Steam Over Stephensport: Steam Through Time Series - Book 2

by Carolyn Bond

  She saw a glimmer of hope in him as the light danced in his dark brown eyes, but just as quickly some negative thought over-rode the new path. “I ain’t got time to learn all that stuff.” He turned away to end the conversation.

  She turned around to hide the smile that spread on her face. There was a dreamer still in there and it wouldn’t take much to find him. She wrote her name on the corner of the board and then told them about herself, sticking to hobbies and experiences they wouldn’t think was crazy.

  Then she continued, “So, now you know a bit about me the person. Now I will tell you about me the teacher.” They all looked at her waiting. “You have probably never met a teacher like me. I learned to be a teacher at a place very far from here. First of all, I think learning should be fun. I want you to enjoy it. If you enjoy learning now, you will seek to learn all your life. Secondly, I believe you can all learn anything you want to, no matter if you are a boy or girl.” She paused waiting for their reaction. Several of the girls’ mouths gaped open.

  “Yes! You can. If you want to learn it. It may take some students longer than others, but that’s fine. Lastly, we have to feel safe here,” she glanced at Joseph, “and respect each other. So we have to have some predictable routines. Let’s practice walking into school and going to our seats without talking or being disruptive.”

  Over the course of the morning, she found that they were exceedingly well-trained in the rituals of school life. What surprised her, though, was their lack of creative thought and their great ability to stay engaged in an activity for long periods of time. They had incredible stamina for persevering through an assignment, but only when she had given them the ground work of exactly what to do. They were trained soldiers never questioning her methods, at least not out loud.

  As the last student filed out at two o’clock, she realized she felt exhausted. Being present in the moment for hours on end takes a toll and she felt it. Though she was in her element in a classroom, she was a fish out of water here. The norms of her classroom back home couldn’t be further from reality. The one thing she had expected and found to be true was that children are children no matter where or when. They need someone who cares about them and believes in them. In order to feel safe, they needed someone who knows what to do.

  She closed the door and walked back to her desk to plan for tomorrow. A whistling wind blew through the cracks around the door. She sat down in front of the stack of slates. She chuckled to herself. She wasn’t going to be able to lug home totes full of slates. The whistling stopped briefly and she looked up in time to see a man closing the door behind him.

  She recognized him as the man at the Fine Clothes Mercantile. Conflicted emotions of lust and anger made it hard to think. His snobbery clouded her impression of him. Despite the riveting feeling she got when his eyes locked on hers, she couldn’t bear how he’d looked down on Evan.

  “Can I help you, sir?” she asked curtly.

  “Yes, Miss Wallingsford? Am I correct?”

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  A curl of a smile turned up on one side of his mouth. “Good. I was looking for you.”

  “Me? Whatever for?”

  He sat on the corner of her desk and looked down at her. Determined not to be looked down on, she stood up and crossed her arms. He smirked again recognizing her behavior as defiance of his authority.

  “Yes, Miss Wallingsford. Perhaps Mr. Black failed to mention my position on the town council. Not surprising. He must have a great deal on his mind with the farm work and all.”

  It would have been a considerate thing to say except that she could hear the condescending tone. He didn’t have menial things to worry about like farm work. He apparently considered farmers to be a lower class.

  He continued, “Not to worry. I just came by to introduce myself and ask you a few questions. Just to get to know our new teacher better.” He walked around behind her and leaned in as he passed. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes with obvious pleasure. Lily couldn’t see the conflict inside him as he looked like his mouth watered for a piece of warm cake. Regaining his composure, he squinted his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I take personal responsibility for the academic achievement of our young people.”

  “I see. I must say I’m a bit surprised. You don’t look like someone with such a social conscience.” More like he is concerned with his social calendar, she thought.

  He shifted his weight and leaned toward her on one hand. His eyes were magnetic. She couldn’t look away. He was close enough that the scent of sandlewood tickled her nose. It was a clean, neat scent, but strong. She stopped herself from closing her eyes to get lost in it. She would not be pulled into his charisma. His eyes slowly took inventory of her face and hair and then drifted down to her bosom. He was flagrantly sizing her up. Being in a different class, he must feel he has the privilege of treating people any way he chooses. She was about to tell him to just get out when he said the one thing she couldn’t ignore.

  “Miss Wallingford, you are an exceedingly beautiful woman who no doubt must have a man panting after your hand.”

  All the while, his gaze never wavered. She felt hypnotized. Where all men in this time so forthright. She would have thought it was the biggest come on she had ever heard, but he stood up, walked in front of her, and took her left hand in his and kissed it.

  “What was he trying to do? Was this his way of asking a girl out? Was he just bowled over by her appearance?” she thought. She really had no idea what the rules were of different classes at this time.

  “Mr.—Um, Mr. What did you say your name is?” She felt a bit lightheaded. “Am I swooning? Maybe this is normal for rubbing elbows with the upper class.”

  Immediate heat radiated from her face. She was so embarrassed at herself for letting this guy get to her. She bit her lip, mad at herself. Now he will see me blush and think I’m a ditzy school girl!

  He lowered her hand but still held it, “Everbright. Brian Everbright. Perhaps you saw my family’s mercantile on Main Street?”

  “Who was he kidding? There was a connection between the glances and she knew it!”

  “Oh, yes.” She regained her composure as she remembered the day before. “Mr. Everbright,” she pulled her hand out of his, “did you want to discuss curriculum? Perhaps plan a PLC meeting?”She felt snarky now.

  She hoped the effect of her words would be a cold pan of water as she rebuffed his attention. However, it seemed to just stoke his fire. He slowly walked behind her as he continued to take note of every curve the tight bodice revealed. She turned to face him.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Truly, of course, my dear. I’m not familiar with a PLC, though.”

  “A professional learning community? No? Maybe there is one area where I am the expert.” Anger was getting the better of her now.

  He didn’t waver. Lily could see the depth of his upbringing in his lack of response to her goading. “I expect the boys to be able to recite the Bible with chapter and verse. They should have a good understanding of arithmetic. They need to be able to write using proper grammar and sentence structure by age fourteen. Have excellent penmanship. Whenever I walk into the school, I expect to find order and industrious endeavor.”

  The blood drained from her face as she stood there with her mouth open. “And what about the girls?”

  He waved off-handedly, “Of course, of course. They need to be able to read the Bible and recite it so they will learn to be chaste God-fearing women.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Certainly. What else would the boys learn? I suppose if you want to throw in a good dose of geography, I can see how it would be useful.”

  “I mean for the girls.”

  He shook his head confused. “They don’t need to know anything else. Filling their head with lofty ideas will only make them discontent at home. You wouldn’t want to ruin them, would you? No man would have them.”

  “No man would have them? Is t
hat their purpose?”

  He laughed at her absurdity. “My dear, as a woman, a women who has apparently been overly choosy which is certainly to be commended, you surely must know the desperate station of old maids. Especially old maids who lack resources. Besides being a burden on their family, they are sentenced to a life of poverty. We cannot hope that for our female students.”

  She was dumbfounded. Did he actually just insinuate that she was old or was that a compliment? Or both? Maybe she hadn’t thought this through. She certainly didn’t want to subject the girls to less opportunity. What did she know of the pitfalls of being a woman in the 1800s?

  Reason flooded back to her. “Wait! That is not giving these girls credit. If they had the same opportunities as men, they would be just as successful at whatever endeavor they attempted. I can’t speak for men marrying them, but they surely would be able to support themselves. Besides, if men are afraid of what women can do with a level playing field, that doesn’t say much for men.”

  He closed his eyes before speaking, “Miss Wallingsford, you are a charming young woman. I daresay you have a keen mind. Therefore, I would suggest you put it to use in ways that will benefit your students and yourself.”

  “And I suppose you know what those ways are?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. I would be happy to guide you in the right direction. We will start by teaching a curriculum as I have laid out. Then, I will help you understand the benefits of being an attractive young woman.” He winked at her.

  She wanted to slap him but sucked in a sharp breath before speaking instead. “And just how would you go about helping me understand that?” She tried not to sound sarcastic.

  He stepped closer and caressed her cheek with his finger. His eyes admired the milky white skin of her face and neck. “A beautiful woman is a gift from God to be adored. Would you let me adore you?” Now he looked into her eyes with all seriousness. He’d broke character. She could see a wild desire now where solemn aloofness had prevailed. He was most certainly torn between staying in his own world and wanting her. She swallowed hard. Her Prince Charming was back and obviously had a crush on her.

  Shocked at his answer, shocked at her guttural response, she couldn’t manage to speak at all. Instead she found herself leaning into his hand and nudging him to touch her more.

  He whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.” He reached down and took her hand and kissed it again. “Now, I must go.” He looked at her with a pained look. “I do wonder if it’s possible. You have an effect on me that is undeniable. You will hear from me soon.”

  In a swirl of his coat, the air rushed over her and brought her back to her senses. Thoughts tumbled in her head like jagged saws bumping and falling to the ground. Part of her longed for more of his touch, more of his intoxicating attention. The rest of her recoiled from his patronizing authoritarianism. She’d be damned if she was not going to teach the girls everything she taught the boys. The door clicked as he closed it with controlled force behind him.

  She leaned back on the desk, exhausted and overwhelmed. She could still feel the caress of his finger on her cheek and down the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and ran her hand across her face. She let herself imagine Brian taking that caress a step further, pulling her against him with an arm around her waist, warm, soft lips covering hers. She could smell the sandalwood soap. His warm breath with a hint of the mint leaf he was chewing buffeted her cheek. Her body molded to his as he pulled her even closer.

  “Are ye done in, Miss Wallingsford? Perhaps you should sit down. You look like you might pass out.”

  She jolted back to reality and focused on Evan’s face. His sapphire blue eyes leveled on her with gentle propriety. She could see it in his look: he offered her the key to his heart and all she had to do was claim it.

  “Mr. McEwen, you startled me.” She stuffed down her emotions that had run rampant in her daydream.

  “Did I now?” He gave her a sideways glance.

  “What do you need?”

  “I dinna need anything. I just came to check on ye and see how your first day went.”

  She relaxed, loosening her shoulders. “Oh. How kind. It went very well. They are a very well-behaved group of students.”

  A chuckle erupted from his throat, “That’s not what the last teacher thought!”

  “Really?” She was surprised. Despite the wholly different ideology of teaching they had been used to, they were very quiet. Not like her students back home that were chatter boxes with way too much energy. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t have to stop for a ‘brain break’ or to ‘get the wiggles out’ once.

  In 2018, she would have to stop for a two or three minute break where the students would dance or exercise to a video to let off excess energy. Especially after long periods of intense school work, they would become so restless they could no longer pay attention.

  “Maybe she just wasn’t as a good a teacher as you,” he offered.

  She pursed her lips, “They probably are just trying to figure out my weaknesses first.”

  “Hm. Are you ready to go home? I’ll walk with you.”

  She thought about the pile of slates on the desk. “I really need to finish grading these so I can get them back to the students tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine. I need to stop by the blacksmith. I’ll come by for you on my way back, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  He left and she finished the grading. It was a simple assignment. They just had to write their name and tell one thing about themselves. She wanted to gauge how well they could write letters. As she suspected. The girls could barely write. The younger boys could print neatly and the older boys had perfect cursive. Brian’s curriculum requirements bore out the teaching of the previous teachers.

  How could a girl get through eighth grade and not be able to sign her name? She supposed it was possible in a world where women had no need to ever sign their name. It was all completely foreign to her. She tried to imagine being a woman in that time and having no say, no legal right to own anything whether it was a bank account or land. Everything a woman had would have to be run through a man. A male relative. A person who could disagree with her wishes and do as they pleased with their assets. The woman would have no say in it. Even if he squandered it away on gambling, she would have no rights.

  She shook her head. In such circumstances, whom you marry would make a remarkable difference. The man you allow yourself to be tied to would have all authority over every part of your life. In her time, women considered looks, money, chemistry and love, with love usually having the greatest weight. In this time, a man’s temperament would be critical, right before having the means to take care of her. Without the ability to work, a woman would depend solely on his wealth for security. Love, looks, and chemistry were perks in the deal.

  And how, she thought, did men of this time size up women? It appeared that it depended on the class of the man. A working-class man would need a woman that could shoulder the domestic work well. A socialite man would need a well-bred civilized woman preferably with a dowry that would increase his wealth and net worth. Looks were favorable, but not necessary. Intelligence was not only not necessary, it could be a hindrance to a man if she tried to assert herself and get in his way. A perfect woman in 1889 would be a beautiful ignorant woman that kept her opinions to herself and was capable of running a genteel civilized household complete with well-attended parties.

  She sighed with grief. What a mess she was in. She knew she could turn heads and she was maybe capable of running a genteel household. She was also highly educated and quite opinionated. Brian’s words, ‘you wouldn’t want to ruin them’ came to mind.

  Evan returned and they locked up the school and left. She hadn’t figured out what she was going to do. She had a basic lesson prepared for school the next day. As Brian instructed, she had the boys and girls lessons divided. It galled her. She had been trained to teach to all students, no matter their ability
. Students with less ability were to be given special instruction to bring them up to speed and students who were advanced were to be given more challenging work to develop them further.

  “Ye seem very quiet, Miss. Wallingsford.” Evan said.

  She was pulled out of her intense internal argument. “I’m just trying to figure out how to please the town council without compromising what I know is best.”

  “Hm,” he thought about what she said. “What’re they wanting ye to do that has ye riled?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him. Maybe he would feel the same way as Brian. After all, he was looking for a woman who would unquestioningly take care of his home and have babies. She decided to test the waters.

  “I wanted to teach the girls to write.” This seemed innocuous enough.

  “That seems reasonable. In my country, boys and girls are required to attend school until they are thirteen. There are girls’ schools if a family wants to send their daughter there instead of the free school. But, all students learn the same content.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Why do you think the town council doesn’t want me to teach the girls here to write?”

  “It seems a bit backwards.”

  “Mr. Everbright said I would ruin them.”

  He jerked around, “Ruin them? What an idiot.”

  “So you wouldn’t mind if your wife could write and had educated opinions?”

  “Not at all. How could I have a conversation with my wife if I had to explain ever’thing? Likely Mr. Everbright wants someone he can push around and won’t argue with him.”

  “And Scottish women argue with their husbands?”

  He laughed out loud, “They’d argue if they were educated or not. At least if they’re educated, they make sense!”

  She laughed.

  “Nay. I’ve had many a heated conversation with my sisters and often as not, they were right.”

  “So you think I should teach the girls to write?”

  “I can’t answer that for ye. I think ye already know what yer going to do though.”