Morgan remembered the man from previous visits during his time boarding at Treadwells’. Something about Mister Drych rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldn’t figure out what. Although, tonight the pompous man’s behavior resembled that of an entertainer, rather than an official who had the welfare of children and their education at heart.
By seven o’clock, the church buzzed with conversations of the townspeople waiting to see what the meeting was about. Town meetings were rare events in Dorado. The last one had followed Miss Fletcher’s disappearance.
Morgan sat at the far end of a pew a couple rows behind where Ione sat at the center spot, the only person in an entire pew. He’d chosen the seat so he could see her face.
Members of the town council filled the front pew on his side of the church. Most of the business owners were present, as well as lots of parents.
Mister Drych consulted his watch, snapped it closed, and then sauntered to stand behind the lectern. With a grand gesture, he slapped a folder onto the wooden stand.
That’s it. The man’s strut reminded Morgan of a bantam rooster.
“Miss Forrester, will you please ring the bell to call in the latecomers?”
Morgan scooted forward. What was that about? To humiliate her in front of all the townspeople? Frowning at the superintendent, he stood. “I’ll do it.”
Mister Drych’s head jerked, and his gaze narrowed. “Very well, sir.” As he gazed over the audience, he cleared his throat. “Thank you, citizens of…” He glanced down at his papers. “Uh, Dorado for coming tonight. A matter has come to my attention that I thought needed to be addressed.”
People shifted in their places, rustling clothes and scraping shoes on the wooden floor.
Not wanting to miss a word, Morgan walked so his boot heels didn’t touch the floor and slipped back into his pew.
“A letter was received at my office claiming that Miss Forrester has been using unorthodox teaching methods that may be detrimental to the students’ ability to learn.”
Ione stiffened, and her head snapped up, her jaw tight.
His own body tense in anticipation of what would be revealed, Morgan wished he could sit at her side to provide support.
Mister Drych glanced down at his paperwork. “Here I’m quoting from the claims written by an individual who will remain anonymous. ‘Hikes through the countryside to catch bugs in nets’ or ‘tours of the town’s businesses.’ Or ‘singing instructions.’ And ‘lack of assigned homework’ and ‘None of which can be construed as real teaching.’ ” He stepped forward and leaned an elbow on the lectern. “Before I ask Miss Forrester for an explanation, I wonder if any parents have additional issues they wanted to add to this list.”
Morgan watched Ione’s face redden to the shade of a ripe raspberry, but she held her tongue. Probably a wise choice.
A couple of women stood and stated that, after the first week of resumed classes, their children were happy to go to school.
“Yes, well, thank you. Now, Miss Forrester”—he grinned and waved a beckoning hand—“perhaps you’ll face this group and defend yourself against the complaints. Possibly relay which of the students these methods have helped.”
Ione walked to the front but stood several feet away from the superintendent. “I may be new to the profession of teaching, but I can’t think of a more worthwhile task than seeing children gain knowledge. A smart man told me a short while ago that children need to be exposed to learning in all different ways, because some learn from books and others learn by doing with their hands.” She glanced his way and dipped her chin. “I am glad to discuss any concerns parents might have in a private setting. However, I would never discuss an individual student’s progress in a public forum.” Posture erect, she returned to the pew and sat, her gaze facing straight ahead.
Pride filled Morgan’s chest at the way she’d handled this loaded situation. He clapped his hands together.
Sporadic at first, and then building in response, hearty applause soon filled the room.
Alda Othmann stood. “Mister Drych, I no longer have children in school, but I’ve got to speak out on that tour of businesses. At first, I thought having the youngsters in the store would be bothersome, and I’d have to straighten the shelves afterward. But their behavior was exemplary. Her exercise of teaching them where food originated has me reading the labels a bit more closely.” As she sat, she chuckled. “Interesting stuff.”
“My Lisle wants to learn to cook.” Another woman spoke from a middle pew. “I credit that garden the students planted with her interest.”
A rancher stood and rolled the brim of his hat. “My boy’s reading has improved so much he’s fighting me for the newspaper after supper.”
Morgan felt hopeful that the testimonials might sway whatever decision was to be made.
From behind him, he heard fervent whispers that made him glance over his shoulder.
Two rows back, Miss Franklin met his gaze then turned to Ellen. “What makes you think she isn’t being courted now? I’ve seen the way she looks at Mister Shipley.”
The smirk twisting her lips meant trouble. Scowling, Morgan clamped a hand on the back of the pew. Where did she get the audacity to start rumors?
Brows mashed into a frown, Ellen wagged her finger toward the redhead. “Nothing of that questionable nature has happened. Not in my establishment.”
Mister Drych stretched to look over the audience. “More comments for the discussion, ladies?”
“I have one.” Berg rose to his feet from his seat in the back row. “Miss, uh, I call her Ione on account we live together.” His eyes shot wide. “Uh, at the boardinghouse, I mean. I’ve always felt bad, cuz I didn’t have much book learning. Ione helped me see the world needs people with all kinds of skills. My wife, Ivey, thanks me often for the things I’ve made on my forge that help her every day in the kitchen.” He sat and gazed into Ivey’s smiling face.
Ivey reached out and squeezed his broad hand.
Townspeople looked at one another with raised eyebrows.
Morgan chuckled. That was probably the most anyone outside of Treadwells’ had ever heard the blacksmith say at one time. Some probably never heard him speak in public.
“This is all well and good”—Mister Drych rolled a hand in front of his body—“But does no one else have an issue to raise? One that will require the town council’s vote?” He waved a hand toward those sitting in the front pew opposite Ione.
After glancing around to see if anyone else would speak, Morgan stepped into the aisle. “I’m in agreement with Berg, and I’m another who learned my skills through doing, instead of books. Don’t get me wrong. First, I learned the basics by attending school. Blacksmiths and carpenters use arithmetic every day. We also use artistic talents. Carving designs in wood would have been harder if I hadn’t had a teacher in my youth who encouraged art.”
Needing to be sure the gathering heard the importance of his words, he walked up the outside aisle and turned to face the group. “The town council should be congratulating itself on selecting a teacher with as much compassion as Ione has for each individual student. As a person who has provided the transportation and delivered the packages, I can attest this woman spends part of her salary to make sure the classroom contains adequate supplies.” He couldn’t resist a glance at Ione and spotted her trembling lips.
“Thank you, sir.” Mister Drych hurried forward then stopped and squinted. “Aren’t you the man I saw in the classroom today?”
“Yep, delivering those supplies I spoke about.”
“Huh.” The man’s eyebrows crashed downward. “Step aside so someone else can speak.”
Morgan held up his hand. “I’ll yield the floor if need be, but I’m not finished.” He made an exaggerated scan of the room, pausing his gaze on Ione’s perplexed face for only a second.
“Not only has Miss Forrester helped the students, she’s helped adults living under the boardinghouse roof. As a woman coming from wider so
ciety, shall I say, she brought a unique perspective to a business issue I was struggling with. Thanks to her suggestions and advice, I’ve secured a contract with a furniture store in Boerne. Soon, I’ll be looking to hire apprentices to help with the extra work. I can’t think of a better place to look than to the students under Miss Forrester’s tutelage.”
A gasp sounded from the front pew as beaming Ione tapped her fingertips together in muted applause.
With a grin and a nod, he walked back to his seat, hoping his statements would be of help.
“Well, folks, the evening is creeping onward.” Mister Drych extended a hand. “I again invite Miss Forrester to speak on her own behalf.”
Ione stood with her shoulders back, and her head held proud. “Superintendent Drych, you’ve reviewed the grading ledger, seen examples of student work, and spent most of today in my classroom. That evidence should stand on its own merit.” She turned and walked down the center aisle, straight to the exit.
Pride brought a lump to his throat. He warred with dashing outside to congratulate her or remaining to hear if a vote would be taken. Being with her won out. Not caring what gossip his exit might incite, he strode out of the church, hopped down the stairs, and glanced both ways.
Moonlight glinted off her blonde hair as she rounded the corner from Second onto Main Street.
Perfect. He jogged to catch up and, in front of the mercantile, he crooked an elbow in her direction. “Care for an escort, miss?”
She heaved out a huge sigh before slipping her hand in place. “Morgan, after what just transpired, should we be seen together like this?”
“Who is around to see us? Everyone’s in the meeting.” He was glad to leave that nonsense behind. Although, hearing Alda speak on Ione’s behalf had surprised him. He’d pegged the shopkeeper as the author of the complaint. “Besides, I wanted to tell you how proud I was that you didn’t fall into Drych’s trap. You acted poised and spoke with dignity.”
“Oh, but I was shaking like a leaf. That horrid little man controls the outcome of my job.”
As they approached his store, Morgan dug into his pocket for the key. “We’ll have privacy if we go inside to talk.”
Frowning, Ione glanced over her shoulder and then back at him. “We need to talk?”
“Oh yes, we do.” He unlocked the door and then lit the wick of a lamp in a nearby wall sconce. “I’ll even draw the shades to protect your reputation.”
“Did you really get the contract because you followed my business plan?”
After the last shade was in place, creating a private world just for the two of them, he nodded and walked close. “I followed most of your points. I could have used suggestions for figuring out which company was my target. Wasted some time with that decision.”
“Wasn’t that included in the section called Prioritize Your Market?” Her brows wrinkled.
“Could have been.” He slid his hand from her elbows up to her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” She stiffened, and her gaze watched the movement of his hands.
“Getting ready to kiss you, for real this time.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you need step-by-step instructions?”
Her eyes widened then she smiled. “I’m partial to stories. Maybe you should narrate.”
So, the lady wants a declaration. “Ione Forrester, you are being given fair warning that you will be courted.”
“But—”
Shaking his head, he placed an upright finger against her lips. “I’ve lived in this town long enough to know none of the residents were swayed by Drych’s performance tonight. Berg Spengler, the most taciturn man this town has ever seen, spoke in a public meeting in your defense. Your tour of Alda’s store won her over.”
The ghost of a smile teased her lips, and she tilted her head. “That surprised me, too. But the findings of that tour were actually, mmm—”
Bending down, Morgan cut off her enthusiasm by pressing his lips against hers, reveling in the movement of her last murmured words. He cupped a hand around her neck and ran a thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. Lifting his head, he whispered, “Now this man will move his arm to circle around and embrace his object of desire before pulling her close.”
Blue eyes sparkling, she giggled but nestled against his chest with a sigh.
“He’ll kiss the lady in question in surprising places.” He moved his lips to her temple, then grazed them down to the ridge of her cheekbone, to the tip of her nose, and down to a spot at the edge of her mouth. Blood rushed through his body, warming him all over. Her eager responses urged him to continue the story, which he gladly did. “Using the knuckles of his hand, he’ll draw them along her jaw, and then under her chin, pressing to tilt her mouth to the most advantageous angle. So he can do this…”
Epilogue
Last week of August, 1878
The late summer humidity drained at Ione’s energy, and she could do little more than rock on the porch and fan herself. She should be organizing lesson plans for the upcoming school year, but she was just stubborn enough not to expend that energy until she received a new contract. Her end-of-the-year evaluation had been mostly positive, but one comment—she suspected from the spinster on the review board—‘that female schoolteachers should aspire to remain single’ bothered her. That opinion was narrow-minded and outdated.
If given a chance, Ione vowed to prove she could be just as effective in providing a quality education for the students in her classroom in her new married status. Her wedding trip to the pecan ranch owned by Morgan’s family had given her ideas about a potential trip for her students. They could pretend they were pioneers on the Oregon Trail and sleep out under the stars.
“Caught you napping, my love?” Morgan stepped up onto the boardinghouse porch.
The sound of his voice warmed her, bringing a smile to her lips. “No, just plotting my revenge for the next school year. What’s this?”
His arms were spread around a small wooden crate and an important-looking letter stuck upward from his breast pocket. “Seems I’ve become a delivery person who brings you boxes and crates. Maybe I should start charging you, Missus Shipley.”
Married almost a month, Ione still thrilled at hearing her new name. Their quiet ceremony in front of a justice of the peace in Fredericksburg and Morgan’s family had been perfect. No fancy dress or place cards or veil. Just the way they’d wanted it. She flicked the fan faster against the sticky summer heat. “As long as the fee can be reimbursed with kisses, I can afford your services, Mister Shipley.”
He set the crate across the arms of a nearby rocker and leaned a hand on top to keep it steady. “The name on the return address might perk you up. It reads Mary Palmer.” He grinned as he pulled a hammer from his back pocket and worked on loosening the nails.
“My wedding quilt!” With a squeal, Ione jumped to her feet and crowded close, resting a hand on Morgan’s back. “I’ve been hoping this would arrive soon. Hurry.”
“While you’re waiting for that, maybe you should read what’s arrived from the county department of schools.” Pausing with loosening the lid, he handed her a thick ivory-colored envelope and leaned close to steal a kiss.
After melting against her handsome husband and enjoying the tingles his kiss created, she eased away and sucked in a deep breath. She stared at the perfect handwritten name—Miss Ione Forrester—and address on the front. Already, her old name looked foreign. The contents inside this envelope would decide her future. But that wasn’t the real truth. Morgan and their life together were the most important things in her future. She dropped the letter to the seat of the chair and turned to lift the lid on her wedding present from a beloved, but faraway, grandmother.
Inside was a note on top of a muslin-wrapped bundle.
Ione unfolded the paper and read: “May you and Morgan find comfort and love under the warmth of this quilt. May you use it to ward off the coldness of life and create your own cozy world. Love, Grandma Mary.” Pressing the pap
er to her chest, she sniffled at the sentimental words. “This is so sweet. I will tuck away this note for a day when I might not be feeling my best.”
“May I see?” Morgan held out his hand.
After passing the note, she watched his face as he read and spotted when shininess erupted in his eyes.
“That’s a keeper.” He blinked a couple of times then jerked his head. “Open the bundle.”
With trembling hands, she unwrapped the muslin and unfolded the quilt. A sea of various shades of blue and ivory appeared before her eyes. Diamond shapes in calicos and swirls emanated from a center point. Blocks of creamy ivory with quilting swirls and cross-hatching marked the corners.
Ione ran a finger along the intricate stitching, feeling a connection with her grandma so far away. “A Lone Star pattern. Of course, she’d choose that pattern to commemorate my new home of Texas.” If she unfocused her gaze, the color progression from light to dark to light again made the star appear to pulse in outward waves. Like the love that kept growing for her dear husband with each day they shared. “I have a line to add to Grandma’s sentiments. ‘May we spend many years together under this quilt.’ ”
“I’ll second that.” Morgan drew her into his strong arms and rocked her side-to-side.
Ione Forrester Shipley had all she needed to be blissfully happy, right here in her husband’s embrace.
History of the Lone Star pattern
“The Lone Star quilt block is likely one of the most recognizable quilt patterns to Americans. It is also one of the oldest patterns, along with the Mariner’s Compass, Orange Peel, Job’s Trouble and Irish chain. But this is a pattern known by many names. There are variations of it with 6 points, 8 points (the most common design) or even more.
Various Lone Star quilt pattern names are given to the pattern with a large central star, made up of diamond shaped fabric to form the star points from the center out. Often the colors are chosen and placed to form what appear to be concentric circles radiating around the center. It is placed in the center of the quilt top and can be appliquéd down to the background or pieced in. Sometimes other tiny stars are placed in the large blank areas surrounding the star, or flowers may be appliquéd in those areas.”
Ione's Dilemma: Dorado, Texas Book 6 (Grandma's Wedding Quilt 8) Page 13
