Ione's Dilemma: Dorado, Texas Book 6 (Grandma's Wedding Quilt 8)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Ellen dabbed at her eyes with a hanky and leaned against Lydia.

  “The couple has chosen a vow that is near and dear to my Scottish-Celtic heart. Dylan found it in a book passed down from his uncle. These are the words his late parents, bless their souls, said to one another when they publicly pledged their troth.” He dipped his head in Dylan’s direction.

  A few seconds of silence passed as Dylan gazed at his beloved before he lifted a hand to cup Maisie’s cheek. “I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own. I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup. I pledge that your name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor you above all others. Our love is never-ending, and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to you, my sweet Maisie.”

  A tear ran down Maisie’s cheek, and Dylan thumbed it away, giving her a gentle smile. She lifted her chin and sucked in a breath then she cast down her gaze, shaking her head.

  A cry of dismay came from behind Ione, and she clenched the hanky in her hand.

  Dylan leaned close and whispered something unintelligible, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet space.

  Smiling, she tilted her head upward, her gaze again connecting with his, and repeated word-for-word the same vow he’d proclaimed, her voice never wavering.

  Their broad smiles when the pastor proclaimed them wedded proved how sure the couple was of what they truly wanted. At the kiss that sealed their vows, a raucous cheer and applause rang in the shop. Cowhands nudged each other, and people nodded and grinned toward the person at their sides.

  Throat tight with emotion, Ione sniffled and flicked away a tear. If she stayed committed to teaching—to fulfill the goal she’d set to make her parents proud—Ione knew a wedding was very far into her future…if one would ever occur.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday morning, Ione stood at the chalkboard writing lists of spelling words in four columns. The students had been assigned appropriate stories from their McGuffey’s for reading aloud when the spelling practice concluded. As she printed the three-and four-letter words for the younger students, she couldn’t help reliving the brief, but poignant, wedding. The sight of the bright green vardo, with a waving Maisie leaning to the side, rolling onto the plains had been like the final scene of a favorite novel. Ione had peeked inside the caravan as Maisie packed and thought the little home on wheels was cozy. Perfect for two people madly in love. Although, she struggled to imagine Dylan’s tall body moving around the small space. But as Grandma Mary was fond of saying, ‘where there’s love, there’s a way.’

  For the past two days, Ellen had walked around the house, touching picture frames, knick-knacks, and furniture as she remembered an association to Maisie’s upbringing. Each story was accompanied by tears and sniffles over her ‘departed’ daughter.

  Miss Franklin soon lost interest over the emotional reminiscing and wandered off to her own pursuits.

  After the siege on her pantry caused by the wedding and the cattle drive, Ivey claimed duties in the kitchen kept her tied there.

  Surprising to everyone, Lydia volunteered to help.

  So Ione did what she could to be a supportive listener and companion. Once she’d collected her quilting and settled into a chair in the sitting room, she hadn’t minded. Listening to Ellen’s woes gave Ione a bit of insight into what her mother must be feeling in a house empty of her children. Had her mother held nostalgic thoughts after Ione’s departure? She hoped Mother’s heart hadn’t turned hard the way she said Father’s had after the death of their first child. Georgie, born three years before Ione, died at the tender age of only two years old from an illness Father couldn’t cure.

  Whispering from the students brought Ione from her reverie. Glancing at the blackboard in front of her, she realized she’d made a kite tail on the end of a ‘d’ that swooped downward. A swipe with the cleaning rag took care of the physical evidence of her wool-gathering. She started on the next column for the grade five and six students.

  The whispers grew louder, and shoes scraped the floor.

  Without turning, she gave her instruction. “Eyes on your books, please.”

  “Miss Forrester.” The sweet voice of a first-level student.

  “Yes, what is it?” Frustrated by the interruption, Ione glanced between the paper in her hand and the words she was writing.

  “Who’s that man?”

  The words registered. Man? She drew in a breath and whirled.

  Standing at the back of the room was a stranger dressed in a three-piece tan suit complete with a gold watch chain. His dark hair was parted in the middle and slicked down. A black bowler hat dangled from his fingers, and his leather shoes were well shined. His attire was more appropriate for a city like Des Moines than a small Texas town.

  Although she hadn’t seen this man around town before, she didn’t want to offend if he was related to one of her students. “I’m sorry, but parents are asked to wait outside until the end of the instruction day.”

  The man pushed off from the wall where he’d been leaning and picked up a leather satchel. “Mister Gilbert Drych, school superintendent for this county. I’m here for a routine inspection of this classroom and your abilities, Miss Forrester, as the teacher.” He strolled along the outside aisle, glancing at the open books on the students’ desks. “Carry on. Proceed as if this is an ordinary day.”

  Inspection? Her breath caught in her throat. Ione glanced over the classroom and saw all the students stared at the stranger. “Back to reading, please. We’ll switch to spelling in a couple of minutes.” She turned back to the board to finish the lists. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, like she was a student again and Miss Garrison at Westminster Elementary judged her penmanship. Stiffening her spine, she focused on using her best printing to write out the words, willing her shaking hand to be controlled.

  Since the first week of school, the only subjects from her original schedule that maintained the same spot were the patriotic song and penmanship. All the other subjects came at a different time in the routine, because she’d learned when the children were most alert and focused.

  Was he here for just an inspection, as he said, or had her letters prompted this visit? Maybe he was here to answer some of her questions. Or he’d brought along her requested supplies. Irrationally, she wondered if her yellow calico blouse with gathered folds at the shoulder lines and light brown skirt with a wide ruffle at the hem met the standards of schoolteacher attire.

  As she asked the students to copy the spelling words five times each, she was aware of enunciating each word with distinction and making sure her instructions were clear.

  Mister Drych continued his slow circuit of the room, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. He paused next to a desk or two to watch a student’s work.

  Instinctively, the students hunched over their slates or adjusted their posture to obscure his view.

  Seeing this, Ione opened her mouth to voice a correction, but then realized he must be used to observing that behavior. The man probably visited dozens of classrooms in a year. While he might be interested in the accuracy of what was on the slates, what he was really judging was her ability to maintain control in the classroom while the children completed their assignments.

  “Erase your slates, please. Time for a spelling quiz.” She moved to the blackboard and scrubbed off the words with the rag. Then she called on the students in a random order and recited a word for their grade level to spell aloud.

  Each student stood next to the desk when called upon, spoke the word first, spelled it, and then repeated the word at the end. The results were about the same as every day, with maybe one or two more mistakes than usual.

  “Excuse me, Miss Forrester?”

  Ione placed her fingernail under the next word and looked up, hoping her expression didn’t display any anxiety. “Yes, Mister Drych?”

  “I’d like to review your grading ledger
now.”

  Irritation ran through her at the interruption. Seemed like he just as easily could have made the request while the students were occupied with their assignments. Nodding, she set down the lesson book and walked to her desk.

  With military-like strides, he approached then leaned over the desk’s surface, quietly reading aloud the titles of the upright reference books.

  Most of them she’d brought from home, not knowing what resources the school possessed. And that was a good decision, because she’d used them quite often in the short time she’d been in Dorado. This close, she noticed he wasn’t very much taller than she was, maybe three or four inches. The coconut scent of Macassar oil wafted her way. She pulled a leather-bound book from the line-up and laid it on the desk. “This year’s session under Miss Fletcher’s guidance starts on page twelve, and my tenure begins on the following page.”

  “Ah, yes, the unreliable Miss Fletcher. A woman totally unsuited to the classroom.” As he flipped through the pages, he frowned, the gesture pooching out his thick lips. “Where will I find the examples of the students’ work upon which these grades were based?” He walked behind her then pulled out the desk chair and sat.

  His movement brushed her skirts, pressing her petticoat against her legs. Her skin itched like when she’d been stung by a fire ant. The distance between them was too small, and she stepped back. As it was, when he looked at her from this position, his face was almost even with her breasts. She suppressed a shudder and pointed to the bottom right drawer. “You’ll find some examples in there. Many of the more routine items, like spelling and arithmetic tests, were sent home at the end of the week.”

  “Oh.” He turned to the desk, but not before his gaze drifted the length of her body.

  Again, she stepped away, because his looks bordered on being insolent. And what exactly did ‘oh’ mean? Should I have retained the scored tests? That detail had not been included in her training.

  Anxious to think of something else, she scooped up her lesson plan book from the edge of the desk and turned to the classroom. Spelling accuracy disintegrated in relation to her distracted focus. She switched to recitation of addition problems for the younger grades and multiplication tables for the upper ones. A glance at the watch pinned to her bodice indicated the scheduled break for lunch was only five minutes away. She desperately needed a few moments to compose herself. “Tidy your desks and then you’re dismissed for lunch.” Inspiration struck. “Perhaps you’d like to show Mister Drych our new vegetable garden.”

  “Uh, er, all right.” He stood and tugged on his waistcoat and then ran two fingers along the front fold in his slacks. “Lead on, children. A garden is quite an unusual activity.” He paused at the top of the stairs and looked over his shoulder. “Will you be joining us?”

  Ione flashed the best smile she could manage. “In a moment or two. I need to set out preparations for the afternoon’s lessons.” When she could no longer see the superintendent, she sagged into her desk chair and let out a sigh. None of the practice sessions in her college classes had prepared her for the anxiety produced by this inspection. She had to make a good impression—her job depended on doing so.

  Footsteps in the entry drew her attention. What now? She sat upright, brushing at the stray tendrils tickling her cheek.

  Whistling, Morgan rounded the corner, carrying a medium-sized cardboard box.

  Her heartbeat kicked up at seeing his familiar face. For the moment, their past misunderstandings were forgotten. She drank in the sight of his tall, broad frame encased in a faded chambray shirt and a pair of denims. “What are you doing here?” She jumped to her feet and walked toward him, after a quick glance over her shoulder at the back doorway.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He grinned and hefted the box higher. “I’m bringing you a delivery. I was in the stage office and—”

  “Never mind relating the story. That’s not as important as what’s happening right now. Oh, I’m a bundle of nerves.” Biting her lip, she pressed a hand to her jittery stomach. “The school superintendent for the county arrived an hour ago for an inspection, and I don’t think it’s going very well. The students aren’t performing at their best, and I don’t seem to have the right records he wants.”

  “You’re just nervous. Everyone gets that way when they’re being observed. I well remember that feeling when I worked under my uncle Hanz. But things always turned out all right.” He set the box on the closest desk and speared her with a stare. “Ione, you have to listen to my explanation.”

  “About?” She didn’t like the way his mood had grown serious.

  His brows wrinkled, and he stepped to within a foot and searched her face. “Miss Franklin, of course.”

  “Now?” Her voice squeaked. Didn’t she have enough to worry about without tossing in personal matters? Again, she looked toward the back doorway, praying the children would keep Mister Drych distracted a few minutes longer. Being discovered alone in the classroom in the company of a bachelor would not add a positive note to the report of this inspection visit.

  “You’ve managed to avoid me for too long. But I need you to listen to my side of this awkward situation.” He ran a hand through his wavy hair then paced toward the side wall and back. “Weeks ago, I posted a letter to Miss Franklin, ending the correspondence. She traveled here without providing me any type of advance notice.” Bending his knees so he could meet her gaze straight on, he shook his head and pointed at his chest. “And I certainly did not encourage her.”

  Sincerity rang from his words, and earnestness shone from his hazel eyes. She wanted to believe that Morgan wouldn’t have made romantic overtures while maintaining another relationship. That he was nothing like Bradford. A step forward brought her close enough that she smelled the scent of cedar clinging to him and breathed in the familiar odor, letting it soothe her. She tilted her head to meet his gaze and to search his eyes that looked more blue than green today. “I believe you.” She lifted a hand, wanting to touch him, to make a connection.

  The stomping of footsteps on the back stairs made them jerk apart.

  Heart pounding, Ione strode to stand at the side of her desk. Awareness that she had done nothing to prepare for the afternoon session hit, and she glanced around. What she didn’t need was to be discovered in a compromising situation by the superintendent. She grabbed her book of Aesop’s Fables and moved to the center of the room to look ready for story time.

  Morgan scooped up the box and walked backward until the first child appeared then he reversed course. “Ah, good afternoon, Miss Forrester. Here’s a delivery that was dropped off at the boardinghouse. I thought you might need it for today’s lessons.”

  “Why, thank you, Mister Shipley.” She turned and gestured toward the man bringing up the rear of her students. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of a visit from the school superintendent, but I appreciate the delivery. You may set it anywhere over by my desk. Goodbye.” From the corner of her eye, she watched the men nod at each other before Morgan’s exit.

  The afternoon’s lessons went a bit more smoothly. Possibly because Morgan’s visit and reassuring words bolstered her confidence. Or because the children had become used to the superintendent’s presence. Hopefully, only she noticed the differences when her best students stumbled and had to repeat a phrase during Recitation or couldn’t supply the proper names of state capitols in Geography.

  At the end of the day, after she watched the students depart, she took a deep breath and returned to the classroom to face whatever came next.

  Mister Drych had been ensconced at her desk for the afternoon. He now wrote on a pre-printed page in a folder.

  Using her pen and inkwell. She mentally chided herself for the petty thought. But she was almost as exhausted as the first week of school when she’d had to pantomime the lessons. Ione settled into the seat at the front desk closest to her own, clasped her hands in her lap, and waited.

  “Well, Miss Forrester, I must say you still loo
k as pretty as a picture, even at the end of a school day.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands over his middle. “I have several points I’d like to review with you. What do you say we discuss them over supper at the café?”

  The personal comment made her bristle, as did the invitation to share a meal together. Their conversation belonged on a professional level. “I have time now to listen. Besides, the café only serves breakfast and dinner.”

  “Ah, yes, the scourge of small towns. I should have remembered that fact about Dorado.” After replacing the pen in its holder, he extended the folder in her direction. “In that case, you can review my comments yourself.”

  Confusion ran through her thoughts. She accepted it. “After I read this, will we discuss the contents? I’m eager to do what I can to improve.”

  “I’m staying overnight at the boardinghouse, so our paths will cross again.” He stood, picked up his satchel, and settled the bowler on his head. “I also need to inform you of tonight’s town meeting to address a complaint I received about your methods.”

  After the words ‘town meeting,’ her hearing wavered in volume like when she was young and patted her hands against her ears. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her skirt to conceal their shakiness. Long after Mister Drych left, his boot steps resounded in her ears. She slumped against the slatted seat back, the folder unopened in her lap. A complaint had been registered against her? Was she about to be fired?

  ***

  Supper at Treadwells’ was a strange event. Morgan kept trying to catch Ione’s gaze across the table, but she held her gaze downcast and merely pushed the food around her plate, taking only a few nibbles. He suspected she was concerned about the town meeting. Since he got word mid-afternoon, he’d wondered what it was about. How could anyone not appreciate the efforts she made for her students?

  The school superintendent regaled the rest of the diners with tales from his years of classroom visitations. Although he didn’t use names of students or cities, some of the information would probably make the individual teachers cringe if they knew it was being shared.