Debra Holland

by Stormy Montana Sky

  The younger man’s face reddened.

  Why did Ant’s stomach knot at Thompson’s words? The man was only confirming what Ant had already learned.

  Carter ran a hand over his head of thinning sandy hair. “No one took Livingston, here, to task for living alone with his housekeeper in the years before his sister moved in.”

  Livingston coughed and set down his glass.

  Carter’s blue eyes twinkled. He blithely continued on. “Not that Mrs. Graves looks anything like our Miss Stanton, but the point is the same. No chaperone.”

  “She’s older,” Livingston said in a strangled voice. “A widow. Not at all the same thing.”

  Reverend Norton smoothed his white beard. “You could always marry her,” he said to Ant with an angelic smile.

  Ant choked on the bite of the cookie he’d just taken. He could feel the pressure of the men’s heavy gazes. He didn’t know what to say. The silence lengthened.

  Thompson came to his rescue. He shook his head. “Then we’d lose our schoolmarm. Samantha’s boys have had enough difficulty adjusting to school. They love Miss Stanton, and she’s done an excellent job with them.”

  Carter looked thoughtful. “Even the troublemakers tend to mind her, which is interesting with her being a bit of a woman.”

  Marriage! Ant’s head spun. “Now, hold on.”

  John Carter looked thoughtful. “Nothing says that we couldn’t have a married lady teacher. Male teachers are often married.” He tipped his head toward Ant. “Providing that Gordon allows her.”

  Ant made a gabbling noise, which the other men ignored.

  The conversation carried on without him. Finally, Sanders, who hadn’t yet spoken, seemed to take pity on Ant. “You’ll have to forgive us, Gordon. Except for our banker here, you’re corralled with a herd of happily married...” he lifted his chin at Thompson. “Or almost married men.”

  All the men except Livingston laughed.

  The banker scowled at the younger man, then turned the frown on Ant. “If you sully Miss Stanton’s good name, are you prepared to marry her?”

  “Good idea,” said Thompson, who took a bite of a cookie.

  Livingston scowled at Ant. “The truth is it’s not Miss Stanton’s character that’s an issue here. It’s yours.”

  Cobb grimaced at him. “We don’t know you from Adam. There’s been nothing but trouble since you came. Murder and...”

  Ant could feel anger heating up his neck.

  Carter shot the shopkeeper a sharp glance that shut the man up. He turned his attention back to Ant. “We want to know that you’ll marry Miss Stanton if need be.”

  “If I sully Miss Stanton’s good name, which I don’t intend to do, I’ll marry her.”

  “Sometimes the best of intentions aren’t good enough,” Reverend Norton said in a tone of gentle reproof.

  Ant didn’t care if Norton was a man of the cloth. His patience unraveled. “I said I’d marry her if need be,” he snapped. “But for now, let’s leave the subject alone.” He stood. “I think I’ve made myself clear.” He swiped a cookie from the platter. “Good night, gentlemen!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After talking to the Cobbs, Harriet stormed off to the schoolhouse, a book tucked under one arm, anger giving fuel to her stride. How dare the Cobbs meddle in my business, calling a meeting of the town leaders to talk to Ant without consulting me! She held her head high, conscious of her stomach churning and flags of embarrassed color in her cheeks. She barely acknowledged anyone walking past her.

  Once at the schoolhouse, she unlocked and flung open the door, stepped inside the hushed, hot room, then shut the door behind her. The sun streamed through the windows, providing welcome light. Even though school was out for the summer, she’d left the shutters to the windows open because she often came here for peace and quiet.

  Harriet walked up the aisle and set her book down on the table she used for a desk. Then she wove her way through the rows of long plank benches with corresponding narrow tables in front of them to the windows on each side of the building. She flung open the sashes to let some air into the stifling room. A slight breeze wafted in. Not enough to cool her cheeks. But at least with the huge old oak shading one side of the building the temperature in the schoolhouse was more pleasant than at the Cobbs’.

  In winter—she shuddered at the memory—the room would be freezing, except for the area near the stove in the right front of the room. Harriet made sure to rotate her pupils, so each had some time near the stove and some away. Yet, even close to the stove, it wasn’t uncommon to have one side of your body warm and another chilled. She’d heard some teachers only allowed their favorites to sit next to the stove, or they punished students by forcing them to sit in the coldest part of the room all day. Other weak-willed teachers allowed the oldest students, the bullies, or most popular ones, to decide who sat near the stove, another practice she didn’t condone.

  Harriet sighed and stepped away from the window. Just thinking about winter seemed to cool her somewhat.

  Unable to sit just yet, she strolled around her domain. Harriet knew she was lucky in the teaching tools the more prosperous citizens of Sweetwater Springs had provided. Her school had a slate chalkboard in the front of the room, with a map of the United States hanging on one side and one of the world on the other. She twirled the suspension globe donated by the Carters, glad that she didn’t have to use an apple and a ball as she’d done at her previous school.

  A shelf held Harper’s Young Ladies, Chatterbox, McGuffy’s Readers and Youth’s Companion, several books of poetry, dictionaries and almanacs, a Bible, and some well-read novels by Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, and Jules Verne, and a copy of Elsie Dinsmore. Hopefully soon, Ant’s newspapers would also have shelf space.

  Another shelf held a pile of extra slates for those students whose families couldn’t afford one per child, along with a box of chalk. Each student was supposed to bring his or her own, but a request to Pamela Carter had resulted in extras to loan out. She made a mental note to request more. She doubted the Swensen girls would be able to provide their own.

  Stopping at her desk, she straightened the ruler and pencils propped in a tin can. She fingered the horsewhip, inherited from the former schoolmaster, she kept on the side of her desk, not that she’d ever had to use it, thank goodness. Nevertheless, the whip was a deterrent to potentially disobedient students.

  Harriet sat down in her chair, opened The Count of Monte Cristo, and began to read. But even in the solitude of the schoolhouse, she had a hard time concentrating on the book. The delights of a new story and the freedom to read in peace couldn’t stop her from worrying about the outcome of the meeting at Banker Livingston’s. I’ve never taken so long to finish a new book before.

  She had barely read a chapter when the sound of hoofbeats and wheels made her get up from her desk and run to the window. She saw Ant pull up in front of the schoolhouse driving Mack Taylor’s rented buggy. Although she was tempted to fling open the door and run outside, she knew it would be better for Ant to come inside, away from prying eyes.

  Harriet returned to her desk, placed a piece of paper in the book to mark her place, and closed it. Carrying it with her, she hurried to the door just as Ant came in. His tall frame filled the entranceway.

  All of a sudden, her stays seemed too tight, and she struggled to breathe.

  When he saw her, he grinned, his smile big and white, and canted a tad to the right. “I’ve been released on my own recognizance, but it was a close call.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Only good things about you, my dear lady,” he drawled. “They obviously value their schoolteacher as they ought.”

  For the first time since she’d heard about the meeting, Harriet took a deep breath. “Then they’re going to allow me to be David’s governess?”

  His eyebrow pulled even higher. “It’s not their place to disallow you from working an extra job as long as it doesn’t interfere
with your duties as a teacher. Not that they agree with me. It wasn’t your duties that were in question, just your virtue.”

  Heat flooded Harriet’s cheeks, and she put her hands on her face. “They didn’t?”

  He winked at her. “I assured them that your virtue was safe with me.”

  “Oh, Ant. I don’t even know what to say.”

  He sobered. “Don’t worry, Harriet. They were just being protective of you. They gave us their blessing.” He looked as if he was going to say more, but stopped.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. You are now free to teach school in Sweetwater Springs and be David’s governess.”

  She clapped her hands. “I’m so thankful.”

  He walked over to her desk, picked up her new bonnet, and held it out to her. “David’s waiting in the buggy. Do you want to drive with us to see your new home?”

  She grabbed her bonnet and set it on her head. “Oh, yes!”

  * * *

  David sat in the buggy between his uncle and Miss Stanton. Once Uncle Ant had gotten the Falabella for him, David had started to trust him and stopped cringing away from the big man whenever he got close … mostly. Instead he had a warm feeling inside his body and knew he hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

  The big man still scared him. Not because of anything he did or said. Uncle Ant wasn’t mean—drunk or not—like his pa. The way the man loomed over him was enough to sometimes send creepy crawlies scuttling through David’s stomach. But he no longer wanted to run away.

  Most times, he held back the good feeling. He still felt like he had to look over his shoulder for his pa. He knew Pa was dead. But it didn’t feel that way. He kept expecting that heavy hand to land on his shoulder, the beginning of bad things. He shrugged his shoulders as if shaking off the memory.

  Miss Stanton looked at him. “Are you all right, David?”

  He gave her a quick nod, staring at the brown horse pulling the buggy.

  Tomorrow Uncle Ant said they were going to drive out to the Sanders’ ranch and buy a horse for him. He wiggled in his seat, just thinking about having two horses of his own, although from old habit, he was careful not to touch his uncle or Miss Stanton. He started daydreaming about riding his own horse, galloping it down the road. Would it be black or brown? Maybe an Appaloosa like he’d seen Mr. Sanders riding.

  The track they followed curved around a hill, and a house came in sight. Not tall like Widda Murphy’s and the mercantile building, but long, with a great, shady porch. David had never lived in a home with a porch.

  Across the yard was a big barn with weathered gray wood. The barn interested him more than the house because his horses and Ole Blue would live there, and he wanted them to be snug in winter.

  When Uncle Ant pulled up to the house and helped them down, David pointed to the barn.

  Uncle Ant laughed and ruffled David’s hair. “Go ahead and explore, Davy boy. We’ll be in the house. Give my regards to the pigs.” Then as David took off running, he called, “There’s a surprise for you in the barn.”

  David increased his speed, liking the feel of the flat land, so different from the mountain he’d gotten used to. Much easier to run.

  He reached the broad barn door and pushed it aside. Light filtered in through the opening. In the front was a big open area, probably, he recalled from seeing other barns, for the wagon. Up above was a loft with hay spilling over the edge. A ladder was propped against it.

  David ran down the aisle peeking into the six empty stalls, the floors swept clean of straw. He imagined his horse and the Falabella in them and could hardly wait until the horses were real not just in his imagination.

  Ole Blue will like it here. For a moment he faltered, feeling guilty about the mule. Ole Blue had been David’s only refuge. That mule loved him. Said something when a mule cared about a boy more than his own pa. His throat tightened at the familiar pain.

  Old Blue had been the only one David had talked to. Sometimes while feeding or brushing him, David would whisper in his ear. Secrets. The mule’s ear would twitch, and he’d toss his head like he understood. He’d felt frustrated and sad how Pa mistreated Ole Blue.

  But he’s going to be all right. Uncle Ant said so.

  Reassured, David kept going.

  In the last stall, curled up on a bundle of straw, a fat brown puppy with a black masked face plunged to its feet and waddled over to him, plumy tail wagging. Joy washed over him, and David scooped the puppy into his arms, where it wiggled in ecstasy and licked his face. He giggled before turning it over to see. Boy or girl? Girl. I’ll have to think of a good name.

  David played with the puppy for a few minutes and then carried her with him while he explored the rest of the barn. One last stall held a brown cow with big soft eyes. He wanted to go into the stall and get acquainted, but the puppy squirmed in his arms, and he wasn’t sure what might happen if he introduced the two.

  There was another open area, then a back door. He pushed it open and saw some pigs wallowing in mud. The hot breeze carried pig stench his way, and he wrinkled his nose at the odor. He wanted to go closer to them, but the hayloft lured him back inside. He waved at the pigs. Uncle Ant sends his regards.

  He scrambled up the ladder, one arm holding the puppy, then set her down and bounced into the soft hay. With a giggle, he spread his arms and let himself fall backward onto the springy hay. The puppy galloped over and licked his face. Yes, this is good.

  * * *

  Harriet loved the house on sight. Although her dream home had planks instead of squared off logs, this one, although bigger, was close enough to her imaging to make her heart quicken. She put her hand over her chest to still the rapid beating. “I love the porch.” Harriet could imagine herself sitting in one of the two rockers and reading.

  Ant had told her that the house had been well cared for until Abe’s wife died. And she could see the truth of that statement. Weeds poked through the hard-packed dirt between the house and the barn. The roses needed to be deadheaded and more weeds had overgrown the garden—what there was of it. Abe probably hadn’t planted new vegetables this year, and only ones that had seeded themselves or came back year-after-year had straggled through the ground. She hoped Abe at least had watered the garden and that she could save some of the plants.

  Her gaze continued around. “Look,” she pointed. “There’s an orchard. There’ll be apples in the autumn. I can make applesauce and pies.”

  “So you bake?”

  “My mother wouldn’t allow either of her daughters to forego the fine art of domesticity. Although, Mrs. Cobb never lets me do anything, so my skills are rusty.”

  “I’m sure lucky in my selection of governess and housekeeper.”

  “What would you have done if I couldn’t cook?”

  “Muddled through. You should see what I can cook over a campfire.”

  “What?”

  “Beans, beans, and more beans.”

  Harriet laughed and looked at the house again, imagining it with a picket fence with roses growing on it. “I want a house just like this someday.”

  She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until Ant gave her a curious glance.

  “My father died when I was three. My mother and sister and I moved from relative to relative, never a place to call our own.” Harriet lifted her chin. “But I will have my own place. As soon as I save up enough money.”

  “Why don’t you claim a homestead?”

  “I’ve thought of it. I know other women who have.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I don’t think I have the fortitude to spend long months alone on the prairie. I’d rather have a house in town. Near people.”

  He gestured to the house. “Shall we go inside?”

  “Of course.”

  He took her elbow and escorted her to the porch.

  Harriet shivered at his touch. Why does he have this effect on me?

  “Abe told me his wife wanted high ceilings. She was a
tall woman apparently.”

  “Tall and big-boned. She towered above her husband. I always thought them a comical sight. He adored her, though. That was obvious.” And touching. Harriet looked up, comparing the top of Ant’s head to the roof. “You must bump your head a lot.”

  “That I do.” He took off his hat and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Ole knothead. That’s me.” He reached a long arm out to open the door for her.

  Harriet took eager steps inside.

  “Abe left me most of the furnishings. I’m having a bed made for me. Nothing fancy, but the carpenter promised to have it ready and delivered tomorrow.”

  Harriet looked around. The main room was spacious—for a log cabin, with chinking between the logs. A settee and a big chair grouped in front of the stone fireplace were the only furniture.

  A doorway led to a kitchen with a table. A simple wood hutch on one side held rose-patterned dishes. Harriet walked over and picked one up, admiring the pattern. “Did he leave these for you?”

  “And more. Said his daughter already had plenty. I wrestled him for a few extras. Still didn’t cost me nearly what it would have if I’d had to buy new.”

  Harriet glanced out the window over the dry sink, approving of the view of the mountains. Then she admired the heart pattern punched through the tin doors of the yellow pie safe that stood next to the sink. She peeked inside, imagining the empty shelves filled with baked goods. She walked over and touched the stove, which was desperately in need of cleaning and blacking.

  Ant sat on the edge of the table watching her.

  Heat rose in Harriet’s cheeks. She walked over to the far wall and poked her head through an open doorway. Instead of the lean-to she expected, she saw a square pantry. The logs set at precise right angles, created a space a housewife with a far bigger home would envy. Plenty of shelves for food and supplies lined the walls. On one side a wooden tub was tucked under the lowest self, and a broom leaned against a corner. She imagined how the pantry would look filled with cans, jars, crocks, and bags of beans and rice. “The Cobbs will be pleased about the big order you’re going to have to place with them.” That’s good because nothing else about this move pleases them.