Maybe she could start a petition for a library and she could work there. She’d never even been to a real library, and her imagination ran wild, with shelves and shelves of books stacked high to the ceiling, the smell of leather permeating the air, the hushed tones as patrons read through books about Plato, Leonardo Da Vinci, castles in England, and big ships on the sea. She shivered at the thought of all the things she didn’t know and ached to see.
Maybe there could even be a display of the pyramids of Egypt, which she knew for a fact she would never see in her lifetime. Thousands and thousands of miles away, and her life was here, in Tombstone, with her family.
She pulled out her handkerchief and held it over her nose as a group of cowboys rushed by at breakneck speed. As the dust settled, she wiped the remainder of it off her face—or so she hoped—and resigned herself to the fact that she belonged here with her family, and the closest she was ever going to get to the pyramids in Egypt was in that schoolhouse down the street.
The slap of leather reins on the wagon barreling down the road brought her out of her reverie and she took one last look down to the west end of the street, the schoolhouse sitting just at the end. Her breath caught in her throat as Mr. Tate appeared, a lantern in one hand and a key in the other, and then disappeared into the schoolhouse.
She took a deep breath as she stroked the horses’ noses. She looked back to the schoolhouse—it wasn’t very far away and she could just go down and—
“Just give me another minute, boys. I promise I’ll bring back an apple.” She patted them once more and pulled on the reins, making sure they were tied properly to the hitching post and headed toward the schoolhouse.
Her pace slowed about halfway there, her boots still sounding on the wooden boardwalk but much more lightly as she hesitated, stopping in front of Bailey’s Restaurant. She turned and looked back at the horses, wishing her heart would stop thudding in her chest. It would not be the end of the world if he said no.
She turned to see how bad she looked in the window of the restaurant, tucking her ringlets back under her scarf and laughing at the dirt that lined her face. She looked down at her dress and shoes. Not only was her face dirty, but so was the rest of her. As she looked at her reflection one last time in the window of Bailey’s Restaurant, a small boy—maybe one of those she’d seen at the fundraiser, she couldn’t be sure—walked from the kitchen into the front of the restaurant carrying what looked to be a pot of potatoes that likely weighed almost as much as he did. His dark hair and dark eyes looked familiar, but she couldn’t make him out that well in the darkened restaurant.
The cold glass tickled her nose as she pressed against it, cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better view. The boy set the pot down with a thud and stood up slowly, turning to go back into the kitchen. When he saw Rose, he jumped back and nearly stumbled over the pot behind him. It startled her, too, and she gasped, backing away from the window, but still able to see him turn and run back into the kitchen.
“How odd.” She frowned, wondering at the boy’s reaction. She couldn’t be sure if he was the boy she’d seen with the schoolbooks, and even if he was, she couldn’t imagine why she’d frightened him so. Especially with the titles of the books he’d planned to read.
She gave her face one more swipe with the now-dusty handkerchief and continued on her way. As she reached the schoolhouse, she couldn’t help but peer in the window before she went inside. This was her last chance to change her mind, go back to Archer Ranch and forget all about this silly idea.
She should have known that her luck peeking in windows unseen was not good, and she jumped back as Mr. Tate looked up toward her and smiled, a lock of his wavy hair falling over his forehead. He stood and waved for her to come inside and headed toward the door.
“Well, good morning, Miss Archer.” He opened the door wide, gesturing for her to come in.
“Good morning, Mr. Tate.” She hoped that all the dust had been removed, at least from her face, but as he regarded her and cocked his head to one side, she was fairly certain it hadn’t.
“It’s awfully early, but you look as if you might have had a long day already.”
The sensation that was becoming more familiar of her palms perspiring popped up again and she twisted her fingers. “Yes, it’s been a bit of a long morning. Milking cows, gathering eggs, almost being run over by a band of cowboys and waiting for the dust to settle. My usual day.” She smiled, and her heart warmed at the genuine smile she received in return.
“Quite amusing, Miss Archer. I can’t even imagine. What brings you here after your trials and tribulations?” He gestured toward one of the student desks and she sat down, its slick, worn seat familiar.
“I was at the mercantile this morning, delivering said milk and eggs, and Suzanne mentioned that you had received permission to accept volunteers for the school year.” She folded her hands on top of the desk, feeling much like she had in her student days, waiting for either permission or approval.
“Conditional permission,” he said as he stood and paced in front of the chalkboard. “Widow Samson will have to ‘review’ its success or failure intermittently.”
“Oh, I see. Have you decided to continue?”
He stopped in front of the teacher’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back. She noticed his spectacles for the first time and it surprised her that she thought it made his dark eyes look even more handsome and worldly.
“I am. Mrs. Davis has already offered to assist, but only half days. For this to work, I’ll need to find someone who can be here the opposite times so I can avert chaos in the classroom.” He smiled and sat on the desk, folding his arms across his chest.
Rose laughed and stood, smoothing her skirts. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to offer her services, but turned around quickly as the door opened and Suzanne rushed in, her cheeks flushed and a piece of paper in her hand.
“Oh, Rose, hello.” She patted Rose on the shoulder as she walked past her and toward Mr. Tate.
“Hello.” Rose folded her hands in front of her, butterflies flitting in her stomach now that her attempt had been interrupted. She wasn’t sure how much longer her courage would hold.
“Rose was just about to say something.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth as he smiled at Rose, encouraging her to continue.
Rose’s cheeks heated as they both looked at her expectantly—patiently, yes—but expectantly and she knew it was now or never.
“I’d like to offer my services as a volunteer assistant here at the schoolhouse. I loved school when I was here and thought I might like someday to be a teacher.” The words came out in a rush and she saw Suzanne’s eyebrows rise before Rose looked down at her hands, waiting for the expected denial.
“I, for one, think it’s a wonderful idea. You wouldn’t know this, Mr. Tate, but Rose was a star student, never missed a day and was a great help to the previous teacher.” Suzanne nodded at Rose with a smile.
Mr. Tate stood, looking from Suzanne to Rose. “I would love the assistance of both of you, if possible.”
Rose heart tugged—he’d said yes!
“I do suppose that it would be conditional, on the Widow Samson’s approval, I’m afraid.” He sat back down on the desk, and Rose suddenly realized how tall he was—he was almost taller than she was even when he sat down.
Suzanne waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t think the Widow Samson will object. She’s known the Archer family for years and wouldn’t dare. Besides, she’s the least of Rose’s problems.”
“Oh?” Mr. Tate asked, one eyebrow arched as he cocked his head toward Suzanne.
Suzanne laughed and crinkled her nose in Rose’s direction. “Oh, Rose, you and I both know that the real problem will be your father.”
Chapter 7
Rose pulled the heavy, wooden door closed behind her and suppressed the urge to jump up and down. She did twirl on the stoop and hug herself, dust flying from her skirts.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t be dusty for much longer.
She practically skipped back toward the wagon, dodging people on the boardwalk of the now busy main street. She shook her head as she walked down the steps to the horses and stopped for a moment, watching the passersby.
Tombstone and the surrounding area had changed quickly with the silver strike at the mine. In a few short years, their quiet little town had seen an influx of people from all over the country—and not just miners, although there were many of them streaming in by the day.
She watched a lady across the street on the arm of a man in a very fancy suit, the feather in her hat swaying, her head tilted back as she laughed. Further down the boardwalk, another couple—she knew the man was one of the several doctors they now had in town—peer into the window of the bowling alley that had sprung up recently.
Rose untied the horses, patting their noses and promising them an apple once she got home, and slowly turned the buggy around in the middle of the wide road. A woman in a beautiful blue velvet dress with what looked like a peacock feather on her hat came out of the laundry—one of several that had also sprung up to serve the new residents.
As Rose lifted her dusty skirts and lifted her black—well, sort of brown with dust—boots onto the sideboard, she looked around again, wondering how many of these people had been to places like San Francisco, New York, or even Paris! She sighed at the thought of what that must be like. She’d never been out of Arizona Territory and longed to see some of the wonders of the world that she’d read about. Just the thought that she could be involved with the books again—even just to see these places on the pages—made her heart sing.
Sunk deep in her imagination, she was startled when the horses stopped in front of the ranch house. The trip seemed like it had taken only a few minutes and she shook her head, wondering what she might say to her father—how she could make him understand how important this was to her.
She looked up as Ben, the ranch hand she thought of almost a brother, reached for the reins of the horses. “Hello, Ben,” she said, patting the horses’ noses and heading toward the front door. “Would you make sure they each get an apple? They did a fine job for me today.
Ben tipped his hat. “Sure thing, Miss Rose,” he said and led the horses down toward the stables.
As she watched him walk down the drive, she thought again of her father. She did take into account that he hadn’t had an easy time of it since his wife—her mother—had died a few years before. He’d grieved hard and long, and hadn’t wanted anything to change with his family.
But things were changing. They’d all grown to love Clara, her brother Hank’s mail order bride and even her older sister Meg had gotten married against his wishes—but he’d come around. He’d have to let her grow up, too, wouldn’t he?
She untied her blue bonnet and shook it out as she stepped onto the porch of the Archer family ranch house. Her eyes traveled over the white adobe, the lovely blue window frames and settled on the engraved wooden door that she not too long before had struggled to open as a young girl.
She hung her bonnet on the rack, shook out her blue skirts and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t a young girl any longer. It was time she had her own adventure.
As she reached the door of her father’s office and library, she paused for a moment. She reached her hand out, the cool glass of the photograph calming her nerves a bit. Her mother had been a beauty, and her smile in the photograph comforted Rose as she cleared her throat and knocked on the door.
It was a few seconds before she heard, “Come in,” and she hoped that her father was in good spirits. He seemed to have changed since Clara had arrived and Meg got married, but was still a little unpredictable.
Beau Archer looked up from the ledger he was studying, his spectacles slipping down his nose as he looked over them at Rose and smiled.
“Hello, Rosemary.” He pushed the spectacles back up his nose and ran his hand through his dark hair that had recently become flecked with gray. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Rose’s heart tugged with love for her father. Even when he was gruff, his kind heart and good intentions outweighed most other things, and she sighed with relief that today didn’t seem to be one of his gruff days.
“Hello, Papa.” Rose smiled and the leather chair she dropped into squeaked. “I hope you’re having a good day.”
“Ah, I see,” he said as he sat back in his leather chair, crossing his hands over his waist, his lips turning up in a grin. “You want something, don’t you?”
Rose lowered her eyes to her hands that were tightly clasped together in her lap. Her face heated and she took a deep breath, happy at least that he was smiling, and hoping that would continue to be the case.
She looked up at him, noticing the crinkles around his eyes grow deeper as he smiled. “Papa, I know that it’s been challenging for you to have Clara arrive and Hank change jobs, and now for Meg to leave, married. I was hoping that I could—”
His eyes clouded and he leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “No.”
Rose stopped mid-sentence, her mouth open and her eyebrows raised. “No?”
“Rosemary, you’re too young. And I can’t take another one of you marrying and leaving. Not yet.” He pushed back from the desk and stood, pacing in front of the window to the garden, his hands clasped behind his back.
Rose covered her mouth and stifled a laugh, grateful to Meg for having done something so outrageous that her request would appear simple—she hoped.
She stood and walked over to her father, her hand on his arm as she stopped him and turned him around to face her. “Papa, it’s nothing like that. I promise.”
Visibly relieved, he swiped both hands through his hair and let out a sigh. “Well, then?”
She sat on the brocade settee under the window, the one her mother had rested on for much of her last months. “You know that the school has a new headmaster. We met him at the school fundraiser.”
“Yes, and I heard he needs a wife right away—and the answer is still no.”
She didn’t stifle her laugh this time and her father rested his elbows on his knees and turned to her. “Papa, please. I barely know the man and have no interest in marrying. He does, however, need something else.”
Mr. Archer sat up and turned to his daughter. “Yes? What?”
Rose cleared her throat again. “With so many new people coming to town with the silver strike, there are many more children to be schooled than there have been. Widow Samson and the school board refused him a paid assistant, but she did agree to his getting some volunteer assistance.”
He leaned back a bit and looked at Rose, appearing, in a way, to be seeing her for the first time. “And you want to do that? Volunteer?”
She reached for his hand. “Oh, yes, Papa, I want nothing more. I miss being in school, and Saffron agreed to take over the milking and egg gathering chores and I would feel as if I was helping.”
“I do remember that you loved school. Even cried when it ended for you. And smart as a whip. Nothing left for you to learn,” he said, squeezing her hand. He stood and laughed, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest.
Time stood still for Rose as she held her breath, waiting for him to speak again.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m willing to consider it—if it’s what you really want—if I can meet him.”
“Papa, you’ve met him—”
He held up his palms to her and shook his head. “I know, Rosemary. I met him, but I didn’t expect I’d need to pay attention. If you’re going to be spending much time with this man, even if he is the headmaster, I’d like to get a better feel for him.”
She tried to contain her exasperated sigh but couldn’t. “Papa, I didn’t ask to marry the man. I don’t even know him.”
“All the more reason for me to meet him, then, and get to know him better. That’s the best I’m willing to offer, Rosemary. Take it or leave it.”
Rose s
tood, her eyes not leaving her father’s. After twenty years of living with this man, she knew when she’d gotten as far as she was going to get.
“All right, Papa. I’m sure he won’t understand. I will be embarrassed, but I will invite him and let him know the reasoning, as foolish as it is.”
It was a few moments before Mr. Archer sat back down behind his desk. He took his spectacles off and laid them on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. “You may think it’s foolish, my dear, but it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of my daughters, especially now that I am alone in that responsibility.” He looked up at her and smiled as she opened the door, nodding slightly as she closed the door behind her.
“And I love you, too, Papa,” she said under her breath with a smile.
Chapter 8
Michael worked a few more hours after the ladies left and he finally sat down for a break. He shook his head and wiped back a stray lock of his wavy, dark hair as he turned around to look at the schoolhouse he’d agreed to manage and teach in, way out here in Arizona Territory. It almost couldn’t be further away from Boston, both geographically and culturally, and he smiled wistfully at the thought of his parents back in the North End, working hard at their restaurant.
He crossed the room to his new desk, picking up his two favorite books and turning them over in his hands. One he’d had for many, many years—as long as he could remember—since his Uncle Sal had slipped it to him one day on the way to the cheese market. He ran his fingers over the worn leather and dog-eared pages, the small book fitting neatly in his palm, its size the only reason he’d been able to conceal it from his parents for so long.
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