by Carla Kelly
“I am convinced we are an entirely different species,” she joked in turn, then her eyes grew serious. “They’ve suffered so from their father’s death.”
“Y’all are so right,” he said, hoping to see her smile again. He took a deep breath. “This is from Madeleine. Just so you know. She told me to give you a kiss on each cheek as her thanks.”
He thought she might step back in surprise, but Lily was equal to the task. She stepped forward without any hesitation he could notice and turned her cheek to him. He put a hand on each shoulder, but lightly, and kissed one cheek and the other. She smelled of rose water.
“Good night. I hope the Little Man shows up,” he said in farewell.
It had been a long day of turning back other ranchers’ cattle, but Jack still had a hard time falling to sleep that night.
CHAPTER 22
For two days, the Bar Dot Temple of Education looked for the Little Man. Anxious eyes met hers every morning, and all Lily could do was shrug her shoulders.
“What if we scared him away?” Luella asked finally, probably putting voice to the other children’s fears too.
“I haven’t given up yet,” Lily said, “and I don’t expect you to, either. Now, let us address our attention to these sums.”
There was no denying Luella’s anxiety during that hour when she was alone with Lily while the Sansevers helped their mother. The child winced, squirmed, and squinted while trying to read a story from the simple grammar text Pierre had loaned the school.
Lily put down the book. “Luella, do you need to visit the backhouse?” she asked.
Tears sprouted in the girl’s eyes. “It’s my braids,” she whispered. “Mama makes them so tight.”
Without a word, Lily motioned her closer and promptly untied the braids, which made Luella give a small sigh of relief. Her relief was quickly followed by a frown. “Mama will notice when I go home.”
“Not if I rebraid them at the end of this hour, before Fothering takes you home for lunch.”
“You’re certain?” Luella asked, her voice so wary.
“I am,” Lily said in her firmest teacher voice. “What on earth would happen if she noticed?”
“Nothing,” Luella said quickly, too quickly. She sheltered her face in her hands.
Lily knelt down. “Luella,” was all she said, but the child needed nothing more.
“She pinches me,” Luella whispered. With a hand that shook, she rolled up her sleeve to show a row of black-and-blue welts.
Lily sucked in her breath, speechless for a moment. “Th . . . those are more than pinches,” she managed to say finally. She stared at Luella’s arm, noting the dried-up welts, older marks that had turned into scars.
With that calm that had already amazed Lily, the girl looked her in the eyes. “I try to please her, but I don’t, for some reason.”
Lily cupped her hands around Luella’s face. “You please me,” she said. “You are a wonderful student and such a help.”
“Is it enough?” Luella asked, anxious.
“It is enough.”
“I’m worried,” she told Jack that night, when he came over for his lesson and more Ivanhoe. “Luella says her mother pinches her, but they are nearly gouges. Is something wrong with Mrs. Buxton?”
The foreman waited a long time before he spoke, but Lily was used to that. He wasn’t a man to waste words. She watched his face, but then looked away, because he seemed embarrassed about something.
“There is something wrong with her,” he said finally and with obvious reluctance. “Beyond that I’m not prepared to say.”
But you know a lot more, don’t you? she thought. “How can I protect Luella?” she asked instead.
“I’ll talk to Fothering, but I think he is already doing all he can to protect her,” Jack said. “Perhaps we can talk the Buxtons into letting her spend more time with Chantal and Amelie.” His expression turned wry. “Maybe under the pretext that she is helping them with their alphabet and ciphering. Come with me?”
“Now?”
“As good a time as any.”
Her father had already closed his door. Lily pulled a shawl around her shoulders and walked with Jack to the Buxtons. She was seldom outside after dark, and the cold surprised her. She glanced at Jack’s set, determined look, something she noticed more and more through each day. Each day he looked more concerned, and she was adding to his burden. She put her hand on his arm and he stopped.
“Look, I can do this myself,” she said, even as some part of her hoped he would shake his head. “You’re tired. I can talk to the Buxtons.”
“I expect you can,” he said, which made her heart plummet. “But, Lily, every single person here is my responsibility, and I don’t take it lightly.”
“Isn’t Mr. Buxton the manager?” she asked, confused.
“He can fiddle with a ledger, but he doesn’t know cows, and that is our business.” He smiled then, a genuine smile that took some of the worry from his eyes, but not all, to her chagrin. “Come on. Let me help. I’m going to anyway.”
“Oh, I . . .”
He put his hands on her shoulders. For one irrational moment, Lily wondered if he was going to kiss each cheek again. “Lookie here, Miss Carteret: You’ve been carrying a lot of burdens all your life, I suspect.”
“So have you,” she protested, but feebly, because she suddenly didn’t want to haul one more heavy load by herself.
“We both have. You will agree to this?”
She nodded.
“Good! After all, I am paid seventy-five dollars a month to carry burdens.” He touched her forehead with his. “And, boy howdy, you are a light burden. Come on.”
He knew he could leave it to Lily because she was a light burden; that was no joke. “You’re the teacher,” he said as he knocked. “I’ll back you.”
She gave him a grateful smile, then took a deep breath. She held it so long that he nudged her.
“Breathe, Lily, and that’s not a suggestion.”
Fothering opened the door. He gave them both a long, appraising look, and Jack knew the old prissy pot was dying to know what was up. He had to applaud the butler’s demeanor, which remained mostly unaltered.
“I’d like to speak with Mrs. Buxton,” Lily said. If her voice sounded a little higher than usual, Jack doubted Fothering noticed. “Please tell her I have such good news about Luella.”
“Very well, my dear,” the butler said, sounding most congenial. Lily had obviously wrapped him around her finger too, which impressed Jack. “Kindly wait in the parlor a moment.”
As Fothering made his stately way up the stairs, Jack leaned closer and whispered, “What good news?”
“I’ll think of something quite soon,” she whispered back. “You taught me to plan. Hush and let me consider the matter.”
Amused, he did as she said. When Fothering came back downstairs, she raised her chin. “Ready,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Buxton will see you now,” the butler said. “She had a putrid sore throat and palpitations, but she says there are no lengths to which she would not go for her child.” He delivered the message with a straight face and only the slightest twitch of his lips.
“I’ll keep it short, Fothering,” she said.
He opened the door and ushered them in. Jack was relieved to note that at least the woman on death’s door didn’t remind him of Potiphar’s wife. He glanced at Lily, who had somehow managed to draw herself up even more, appearing almost elegant, even in calico.
There was no hanging back. Lily moved forward so gracefully, almost regally—and slap him sideways and call him a fool if she didn’t manage to sound even more English than usual. As he watched the little tableau, he began to understand that Lily Carteret had probably been coexisting with fools all her life. Maybe he should take lessons.
To Jack’s surprise, Lily sat on the edge of Mrs. Buxton’s bed and took her hand.
“You have such a wonderful daughter, Mrs. Buxton,” she said,
beginning what he suspected was going to be a masterful campaign. “So courteous and such a good example for the Sansever children.”
So that was it. Jack made a mental promise to never reveal any of this conversation to Madeleine, whose stalwart children needed no good example.
“We all try,” Mrs. Buxton said, patting her heart.
“I have such a favor to ask,” Lily said. Without asking, she picked up a little bottle of cologne and a handkerchief more lace than substance, dabbed the cologne on the useless square of cloth, and gently touched Mrs. Buxton’s temple. “There you are.”
“What would you like?” Mrs. Buxton asked as she practically wriggled like a puppy with this attention.
“I would love for Lily to spend some time each evening in the cookshack with the Sansever children, helping them with their numbers and letters.”
Jack groaned inwardly. There goes my time with Lily, he thought.
“Never,” Mrs. Buxton said, the steel back in her voice, and sounding not even slightly infirm. “Is it safe there?”
“As safe as houses,” Lily replied, her voice so soothing. “Luella already has the skills of a teacher. This will only hone them.”
“My daughter will never have to grub about and earn her living,” Mrs. Buxton said. Jack couldn’t help wincing at such a slap to Lily.
“Certainly not! I would never suggest that,” Lily murmured. “I was thinking what good she will do someday as a conscientious member of society pledged to helping those much less fortunate.”
“If you put it that way . . . ,” Mrs. Buxton said after a lengthy pause, in which Lily dabbed her wrists with the cologne. “What can it hurt? You will be there to supervise, I trust?” She frowned and looked surprisingly like Mr. Buxton all of a sudden. “This will not mean any increase in your salary.”
Lily did her own bit of masterful fluttering. “Heavens! I would never even suggest such a thing. Luella’s good works go far beyond anything as crass as . . . as remuneration.”
He wasn’t totally sure what the word meant, but the way Lily said it, the word sounded like something he had scraped off the bottom of his boot only this morning.
“Very well,” Mrs. Buxton said. “Tomorrow, after we have family dinner here? I’ll send her with Fothering around seven.”
“Perfect.” Lily rose as gracefully as she had sat down. “I apologize for taking up so much of your time on what is, I fear, a bed of pain. You’re such a brave lady.”
Jack left the room first, always happy to be away from a place that smelled of camphor and something suspiciously like small beer. He watched, impressed, as Lily paused in the doorway.
“I wonder, do I ask too much . . . could you send Luella with some scraps of yarn, if you have any to spare? We have a little class project.”
“I will put Fothering on it,” Mrs. Buxton said. “And now, just close the door quietly. I have such a pain in my head.”
They said nothing on the stairs. Jack knew he would burst out laughing if he even looked at Lily.
Fothering waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrows raised. “Success, my dear Lily?” he asked.
“Yes. We’re going to see that Luella spends more time away from this . . . this place,” she said, her voice still even, but with an underlying intensity that made Jack promise himself that he would never cross her. “I wonder . . . could I say good night to her? Is her room upstairs? I should have asked sooner.”
“It’s down here, just a small room,” Fothering said, showing her the way.
She knocked and went inside, closing the door behind her.
“I couldn’t help but overhear from my vantage point on the landing,” Fothering said. “Miss Carteret has certain powers of management.”
Jack laughed into his hand. “You old rip! I’ll bet you had your ear pressed against the door.”
Fothering raised both eyebrows. With unholy glee, Jack observed that the older man did not issue any denial. He did turn serious as he walked Jack to the front of the house and out of earshot of anyone inclined to listen.
“This is not a happy home,” he said.
“I didn’t think it was, and neither does Lily,” Jack replied, knowing to trust the man. “She plans to keep Luella involved and out of here each evening.”
He saw relief on the butler’s face and knew Lily had done the right thing. You’re no burden at all, he thought.
CHAPTER 23
Mrs. Buxton remembered the yarn, which meant that Luella, smiling in triumph, brought a small skein to the Temple of Education in the morning. Lily assigned the children to unroll the ball and cut the yarn into four-inch pieces while she wrote sums on the blackboard and tried not to worry that the Little Man still hadn’t returned.
“Maybe he wants more than the two hairpins on your desk,” Nick said as he unwound the yarn ball and the girls snipped off the sections.
“That’s why we’re doing this,” Lily said, putting down her chalk. “I talked to Mr. Fontaine last night and he suggested yarn for nesting material.” She smiled at her charges. “We’ll tempt the Little Man with luxury. It is beautiful yarn, Luella.”
The girl beamed with pleasure.
When they finished, a lively discussion followed. Nick argued the merits of piling it up in one place, while Chantal advocated a little yarn in each corner. Amelie agreed with her brother and Lily sided with Chantal. Lily gestured to Luella.
“We will let you break the tie, Luella, since you brought the yarn.”
“Let’s do this,” Luella said. The child sounded assured as if she made decisions every day. “Let’s pile some yarn by the hole, as Nick and Amelie want, and then a little in each corner, as Chantal and Miss Carteret want.” She looked at Lily, seeking approval.
“That is a brilliant stroke,” Lily said. “Do you realize what we have done? This is a compromise.” She turned and wrote the word on the board underneath the numbers. “C-o-m-p-r-o-m-i-s-e. That means we have each given a little so everyone is satisfied.”
Chantal raised her hand. “Since Nick is so good at ciphering, I could give him some of my numbers to add in columns. He will be happy and so will I.”
The children giggled.
“But I will not be happy,” Lily said. She looked at her students. “What else could we do?”
Everyone was silent, considering the matter. Lily added some wood to the pot-bellied stove. The wind was picking up and she felt a chill. She glanced out the window beside the winter count, dismayed to see the cottonwoods bending and swaying. Did the wind never stop in Wyoming Territory? She would have to ask Jack.
Luella raised her hand. “I could help Nick with his letters while he is helping Chantal with her numbers.” Her face fell. “But that is not compromise.”
“True,” Lily said. “It is something else. Do any of you know?”
Amelie’s eyes were bright, but Lily knew how shy she was. Lily cupped her hand around her mouth as she had seen actors do to deliver an aside to an audience. “Look you, I think Amelie knows.”
“Tell us, Amelie,” Luella urged.
“We would be cooperating,” Amelie said softly, glancing at Lily.
“Yes, we would,” Lily agreed, touched. “We can all help each other.” She clapped her hands. “But first, let us distribute the yarn for the Little Man.”
They did as she said, but they were sober about it, careful to mound a tempting yarn pile at the doorway to the pack rat’s home, and then a little bit in each corner. She saw their fear that he was gone for good.
Lily added another pine log to the stove, making a mental note to ask the men to bring up more wood. She looked at her students and their gloomy faces. “He’ll be back, I just know it,” she told them.
“Maybe he is sulking because we bothered his home,” Chantal said.
Amelie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.
“Yes, my dear?” Lily said, prompting the shy child.
“I say a prayer every night,” she rep
lied, then looked around to make sure no one thought that was silly.
“We could all do that,” Luella said. “Do you think God cares about pack rats?”
Lily nodded. “I remember reading something in Matthew about the Lord Almighty being mindful of sparrows that fall.”
“That’s well and good for sparrows, but this is a pack rat,” Luella said, ever practical.
“I think He means all little things, not just sparrows,” Lily said, trying not to smile.
The children considered that. “Does he keep a look out for us?” Chantal asked. She frowned. “My father died and he was more important than a sparrow.”
Lily was sitting on Amelie’s stool while the children had spread around the yarn. She held her arms open for Chantal, who crowded in close. “He looks out for us,” she said, even as her eyes started to fill. She had never met Jean Baptiste Sansever, but she knew his children. “Sometimes things happen, and that is life.”
“It’s not fair,” Nick said as he moved closer too, no longer a boy trying to seem older than he was.
“No, it isn’t,” Lily agreed, thinking of the mother she barely remembered, except for the softness of her brown hands and her soothing voice. “I . . . I still miss my mother, but I decided a long time ago that I would be very good, because she would want that.” She reached for Nick’s hand and he did not pull away. He leaned against her shoulder, and her arm went around his waist.
“He knows we’re here in search of True Greatness in the Temple of Education,” Lily told them. “In Wyoming Territory, America.”
When they chuckled, she knew the moment had passed. She glanced at the board, where the morning’s ciphering lesson languished.
“My goodness! We had better get busy,” she said, standing up to stand by the board. “Slates out, everyone.”
They did as she said, students once more, and not children searching the mysteries of life and death and reluctant pack rats.
Trust Luella to make a comment. “We’re not learning much this morning, are we?” she asked.
