“I’ll bear that in mind,” Danica said icily. “But since I do have these compositions to grade — ”
“Of course,” Clara broke in. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your important work.”
She flounced out then and shut the door. At least she didn’t slam it, probably because she didn’t want to get scolded by Mrs. Wilson, or worse, have the landlady start making inquiries as to why the two girls had been quarreling in the first place.
To steady herself, Danica reached for the pitcher of water that had been sitting on the table next to her bed, then poured some into the ceramic cup that sat next to it and took a large swallow. Too bad it wasn’t something stronger. She really had never been that into drinking, unlike a lot of her friends, but there were times when she could definitely use the calming effects of a beer or a nice glass of wine.
But not a margarita. She knew she’d never drink one of those again, not after suffering the effects of the drugged — or bespelled — cocktail Matías had given her.
And he was absolutely the last person she should be thinking of right now. Instead, Danica wrenched her thoughts back to Robert Rowe, to the way his mouth had felt against hers, of how strong his arms had been. That was what it felt like to be with a real man. She wondered how old he was. A little older than she, maybe in his late twenties.
Right, she thought, so that makes him about a hundred and fifty years older than you are.
Sighing, she shook her head at herself, then got back to work.
* * *
After their confrontation, the two girls maintained a frosty distance. Danica could tell Mrs. Wilson noticed right away that something was wrong, but she didn’t comment on it. Most likely the landlady had enough experience housing young women under her roof that she knew these things had a tendency to blow over.
As she made her way to the school, however, Danica couldn’t help fretting over what Clara had said. The other girl might have been trying to be deliberately spiteful, but at the same time, Danica knew that she would have to be more careful. If there was even the slightest hint of impropriety, she knew her job would be on the line. And she had to maintain that pretense for as long as necessary. If the trustees decided to dismiss her because they thought she was a “loose woman” — despite everything, the ridiculous phrase brought a smile to her lips — then she wouldn’t have a lot of options.
Except saloon girl, she thought wryly. Maybe Jackie was seeing into the future when she asked if I wouldn’t rather have that kind of costume.
Or seeing into the past, Danica supposed. Either way, she didn’t think that was very likely. Jackie was a hell of a dressmaker, but she was still a civilian. She didn’t have the ability to see into the future or the past.
As she climbed the steps to the school, Danica did her best to erase the worried pucker she knew must be creasing her brow. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Marshall to ask if anything was wrong.
Or one of her students. Several of the little girls had sort of latched on to her, eager to know more about her life back in Missouri, taking in every detail of her wardrobe and her hairstyles. Danica had stuck with the heavy braided crown at the back of her head because it was easier than some of the fussy curls she’d seen other women in town wearing, but she’d overheard one of her older girls — Annabeth Lindsay — saying she thought it looked terribly romantic. Danica didn’t know about romantic, but she’d been around enough of her younger cousins to know that sometimes they tended to hero-worship people whose style they admired. If that was happening here, then she needed to mind herself and act as if everything was just fine.
Easier said than done. It was difficult to walk into the classroom and pass the exact spot where Robert had kissed her, and pretend nothing was wrong. But she did her best, going to her desk and setting the little satchel she carried on top of it so she could remove the papers she’d graded the night before. She put them off to one side, then opened the desk drawer where she kept the chunk of white quartz she used as a paperweight. She’d found it out in the schoolyard and thought it was pretty. Caitlin claimed quartz had calming qualities. Danica didn’t know about that, but the white stone had proved useful.
Sitting near the front of the drawer was a folded piece of cream paper. Danica didn’t recall putting it there. Frowning, she pulled it out and unfolded it, even as her students began to file into the classroom. She’d never seen the handwriting before — strong and slanted, and far more legible than anything she could manage, although she’d been laboriously keeping her own writing as clear as possible so no one could complain about her penmanship. However, she recognized the writing as Robert’s at once, even before she read the words of the note.
Dearest, I’ll be away for a few days, as I’m riding west of town to survey some land to purchase. I wish I could have let you know some other way, but Charles Royer approached me last night with the opportunity, and of course I could not come speak with you at the boarding house without causing all sorts of gossip. I should be back no later than Friday. Take care, and know that I will be thinking of you the entire time I’m gone.
The note was signed with a single “R.” Danica traced the letter with one fingertip, thinking of his fine, strong hands holding the pen that had written the note. It would be all she had of him for the bulk of the week, it seemed.
She pushed back her disappointment. Robert had a façade to maintain, just as she did, and so getting upset at the lengths he must go to hide his true reasons for being in Flagstaff wouldn’t do anything to improve the situation. Anyway, she tried to tell herself sensibly, with the way Clara was lurking around and spying on everything she did, even having the opportunity to be alone with him would have been difficult.
What had people done back in the day when they were “courting”? Sneaked around a good bit, she imagined. Or rather, if a young man made his intentions known, then he could come and visit a girl’s house and spend time with her. But since it seemed obvious to her that Robert wanted to keep their developing relationship a secret, Danica doubted she’d see him sitting in the parlor of her boarding house and drinking tea anytime soon.
Her students began trooping in then, and she hastily shoved the note back in her desk drawer. As usual, the Wilcox children arrived together, all ten of them in her class, ranging from Susan, the eldest of the group at nine, down to little Victor, who had only turned six the month before school began. The two eldest children — the ones who had been infants when the New England elders ran their family out of Connecticut — were in Mrs. Marshall’s classroom. Danica had the vague impression that there were several more at home who were too young to come to school yet. Clearly, that early generation of Wilcoxes had taken the suggestion about being fruitful and multiplying to heart.
But they were all good kids, even the mischievous Clay and the too-solemn Jacob. Thank God for that. Although this whole teaching thing got a little easier each day, Danica knew it would have been a complete nightmare if the Wilcox children had decided to form a cabal against her, for whatever reason.
She wondered about that, since they were such a tight-knit family. Maybe Jeremiah had put the fear of God in them. Not that she much liked the sound of that, either. She didn’t really want Jeremiah Wilcox championing her causes.
Well, whatever the reason for their continued good behavior, she’d take it. And then it was time to put all such thoughts out of her head, because the rest of her students were coming in and taking their seats. For the next few hours, all she’d need to think about was making sure she adequately covered the material Mrs. Marshall had laid out.
In a way, that was a relief. At least when she was explaining how to carry the one, or writing a list of spelling words on the chalkboard, she didn’t have time to think about Robert Rowe, and how much she’d miss him while he was gone.
* * *
One interesting development did crop up during Robert’s absence. The day after Danica had gotten his note, she stayed late to grade pa
pers, working until the light began to fail. She knew she needed to finish up soon, since Mrs. Adams, the dressmaker, had sent word that the new gowns Danica had commissioned were ready, and the errand of going to pick them up needed to get handled before she was due back at the boarding house for dinner. Just as she was locking the schoolroom door, she saw movement across the street, then realized that movement was Clara, obviously headed home from her day at Brannen’s general store.
There wasn’t anything so noteworthy about that. What did make Danica sharpen her gaze was the realization that Clara wasn’t alone, that at her side walked the tall blond man Danica had seen the other girl with at the harvest dance. And not only were they walking together, but also holding hands.
Well, then. The unknown young man must have made some declaration to her, or Clara would not have allowed him to be quite so intimate with her in public. While Danica was still irritated with Clara’s nosiness, at the same time she couldn’t help but be relieved. If Clara had a man to distract her, then maybe she wouldn’t be quite so eager to know everything about Danica’s personal life.
Not that she had much of a personal life right now, thanks to Robert’s scouting trip. She understood the need for it, but she hadn’t counted on missing him so much. It was as if the kiss they’d shared had awakened a hunger inside that only the sight of him, the sound of his voice, could satisfy. At least he’d be back on Friday. That wasn’t so bad. Danica thought she could survive another day or so without him.
She hoped.
Mrs. Adams’ shop was just a few doors down from Brannen’s store. Danica passed by his shop without stopping to peek in the window, just because she didn’t want to get distracted and be too late about picking up her new dresses. Even after being here for almost two weeks, she still found something very novel about a store that sold the sorts of things you couldn’t even get outside an antique shop.
The new gowns both looked lovely. Danica made the appropriate appreciative noises over them before paying Mrs. Adams the balance due for the commissions, then waited for the dressmaker to wrap them up in brown paper so they could be easily transported back to the boarding house. It would definitely be a relief to have four dresses to work in, along with the good one for church and the dinner dress for whatever other special occasions cropped up. Danica didn’t expect too many more of those, however; it wasn’t as if the community got together and held a dance every week. Which, considering the blowout she and Robert had after the last one, was probably just as well.
She tucked the brown paper parcel under her arm and headed back out to the street. By that point, the sun had already disappeared behind the hill to the west. What the heck did they call it now? In her time it was Mars Hill, but in 1884 the astronomers had yet to take over the heavily wooded height. The wind picked up, chill, promising another night of frost.
As she was passing Brannen’s store, a tall figure emerged from the doorway, the tails of his long black coat flapping in the breeze. Danica tensed, because she recognized him right away.
Jeremiah Wilcox.
She hadn’t seen him since the day after the dance, and even then he’d only given her a small, polite nod. Just as well, because being around him was awkward, to say the least. But now there didn’t seem any way avoid him without seeming far too obvious.
He lifted his hat to her. “Miss Prewitt.”
“Mr. Wilcox.” She paused in the street as he approached her. He, too, had a parcel tucked under one arm. It seemed a little late to be shopping, but she wouldn’t dare to ask what had brought him to Brannen’s. “I was just headed home.”
“Then please, let me escort you.”
If there had been a way to decline without sounding ungracious, she would have. As it was, she had to smile and thank him for his courtesy. The only real saving grace in the situation was that he didn’t offer her his arm, possibly because of the package she carried.
“And how are things at the school?” he inquired.
“Very good, thank you. Why, Clay hasn’t smuggled in anything more dangerous than a set of marbles all this week.”
She’d meant the remark as a joke, but Jeremiah didn’t smile. Instead, the faintest frown touched the corners of his mouth, and he said, “Has Clay been giving you any problems? I’ll make sure that my brother Samuel speaks to him, if that’s the case.”
“Oh, no,” she replied hastily. The last thing she wanted was to get Clay in trouble with his father…or his uncle. “There was only the frog that one time. He’s a good boy. All of your family’s children are very well-behaved. And your son Jacob is quite the scholar. I hope he doesn’t find the lessons too dull. I would suggest that he study with Mrs. Marshall’s group, but they are a good deal older than he.”
Even this praise didn’t seem to please Jeremiah all that much. He nodded at her words, but even in the dimming light he appeared abstracted, as if what she’d told him had confirmed a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge. “He reads all the time. Indeed, we’re always ordering books from back east for him.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“He should play more. A boy that age should want to roughhouse, but Jacob doesn’t. I fear it’s because he’s seen more than his share of tragedy, and knows how fragile life can be.” Jeremiah glanced over at her, but quickly, soon returning his attention to the rutted street ahead of him. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard of that, Miss Prewitt.”
Of course Danica knew the whole sordid story, of Nizhoni’s curse and the two ill-fated marriages that followed — not to mention the wife who had died on the journey out to Arizona Territory — but she had to pretend that her knowledge only extended to what she might have heard in passing during her short time here in Flagstaff. “I know that his mother passed away when he was only a baby,” she said, her tone cautious.
A brief gust of wind caught at Jeremiah’s coat tails again. In the fading light, he seemed even taller and blacker than before, like some grim figure of impending doom. Maybe he was, but Danica knew the only doom he could call his was the curse that Nizhoni had brought down upon him.
“And my two wives after that,” he said then. “It has been…difficult. My sister Emma takes special care with him, but even so, an aunt can’t replace a mother. And of course he sees how it is with his cousins, how they all have one another, and he has only me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Danica managed. What else could she say, after all? Nizhoni had been raving with a deadly fever when she brought down her curse on the Wilcox men. She had to have been out of her mind, for otherwise she would have realized that the curse would doom her son to a motherless existence, would sentence all the men of that line to a world where they would be forced to raise their children alone.
More than anything, she wished she could tell Jeremiah that it would all be made right one day. A day far in the future, true, but at least the day would come when no Wilcox primus had to mourn the loss of a young wife, when the head of the Wilcox clan could have more than one child. The image flashed into her mind of the picture on Angela and Connor’s mantel, the two of them happy and in love, their arms around their beautiful children. Connor was this man’s great-great-great-great-grandson, and Danica had to believe that Jeremiah would be proud of him, proud of what he and Angela had done to bury the past and bring a better future to both the northern Arizona witch clans.
But she couldn’t tell Jeremiah any of that, because such knowledge might cause him to make different decisions from the ones he’d already made, and any change in the past could alter Danica’s future beyond all recognition. She didn’t dare risk that, because she could be risking her very existence.
His shoulders lifted slightly. In that gesture, she could see the weariness of a man who’d come to the realization that he was doomed to live his life alone, and her heart ached for him, even though she knew she was powerless to do anything to change his fate.
Then he said, his tone altered, “It’s fortuitous that w
e met today, though. My sister Emma was scolding me this morning, saying that I’ve been remiss in not inviting you to dinner with the family. As trustee, I should have shown you more hospitality.”
Danica knew she couldn’t refuse. But at least he had said “with the family.” It didn’t sound as if he was inviting her over to have dinner with him alone.
“That’s very gracious of you, Mr. Wilcox,” she replied. “I do appreciate the gesture.”
“Then come to Emma’s house tomorrow evening. Jacob and I generally take our meals there, so we don’t feel quite so alone in our own home.”
She could imagine them sitting at a long, polished table with only two place settings. Yes, that would be horribly lonely. Surrounding himself with the noise and chatter of his sister’s family might do a good deal to decrease Jeremiah’s feeling of isolation.
Until he and his son returned to their own empty house, at least.
But she couldn’t let herself think about that, because otherwise the odd tightness in her throat would only get worse. “That sounds lovely, Mr. Wilcox. What time?”
“We sit down to dinner at six thirty, so a little before that. Ten Leroux Street.”
“I look forward to it.”
By then they were approaching the little white fence that surrounded Mrs. Wilson’s boarding house. Jeremiah stopped at the gate, then tipped his hat to Danica again. “Have a very good evening, Miss Prewitt. I know my sister will be pleased to hear that you’re coming to visit. And I will see you then.”
He moved off, heading toward Leroux Street and the family that awaited him. Jacob must already be at Emma’s, perhaps writing his composition on the Battle of Bunker Hill while his father was off finishing up his business at Brannen’s general store. For some reason, that mental image made Danica even sadder. She could imagine the little boy sitting on a chair in a corner, writing away on a lap desk while his cousins laughed and joked and played around him.
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