“I told her she could use my fishing basket since she doesn’t have one of her own yet.”
His wife, Colin thought, had chosen the right name for their daughter. The child was always charitable toward others. Almost to a fault. “That was a nice thing for you to do.”
“Then I can go fishing with her?”
He shouldn’t relent. He should be stricter. But how could he say no when she looked at him the way she looked at him now? “I suppose. If she doesn’t object.”
“She won’t! I know she won’t!” She hopped up. “I’ll go right now. She’s probably ready to leave already.”
With a sigh, Colin pushed his chair back from the table and headed outside. He’d best make certain Charity was welcome on this fishing expedition. He was halfway between the back door of his home and the side door of the cottage when Felicia stepped into view. Her appearance caught him by surprise. She wasn’t clad in black. Instead, she wore a dress made from brown and white striped fabric. On her upswept hair sat a straw hat with a wide brim adorned with brown satin ribbons. The perfect outfit for a morning spent by the river, fishing pole in hand.
“Miss Kristoffersen.”
A smile curved her mouth when she looked his way. “Good morning, Mr. Murphy.”
Was it just the light-colored dress that made her seem … what? Younger? Prettier? Utterly fetching? “Charity tells me the two of you are going fishing.”
“Yes. It seems so.”
“You don’t mind if she tags along? Because I could give you directions easy enough. The river isn’t hard to find.”
“I like your daughter’s company, Mr. Murphy. But if you don’t want her sharing your favorite fishing spot, do tell her so.”
His daughter had mentioned the log, but he hadn’t immediately considered that’s where she meant to take the teacher.
“Perhaps I should find my own way after all,” Felicia said, breaking the momentary silence.
His daughter might be charitable by nature, but he obviously wasn’t. At least that wasn’t his first reaction, and it shamed him. Clearing his throat, he said, “Not necessary, Miss Kristofferson. Plenty of fish to go around, and Charity would be disappointed not to go with you.”
“Papa.” His daughter scurried into view. “Why don’t you come with us?”
“Afraid not. I’ve got a store to run.”
“Please, Papa. Jimmy could take care of things ‘til you get back.”
Colin was more than a little tempted. He hadn’t gone fishing in a couple of weeks. It wouldn’t be long before the weather turned cold. Another couple of months at most. And his daughter was right. Jimmy could take care of things for a few hours. The boy had done it numerous times since he started working at the mercantile. He was a trustworthy kid and one who didn’t shirk his duties. Maybe—
“I’m sure your father is much too busy to join us.”
Felicia’s words were like a splash of cold water, bringing him to his senses. What was he thinking? When he went fishing, he wanted to be with his daughter, just the two of them. There was no room for anyone else. Especially not a husband-hunting schoolmarm.
He pinned the woman in question with a hard gaze. “Charity needs to be back by noon. She has chores to do.”
The smile that had lingered disappeared in an instant. “I’ll make certain of it, Mr. Murphy. You can depend on me.”
Felicia and her young companion walked at a brisk pace, the trail taking them down the steep north slope of the bluff and through a long, narrow canyon. Throughout the journey, Charity peppered Felicia with questions: Did she like horses? Charity loved to ride better than almost anything. Did she ever have a dog? Charity wanted one, but her papa didn’t think she was ready for the responsibility yet. Why did Felicia want to be a teacher? It seemed to Charity that going to school forever would be awful. What was the train ride like? Charity had never gone anywhere on a train. What was Felicia’s favorite dessert? Charity’s was chocolate cake or maybe cherry pie; she couldn’t decide for sure. What was her favorite color? Charity didn’t have one yet, although yellow was sure pretty.
The mouth of the gorge opened onto a surprisingly different landscape than the arid one they’d left above. Here, tall trees grew beside the river, their branches providing blessed shade from the sun, while crystal clear water gurgled and splashed over stones and boulders.
“Not many folks come this way,” Charity told Felicia, “’cause you can’t bring a buggy down that trail. It’s more fit for deer, sheep, and dogs, Papa says. But that makes it better for us. We get it all to ourselves.”
Felicia nodded, letting the melody of the river wash over her, bringing with it a feeling of contentment. She would come here often, she knew, to sit in the verdant underbrush. She would come here not just to fish but to think, to pray, to seek God’s face and wait upon His will.
“Come on.” Charity motioned with her hand for Felicia to follow. Then she started off, half skipping, half running, as she led the way toward a bend in the river.
Felicia remembered herself at the same age. An absent father and poverty had made her early childhood in Chicago difficult, but she’d been happy nonetheless. Everyone she’d known had lived just like the Brennans, in a few small rooms in one of the many tenement buildings. She’d never considered that there was any other way to live, and the streets of Chicago had been as familiar to her as this trail to the river was to Charity.
If she closed her eyes, she could smell the scents that had permeated the staircase of their tenement building: cabbage, bacon, sauerkraut, onion, garlic. To this day, whenever she smelled cooked cabbage, she was transported back in time and melancholy would sweep over her. She missed her mother. She missed her brother and sister.
“Are you coming?” Charity called from a copse of cottonwoods ahead of her.
“Yes.” Felicia pushed away thoughts of the past. “I’m coming.”
A few minutes later, she found herself looking across a wider, deeper section of the river. The beauty of it took her breath away.
Charity sat on a log and put a fat grub on a hook. “Papa says fishin’ for trout’s best when the water’s cold. In the summer, we try to be here right after sunup, before it gets so hot out.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.” She sat next to the girl and began to bait her own hook.
“Papa makes me stay on this old log.” Charity patted the tree trunk. “He’s afraid I’ll fall in the river.” She flipped her legs to the opposite side of the log. “I’m not a very good swimmer yet, and Papa says the water’s too … too swift.”
“Your father’s a wise man.”
“Can you swim, Miss Kristoffersen?”
“Yes,” she answered as she got to her feet and moved closer to the riverbank. “Although I didn’t have the opportunity very often where we lived. But I’m a strong swimmer.”
“That’s good. I was gonna say Papa could teach you if you couldn’t.”
The image that popped into Felicia’s head alarmed her. She saw herself standing hip-deep in the river, wearing a bathing costume, with Colin Murphy standing behind her, his hands closed around her waist. The mental picture was so real she could almost feel the warmth of those hands as he kept her from being swept away by the current. The very idea of such intimacies!
Whatever is wrong with me?
Rather than answer Charity, she cast her line into the river.
The air in Colin’s small office was still and close, and he thought again of his daughter and the schoolmarm, standing at the river’s edge, the moving water cooling the temperature by several degrees.
Lucky them.
He rose from his desk chair. When he entered the storeroom moments later, he found Jimmy assisting Helen Summerville with a bolt of cloth while Miranda Reynolds, wife of the town’s postmaster, added some canned goods to a basket on her arm.
“Good day, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said as he approached the woman.
“Good day, Mr. Murphy.”
>
“Are you finding everything you need?”
She turned to face him. “Do you have any fresh eggs?”
“I do indeed. Mrs. Dowd brought me three dozen this morning.”
“Wonderful. I’m baking some cakes for the community picnic on Sunday.”
“Picnic?”
“Gracious. Didn’t anyone tell you? We’re all eating together after church to welcome the new schoolteacher. I would have thought you’d know, being on the school board and all.”
Colin would have thought the same. But then he remembered. He had been told. The day before Felicia arrived in Frenchman’s Bluff, Walter had told him about the ladies’ plans. Only Colin had been too busy expressing his doubts about hiring another female as their schoolteacher to make note of it.
“Well, no matter,” Miranda said. “You know now. And you needn’t worry about bringing anything.” She glanced over her shoulder at Helen. When Miranda looked at him again, she lowered her voice, saying, “I’m sure Kathleen will bring enough food for you and Charity.”
Colin’s jaw tightened. It seemed, despite how careful he’d been not to encourage Kathleen, that others in town were pairing them off. He’d feared such might be the case, but this was the first time anyone had said something about it to his face.
“Let me get those eggs for you.” He turned. “How many do you want?”
“I’ll take half a dozen. No. Better make that a dozen, if you would, please.”
Just after the postmaster’s wife left the store with her purchases, Colin heard laughter coming from the family living quarters. His daughter had returned, obviously in good spirits. He trusted that meant trout for dinner.
Before he could move toward the connecting door, it opened and there stood Charity, holding a string of fish up high for inspection. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright with glee. Behind her stood Felicia, looking almost as excited and pleased as his daughter did. Not to mention even more beautiful.
“Look, Papa!”
He glanced toward the table where Jimmy was cutting another length of fabric from a bolt. As he’d suspected, his daughter’s excited voice had drawn Jimmy’s and Helen’s gazes. But at least they couldn’t see Charity. Or Felicia. Especially not Felicia. Last thing he needed was more gossip. Bad enough he’d been paired off with the widowed Kathleen when there was no truth in it. Worse yet if anyone tried the same with a never-married female who was new in town—and living in the cottage next door.
He moved quickly toward his daughter, forcing both her and the teacher to take several steps backward. Then he closed the door behind him.
“Look how many we caught!” Charity exclaimed.
“I see.” His tone was curt. “But you don’t have to announce it to the customers.”
The pleasure faded from Charity’s face. He looked beyond her to Felicia. Her smile had disappeared too.
“Thanks for having her back before noon,” he said in the same abrupt tone.
Felicia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I told you I would have her back on time.” She bent forward at the waist. “Charity?”
His daughter turned to face the teacher.
“Thank you for taking me fishing. I had a wonderful time. I know I’ll enjoy my dinner even more because of you.” She straightened. “Good day, Mr. Murphy.” With a curt nod, she turned and left through the kitchen.
He should go after her. He should apologize. But for what? For wanting Charity to remember he had a business to run? For correcting his own child? Or for that matter, for shielding Miss Kristoffersen from the tittle-tattle of other women?
No, he’d be hanged if he would apologize to her.
He looked at Charity. “Better take your catch into the kitchen. We’ll fry them for supper tonight.”
“Okay.” There was no enthusiasm in her response.
Regretting his earlier reaction—and especially taking it out on his daughter—he said, “I’m glad you had a good time, pumpkin. Sorry if I sounded gruff.”
She brightened a little. “It’s okay, Papa.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Did you know Miss Kristoffersen likes to swim? I told her that if she couldn’t, you could teach her like you’ve been teaching me.”
Colin shook his head. That would be the day.
When he returned to the storeroom, he found Helen Summerville, purchase held in the crook of her left arm, standing near the cash register while Jimmy counted out her change.
“There you go, ma’am.” The boy dropped the last coin into the palm of the woman’s right hand.
“Thank you, Jimmy.” She looked at Colin. “Charity certainly sounded excited about something.”
“We’re having trout for supper.”
Helen raised an aristocratic eyebrow. “My word. All that noise over fish for supper? I thought it was something earth-shattering.” She smiled, but there was condescension in her eyes. “Charity is quite the tomboy, isn’t she? She could use a woman’s touch.”
His jaw tightened and released, tightened and released.
“My dear Mr. Murphy. I’m sure you do the best you can, but a girl needs a mother.”
He pressed his lips together. And I suppose you have someone in mind for the job? He knew the answer to that question.
“You don’t want her growing up a hoyden, Mr. Murphy. She needs a mother to mold her into a young lady, to teach her manners and how to dress and how to speak. You may not realize the importance of those virtues now, but you will eventually. One can only hope you won’t realize it too late, for her sake.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Summerville.” Somehow he managed to speak the words without choking on them. He even sounded halfway sincere.
She leaned her head to one side, a gesture that seemed to say, Naturally, you appreciate my concern. I know better than you.
Colin hoped she would leave before he lost his temper.
“And what are your thoughts on our new schoolteacher?”
At the last school board meeting, Helen Summerville had been the only person to agree with him. Strangely enough, that didn’t sit well with him right now. He shrugged. “I guess we’ll know more once school begins.”
“I suppose we shall.” She sniffed dismissively. “Well, I had best get home. We’ll see you in church on Sunday.”
“Yes, see you in church. Good day, Mrs. Summerville.”
SEVEN
Outside the drugstore on Saturday morning, Felicia stepped into the borrowed buggy and took up the reins.
“Maybe I’d best go with you,” Walter Swanson said as he watched from the sidewalk. “Don’t want you to get lost.”
“I wouldn’t think of taking you away from your business another day, Mr. Swanson. You have provided me with an excellent map. I won’t get lost.”
“Well … if you’re sure.” He sounded unconvinced.
“I’m quite sure.”
Not wanting to prolong the discussion or give him the opportunity to insist he accompany her on her home visits, she slapped the reins against the horse’s rump and drove away, headed south on Shoshone Street. In a matter of minutes, she’d left Frenchman’s Bluff behind.
Smiling to herself, she drew a deep breath, taking pleasure in the fresh breeze on her face.
Yesterday afternoon she’d called on the students who resided within the township. Her visits had been brief, just long enough to let each child become comfortable with her. At least she hoped that had been the outcome.
Today she would visit as many of her students as possible who lived on farms and ranches outside of Frenchman’s Bluff. Based on Walter Swanson’s map, she should be able to call on all of those who lived south and west of town. The remainder would have to wait until Monday of next week.
With another slap of the reins, she urged the horse into a fast trot, eager to reach the first home. Until then, her thoughts were free to drift where they willed.
Unfortunately, what—or rather, who—came to mind first was Colin Murphy as she’d s
een him yesterday, scowling at her and his daughter. How quickly he’d wiped away the pleasure of that morning’s fishing excursion. How much he’d reminded her of Lars Kristoffersen, so curt, so unable to express anything but disapproval.
But then, perhaps she wasn’t being fair to Mr. Murphy. Charity seemed to be a happy, loving child. Surely her father must have some redeeming qualities. Although Felicia didn’t know what those redeeming qualities might be at present—other than his rugged good looks.
The thought brought her up short. Did she truly think him handsome? Well … yes … she supposed she did find him so. But a person’s physical appearance was beyond their control. If they were born with good looks, that was nothing due to them. Their character, on the other hand, was their responsibility. By the grace of God, they could change their less stellar traits into something better.
She felt a nudge in her spirit. Was she judging another when she should be judging herself? Was she pointing at the sliver in Colin Murphy’s eye when there was a log in her own?
“You must grow tired of correcting me, Lord.”
The sun fell warm on her face, like a smile from heaven. Comforting. Familiar.
Those first years in the Kristoffersen home had been especially difficult ones for Felicia. She’d often felt sorry for herself. Sorry and completely alone. She’d missed her family so much. It was then, in those early years, that she’d begun talking to Jesus, times when she’d learned to lean into Him when the nights were dark and cold. And He’d sustained her. He’d become her best and dearest friend when she had no other. Then. Later. Now. Forever.
The horse and buggy crested a rise, and a house and barn came into view. A quick glance at the map told her this must be the Anderson farm. Two of her students lived there—Bernard, age thirteen, and Ola, age twelve.
She said a quick prayer for the visit to go well and for both the children and their parents to like her. Then she slapped the horse’s rump with the reins once again, urging him into a faster trot.
Colin carried a large sack of flour and another of sugar to the back of the wagon and dropped them into the bed, next to a box of canning supplies. Brushing his hands together, he turned toward Charity. “You sure you don’t want to come along?”
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