“Your own neighborhood?” Rose wasn’t familiar with Boston and her curiosity got the better of her.
He looked toward the horizon, past the shade tree and onto the rolling hills scattered with cactus. “There is much about Tombstone that is different from where I grew up. The food, included.”
A sidelong glance at Mr. Tate told her that he was lost in reverie and she sensed it might be a delicate topic. So she did as her mother had always done in an awkward moment—changed the subject to food.
“What was your favorite food, then? What did you grow up eating?” She took the last bite of her tamale and wiped her hands on her napkin.
“Ah, that’s easy. Lasagne, spaghetti, gnocchi, zuppa.” His white teeth flashed with the last word, which Rose assumed mean soup. She’d heard of—and even tasted—the other things he’d mentioned and loved them.
“Oh, you’re Italian!” She clapped her hands together, her smile wide. He must have been to Italy. How exciting!
“One hundred percent. Well, both of my parents came over to Boston from Italy. So I suppose I’m a hundred percent American, as I was born here.” His eyes clouded.
“Mr. Tate, I—”
“Please, call me Michael,” he interrupted. “All of my friends and family do. I think it would make me miss them less.” With his eager smile as he bit into the empanada, she couldn’t refuse, although the thought of doing so in public made her a little uncomfortable.
“Very well...Michael.” Encouraged by his smile and nod, she said, “And please, you must call me Rose.”
He turned toward her, his head cocked to one side as he regarded her with his eyes narrowed. “Rose,” he said slowly.
As he looked at her, she fumbled with the ringlet that had escaped her chignon, heat spreading through her chest. “Yes.”
He finished his empanada and wiped the crumbs off his lap, not taking his eyes from hers. “Thank you. I shall call you that. Beautiful Rose.”
Chapter 15
Rose had had no idea what was involved to prepare for a new school year and new students, and the following week flew by. Suzanne had been in several times with Lucy and Lily, but on the last two days she’d left them home with their housekeeper. Rose and Michael had fallen into the routine of taking a break for lunch and eating together on the bench under the shade tree behind the schoolhouse.
Now, the day before school was to open, Rose rubbed her sore hands, raw from washing desks and stacking books. She, Mr. Tate, and Suzanne had held a short meeting the day before, and he had explained that today would be the day parents would come and bring their children. Rose was eager to meet the students who would occupy the schoolhouse, sit at the desks, learn how to read and write, and about the bigger world that awaited them.
She’d shared her excitement with Michael after Suzanne left. She furrowed her brows, remembering his response. “Try not to get too excited, Miss Archer. The first day of school can be fairly unpredictable, but we’ll know more after tomorrow. We’ll know which students are coming and which aren’t.”
Over the course of the past weeks as they cleaned, dusted, arranged books, helped Mr. Tate with his plans, she’d not been able to forget about what he’d said. Were there really students who wanted to be in school but couldn’t? Or parents who didn’t understand how important it was for them? She didn’t want to believe it, so she shook the thought out of her head and satisfied herself with poring over the books in the classroom and arranging them alphabetically, by author, and performing any other tasks that Mr. Tate asked of her. In the space of a week, she’d unloaded the boxes with the new primers in them, one thing she was thankful to the Widow Samson for as the older ones were in tatters.
He had asked that she and Suzanne sit at the front door of the schoolhouse to greet parents and students, take down their names and previous schooling, and direct them into the schoolhouse where he could introduce himself and answer any questions they might have. He’d also asked them to keep their eyes open for potential “helpers," as the only way to teach in a multi-age schoolhouse was to rely on the assistance of some of the older, more skilled children to assist the younger ones, he’d explained.
She’d also learned over the past week that Mr. Tate had been trained in Boston in a manner that was said to be more effective in teaching students—and that Massachusetts had required children to attend school for the past thirty years, longer than she’d been alive! How could it be so different here in the West? Even now, in the 1880s, she realized they were still behind the times in lots of ways.
Suzanne squeezed her hand, pulling her away from her thoughts as the door of the school opened and a large man with his hat in his hand ushered in two young boys who looked to be about seven and nine. Rose smiled and stood, reaching her hand out to the father with a broad smile.
“Hello, Mr. Goodwin. It’s nice to see you, and same to you, Alex and Robert.” She shook each of the boys’ hands as their ears reddened and they looked down at their feet.
“Well, hello, Miss Archer and Mrs. Davis.” The older man nodded at Suzanne.
Rose had known the Goodwin family for some time and was pleased to see that Alex and Robert would not be included in the ranks of children staying home to work for their parents. Mr. Goodwin ran the brand new ice cream parlor in town and she suspected that the boys would rather be home working with their parents, so she was especially pleased that Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin felt the boys’ education more important.
“We’re very happy to have the boys back in school this year,” Rose said as she sat down and wrote the boys’ names on their list.
“Wouldn’t do anything different, Miss Archer. Running a business takes more than just scooping ice cream. I need these two to read, write, and know their numbers. Gotta keep things straight for us one day,” Mr. Goodwin said, beaming proudly at his two boys.
“Please go and introduce yourselves to Mr. Tate, boys, and have some cookies.” She winked at Mr. Goodwin who had to practically push the boys into the room.
Rose smiled at her own memory of how awkward the first day of school always was when she was younger—never knowing who would be there, what the teacher might be like if it was someone different.
Suzanne nudged her with her elbow. “Good thing Sadie brought cookies. It might make it just a little bit easier for these little ones.”
“That was very nice of her to do that. Did she make them at the Occidental?”
“She did. Even though her baby hasn’t arrived yet, I think she’s trying to bribe the teacher already,” Suzanne said, laughing and nodding in the direction of the platter filled with treats that Sadie had sent with her earlier. “With Lucy and Lily coming, I suppose I should be the one doing that.”
Rose turned to her friend, her brows furrowed. “Are you worried about them?”
“About them? No. I’m more worried about Mr. Tate.” She raised the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure he’s ready for them.”
“Oh, they’ll be fine, I’m sure. At least he won’t be alone.” She glanced at Mr. Tate as he bent down and shook the hands of both boys, his smile bright and his eyes twinkling.
Suzanne looked over at Mr. Tate and lowered her voice. “Speaking of not being alone, did you hear last night about his inquiries for his bride? We should be hearing from her soon.”
Rose’s eyebrows rose as her stomach began to flutter. She looked over to Mr. Tate and back to Suzanne, sure that she wasn’t just excited about being in the schoolhouse. What caused this reaction she was a little unclear about. She realized that it was none of her business, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “And how did he decide? What is she like? I know that the Widow Samson has him in a rush.”
Suzanne leaned back in her chair and pulled a copy of the Groom’s Gazette from her pocket. She opened it and laid it on the table, her hands pressing out the folds. “It took a while, but we were able to narrow it down to two.”
“You mean women advertise as well? I though
t it was the other way around, that a man advertised and women chose whether or not to write.” Rose couldn’t help but scan the advertisements in this section, wondering which two had caught Mr. Tate’s eye.
“Well, this is the 1880s after all, Rose. Things are changing. Women in larger towns sometimes are widowed or need to seek a new situation, so they advertise, too. Look at this one.”
Suzanne pointed to a short paragraph in the top right corner of the Gazette and read aloud:
I am fair and 48, 5 feet high. Am a No. 1 lady, well fixed with no encumbrance. Am in business in the city but want a partner who lives in the West. Want an energetic man who has some means and not under 180 pounds. Of good habits.
Rose stifled a laugh with her hand. “I...I had no idea. Is that one of the ladies Mr. Tate chose to correspond with?” Rose was startled by the tightness in her chest. Surely it was no concern of hers who Mr. Tate found attractive but she also knew she very much wanted to see what he found compelling.
“Goodness, no,” Suzanne said, leaning forward and glancing at Mr. Tate. “I felt quite sorry for him. It was not an easy thing for him to do. He explained that his parents had been married for many, many years and were very much in love. And that’s what he had hoped for himself.”
Warmth spread through Rose’s chest at Suzanne’s description. Poor Mr. Tate. “I imagine it would be. Difficult, I mean.” Her cheeks burned and she didn’t understand why she wanted to see the women’s descriptions so badly.
Suzanne turned the page and pointed to one of the advertisements with a circle around it. “Here’s one,” she said, pointing to the paragraph.
Fine young lady from Kansas City seeking to travel west. Want a kind, happy man who will be a good husband. Am 25 and am told I look good enough. Want a new beginning. Must be 30 years of age or less and employed.
“He was having a difficult time finding any that he liked, but he settled for this one—oh, and this one over here.” Suzanne flipped to another page further back and pointed once again to a circled paragraph.
St. Louis no longer is the place for me. Seeking a man in the West who wants a decent wife. 22 years old, 5 feet 5 inches tall and good companion. Employed and under 30 only.
“I had no idea...” Rose’s voice trailed off as she glanced over at Mr. Tate, who was handing each boy a cookie, their smiles from ear to ear. She took in his wavy hair, deep brown eyes and olive skin, wondering what it would be like to meet and marry someone on the same day and try to make a life together. He wouldn’t be doing it, she remembered, without the insistence of the Widow Samson and the school committee, and the thought angered her.
“What is it, Rose?” Suzanne asked, covering one of Rose’s hands with her own. “Have I upset you?”
Rose shook her head quickly, hoping to remove those thoughts and move on to happier ones. This was none of her business, despite the unsettling feelings she seemed to be having when she thought of it.
“No. You haven’t upset me at all,” Rose said as she stood, ready to greet the next student who came through the door.
Chapter 16
Students and parents visited throughout the morning as Suzanne, Rose and Mr. Tate continued to greet them. Rose was able to sneak a few glances in Mr. Tate’s direction as he laughed with students, bending down to greet them all eye-to-eye and making them as comfortable as could be with jittery nerves all around.
As he moved about the room with such confidence and good humor, Rose wondered about his parents. What kind of people would raise a man so at ease in the world of books and learning, his square jaw and olive skin leaving her with a hint of something foreign. He had no accent—well, a slight one, but she’d learned it was from Boston and not a foreign language.
Several times throughout the morning, their eyes met and he invariably smiled broadly, his eyes alight as he nodded in her direction. He was clearly in his element, answering questions from parents and encouraging some of the children to speak while deftly keeping others who were less shy from re-arranging the books on the shelf and dropping pencils all over the floor.
She admired his aplomb and ability to put people at ease. What an interesting bridge he would be from the students to the bigger world of reading and writing. She wondered what it would be like when school actually started and he had so many different age groups to contend with.
She stood to stretch her legs. Suzanne stood also and waved at a father and his daughter as they closed the door behind them on their way out.
“Goodness, that’s quite a crowd you’re going to have, Mr. Tate. Looks like a good turnout for the school year,” Suzanne said as she glanced over the list of names they’d collected during the morning.
Rose picked up the list and glanced over it. Setting it down on the table, she crossed the room to the windows on the far side. Over toward the shade trees in the back of the schoolhouse, a movement caught her eye. She lifted her skirts and hurried toward the back door of the schoolhouse.
“What is it, Miss Archer?” Mr. Tate asked, his brows furrowed.
She held her finger to her lips and gestured for Mr. Tate to follow her. She reached slowly for the door, pressing on the latch quietly, then quickly pulling it toward her. She stepped out onto the porch with Mr. Tate close behind.
As they stood by the schoolhouse and looked toward the shade trees, Rose shouted, “Come on in, boys. We won’t bite.”
All four of the boys standing in a group behind the trees turned toward Rose and stood stock still for a moment, their eyes wide.
“We’d love to meet you,” Mr. Tate said, his welcoming smile present once again. As he took a step toward the boys, they dropped the balls they had been playing with, turned and ran past the slatted wooden fence that surrounded the yard, disappearing in a cloud of dust once they made it to the dirt road.
Mr. Tate ran after them to the gate, his hand held over his eyes as he peered in the direction they’d gone. He turned slowly back toward the schoolhouse, shaking his head slowly.
Rose sat down on the bench right outside the door. Mr. Tate had taken off his coat earlier and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. He sat down on the opposite side of the bench, his eyes clouding as he looked again toward the gate.
“It appears we have more work to do,” Rose said, taking in his solemn expression, his eyes growing even darker than she’d seen them.
He turned slowly toward Rose, his head cocked to one side as he regarded her. “You’ve lived here your whole life, haven’t you?” he asked.
Somehow, Rose felt that his statement wasn’t exactly a compliment and she flushed, smoothing her skirts. “Yes. Yes, I have.”
“We talked about this the other day. There are children who are unable to come to school, for various reasons. And truth be told, some don’t even want to.”
Rose gasped, her hand to her chest. “I can’t believe that. Who wouldn’t want to come and learn?”
Mr. Tate stood and turned to the gate once more. “As I said, Miss Archer, there are many reasons. And I’ve learned there’s not much I can do about it. I haven’t been able to before, anyway.”
His wistful gaze tugged at her heart. She couldn’t know what had made him so sad, but she did now that it was impossible that students couldn’t or wouldn’t come to school. She did know that it wasn’t everyone’s favorite thing to do, but surely they must see the importance of learning how to navigate in the world. Just like Mr. Goodwin said, not everyone could be a farmer. And even farmers needed to know how to sell their goods.
She thought she’d recognized one of the boys—he had been the one leaving the schoolhouse with the books on the day of the fundraiser. She hadn’t seen him before that day. She vowed to find him, and see how she could get him—or his parents—to understand that he needed to be in school with the rest of the children.
She and Mr. Tate both turned toward the door as Suzanne stuck her head out, saying in a loud whisper with a nod of her head back inside the room, “There’s someone here to s
ee you, Mr. Tate.”
He raised his eyebrows at Suzanne as she turned back into the room.
Rose looked questioningly at Mr. Tate who shrugged his shoulders as he gestured for her to precede him back into the room. Her stomach lurched as she stepped inside and looked from Suzanne to the Widow Samson. Standing behind her were several of the other school committee members, their faces blank as they looked toward their chosen leader.
“Hello, ladies,” Mr. Tate said, smiling as he strode forward toward the group. Suzanne had sat back down at the table and Rose joined her.
The Widow Samson picked up the paper with student names on it, her lips pursing as she read from the top to the bottom. She handed it to the ladies behind her who huddled over it, whispering to each other.
“I see you’ve had a fairly good turnout of students,” the widow said, tapping the wooden floor with the tip of her closed parasol.
“We’re quite pleased so far, aren’t we, ladies?” Mr. Tate smiled broadly, running his hand through his hair and nodding at Rose and Suzanne.
“So far? This is almost as many children as the schoolhouse can hold, Mr. Tate.” The widow tapped her parasol harder on the floor.
Rose pushed herself up from the table, standing eye level to the widow. It hadn’t been too many years that she was eye level to her and remembered being quite intimidated by her as a young girl. Her chest tightened now, as an adult, as their eyes met.
“Mrs. Samson, there are still more students who have not made themselves known to us, primary students, specifically. Young ones. Ten-year-olds and younger who need to learn to read.” She leveled her gaze at the widow and folded her arms over her chest.
Mrs. Samson tugged her gloves on and tucked a stray, gray lock under her black hat. “Miss Archer, we appreciate your—shall we say—enthusiasm, but it is a fact that not all children can or will come to school. And beyond that, we only have room for so many, and you’ve almost met that limit. Isn’t that right, ladies?” She turned around and nodded at the ladies behind her, a smug smile reappearing as the gaggle behind her nodded in unison.
The Teacher's Mail Order Bride Page 7
