For a moment, she closed her eyes. Those times from the past, the terrible experiences that she’d tried so hard to forget, were shoving their way past the barricades she’d built, plunging into her thoughts. The terror and pain of the first time, the raised hands, the beatings, the brutality. The fear that caused her to shrink back still, to try to hide from men by escaping into herself.
With his touch and his whispered words, John had opened the doors, and the horror of all those years had come swirling out to overwhelm her. She fell onto the bed, longing to be free of memories. But of course that was impossible.
Back when she worked in the brothel, she spent most of her nights playing the piano, but every now and then, a man would buy her time. It was always the customers who knew she didn’t want to be bought. Usually they were rough. She touched her lips and remembered they’d been cut and bleeding in the past.
Some part of her knew that John would not abuse her this way. And the whispered words and hand-holding was nothing compared to what she’d suffered before she arrived in Trail’s End. But those actions had often been the beginning of the process. They announced what a man had on his mind. The forwardness made it clear that a man knew what kind of woman she was back in Weaver City. Back when she was Annie MacAllister, a woman who’d worked in a brothel.
But she wasn’t Annie MacAllister anymore. She was Matilda Cunningham. At least that’s who she was to John.
She sat up. Had she completely overreacted? Had standing alone in the darkness with a man awakened those nightmares? Perhaps her reaction wasn’t his fault at all.
“He held my hand and whispered that I was beautiful,” Annie said aloud. What was so bad about that?
Annie wiped her tears away. Yes, she’d overreacted. She’d leaped ahead in her mind to what had happened when she was a prostitute. John wasn’t one of those men. He’d held her hand to help her across the ground, like a gentleman, and he’d told her she was beautiful, perhaps because he actually meant it. He hadn’t forced her in any way. He’d moved away when she’d become frightened. Could it be John wasn’t like the men from her past? Perhaps he’d only acted like a man attracted to a woman and she’d overreacted.
If that was the truth—and she now thought it was—how could she face him again?
The following afternoon, Rose approached the teacher’s desk. “Miss Cunningham, I’d like to read a story to the twins. Would you listen to make sure I don’t make any mistakes?”
Although she didn’t know if she could read fast enough to tell if Rose made mistakes, Annie nodded. Rose sat on the bench with Bertha and Clara while Annie stood behind them and leaned over so she could see the book.
As Rose read, she put her finger under each word. How nice. Annie could easily follow the printed words as Rose read them, and she recognized almost all of them.
After Rose finished, Samuel asked if she would listen to him read a story. He read a more difficult story but in the same way, pointing at every word.
Annie was suddenly struck by a realization that nearly took her breath away. The students were not practicing their reading. They were teaching her.
She was mortified and moved. So much love for her students filled the slowly warming corners of her heart that she couldn’t speak. She’d never tell them she knew but was incredibly happy that she had ended up in Trail’s End with these students. Thank you, Matilda, she thought. And thank You, dear God.
That afternoon, after all the students but Elizabeth had left, Annie picked up one of the books she’d found in Matilda’s valise, the one with the drawings. In what Annie guessed was Matilda’s clear writing, she found plans and activities to use in class, but she didn’t have any of the supplies to make a thaumatrope, or decorations for the holidays or a game of anagrams. She sighed. Perhaps she could ask the school board for supplies when they met next.
Several minutes later, she checked the watch on her collar. It was almost four o’clock.
“Perhaps I should walk home, Miss Cunningham.”
“Your father wouldn’t want you to walk home alone.”
“Could you walk with me? Then Ramon could bring you back.” She looked at Annie pleadingly.
“If no one comes within the next few minutes, we’ll do that. Let’s give them a little more time.”
“They might have forgotten me.” She stood to look out the window.
“Elizabeth, do you really believe your father would forget you?”
“No, Miss Cunningham.” She smiled. “I know he’d never forget me.”
“Why don’t we go in the woods, to look for flowers and identify trees?” That, at least, was something Annie knew. She held out her hand, and Elizabeth skipped over to take it. “We’ll be close to the schoolhouse so we can hear your father when he arrives.”
They found a jasmine twined around a dead tree and listened for the song of a mockingbird and the tapping of a woodpecker. After a few minutes, they heard a surrey stop and a voice call for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth ran through the grove of trees. By the time Annie arrived, she had jumped into her father’s arms and he hugged her.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” John said. “One of the traces broke and Ramon had to find another. Then, well, many little things happened.” He put Elizabeth down and turned toward Annie. “Good afternoon, Miss Cunningham.” He nodded at her.
“Good afternoon.” She noticed he kept his distance.
“Elizabeth, would you please wait in the surrey? I need to talk to Miss Cunningham privately.”
What did he want? Had he found out her background or that she couldn’t read? She had so many secrets. It could be anything. She stepped back. They seemed to be playing a child’s game with one of them constantly moving away.
“Please, don’t be frightened, Matilda.” He took off his hat. “I apologize for whatever I did last night that frightened you.” He paused. “I don’t know what I did exactly that scared you but promise you have nothing to fear from me.”
She struggled to consider a response, but he continued.
“I meant no disrespect. I realize that an innocent young woman like you may be uncomfortable with a man expressing his…” John seemed to run out of words, and she could not help him. “I’ll behave more circumspectly in the future.”
He hadn’t figured that she was a fallen woman. But while she felt great relief that he still thought she was an innocent, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed that she had overreacted and had misunderstood him so completely.
“I’d like to give you this, as a show of my regret for having frightened you.” He held out a book to her.
“Oh, no, I cannot take a gift.” She shook her head.
“I believe you will like this. Please.”
He stood in front of her, tall, strong and determined. But when she noticed the pleading look in his eyes, Annie took the book he held out. She tried to make out the letters on the cover, but the printing was strange and she couldn’t understand what they spelled.
“It’s a book of poetry. The sonnets of Shakespeare.”
The name sounded familiar, but she could not quite place it. She decided to keep her response simple. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled down at her, his eyes now filled with relief. She wanted to apologize to him in turn, but she still could not find the words. He stepped back and glanced toward his daughter in the surrey. “Good afternoon, Matilda.”
“Good afternoon, John.” She enjoyed saying his name almost as much as she enjoyed hearing him say hers.
She watched the surrey drive off. “Thank You again, God,” she whispered. “You are truly generous and gracious.”
She opened a page of the book and could make out the words Shall I and to a summer’s day. The other words in the first line of the poem stumped her.
Well, she’d just have to keep practicing.
But this time she’d have something better than the children’s readers to work on. This time she had a book of beautif
ul poetry. What had John called them? Sonnets, yes, that was it. She’d have to find out the difference between a poem and a sonnet.
But the best part was that these poems came from John. She rubbed her hand over the tooled cover of the book and smiled as she watched the last bit of dust disappear beyond his horse.
Yes, John had given her this book, and she’d treasure it forever.
Chapter Seven
“What fun to have your company for the meeting of the Literary Society,” Amanda said to Annie as she snapped the reins and the cream-colored mare moved a little faster.
In a pale blue phaeton, Amanda sat up straight and held the reins firmly, obviously enjoying the display of her skill. She wore a fur-trimmed cape over a soft blue robe with a bustle that forced her to sit very straight.
Fingering her black skirt, matching basque and wool shawl, Annie felt a stab of envy before Amanda turned to her, tilted her head and smiled.
“You and I are going to have so much fun together, Matilda. Just the two of us going off on our own, even if it is just to town! I hope you’ll forgive my silly chatter, but I’m so pleased to have a friend like you.”
“Oh, I do not think you are silly. Being with you is a delight.” How could she possibly envy Amanda for having so much when she shared so much with Annie?
They had just entered town when Amanda said, “I’m happy John asked me to take you. He usually attends these meetings and escorts the teacher. I do hope there is no emergency.”
“I don’t know why John could not attend, but I do thank you for carrying me with you.”
“I know you’ll have wonderful suggestions for the meetings.” As Amanda stopped the phaeton in front of the church, several men approached the vehicle, except for the sheriff, who actually looked as if he were attempting to escape. Amanda stopped him in his tracks. “Sheriff,” she called, “would you please help me down?” She tossed him the reins.
“At the first meeting, I will just listen and learn,” Annie said.
“Probably wise, but I am so seldom wise.” After the sheriff tied the reins to a post, Amanda put her hand on his arm. Annie could not help noticing how uncomfortable the sheriff looked.
Then Mr. Johnson appeared on Annie’s side and helped her down. “My wife is the president of the Literary Society, Miss Cunningham,” Mr. Johnson said with a proud smile. “As you must know from the other places you’ve lived and taught, this society is the cultural center of our little town. We’re very proud of our group and the example of the women in our community.”
“I know this meeting will be an uplifting experience,” she said, hoping that nothing was expected of her yet.
When they entered the church, she saw Mrs. Johnson in the front of the room. She was a tall woman with ramrod-straight posture, a flinty glare and a firm command of the meeting.
“First,” she said, “I want to introduce our new teacher, Miss Matilda Cunningham.” Annie stood and smiled at the several dozen people assembled there. She knew her students and their parents, as well as the people who attended church, but there were some she hadn’t met before.
“Miss Cunningham, we welcome your suggestions and hope you will make a presentation for us in the future,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Perhaps a patriotic poem?”
Annie smiled and nodded.
After a business meeting, the program began. Ida recited a section of “The Prairie” with lovely hand motions. A very uncomfortable Samuel Johnson stumbled through “Concord Hymn” under the unyielding stare of his mother. Finally, with Amanda leading them, everyone stood and sang “Hail, Columbia” and “My Country ’Tis of Thee.”
When the program was over, the ladies served refreshments. Annie found herself surrounded by the parents of her students, who told her how much their children enjoyed school. After a few minutes, Annie excused herself to look for Amanda. She found her in a quiet corner with the sheriff, one hand on his arm while she flirted, smiling brilliantly.
How could a man resist Amanda’s beauty and charm? Well, the sheriff could. He glanced down at Amanda occasionally but kept his face expressionless. His lack of interest, however, did not deter Amanda. Finally, she took his arm and pulled him toward Annie.
“Isn’t it delightful?” Amanda said. “The sheriff has consented to follow the phaeton home.” She looked back up at the sheriff. “My father will appreciate your making sure I arrive home safely.”
“That’s what he paid me for, Miss Hanson.”
Amanda’s face fell. “He paid you? My father paid you to follow me home?”
“Yes, ma’am. He came to my office this morning. You just tell me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll follow.”
“Well, I have to admit I was surprised to see you here. You usually don’t attend these meetings.”
“No, I don’t.”
“And you usually don’t accede to my requests so readily.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
Amanda watched him saunter out. “Is he the most bothersome man you have ever met?”
“I think he’s a very nice man,” Annie said, trying to keep her amusement out of her voice.
“Yes, I imagine he would find you interesting and treat you courteously.” Then she shrugged. “But he finds me to be a flibbertigibbet and can barely tolerate me,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sure he thinks you’re lovely.”
Amanda sighed. “Well, I wish he did, but I have to admit that he doesn’t. He ignores me or swats me away as if I were of no consequence, although he always does it very politely.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ve lost my touch with men. Or at least with this one.” She sighed again before asking, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” Annie said good-night to Mrs. Johnson and the other parents and then followed her friend to the door.
During the short drive between town and the schoolhouse, Amanda teased the sheriff mercilessly as he rode behind the phaeton on his horse. He answered each comment with a courteous, “Yes, ma’am,” or “No, ma’am.”
“The man is the most frustrating person,” Amanda whispered as she stopped the vehicle in front of the schoolhouse. “I’m going to make him miserable on the way to our ranch.” She kissed Annie on the cheek before the sheriff helped her down.
As they drove away, Annie put her hand on her cheek. No one had kissed her with affection since her mother had died. That Amanda Hanson was a darling.
She continued to watch the phaeton and the sheriff until they disappeared around a curve. Annie felt very sorry for the man under Amanda’s continued assault. If Annie weren’t an upright woman who scorned gambling, her money would be on Amanda.
“Miss Cunningham, Mr. Sullivan asked me to bring you these.” It was almost three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon and all the children had left when Lucia arrived with a bundle. Annie left her desk where she worked to read a story from the fifth reader—she had fairly well conquered the other levels and their moral little tales—and took the parcel Lucia held out.
What could it be? “I shouldn’t accept gifts from Mr. Sullivan.”
Lucia lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t think of this as a gift. Just open it.”
Annie tore the paper from the bundle to find a pair of shoes inside. “Oh, Lucia, I can’t. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Miss Cunningham, I’ve watched you hobbling around as long as you’ve been here. Elizabeth has worried about you, too. Mr. Sullivan told me you injured your foot in that carriage accident. Is that right? Does it still hurt?”
Annie nodded. “I’d planned to buy myself another pair in town but my foot hurt too much to walk that far.”
“I apologize if I speak out of turn, Miss Cunningham, but it seems to me that people who are as poor as you and me can hardly turn down something practical like this. They’re just shoes, and there’s no one else wearing them right now.”
Annie looked at them. They were black and not as serviceable as Matilda’s, mostly made up
of little straps and a small heel. The leather was so soft that Annie could not help but rub it gently.
“I think if he was after your virtue, he’d give you something nicer than a pair of his wife’s old shoes.”
“His wife’s shoes?”
“When he came to breakfast this morning and Elizabeth reminded him about your problem, he asked me to go through his wife’s things. He said he had no idea if her shoes would fit you, but it was a waste to let them sit in a closet if you could wear them.”
Annie tugged off Matilda’s shoes and slipped Mrs. Sullivan’s on. They were a little snug also, but the leather was soft enough that she could feel the shoes give. “I think they’ll get more comfortable as I wear them.”
“They’re dusty. I wanted to clean them up but Mr. Sullivan thought you’d want them right away. Mrs. Sullivan died nearly four years ago, and they’ve just been sitting in her armoire.”
“How did she die?” Annie asked as Lucia started to put cans away in the cupboard.
“She got sick and never got better. She wasn’t a happy woman, always wanted to go back home. She didn’t like the heat or the sun or the wind in Texas. She missed the theater and libraries. She hated the fact that we don’t have electricity or telephones.”
“How could she not love Texas?”
Lucia laughed. “There are folks who don’t.” As Lucia closed the cupboard, the schoolhouse door opened and Amanda entered.
“Does Elizabeth look like her?” Annie asked.
“Elizabeth is prettier. She has a sparkle that her mother lacked.”
“How delightful.” Amanda entered the building with a swirl of her skirt and a laugh. “You’re talking about the late Mrs. Sullivan. Or, as my father says, ‘the first Mrs. Sullivan.’”
“Hello, Miss Hanson.” Lucia picked up her basket. “I’m on my way out. Goodbye, Miss Cunningham.” Lucia nodded at Annie and Amanda as she left.
Second Chance Bride Page 9
