Museum in Keighley, West Yorkshire, offered tremendously detailed insights into the opulence, fashions, furnishings, and lifestyle of industrial Yorkshire’s Victorian-era nouveau riche. The opportunity to walk the corridors and grounds of this beautiful historic home deepened my understanding of the people of this time and place.

  I am deeply grateful for Normanby Hall’s exhibition on Victorian-era fashions and the tremendous help it was in solidifying in my mind the particulars of dress and clothing during this era.

  An enormous thank you to Richard, who gladly and patiently answered my endless list of questions about Marsden Moor and even dug around for an out-of-print pamphlet filled with wonderful information. Learning of the history, the flora and fauna, and the unique ecology of the moorlands increased my love of this starkly beautiful area of England.