Belonging

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  She couldn’t keep from smiling as she stood there, tired but happy. The first day had been, in her opinion, a complete success. She’d worried needlessly. She was going to get along famously with her students. Even Colin Murphy would be impressed if he could see her teach.

  At the thought of her landlord, she tilted her chin in the air. He would have to eat his words to Kathleen. So help her, he would. Before this year was finished, he would be glad the school board had hired her to teach the children of Frenchman’s Bluff.

  She returned indoors. Starting next week, she would assign some cleanup tasks to various students. But today she wanted to do it herself. There was nothing quite like mundane chores, such as cleaning blackboards, to allow one’s mind the freedom to be creative. And she wanted to be a creative teacher, one who made her students eager and excited to learn. Education could be so much more than memorization, recitation, and ciphering.

  She would have little time to inspire her older students, such as Randall Franklin Jr., better known as R. J. A tall, good-looking boy of fifteen, R. J. had informed her on her visit to the Franklin home that this was his final year of formal schooling. He’d said it with pride, as if announcing he was a man, fully grown.

  But he isn’t a man. He’s only fifteen. There’s so much more I could teach him if he’ll give me a chance.

  Her thoughts shifted to the younger Franklin boy. Twelve-year-old Edward was a carbon copy of his older brother, although a good four inches shorter. But they had the same sand-colored hair, the same dark blue eyes, and the same cocky smile. Perhaps Edward had a dash more mischief in his nature. Would he be influenced by his brother’s decision to forgo more education? She hoped not.

  Kathleen Summerville’s daughters, Suzanne and Phoebe, were likable children, almost as pretty as their mother. Suzanne was outgoing, however, while her younger sister was painfully shy. Felicia would need to do all she could to instill confidence in little Phoebe.

  Certainly, Charity Murphy didn’t suffer from shyness, nor was she in need of a boost in confidence. But she did struggle with her reading—far more than Felicia had expected, despite the girl’s own admission on the day Felicia arrived. Both teacher and pupil would have to work hard to improve Charity’s reading skills and bring up her grades.

  Felicia continued through the list of her students until she’d made mental notes to herself on all nineteen of them. Then, done with her tidying, she took up her handbag and lesson books and left the schoolhouse.

  It wasn’t a long walk to her home—a little more than a block away—and the sidewalk on the south side of First Street was shaded by mature trees, their leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. She was almost to her destination when she saw Colin stop his horse in front of the stable that stood behind and to one side of the Murphy living quarters. He dismounted, his movements relaxed, at ease. As he began to loosen the cinch on the saddle, he glanced over his shoulder, and his gaze met with hers. He stopped and took half a step back, waiting for her to draw closer.

  “Good day, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Miss Kristoffersen.”

  Her gaze shifted to the tall buckskin beside him. “What a beautiful horse.”

  He patted the gelding’s neck, a silent acknowledgment of her praise. “I saw the Franklin boys on my way back to town. They seemed to think the first day in school went all right.”

  Felicia doubted that R. J. or Edward had volunteered the information. Colin must have asked—hoping, no doubt, that the boys would indicate she’d failed as a teacher. She stood a little taller. “Yes, it went well.”

  “I imagine Charity will tell me everything as soon as I get inside.” He began to loosen the cinch again.

  “Yes, I imagine she will.” Should she bring up Charity’s reading skills? No, not yet.

  As he yanked the saddle and blanket off the horse’s back, his biceps flexed beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. An odd sensation fluttered in the region of Felicia’s heart. How strong he looked. How rugged. How—

  For pity’s sake!

  He turned toward her, and somehow she managed to drag her gaze from his strong arms to his face. His handsome face. His—

  What on earth is wrong with me?

  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the confusion that roiled inside her. With a brief nod, he bid her good day and headed into the barn, allowing her to escape to her cottage, where she could examine these unusual feelings in private.

  TEN

  On Saturday, the one morning of the week when Felicia was not required to arise early, she awakened just as the sky outside her window turned from black to pewter. Even before she was fully conscious, she began making a list in her head of things she needed to accomplish before Monday morning.

  Lesson plans for the coming week must be prepared. She would begin those immediately after breaking her fast.

  In the afternoon, she would speak to Mr. Swanson about purchasing a large wall map. How was one to teach about America, other nations, history, or current affairs without a decent map of the world? The schoolroom didn’t even have a globe. A shameful oversight.

  There was also the matter of her limited wardrobe. Until she could purchase or make some new shirtwaists, she would have to do laundry more than once a week.

  She sat up and lowered her legs over the side of the bed, pushing her unruly hair behind her shoulder.

  Tomorrow was Charity Murphy’s birthday. Would it be improper to give the girl a present of some sort? She couldn’t afford to do so for all of her students, but then, none of the other students’ fathers was her landlord. Before she could again picture Colin, muscles bulging beneath rolled-up shirtsleeves—something she’d done too frequently these past few days—she determined she would not set a bad precedent. If she could not give gifts to all of her students, she would give none at all.

  That settled, Felicia rose from the bed and made quick work of her morning ablutions. It wasn’t long before she was dressed, her hair caught in a tidy bun at the nape. Breakfast was an even quicker affair. Coffee, a fried egg, and a slice of bread spread with orange marmalade—the last guilty pleasure for a single woman of limited means.

  Several hours later, the breakfast dishes washed and put away, her lesson plans completed for the coming week, and her laundry now clean and hanging on the line, Felicia set off for Walter Swanson’s place of business, the Idaho Drugstore. A tiny bell above the door—like the one in the mercantile—announced her arrival. A moment later, Mr. Swanson welcomed her with a hearty handshake.

  “Miss Kristoffersen. How delightful to see you. I hope you haven’t come to the pharmacy because you’re ailing.”

  “I’m almost never ill, Mr. Swanson. No, I came to speak to you about something for the school.”

  The man cocked an eyebrow.

  “We are in desperate need of maps of the world or, at the very least, a globe. The maps are more expensive, of course, but they are superior because of their size. Rand McNally has an excellent series of seven large-scale school maps that can be placed on a wall of the schoolroom and pulled down as needed.”

  “What’s the cost?”

  Felicia felt her cheeks grow warm. Why hadn’t she thought to ascertain the exact amount before coming to see Mr. Swanson? In normal school, she’d been told the cost, but that had been too many years ago to say for sure. Well, she would have to hope the price hadn’t changed much. “I believe not more than twenty-five dollars.”

  “Twenty-five dollars?” His tone made it sound as if it were a million.

  She stood straighter. “It’s an investment in the children of Frenchman’s Bluff, Mr. Swanson. You cannot expect them to learn history and geography without maps of our nation and the world.”

  He shook his head slowly. “The school’s managed without them ‘til now.”

  Felicia fixed him with a determined gaze, refusing to give in on the matter.

  The man sighed. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Then I may order them?” S
he couldn’t keep the note of excitement from her voice.

  “Yes, Miss Kristoffersen. You may order them.” He cleared his throat. “But spend no more than twenty-five dollars without speaking to me.”

  “Naturally. I won’t spend a penny more without clearing it with you first.”

  She bid him a hasty goodbye and left the drugstore. She decided to go straight to the mercantile and place her order, before Walter Swanson could determine the purchase was too expensive. Which was nonsense; it was quite reasonable. Besides, with the low salary they paid her, they could certainly afford to spend a little more on the children.

  She felt a check in her spirit. My, her thoughts had turned peevish. When she’d accepted the town’s offer of employment, she’d been thankful for the salary. As she should be. God had provided for her. Things could have been so much worse for her after the death of the Kristoffersens.

  She drew in a slow breath and let it out, whispering, “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.”

  There. That was better. So much better to be grateful than to complain. So much better to look to the Lord than to her own frustrations.

  “Talking to yourself, Felicia?”

  She looked behind her, recognizing Kathleen’s voice. With a laugh, she answered, “I do that on occasion. Either to myself or to God.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “Murphy’s Mercantile. I need to order maps for the school.”

  “I’m headed that way myself.” Kathleen held up her basket, as if for proof. “Mind if I walk with you?”

  “Of course not. I’d enjoy the company.”

  They fell into step beside each other.

  After a brief silence, Kathleen said, “I want you to know how happy you’ve made Phoebe. She was always nervous around Miss Lucas, who could be rather sharp at times. But not you. You put her at ease.”

  “That’s good. I would hate to frighten any of my students.”

  “What about you? Are you afraid of any of them?” Her tone was teasing.

  Felicia laughed again. “Maybe a little.”

  Kathleen tipped her head slightly to one side as she looked at Felicia. “I’m not sure I believe you. I suspect you’re fearless.”

  “Me? Not hardly.”

  “My husband always said the definition of courage is to be afraid and to proceed anyway.” Kathleen smiled. “So if you aren’t fearless, then you are certainly courageous.”

  Felicia felt a surge of affection for the woman walking beside her, and again she thanked God, this time silently. For she had wanted a friend, and the Lord had provided one for her.

  Jimmy Bryant leaned over the desk, his mouth skewed to one side, a pen in his right hand.

  “Make sure to order the copper kettle Mrs. Reynolds requested,” Colin told him from the doorway.

  “Yessir. Already on the list.”

  “We’ll need more flour, sugar, and coffee too.”

  Jimmy nodded.

  The sound of a customer entering the store drew Colin around.

  Felicia walked toward him down the narrow aisle, a sense of purpose in her step. “Good day, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Miss Kristoffersen.” Only then did he see that Kathleen had followed Felicia into the store. “Hello, Mrs. Summerville.”

  “Mr. Murphy.”

  “What can I do for you ladies?”

  Felicia answered him, “I’m in need of an item for the school. Something you’ll have to order, no doubt.”

  “And what would that be?” He moved toward the counter.

  “A series of large maps. Wall maps.”

  “Yes, those would have to be ordered.” He looked over his shoulder toward the office. “Jimmy, come out here, will you? And bring the catalog with you.”

  “Yessir.”

  Colin returned his gaze to Felicia. “Is this to be billed to the school?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume you obtained permission from Mr. Swanson for the purchase?”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Of course. I came here straight from the pharmacy.” She lifted her chin, an indignant spark in her eyes. “You may ask him yourself if you choose.”

  He hadn’t meant to insult her, but it looked as if he had. And he was almost glad he had. The heightened color in her face was quite attractive.

  Jimmy arrived with the thick catalog in his hands.

  “Look up maps,” he told his clerk.

  The boy placed the book on the counter and opened it to the back, running his finger down the columns of words until he found what he wanted. Then he flipped through the pages to the desired one. Colin glanced at the book, noting the illustrations of world globes, books on stands, and what appeared to be wall maps. He took the catalog from Jimmy and turned it toward Felicia.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, pointing at the illustration.

  She plucked her new pair of reading glasses from her pocket and set them on her nose as she leaned toward the catalog. “Yes. That’s exactly what we need.” Her gaze followed her finger across the page. “And the cost?” Then she straightened, smiling, her earlier irritation forgotten. “Twenty-three eighty for all seven. Perfect.”

  She should have looked prim and spinsterish with those glasses perched on her nose, but she didn’t. Not at all. Not with that smile making her eyes sparkle.

  “How long before I can expect delivery, Mr. Murphy?”

  He resisted the urge to clear his throat. “Next week, more than likely.”

  She removed the glasses and slipped them back into her pocket. “I suppose the wait can’t be helped. If the school has managed without maps for this long, another week or so won’t make a difference. I shall simply concentrate on other subjects than history until they arrive.”

  “History is Charity’s favorite subject.”

  “I know. She told me the day I arrived in town.”

  “That’s right.” He nodded, wondering at his reason for drawing out the conversation unnecessarily. “I remember now. She wanted you to quiz her.”

  “I’m glad she’s enthusiastic about history. I would hate for her to grow to dislike school.” She paused and then added softly, “Charity is behind other students her age in reading. And arithmetic as well.”

  This wasn’t news to Colin, of course. Miss Lucas had told him the same thing more than once. In fact, the former teacher had gone so far as to suggest Charity wasn’t capable of learning to read well.

  “Best be sure she acquires good homemaking skills, Mr. Murphy,” the woman had said. “You know, sewing and knitting and such. She’ll never be a scholar. Not that it matters. Unless she never marries, education will be wasted on her. And since she isn’t unattractive—”

  Felicia’s voice broke into his memory. “I don’t want you to worry, Mr. Murphy. Charity is a bright child. I’ll find a way to improve her reading and arithmetic skills. I promise you that.”

  Miss Lucas hadn’t thought Charity bright. She’d thought education was wasted on her. And Colin had accepted the opinion as fact, having no way to dispute it. But if Felicia was right?

  He felt a spark of hope spring to life in his heart—and a surprising affection for the woman standing opposite him.

  Kathleen liked Felicia, but she wasn’t sure the schoolteacher was right about Charity Murphy. After all, Kathleen had helped with the teaching duties after Miss Lucas married and moved away. She’d personally worked with Charity on her reading. It had been a frustrating exercise for them both. Phoebe, who was the younger by two years, read almost as well as Charity. Maybe even better.

  But Kathleen was wise enough to keep her thoughts to herself, especially when she saw the look that crossed Colin’s face. He doted on his daughter. Too much, according to Mother Summerville, who thought Charity spoiled and unruly.

  Kathleen didn’t agree with her mother-in-law completely. Yes, Charity was tomboyish and undoubtedly would benefit from a woman in the home, but Kathleen would never criticize t
he way Colin raised his child. Besides, Charity was happy and carefree and bighearted. How many mistakes could he have made? Not many. Probably fewer than Kathleen had made with her own daughters.

  Colin turned to look at her. “And what can I help you with, Mrs. Summerville?”

  For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She’d almost forgotten what had brought her to the mercantile beyond accompanying Felicia. Oh yes. Needles and thread and a pound of sugar.

  “I can find what I need,” she answered him at last. “Thank you.”

  She moved down the aisle toward the dry goods, the voice of Mother Summerville whispering in her head. It wouldn’t hurt you to let him wait on you, Kathleen. Instead, you left him at the counter with Miss Kristoffersen. How do you ever hope to win his attention if you make no effort?

  Her thoughts drifted back in time to when she’d first met Harold. He’d been a student, and she’d been visiting a cousin in the same town. The moment they were introduced, her heart had been lost to him. She hadn’t worked to win his affections or his attentions. She hadn’t planned and schemed. She’d simply loved.

  But things were different when one was a girl of nineteen than they were when one was a widow of thirty and the mother of two. And if she didn’t want to go on living in her in-laws’ home and depending on them for everything, including the money to buy a few needles and some thread, she would have to do whatever was necessary to get herself another husband.

  Dropping a packet of needles into her shopping basket, she looked toward the counter in time to see Felicia bid Colin a good day, then turn to leave the store. When their gazes met, Felicia waved her fingers. “See you in church tomorrow, Kathleen.”

  “Yes.” She returned the small wave.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help, Mrs. Summerville?” Colin asked, his attention returning to her.

  Grabbing a couple of spools of thread, she replied, “I’m sure.” She walked toward the counter. “The only other item I need is a pound or two of sugar.”