Tommy Miler stepped into the water and pointed at a reed. With a sawing motion, Kate cut it clean.
Malcolm did the same while Ewan showed the children how to rub the ends of their reeds in the rough sand, “to smooth.”
When they had their reeds, she told the children to measure two inches down from the node closing the end of the reed. “This is the mouth hole. We’ll put five finger holes into your flute the width of your thumb apart.”
Using the tips of their knives, the adults carved holes and rolled the flutes in the sand to smooth the cuts. They cut two pinholes in the node ending, and Kate demonstrated how to blow through them to produce a tone.
The children blew into their flutes. They positioned their fingers over the holes, and Kate helped them hear the different tones. Their eyes grew round with surprise. Several boys blew too hard, little Charity blew too softly, but after ten minutes, they all could get a clear tone.
After eating Mrs. MacDougall’s biscuits, they trooped back into the schoolhouse.
Once inside, Ewan drew a picture of their reed flutes on the blackboard. “First we’re going to teach you to play the multiplication song. Tomorrow we’ll start on other music. It’s a secret, but I’m going to teach you to play ‘Joy to the World’ in time for Christmas.”
Three children took to the flutes as Kate had so many years before. Others mangled the fingering like Malcolm, but their eyes sparkled. Ewan winced at some of the notes, but Kate encouraged the children to hear the changes in tone patterns. Ewan clapped, they blew, and after another half an hour, everyone needed a drink.
Ewan marked each flute and collected them into a basket. “Remember, these are a Christmas secret. Today we’ll demonstrate how you can spell for Mr. and Miss MacDougall. The spelling bee commences now.”
Malcolm started to protest, but Kate took the proffered teacher’s chair as the children lined up on either side of the room.
“Since the boys are one short, I’ll join them. The MacDougalls will run the bee.” Ewan took his place at the end of the line.
The girls protested, but Kate laughed. Ewan was an atrocious speller. She knew which side would win.
Unless she thought of another way to help him.
“I’ll use the word in a sentence,” she explained. “You’ll repeat it after me then spell. Bagpipes will be the first word. ‘I love the sound of bagpipes.’ Mr. Murray?” He shook his head but spelled bagpipes successfully.
Kate laughed. “Next?”
The girls won.
Chapter 7
Ewan liked to stop at the mercantile after school to say hello to Kate. One late November day, he had a gift. Before the weather turned cold, he’d returned to the stream and fashioned three new reeds for the bagpipes.
He hoped they’d improve the sound.
Nothing could make it worse, and it was a sore spot between them. How could a girl whose flutes sang with high, silvery magic endure the raucous, out-of-control dead swan blather from the bagpipes? They’d never be a match for his fiddle’s call and response.
He appreciated Mr. MacDougall’s insistence she play far from civilization.
Though, of course, Ewan couldn’t stay away from his pretty girl and certainly didn’t want her off by herself in a field.
Ewan stuffed his ears with cotton and watched from a smug distance.
At least the bagpipes had frightened Josiah away.
The store was nearly empty on the wet day, the friendly smell of hickory wood burning in the stove making it feel cozy inside. Malcolm stacked goods on the shelves while Mr. MacDougall and Kate stared at a swirl of papers on the counter. Mr. MacDougall’s lip curled up. “What made you think of this?”
“Ewan suggested if they’d made an error once, they might have done it in the past.”
MacDougall scribbled down figures. He glared at Ewan. “You’ve seen the numbers?”
“Only those on the one bill.”
The mercantile owner pushed the paper toward him. “Tote these up.”
Ewan provided an answer.
“Kate says you’re good at the percentage. What are they charging me per load?”
Ewan reviewed the numbers and told him.
MacDougall dropped onto the stool behind the counter and scowled at the pouring rain. “I haven’t been paying close enough attention. I knew my profit was down; I didn’t know why. They’ve been cheating me.”
“For how long?” Kate asked.
“Nearly a year. Malcolm, do you want a job?”
Malcolm set the final sack of beans onto the shelf. “I’m working now.”
“I need you to be my teamster. You’ll drive horses to Clarkesville next week to get our provisions. I’ll let this company know their services are no longer needed.” He nodded at Ewan. “Will you accompany him and figure the numbers?”
Ewan thought of his not-full-enough money pouch and sighed. He couldn’t miss school to make the trip. “Malcolm can figure the bill. I’ll help him unload here. I could use the work.”
“Mrs. Trenton needs you to butcher her pig,” Kate said. “She can’t pay, but she’ll give you meat.”
Ewan swallowed. He hated butchering animals. “Thanks. I’ll talk to her.”
“She wants to make sausage, so you’ll need to stay into the night to tend her smokehouse. I told her you’d do it.”
Ewan stared at her. “I have a job, Kate, and the school board is coming to test the students the end of next week. I need to prepare them. I may be too tired if I stay up all night tending the smokehouse.”
She sniffed back tears. “But I thought you needed money. I did this for us.”
“I need every cent, but I have a responsibility to the students. If they don’t cipher as well as Mr. Finch expects, I’ll be out a job.”
Mr. MacDougall watched him with a bland expression. Ewan hated having this conversation in front of the school board head. “We’ll need my job after Christmas to live on.”
“Where do you plan to live?” MacDougall asked. “You can’t expect Kate to create a home in Cummings’s barn.”
“Yes, where?” Kate asked eagerly. “I could be putting a home together. I could measure the windows for curtains and start sewing them now.”
Ewan examined his boots.
“Are you thinking of the old soddy near the school?” MacDougall asked.
Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
He watched Kate’s enthusiasm evaporate.
Ewan put back his shoulders and faced them. “I’m fixing it up as best I can. It will be simple, but it won’t be the last place we’ll live. I promise.”
Kate nodded, but he saw the tears building.
Ewan set the box with the reeds onto the counter. “These will help, I hope. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He walked out the door into the rain and felt his spirits slip down his cheeks into a puddle of mud. He still wasn’t sure where he’d earn all the money. If it meant staying up all night to earn Kate’s hand, he’d do it. A squealing pig couldn’t be any worse than Kate’s bagpipes.
“Josiah offers a warm wood house in Clarkesville. You’d have a fancy carriage, fine clothing, and a place in society.”
“I don’t care.” Kate stamped her foot.
“We like the boy, we know he’s a hard worker, but he’s got nothing anchoring him. Do you really want to live in the old soddy?” Papa smacked his big hand onto the counter.
“No,” Kate sobbed. “But it won’t be forever. Ewan’s clever and smart, and I love him. It’s not his fault his parents died.”
“Caring for the least of them is what Bonnie did.” Mama had entered the store. “We should all be ashamed. The Murrays gave their lives nursing those Indians and asked for nothing in return. We could have died of diphtheria, too. We owe the young man a little help.”
Kate dabbed at her eyes. “Mama agrees. Can’t we help him?”
“This is not easy for me,” Papa said. “One day you’ll have children of your own and
you’ll understand. We have to look at facts. I’d be a poor father to let you live in a dirt hut when you could have a comfortable home.”
“What did you have when you came to Nebraska? You didn’t always own a fine store. Guiddame told me stories about the hardships your family suffered. Why can’t you give Ewan the benefit of the doubt? I’ll be his helpmeet. We’ll work together.”
“Making music? You’d be like the grasshopper who plays away the summer to scramble in the winter and beg for help. I won’t see my only daughter reduced to poverty when she has a perfectly eligible suitor asking for her hand.”
“A boring, opinionated man who looks down his nose at everyone. You would shackle me with a Josiah Finch who thinks music belongs only in the occasional hymn at church? I’d rather die than marry a man like him.”
Papa stood up. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re being childish.”
“Josiah always calls me childish. I’m not a child. I’m a woman who loves a hardworking man, and I resent your attempts to marry me off to a …” she stuttered, “a pompous banker like Josiah Finch.”
Mama put out her arms, and Kate went into her comforting embrace. “You’ve seen his skill with numbers, Duncan. You know how well he’s done with Malcolm. Reverend Cummings cannot speak more highly of him. It will do Kate good to make a simple home at first. She needs to learn how to manage on what her husband can bring.”
“In a soddy in the winter? Have you gone mad?”
“Ewan has different prospects than Josiah. He has a winning personality, excellent taste in music, and a heart for the Lord.” Mama rocked her.
“That ought to count for something,” Malcolm said.
“Exactly. Maybe another place will come up before Christmas, but in the meantime, he’s looking ahead and preparing what he can afford. You can’t fault him, even if it isn’t where you would want to live. The question is, will Kate be happy there?”
Kate closed her eyes and breathed in her mother’s fresh-from-the-baking yeasty scent. She tried to imagine life in a dark soddy far from town. The snug sod house wouldn’t have room for anything save a stove, bed, and table. It couldn’t be much larger than her bedroom.
They wouldn’t have much, but every night and day Ewan would be there. He would play his fiddle and she would sing,, and they’d bring beauty and happiness even into the most humble home. God would be with them, and that was more important than anything. Confidence stirred in her heart.
Kate raised her head. “I can do it. I can be happy as long as Ewan is there.”
Mama touched her cheek and kissed her on the forehead.
Papa scratched the top of his head and pulled his hair into tufts. He rose and paced. He smacked his right fist into his left hand and muttered.
Kate, Malcolm, and Mama looked between themselves in confusion.
“What is it, Duncan?” Mama asked.
“I cannot give my permission or blessing or help. A deal’s a deal,” Papa finally said. “We’ll see what Ewan’s made of first.”
Chapter 8
The three school board members filed into the schoolhouse: Mr. MacDougall, Mr. Finch, and Reverend Cummings. Josiah Finch slunk in behind them and Ewan frowned. He’d been praying about his attitude toward Josiah when he’d realized with a sinking spirit that, for Kate’s sake, he needed to make peace with the man.
Ewan’s money purse wasn’t as fat as it needed to be for him to earn Kate’s hand in twenty-two days.
He’d taken to going door to door at farmhouses outside of town looking for odd jobs after school. Reverend Cummings had paid him a small amount for whitewashing the inside of the church and for chopping firewood, but the minister didn’t have much money himself.
Malcolm had volunteered to give him funds, but Ewan shook his head. A deal was a deal. He needed to earn the money.
Ewan wasn’t sure what he could do. He’d have to trust God to provide for him and Kate. It felt a little too thin for comfort, however. Worry wouldn’t help; he’d let the day’s cares take care of themselves.
Today he needed to support his students. He nodded to the four men and introduced them to the class.
“This will be akin to a spelling bee,” Sam Finch explained. “We will provide the arithmetic problems, and you will answer them. We will begin with the youngest students.”
Charity and Silas stepped to the board. Mr. Finch directed Josiah to write the problems. Reverend Cummings’s warm smile helped calm the children and Ewan.
The first two children worked their way through simple addition problems without any difficulty. Charity stopped and counted on her fingers twice, but the men smiled indulgently. Silas surprised them when he asked for a double digit problem, probably to show off. Josiah wrote the numbers, and before Silas could answer, Charity called it out.
The school board members chuckled. “Thank you,” Mr. MacDougall said. “The next class, please.”
“Why are those boys fidgeting?” Mr. Finch asked while Tommy and Jimmy worked on multiplication.
“I suspect they’re singing under their breath,” Reverend Cummings said.
“Singing?” Mr. Finch’s voice rose.
“Speak up, boys,” Mr. MacDougall said. They sang the times tables to him as they worked the problems. Their long division skills were not as strong as their multiplication, but they found the correct sums. The girls were just as good.
Two hours in, Ewan insisted on a recess. He followed the children outside into the chill air and watched them run around. He thought they’d done well, but there was no telling what the Finches would say. He muttered a quick prayer about his attitude. If he couldn’t earn enough money, Kate would become Mrs. Finch. Ewan needed to be happy for her prospects.
Even if the idea broke his heart.
As he expected, when they returned to the schoolhouse, the board had made their decision. Two to two, Finches versus MacDougall and Cummings.
“Congratulations, Mr. Murray.” Mr. MacDougall shook his hand. “Your students have learned a lot of ciphering. Your methods may have been unorthodox, but you have taught them well. We look forward to your return to the school after the Christmas holidays. The parents expect to hear a poetry recitation soon, I understand. You’ve done well.”
The men put on their hats and coats and shook his hand. Reverend Cummings was the final one.
“But the vote was two to two,” Ewan whispered.
“Josiah isn’t on the school board,” Reverend Cummings said. “You’re a good teacher. Keep up the good work.”
In the December cold, Kate brought her bagpipes to work. As long as no one, particularly her father or Ewan, was in the mercantile, she could practice.
She’d experimented with the different reeds Ewan carved for her and found one produced a better sound than others. She’d learned how to modulate her breathing and pressure on the bag to release air into the pipes. Sometimes the clashing sounds sounded like music.
“You’re getting better,” Malcolm said. “I could almost hear the melody.”
Malcolm still worked in the mercantile on the days he wasn’t hauling goods. He’d grown a bushy beard, and the rest of his face turned red whenever Sally Martin stopped by. On slow days he pulled out a slate and worked math problems. Ewan had found a book of Euclidean geometry, which Malcolm said made better sense than long division.
As the days grew shorter, Ewan’s visits became abbreviated. Kate didn’t know how much money he still needed to earn and she didn’t ask. When he came by, she put away the bagpipes and pulled out one of the reed flutes. The man she loved was discouraged, so she played to cheer him up.
That afternoon he shuffled in as she filled a jar with striped Christmas candy. She set it on the counter and pasted a bright smile on her face. She’d finished sewing her dress. Should she tell him?
His sad smile resembled a grimace as he tapped his long fingers on the jar. “When I was a boy, this candy meant Christmas. Ma called them Yule logs painted in Christmas
colors to celebrate the holiday. I’ve since learned Yule logs burn in the fireplace, but seeing this candy is a happy memory.”
Kate plucked a piece out of the jar and handed it to him. “Merry Christmas.”
He clutched the candy and recoiled. “What’s the date?”
“December 15th. You have plenty of time.”
Ewan opened his fist and stared at the candy, now crushed. He scooped it into his mouth, his hand shaking.
“Are you okay?” Kate reached for him.
He rubbed her hand clutching his arm. When he’d finished the candy, he cleared his throat. “‘In the world ye shall have tribulation,’ Jesus said, ‘but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.’ I remember that verse when I’m discouraged. Ten days. God will have to do a miracle. I’ve been praying for Josiah.”
“Why?”
Ewan lifted his head and gazed at her with those clear blue eyes. “Because I love you and I want only the best for you. If you married Josiah instead of me, you’d be safe and could have a good life. So, I’ve been praying he’ll become the man you need him to be.”
“You needn’t bother. I love you, no one else. If I can’t have you, I won’t marry. I’ll stay here and work in the mercantile. This isn’t the end. If you don’t have the seventy dollars by Christmas, you’ll earn it next month at the school. Please don’t be discouraged.”
Ewan shook his head. “He said your eighteenth birthday, December 25th. We gave each other our word. How could I look your father in the eye after I pledged to meet his requirement?”
“If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t care. There are other ways to come up with the money. Can you sell one of your possessions? I’ll buy something from you. What do you have?”
“Here. I owe you money.” Malcolm rose from his chair at the back of the store. He handed Ewan two silver dollars.
“What’s this for?” Ewan stared at the heavy coins.
He held up Euclid’s Geometry. “My book. How much will you charge to curry my horses? How much do you need? I don’t want Josiah Finch in my family.” Malcolm walked out the door and slammed it after him.
The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection Page 57
