Her mind in a swirl, she leaned back against the sofa. She’d worked so hard and she still didn’t know enough, not nearly enough. Amanda knew all this because she’d lived in an educated household and had gone to school. For years.
How would she ever learn it all? It would take the rest of her life. But she only had a few weeks.
“Matilda, are you all right?” Concern wrinkled Amanda’s forehead.
No, she was not all right but she couldn’t confess that now. “A little overwhelmed,” she said. “I’ve never imagined these places looked like this.” She sat up. “Do you have more slides? I’d like to see them all.”
Because Annie had shown so much interest in the stereopticon, Amanda sent it home with her. She spent the rest of the day looking up the places in the history book and making notes. By midnight, she’d learned a great deal about Egypt and Greece, but so much remained for her to study. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d show some of the slides to the class and then assign a place to every child to report on, using the books Miss Palfrey had sent. She would learn as the students did for as long as she could.
With Minnie in her lap, Annie settled on the front step of the schoolhouse and leaned against the door. It was nearly dusk. The students had left hours earlier and she’d been reading the seventh-level history book ever since. Dates and names flitted hither and yon in her brain but refused to organize themselves there. Her head ached as if she’d hit it several times with the book. That probably would have been easier than reading the volume and nearly as effective.
Leaning forward, she dropped her head into her hands and tried hard not to cry. She’d believed she’d made it, that she’d learned enough, that she’d become a teacher. How stupid and pretentious of her. She’d listened and read enough to learn words like pretentious but the real facts—what the older students had to know—still eluded her no matter how much time she spent trying to stuff the knowledge in. Each new fact raised more questions which made her realize how much more there was to learn. On top of that, history seemed interconnected. To understand the American Revolution, she had to understand the Magna Carta, the history of England and much more.
As she considered the situation, the wind swept through the grove of trees around the schoolhouse. The branches waved noisily and the leaves shook, whispering secrets to each other.
Weary, she felt so weary and old and…foolish. Heedless, as her father had always said. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought of him for months, not since she’d become Matilda Cunningham. Now he came back to mock her, to tell her that he’d been right, she never planned ahead.
She hated that.
Dear God, please help me. I know I’ve sinned by telling this lie, but now I want to be the best teacher I can. Please help me. As she prayed, she let her pain pour out wordlessly, knowing that God heard her. Finally she whispered, “Amen,” but kept her head bent.
Hearing something in the breeze, Minnie leaped from Annie’s lap and ran inside the schoolhouse.
“Matilda?”
She lifted her head from her hands. In the fading light, she could make out John on his flashy black horse, the right mount for a successful rancher.
“Yes,” she answered.
He dismounted, and tied the horse to the stair rail, only a few feet from her. “I wanted to check your windows and see if everything’s tied down. We’re supposed to have a storm tonight, although it may be all wind.” He surveyed the sky with a frown while the wind blew and the leaves crackled.
“Do you believe we’ll finally get rain?” she asked. They hadn’t received a drop since she’d arrived, and everyone discussed the possibility of drought. She turned her eyes away as if studying the darker sky in the east, but she could still feel his presence, the warmth of his closeness.
“I don’t know, but I hope so. I’m going to check the schoolhouse.”
“Thank you.”
She heard him outside the building, checking the windows. Then he entered through the back door and, from the rattling she heard, seemed to be making sure that all the doors and windows fit tightly.
Within five minutes he was back. “Everything seems all right. You should weather the storm with no problem.” He placed his hand on the stone wall. “The walls of this building can withstand anything, but the windows and the doors aren’t as strong.”
For a few seconds, she studied him, then smiled. “John, why are you here? Since I arrived, this building had held up in other windstorms and you didn’t come to check on things.” She touched the wall. “It’s made of stone.”
After studying the schoolhouse seriously for a few seconds, he turned toward her and grinned sheepishly. “All right, it was an excuse. I wanted to see you. I want to see more of you, but I don’t know how. If I spend time alone with you here, gossip could ruin your reputation. So I decided to come down to check the windows.”
She wanted to spend time with him, too, but how? “I’d like to see more of you, too.”
As they looked at each other, a “meow” came from beneath the steps.
“What do we have here?” John leaned down to peer beneath the steps and picked up Minnie.
“That’s Minnie.” She glanced up at him. “Is it all right to have her in the schoolhouse?”
He held the tiny animal in the palm of one hand and gently rubbed her ears. A loud purr emerged from the little body. Annie was amazed by how gentle his large hands were. Finally, he gave Minnie to Annie and said, “She seems healthy. I’m sure she’ll be a great mouser when she grows several inches.”
He continued to watch Annie, the now familiar expression of yearning in his eyes that touched the longing within her. “We haven’t solved anything,” she whispered.
He took a step toward Annie and she didn’t move away. Then he lifted a finger and ran it down her cheek, slowly, tenderly, the warmth of his caress pouring into those cold and barren places within her.
“No,” he whispered. “No, but we’ll keep trying. If it’s all right with you, we’ll keep trying. There has to be a way.”
She nodded, putting her hand on his for a moment before he stepped away. “Goodbye,” he whispered. “You stay inside where it’s safe.”
As she watched him ride off, she wished she could call him back. She wished he would lean toward her again and run his finger down her cheek.
He cared for her. At least, she thought he did. John was gentle and concerned for her. How would a kiss from him feel?
Chapter Ten
“Miss Cunningham, you want to know what I’d really like to do?” Wilber Bryan asked.
She stood outside, watching the children play duck duck goose. The weather had become colder each day in December, but the students still liked to run around outside after a morning of work. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her, she asked, “What is that?”
“I’d like to take the eighth-grade examination.”
She turned from the children to study Wilber’s face. “The test students take to get into high school?”
He nodded. “I can’t go to high school, but it would feel good to know that I’m smart enough, that I know enough, too.”
Annie could almost hear the words Wilber hadn’t said. His sentence might have ended with, “If I didn’t have to take care of the farm.” No, with his family situation, he couldn’t go beyond eighth grade, but if taking the examination was his dream, Annie would do whatever was possible to help him.
“How are we going to do that, Wilber?”
“I wondered.” He dropped his gaze to the bare ground. “Would you teach me? I don’t have to do much at the farm right now, not until we start planting. I can stay late after school maybe, if you could teach me then. And maybe I could come on Saturday afternoons?”
“Wilber, you know we can’t be alone together in the schoolhouse, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I know.” With a shrug, he added, “That’s okay.” Shoulders bent, he began to shuffle back to where the other students were playing
.
“But I have an idea, Wilber. Let me check on something. I’ll let you know if we can work it out.”
He turned to smile at her. “Thank you, ma’am. I could pay you a little for your time. My parents know this is important to me. They’ll help.”
Annie knew the Bryans had nothing extra—not a penny—and the more she taught, the more she learned. “Don’t worry about that.”
When Lucia arrived to help with lunch, Annie asked, “Would you like Miguel to be able to read and write and do sums?”
Lucia looked around her quickly. “Shh, Miss Cunningham. There are people here who do not think Mexican children should be in school.”
“But would you like him to?” Annie whispered.
“So much. He could have a better life. Mr. Sullivan is very good to us, but who knows what will happen tomorrow? Only God knows where Miguel will end up working in twenty years, but if he could read and write…Oh, that would be a wonderful thing. He’d have a future.”
“Wilber Bryan asked me to tutor him but I can’t do that alone. If you came to the schoolhouse after two-thirty and perhaps on Saturdays to chaperone, you could bring Miguel. I can work with him while he’s here. No one would know but the four of us.”
Tears gathered in Lucia’s eyes. “Oh, Miss, yes. We can come. Thank you.”
The next afternoon, Annie explained Lucia’s agreement to Wilber and suggested he stay late the next day.
“Thank you.” Eagerly, he opened the math book to the section on algebra and started working on his slate.
The next afternoon, Annie said, “Miguel, I have some books here you may enjoy,” Annie said. She put a primary reader on his desk. “You can see pictures of different objects. The letters that make up the objects’ names are below the picture.” She pointed at the page.
“I see that, Miss Cunningham.”
She handed him a slate. “Write the list of words over and over, until your letters look just like the ones in the book.”
After an hour with Wilber and Miguel, Lucia had to leave to help with dinner. Annie gave each student a book to study and bring back the next day. When she closed the door behind them, she felt a sense of purpose. The intelligence God had given her might change the lives of these two young people and, if she wasn’t mistaken, also of Lucia, who’d carefully watched everything her son was doing and used her finger to copy the letters on the tabletop. Tomorrow Annie would give her a slate to practice with.
Amanda nudged the door of the sheriff’s office open, slowly and silently, in the hope of seeing his initial response when she entered. “Hello, Sheriff Bennett.”
He glanced up at her, exasperated and not a bit pleased.
Never one to back down in the face of disappointment, Amanda walked right in, showing a confidence she wasn’t quite feeling.
Like a gentleman, he stood.
“Because it’s almost Christmas, I’ve brought you some cookies.” She placed a plate of decadent chocolate fudge, several lemon scones and pulled cream candy on his desk. “The lemon ones taste especially good.”
“Thank you.” He nodded. “And thank your cook, please.”
“You don’t believe I made them myself?” She smiled at him, showing every dimple.
He didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes returned to the paper he’d been reading. His lack of interest was enough to make even the most determined flirt give up. When she didn’t leave, he fixed his gaze on her. “Do you wish to report a crime?”
“Sheriff, I swan. You ignore everything I do. Don’t you recognize it when a young woman flirts with you?” She glanced up at him and fluttered her lashes.
“Miss Hanson, I’ve been a lawman for years. I recognize clues. It’s not that I can’t identify them. Sometimes I’m just not interested in pursuing them.”
She almost staggered when the meaning of his words hit her. Not interested. She touched the charming blue bonnet, which brought out the color of her eyes, to make sure it sat correctly on her curls. He hadn’t even noticed how stunningly attractive it was. With a sigh, she said, “I made the cookies myself. I hope you enjoy them.” Then she hurried out of the office.
As she turned to close the door behind her, she was startled to see the sheriff studying her as if she were one of the tempting delicacies she’d brought him. Almost immediately, his expression became neutral, but she’d seen that bit of…of some emotion she hadn’t seen in him before. She could read clues, too, and he’d been lying—he was interested. In fact, she could say that for a second, she’d seen desire on his face.
“Goodbye, Sheriff,” she called. With a smile of determination and delight, Amanda climbed into the phaeton, flicked the reins and started home to prepare a new strategy.
Annie’s first Christmas in Trail’s End would arrive in a little over a week. If she weren’t a mature, professional teacher, she would have skipped down the road in anticipation of the holiday. She forced herself to walk slowly and primly from the schoolhouse toward town. Coins jingled in her purse and a few dollars were folded inside. On this cold, bright Tuesday afternoon, she planned to buy presents. A bottle of soothing balm for Lucia whose hands were raw from washing clothes, something frivolous for Amanda and a bag of candy for the students.
As she walked, she noticed the grass along the verge had died, and dust rose from the road to cover her shoes. The children said this had been the driest year they could remember—no rain for five months. She studied the clear, cloudless sky. No chance of showers today, either.
Only a few feet from the dry-goods door, she paused and opened her purse to count her change. When she’d reached fifty-seven cents, she heard the door of the store open and she glanced up to see a man walk out. She recognized his face. In horror, she turned away, allowing him to see only her back.
Although he’d stopped only a few feet away from her, she didn’t think he’d seen her face. Hadn’t he been looking down the street in the other direction when he’d left the store? She stood there trembling, her head bent, praying. Please, Lord, don’t let him recognize me.
After what seemed like forever, she heard him walk away, his boots clomping against the boards of the sidewalk until he mounted a horse and rode off.
When the sound of hoofbeats died away, Annie allowed herself to breathe again, but she couldn’t stop shaking.
What had brought Willie Preston from Weaver City to Trail’s End?
Had he recognized her? She thought not. Preston had frequented Miss Ruby’s enough to recognize Annie, prostitute and daughter of the drunken murderer George MacAllister. But she didn’t think he’d seen her well enough to identify her. Besides, she looked very different now.
More than anything, she wanted to go back to the schoolhouse and hide, but she would not allow Willie Preston to change her plans. With a quick glance down the street to make sure he’d left, she turned and entered the store. As she studied a bolt of fabric she couldn’t afford, she asked Mr. Johnson, “Was that a newcomer to town? The man who just left?” Her voice quivered a little, but other than that, she sounded fairly normal.
“Him? No, just passing through.” Mr. Johnson finished straightening the cans on a shelf. “Had a lot of questions, but said he had to head back to Weaver City.”
“Questions?” She realized she was clenching the fabric. She forced herself to let go of it before she set wrinkles in it.
“Wanted to know a few things, like where the Sullivan ranch was.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Told him I didn’t know anyone named Sullivan,” he said. “Can’t trust strangers, that’s what I think.”
Preston had asked about the Sullivan ranch? Did that mean he knew where Annie lived? Had he tracked her down? If he had, why?
Oh, no reason for that. Annie was no one. She’d never done anything important enough for someone to look for her. His being here had nothing to do with her. Must be pure coincidence that she lived in the place he’d asked about.
But why had Willie Pres
ton come to Trail’s End? Why had he asked questions about the Sullivans? Preston would work for anyone, doing whatever his employer paid him for. Did his questions mean the Sullivans were in danger? Oh, surely not. What connection could there be between Trail’s End and Weaver City? Between Willie Preston and the Sullivans?
After she got home and put the gifts away, she paced through the confines of the schoolhouse. If she weren’t so worried, the sight of Minnie racing behind her and attacking her hem would have made Annie smile, but she couldn’t find anything amusing at this moment. She went outside and settled on the bench to think. However, she found all of her thoughts in such a jumble, she couldn’t stay still. Why was he here? What would he do about her? Would he hurt the Sullivans? Did she need to tell John?
After twenty minutes with no answers, she went back inside. All the worrying in the world wouldn’t solve the problem. She’d have to wait until Preston did something. It could have been mere coincidence.
But she didn’t think so.
To distract her thoughts, she pulled the fifth-level mathematics book out and opened it. Numbers always calmed her.
When Annie opened the book, she saw something near the back of the book that she’d never seen before: math problems that used letters, as well as numbers. She read, “25 + x = 39.” What did that mean? A few pages later, she discovered something called an equation, which used brackets and parentheses.
How did those letters and signs end up in arithmetic? What did one do with them?
She turned back a few pages to see the chapter heading: “Algebra.” Algebra? What was algebra? Obviously it had something to do with x and y and other signs.
She hadn’t bothered to study mathematics ahead of the children because she was good with numbers. She understood and could teach arithmetic with no trouble.
How could she possibly have guessed there was more to it than numbers? She closed the book and shut her eyes. This was worse than she’d ever considered. With the addition of geography and history, she had to work every night and all weekend to stay ahead of the students now. How could she possibly find time to learn algebra? And she figured there were probably more things she’d never heard of lurking in the book.
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