Tarah's Lessons

by Tracey V. Bateman

  Listening to Louisa prattle on about how excited she was that Anthony would be escorting her to the silly dance grated on Tarah’s nerves like the sound of a squeaky wagon wheel. And the nods of approval from the two matrons present sent Tarah into a tizzy of emotions. She figured she must be the only person in Harper Township except Laney who could see right through Louisa’s manipulations. To Tarah’s way of thinking, there was nothing worse than knowing what a mistake Anthony was about to make and being unable to stop him without sounding like a jealous schoolgirl.

  “Don’t you think so, Tarah?”

  Tarah started, jamming the needle painfully into her finger. She jerked her hand away, pulling the banner with her. As it billowed to the floor, she felt the disapproval from Louisa’s mother. Heat crept to her cheeks, and she quickly snatched up her end of the material. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I–I pricked my finger.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t get blood on the material,” Louisa squealed. “It’ll be ruined.”

  “Oh, honestly. It isn’t bleeding that badly,” Tarah hastened to assure the women whose worried frowns revealed they weren’t happy with the threat of being forced to remake the almost-finished banner. She grabbed her handkerchief from the reticule at her feet and wiped away the dot of blood on the tip of her finger, then she resumed her sewing.

  “Back to what I was saying,” Louisa said as though Tarah’s finger weren’t throbbing. “Don’t you think so, Tarah?”

  Oh, don’t I think what? Tarah thought tersely.

  She would have asked Louisa to repeat the question, but from the way the women stared at her, obviously awaiting her response, she couldn’t bring herself to admit her mind had been a million miles away.

  She cleared her throat and slid her tongue over her lips. “Yes, I suppose so,” she murmured, returning her gaze to her crooked stitches.

  “You see, I told you if anyone would know it would be Tarah. Her pa being on the town council and all.” The triumph in Louisa’s voice caused Tarah’s stomach to do a flip-flop.

  What on earth had she just confirmed?

  “Do you really think so, Tarah?” asked Louisa’s ma. “It would be wonderful if Anthony were kept on as preacher after his trial is over. He’s been preaching so beautifully the past few weeks. And now that everyone has started coming to services again, I’d be mighty surprised if the town council didn’t approve him as the permanent preacher.”

  “Oh.” How did they expect her to know if Anthony were to be kept on or not? “It certainly would be wonderful. But I suppose we’ll have to wait and see with everyone else.”

  “But I thought you just said he would be,” Louisa challenged, her green eyes narrowing. “Really, Tarah, if you didn’t know, you should have just said so.”

  “I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest I knew for sure.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Hannah Simpson, the doctor’s wife, said soothingly. “Tarah was speculating just like the rest of us.”

  Tarah could have kissed the woman. She glanced up to give her a grateful smile and caught her breath at the look of sympathy in Hannah’s eyes.

  “Well,” Louisa said haughtily. “One would certainly think the daughter of the most prominent member of the town council would know something. I certainly would, if my father had ever been elected to the council.”

  Maybe your father would have been voted to the town council if he hadn’t foreclosed on half the farms in the township in the last four years. Tarah knew it was a sore topic for Louisa that her pa wasn’t directly involved in the town business. But the banker was ruthless, she had heard her pa comment. Never once had he extended mercy. If a person was late on a payment, the bank took the land—lock, stock, and barrel.

  Thankfully, Pa had made a success of the St. John ranch before the area was heavily settled. He didn’t have to rely on good crops to make ends meet, and as long as the cattle and horses did well at auction, the ranch thrived.

  “My pa doesn’t share town business with me, Louisa. And I wouldn’t ask him to.”

  Louisa sniffed and resumed her delicate stitching. “Still, I’d find a way to make sure Anthony was kept on. But I guess that’s because he and I. . .” A delicate blush appeared on her cheeks as she slid her gaze to Tarah’s. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t say anything yet. Anthony wants to wait until he knows for sure he has a way to support us.”

  “Why, Louisa.” Mrs. Thomas stopped sewing and stared with delight at her daughter. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “W–well,” Louisa’s voice faltered, and she glanced from Tarah to her mother. “We haven’t made any firm plans yet.”

  Tarah felt the high collar of her gown choking her. Her throat went suddenly dry, her palms grew damp, and she was almost sure she felt a faint coming on. She stared dumbly at Louisa as her mother wrapped her arms around her and squealed gleefully.

  “My baby, finally getting married. We’ll have to order a copy of the latest Godey’s Lady’s Book to see what is in fashion for wedding gowns. And of course we must order the finest silk and lace from Paris.” Her eyes widened with inspiration. “Your brother Caleb will be coming home from the university in a couple of weeks. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he stood up next to Anthony at the wedding?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Mother,” Louisa mumbled. “Anthony has brothers he might prefer.”

  Mrs. Thomas waved away Louisa’s comment. “And oh, Tarah,” she babbled on as though Tarah’s heart weren’t nearly breaking in two, “do you think Cassidy would be available to make the gown? She did such a fine job on Louisa’s ball gown last year.”

  Choking back the tears, Tarah spoke around a lump in her throat. “Why, I don’t know. Pa doesn’t want her taking on too much with the new baby coming.”

  “Oh, well, we don’t need to speak about such an indelicate topic, Dear,” Mrs. Thomas reproved. “I’m sure Cassidy would be appalled by your manners.”

  Mrs. Simpson chuckled. “Around a doctor’s home, childbirth is hardly an indelicate subject.”

  Thankfully, Mrs. Simpson had volunteered to head up the decorating committee.

  Mrs. Thomas’s lips thinned into a tight smile. “I never have quite gotten used to the crudities of life out here. In Charleston, we would never consider speaking of such things in the parlor.”

  “I do apologize, Mrs. Thomas,” Tarah said. “I don’t know what I was thinking to bring up such a subject.”

  Mollified, the older woman nodded and gave a delicate wave of her hand. “Oh, well. I suppose I should expect such manners from a young lady raised in these parts,” she said charitably. “We can hardly fault you for your manners.”

  Tarah’s temper flared. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Simpson spoke up first. “How about some coffee and apple pie, ladies? I think we’re about finished for today. One more session and the banner will be completed.” She laid the banner aside with care and turned to Tarah. “Will you help me bring in the refreshments, Tarah dear?”

  Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Tarah lifted the banner from her lap and fairly bolted from the room.

  Once inside the kitchen, Mrs. Simpson took hold of Tarah’s arms and fixed her with a firm gaze.

  “Now, you listen to me, Tarah St. John. Don’t let them make you feel like you’re less than they are. You hear?”

  Hot tears sprang to Tarah’s eyes. Unable to utter a word, she nodded.

  “You come from the finest family I know, or I wouldn’t be allowing my Camilla to marry your brother, now would I?”

  “M–marry?” Tarah croaked.

  Mrs. Simpson’s eyes grew wide, and she released Tarah’s arms. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Could this day bring any more bad news? Surely Mrs. Simpson was speaking of the future when Sam and Camilla would inevitably become betrothed.

  “Oh, Honey. I can’t believe they haven’t told you yet. Your ma and pa gave their blessing a week ago.”

  “B�
�blessing?” she croaked. Panic welled up in Tarah, and dread knotted her stomach, making her suddenly ill. “Do you mean Sam and Camilla are. . .?”

  A worried frown creased Mrs. Simpson’s brow. “It never occurred to me you didn’t know. I can’t imagine why. . .” She studied Tarah’s face for a moment, then nodded. “You’re in love with Anthony, aren’t you?” Compassion filled her eyes. “I thought I saw it while we were sitting in there, but I wasn’t sure.”

  Unable to deny the statement, Tarah sank into a kitchen chair and rested her chin glumly in her palm. “I guess my family didn’t want to hurt me with the news my younger brother is getting married. Especially when the man I love is marrying someone else.”

  Mrs. Simpson snorted. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  Tarah’s gaze darted to the older woman. “What do you mean?”

  “Well.” She glanced toward the kitchen door and dropped her voice a notch. “I’m not one to gossip, but did you notice how quiet Louisa got when her ma started talking about ordering silk from Paris?”

  Now that she mentioned it, Louisa had seemed a mite nervous.

  “You see? You noticed it, too.” Mrs. Simpson gave a quick nod and collected four plates, four cups, and a tray from the cabinet. She allowed Tarah to digest the hopeful news while she cut four generous slices of apple pie. “I’d bet my right arm Louisa was just trying to get under your skin and got herself dug into a hole instead.” She gave a quick laugh. “I’d love to see her try to scratch her way out.”

  Tarah shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Eventually, he’ll ask her. And if I know Louisa, she’ll make it happen pretty quickly now that her ma thinks she’s already snagged him.”

  “If that day ever comes, I’ll be the most surprised woman in Harper,” Mrs. Simpson retorted. “I’ve watched him, and I’ll tell you, our young preacher’s in love. But not with Louisa.”

  Tarah groaned inwardly. Bad enough to lose him to Louisa, but at least she could console herself that he was being fooled. What other woman could possibly have won his affections without Tarah’s notice?

  “You really don’t see it, do you, Honey?”

  “See what, Mrs. Simpson?”

  “Unless I miss my guess—and I rarely do—our preacher is head over heels in love with a certain Miss St. John.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Simpson, you don’t have to say that. Anthony and I have become friends. But he’s smitten with Louisa.”

  Lifting the tray, Mrs. Simpson sent Tarah a confident smile. “Mark my words. Anthony may not know it yet, but you’re the woman for him. You just have to make him see it.”

  Tarah lifted her chin, remembering the humiliating experience of Anthony’s amusement the one time she had attempted to flirt. “I won’t resort to manipulating him like. . .well, like some people would. If Anthony can’t see the truth, then that’s his own misfortune.”

  Mrs. Simpson chuckled and walked to the door, then turned back to Tarah. “Anthony knows you’re not like Louisa. But do you have to be as bristly as a cat getting ready to pounce all the time?” she whispered. “He’s probably scared to death you’ll scratch his eyes out if he ever speaks his mind.” She opened the door before Tarah could reply.

  “Now, who’s ready for some of my famous apple pie?”

  Eleven

  Anthony drove the last nail into place, then tested the shutter to see if it would swing properly.

  “Ya did it, Preacher,” Laney said, nodding in grudging approval. “Reckon Mr. Garner’s gonna be mighty glad we come out here to fix up the mess my pa made of the place.”

  “Reckon so,” Anthony replied. He knew Laney still thought he was courting Louisa, and it gave him no pleasure that he was unable to convince her otherwise. Even more embarrassing was the fact that this little urchin had doubts about his intelligence because of that belief.

  “Me an’ Ben finished puttin’ all the junk in a pile. Can I light it on fire?”

  “I think I’d better do that,” Anthony said. “But you can pour the kerosene over the pile.”

  She brightened at the idea. “Can I do it now?”

  “Yes, but don’t try to light it.”

  Flashing a quick grin, Laney took off across the yard.

  Anthony glanced through the open shutter at Tarah, who labored to clean up the filthy soddy. “How’s it going in there?”

  She looked up, a weary smile on her lips. “I should be finished sometime around Christmas, I figure.”

  “We’re just about finished with the outside,” he replied, chuckling at her remark. “Then we’ll all come inside and pitch in.”

  “I’d welcome your help.” Tarah planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “Honestly, Anthony. How can a man allow his home to become so filthy? I wouldn’t let my favorite pig live in this place.”

  “Jenkins must have been mighty miserable. I pray he finds the Lord, wherever he ends up.”

  The scowl left Tarah’s face, and she drew in a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve been awfully hard on him. I just can’t seem to help myself. When I think of the treasure he possessed in those precious children, only to throw them away as if they meant nothing, it just makes me want to scream.” She waved to emphasize her words, and her hand knocked against the kettle warming on the stove. A look of pain flickered across her face. Instantly, Anthony sprang from his place at the window and ran into the soddy.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She held onto her wrist and blew on an angry red mark, already beginning to blister on the back of her hand. “I’m all right. This is my own fault for being so angry I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

  “Here,” Anthony said, “let me see it.”

  Offering her hand with the trust of a child, Tarah drew in her bottom lip.

  “This is a pretty bad burn,” Anthony observed, inwardly berating himself for distracting her in the first place. “We’d better get you home so you can tend to it.”

  “Honestly, it’s just a silly little burn. I want to finish up here.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I’m taking you home right now. The cleaning will keep until another day.”

  Tarah’s eyes grew stormy, and she narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean, no? If I want to stay and finish cleaning, I will.”

  In spite of himself, Anthony laughed outright. “Now, you sound just like our little Laney. Who’s teaching whom?”

  A pretty blush rose to her cheeks, sending a rush of warmth to Anthony’s heart. He loved this woman so much it hurt. But the knowledge he only rated friendship in her heart made his stomach clench so tightly at times, he could barely stand the ache.

  “Really, Anthony, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “It is something to be concerned about. You can’t work in this filth with a blister on your hand. It could become infected.”

  Glaring at him, Tarah finally sighed in concession. “Oh, all right, but I think you’re making a lot of noise over nothing.”

  “It isn’t nothing to me, Tarah,” he said. “I just don’t want to see you sick.”

  All the thunder left her face as she met his gaze.

  Still holding her hand, Anthony stepped closer. He brushed at a smudge on her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. “Tarah,” he whispered, darting a glance to her slightly parted lips. Anthony’s insides quivered as he drew her close. He longed to kiss away any thoughts of mere friendship from her mind and show her it was she, not Louisa Thomas, who held his heart. And heaven help him, he was getting ready to do just that.

  “Just kiss her, would ya? Ya know ya want to.”

  Tarah gasped at the sound of Laney’s voice and quickly moved away. “No one was going to kiss anyone. I–I just hurt my hand, and Anthony was looking at it for me, Laney.”

  “That ain’t the way it looked from where I’m standin’,” Laney said with a snort. “So are we gonna light up that pile of junk out there or ain’t we, Preacher?”

  “Like T
arah said, she hurt herself. We’re going to take her home first. Then we’ll come back and light the fire.”

  “Ya really hurt yerself?” Laney frowned and strode to Tarah’s side. “Think we oughtta take her to the doc, Preacher?”

  A tender smile curved Tarah’s lips as she looked at Laney. “I’ll be all right, Honey. I just need to put some butter on it for the pain. Reverend Greene is afraid I might get it dirty, and that could make me sick.”

  Laney turned on Anthony. “What’re ya doin’ just standin’ there? We gotta get Tarah home ’fore she gets sick.” She hurried out the door. “Ben,” she bellowed. “We’re leavin’. Hurry up.”

  Shaking her head, Tarah gathered up her reticule. “I suppose I should be glad I have so many people to worry about me.”

  “People who love you,” Anthony corrected.

  Eyes wide, Tarah stared silently at him until he felt himself blush beneath her questioning gaze.

  He cleared his throat, ready to declare his love and take his chances.

  “What are ya waitin’ fer?” Laney stuck her head through the doorway, a scowl marring her features. “Do ya want Tarah to get sick?”

  Sighing in frustration, Anthony took Tarah by the elbow and steered her toward the door. “If we don’t get out to the wagon, that child is likely to try to carry you out there herself.”

  During the drive to the St. John ranch, Anthony watched for signs that Tarah had been moved as much as he during their closeness at the soddy. Disappointment crept through his gut as she talked and laughed with the children, looking as though the almost-kiss had never happened.

  In view of her apparent lack of emotion, Anthony felt relief that he hadn’t put his heart into her hands by telling her he loved her.

  Help me to accept this, Lord.

  If friendship was all this amazing woman had to offer, he would accept it, no matter how much it hurt. Her friendship was better than nothing at all.

  ❧

  As the days grew shorter and the time grew closer for the school term to end, Tarah was filled with uncertainty. She had to give Mr. Halston an answer before Christmas so Starling’s town council would have time to secure another teacher should Tarah decide not to accept the position. The school term was to begin in February, he informed her, and the schoolhouse now sat completed at the edge of the small town.