Morgan grinned. “Clever solution. But about not speaking English, none of that sounds right. I think they are pulling your leg.” He shook his head. “You should talk with Lydia. She finished her studies only last year, so she could help you with identifying any students who truly struggle with English.”
Finally, some assistance with the problem. Ione launched herself into his arms. “Oh, thank you, Morgan. That’s a helpful idea.”
His arms clasped her back. “I’m glad you shared what was troubling you. I’ve been a bit worried about the change in your attitude since Monday.”
He had? Her heart wobbled. Ione knew they shouldn’t be embracing. Strict rules were in place prohibiting schoolteachers from courting. But, in equal measure with the heat infusing her body, she felt her spirits reviving. Morgan Shipley was about the best medicine she could imagine for a wounded soul.
A harsh throat clearing sounded. “Pray tell, what is the meaning of this…this familiarity?”
Missus Treadwell. Ione cringed, and with a sigh, she let her arms drop away. Why was the woman always around to witness Ione’s spontaneous behavior? Especially when gossip had a good chance of sprouting and spreading from her unthinking actions. She jumped to her feet. “I was just thanking Morgan for his suggestion about a problem I’m having in the classroom.”
Ellen pulled back her shoulders. “If the issue is with the school, I believe you should be seeking assistance from the town council first, and then from the superintendent.”
Training, Ione, rely on your training. “You are so right, Missus Treadwell.” She stepped close and assumed her most sincere expression. “Now, if you’ll help me with the name of that person and how I might contact him, I’d be most appreciative.”
“Of course.” Ellen’s posture relaxed, but she shot a final stern look at Morgan. “Come down the hall to my bedroom, dear, and I’ll write out the information.”
Ione followed but couldn’t resist a backwards glance before moving past the room. She mouthed ‘thank you’ and spotted Morgan’s wide grin and acknowledging nod.
On Friday morning, Ione bolted her breakfast so she could open the school room early. A discussion with Lydia the previous night confirmed Morgan’s doubts. So Ione cooked up an experiment. On the chalkboard, she wrote riddles she remembered from her childhood, being sure to put each answer upside down under the question. The last one she wrote in cursive, and that answer took the most time. She’d almost toppled over a couple of times from writing with her head twisted upside down.
When the students settled in their seats that day, they were presented with the following:
What has to be broken before you can use it?
(an egg)
What gets wetter as it dries? (a towel)
What has a neck but no head? (a bottle)
Why can’t a man living in New York be buried in Chicago? (because he’s still living)
Hands clasped and resting on her desk, Ione sat and watched the students for the sides of her eyes as she pretended to look at her lesson plans. Judging by their attention being focused only on the chalkboard, she guessed she’d learned what she needed. The moment the first Hans leaned sideways in his seat to read the answer, she tightened her grip in victory. The icing on the cake came when chuckles started at the back of the room and rolled forward, deepening into laughter when they glanced at her triumphant smile. “Well, class, your four-day charade to trick the teacher is officially over.” She stood. “I have only one question.”
The students quieted, looked at each other wide-eyed, and some slid lower in their seats.
“How many of you can read and understand the last riddle?”
Smiles bloomed again, and several hands toward the back of the classroom went up.
She put checkmarks in those students’ squares on the seating chart. “Now, we will start our first real day of classes with making a new roll-call sheet with your real names.”
At the end of the day, Ione stood in the doorway and gave a final wave to Lisle, or was that Trudy? She would have to re-do the seating chart with the children’s real names. But that was a minor task. What was important was that she’d just spent her first full day as a bona fide teacher, and the students had interacted. Hurrying back inside, she gathered her belongings and rushed to lock the door. Anxious to share her successful day, she detoured from her regular path and head to Morgan’s shop on her way home from the schoolhouse.
Seeing him through the window made her pause with her hand on the doorknob. Whatever he worked on had captured his full attention as he bent over the workbench, his right arm moving back and forth in an easy rhythm. She realized how often he appeared in her thoughts and that she looked to him first for advice. This situation was maybe getting out of control. Had he gotten the wrong idea about the amount of time they spent together? Maybe she should wait.
Rapid boot steps approached from behind. “Either go in, lady, or move. US Mail is coming through.”
Ione twisted the knob and stepped over the threshold then turned to see a tall man in rough clothing follow her through.
“Hey, Shipley. Here’s a few more of those mail-order bride letters.”
What? She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Morgan turned, and then his eyes widened. As he stood, he glanced between the two arrivals. “Uh, thanks, Demmon. Miss Forrester, what can I help you with?”
“Not a single thing.” The man before her was not who she’d thought him to be. Morgan Shipley was just as duplicitous as her ex-fiancé. “I’ve changed my mind.”
***
The sight of the horrible, disdainful look that crossed Ione’s face stabbed a dagger into Morgan’s heart. Although he’d sent off the letters ending his correspondence with the females anxious to make a mail-order arrangement, he’d assumed a few more would arrive in the interim. What rotten luck to have her show up at the same time as the mail delivery.
“Should I dump them in the same place?”
Morgan shook his head. “Naw, just hand them to me. Don’t need any more dents in the table.” He held out both hands as he glimpsed the far side of the window, wishing she’d return and let him explain. Her interpretation of Demmon’s words was undoubtedly all wrong. Although he’d turned her away mad more often than with a smile, he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed their interactions. His feelings toward her had grown stronger each day, especially after yesterday’s talk in the sitting room. Now he had to figure out how to explain this mess.
Chapter Nine
One evening a week later, the mood around the supper table was different. Ione pushed the peas around her plate, wishing she could match Maisie’s enthusiasm, who chattered non-stop. All the students were keeping up with the assigned work, but Ione wasn’t seeing a spark for learning in their eyes. The spark that she’d hoped to inspire. She kept thinking she had forgotten something essential from her training.
“Ione, will that be all right?”
Hearing her name made Ione jerk upright and she turned toward the woman whose honey-colored hair hung loose down her back. “What’s that?”
“Dylan will be arriving in a few days when the cattle drive passes through on its way north. If they arrive on Friday or Saturday night when the boardinghouse is usually full of cowhands, then I’m asking if I can double up with you.” She gestured across the table. “Ivey’s room is empty since she moved upstairs with Berg, Lydia’s going into Mama’s room, and Penn will sleep in the livery, if need be.”
“Oh, that can happen? Sure, of course, you’re welcome to, Maisie.” She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn’t realized the cattle drive was so soon. Only the sound of cutlery on stoneware could be heard as people continued eating. “I’d like to ask a general question.” She looked around and saw most of the people at the table nod. “I’m still finding my way in the classroom.” A laugh erupted. “Maybe everyone else already knew that. But I’m searching for a way to really energize the children about t
he learning process. What was your most memorable experience in school?”
No one spoke up. A couple of people ducked their heads and focused on their meal.
Well, that’s odd. “No hurry for a response. Go ahead and think on it. You can tell me the next time you see me.” A glance at Morgan caught him frowning before he quickly looked away. What in the world had him upset? She crunched the last of her carrots and wished for a new topic to be introduced.
Later that evening, Ione sat in one of the armchairs close to the lamplight and stitched rows of pink-and-green blocks together. Each time she held up the fabric to check that the corners met perfectly or the seams didn’t go too deep on the tips of the triangles, she thought of Grandma Mary. She had only vague memories of a short woman who was constantly in motion on a family visit to Grandma’s farm in Kansas when Ione was young. But each night Grandma Mary would sit to piece blocks by hand or at a hoop to quilt.
One beloved memory was of going to a quilting bee at Grandma’s church and lying on the floor beneath the big rectangular quilt frame as ladies stitched on the top. Ione had grown mesmerized by the quick flashes as silver needles pierced the cloth, and then disappeared. Like lightning in a rain storm.
After that day, she’d begged to learn, and Grandma Mary had guided her through making a Nine Patch block before the family traveled back to Iowa. The time involved in finishing a quilt top showed devotion to the craft and love for the intended recipient. Now that she herself quilted, Ione’s appreciation increased for the well-loved baby quilt from Grandma lying folded in her treasures box back home.
Footsteps on the stairs and then across the foyer announced someone entering the room. That person then approached and sat on the divan.
She glanced at the dark boots and spotted sawdust dotting the hems of the cotton trousers. Morgan. Knotting the thread at the end of the seam, she looked up. “Yes?”
He sat on the edge of the divan and leaned forward. “I’ve been looking for a chance to talk. Why haven’t you been spending time in the sitting room after supper like you used to?”
Had he forgotten the day she’d learned he was involved in correspondence with women who wanted to become his mail-order bride? She would not be the one to broach that subject. Ione picked up another row of blocks and set it against the larger piece, right sides together. “I’ve been busy with lesson plans and grading homework.”
Maybe by focusing on her sewing she could avoid the ache she’d felt these past days at not thinking of Morgan as her special friend, and especially of not going to him to share her small triumphs in the classroom.
“Ione.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if you know this, but your question at supper may have offended a couple of people who have had very minimal schooling.”
“Offended?” She narrowed her gaze before focusing on the quilt top and inserting straight pins to hold the pieces together. “Nothing I said was offensive.” Her question had been open-ended, and certainly, she hadn’t given an indication she’d be asking them to reveal how many years of schooling they’d had.
“Your upbringing was different than most people in this town. Except maybe Fitz Saunders, but I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”
Her body stiffened, and the pin she’d been inserting jabbed her finger. The prick of pain fueled her reaction to his words that within a few seconds echoed as an accusation. She had no control over how she was raised. Just because her parents employed servants and sent their children to college for advanced learning didn’t mean she couldn’t be a good teacher. This time when she looked up, she fought to keep her voice calm. “And?”
“This town is filled with people who have created good lives and are successful. But most of that came from their own hard work and determination, not from studying in classrooms.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, rasping against his dark whiskers.
He’s talking about himself. He’d said as much on their trip to Kerrville. That he had looked for something different than the rest of his siblings. He must have had a mentor who taught him carpentry. “I never had any intention of offending those around the table. But I thank you for pointing out how my question was interpreted.” Had she really cast aspersions on the people who’d become her surrogate family?
“About the other thing…” He stood and paced in front of the divan.
Ah, so he was about to bring up the bride letters. She dropped her hands to her lap and watched his face change from a scowl to a frown back to a scowl. The explanation must be more difficult than she thought. Her chest pinched, and she sucked in a deep breath. Was he about to tell her that he’d decided on one of the ladies he’d been corresponding with? That circumstance would be the right choice, because she really shouldn’t be thinking of him in any sort of romantic way. Schoolteachers were not allowed to court. “The other thing?”
“A business proposal.” He stopped pacing and dropped to the divan again. “You said you knew how to write one.”
Relief flooded her, and Ione sagged back in the chair. “What I said was I’d reviewed a few for my friend. I corrected grammar and spelling and the like.”
“Oh.” Morgan rested his elbows on his thighs and looked at the floor.
Her thoughts raced. How could she relate what she’d read of Bradford’s applications for medical research grants to a carpenter’s business plan? “But I remember the essence of what was in them.”
“You do?” When he raised his head, his hazel eyes glowed a light green, and a smile grew.
A smile that made her stomach go topsy-turvy. How could she deny the hopeful look he turned her way? “I could draft something for you to look over.”
Laughing voices preceded Maisie and Ivey as they entered—Ivey carrying a tray with a teapot and cups, and Maisie holding a plate mounded with cookies.
Morgan nodded and moved to the table already set with checkers.
Berg and Anzel soon followed, and the normal evening routine began.
From the corner of her eye, Ione caught movement and spotted Sally waving her over from the foyer. The conversation lasted only a few moments, but Ione was heartened by what Sally revealed. Before Ione and Sally were done, Olivia joined the conversation and added a tidbit or two about her schooling in Mexico. Returning to her chair, Ione accepted a cup of tea and a cookie and tried to concentrate on the conversation among the Treadwell women. From the bits she heard, Ellen and Maisie were in conflict about Maisie’s upcoming wedding.
Instead of adding to what seemed like a family conversation, she turned her attention to the quilt. But her mind buzzed between formulating a business plan for furniture making and creating a lesson plan that incorporated what she’d learned from three very different people this evening. After a half hour had elapsed and Ione had spent more time ripping out stitches than putting them into the sewing project, she excused herself and went up to her room. Tucked under her door was a note describing yet another favorite school experience. Judging by the misspellings, she guessed the author to be Dmitri.
Long into the night, Ione alternated between sitting at her table to write on both plans and pacing to think through the items to include. When she got really stumped, she stood in front of the mirror and tied up her hair in rag curls. By the time she sifted sand over the ink on the last page of Morgan’s business plan, she could no longer ignore her body’s need to visit the privy.
Confident everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, she scampered down the stairs and hurried through the kitchen to the back porch, being sure to set a block of wood to brace the door ajar. The clicking of crickets stopped, leaving the night with an expectant hush. She struck a match to the wick of a lantern and then shut the glass panel. Holding it at head level, she walked along the path past the kitchen garden and the rows of fruit trees then veered right toward the two freestanding outhouses. Ione had hiked up her nightrail and was lowering her bottom to the seat when she heard a throat clearing from a few feet away.
Someone occu
pied the other privy.
Oh, how embarrassing. As soon as she relieved herself, she stood with an ear to the door. Should she wait until the other person left? Or should she head toward the house and not look back? Tiredness dragged at her muscles, and she knew the alarm would go off at the appointed time. Every second waiting here meant one less of sleep. She undid the hook latch and pushed open the privy door before making a dash for the back porch.
But the block was moved back against the wall. The door was closed.
Unbelievable. Panic rose, and she rattled the knob. Locked. As soon as she registered that fact, she grasped the neckline of her robe tighter and glanced over her shoulder. The shadows under the trees became menacing, and the hoot of an owl made her jump. Thankfully, she hadn’t yet extinguished the lantern. A shiver ran over her skin. She had to get inside. Rapping her knuckles on the door brought no response. Rustling sounded from the direction of the garden, and Ione pounded the side of her fist on the door in tandem with yanking on the knob. Her breath caught in her throat, and she hammered harder.
Suddenly, the door swung inward.
She stumbled inside, right against a warm, hard male body. Ione gripped soft cotton fabric and sagged with relief. “Thank you.” Familiar scents of wood and oil rose in her nose. Morgan. For a moment, she breathed him in.
“Are you all right?”
Unclenching her grip, she stepped back. Moonlight coming through the windows lit his broad-shouldered silhouette. She had to stop thinking of him in that way. “I got locked out.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were—”
“Yes.” She stiffened. “We both know where I was.” She caught his gaze moving over her hair as a smile appeared on his lips. Gasping, she lifted her hands to cover what she could of the rag knots. Heat flamed in her cheeks. No one was supposed to see her like this.
“I’ve see rag curls before, Ione. Remember, I have four sisters.” His dark brows lowered. “Why are you awake this late?”
Ione's Dilemma: Dorado, Texas Book 6 (Grandma's Wedding Quilt 8) Page 9
