Inside, the men were seated on the first two of the church’s recently completed wooden pews. The lectern Reverend Colburn stood behind on Sunday mornings was in its place at the front of the chapel. Instead of standing behind the lectern, reading from his Bible, the reverend was standing beside it with one elbow leaning against it and his feet crossed at the ankle.
She surveyed the back of the other elders’ heads and counted the men. Eleven total. The reverend, the seven other family elders including her father, and the three young men who would one day replace their fathers on the elder council—Jonah, Henry, and Gabriel—each sitting beside his father. They were all giving Mr. Roberts their attention. The reverend appeared to be focused on Mr. Roberts, but if he looked at the door he would see her peeking in.
She lowered her heels. Why did she have to do this? Her father should have taken up her cause. Why did she have to march into their meeting and demand their attention? Even Gabe could have done something before now. But he hadn’t.
The children in this settlement—and all born after them—deserved an education. The elders had said so back when they planned the group migration, but she alone remembered. Her father had said teaching children was her calling no matter where she taught and she should focus on that. Her calling was indeed to the children, and they needed a schoolhouse and the daily routine of education to help them focus and feel stable.
Her father didn’t care enough to take the matter before the elders. Gabe said he cared, but not enough to break the settlement’s rules. It was up to her to stand up for the children.
She drew a long breath and turned the door handle. As she pulled the heavy door open, Reverend Colburn’s eyes shot to her. He held up a finger, halting whatever Mr. Roberts was saying. One by one, the men turned their faces toward the door, the younger men agilely and the middle-aged men more stiffly. Within seconds all eyes were on her.
Her father stood. “Livy? What’s wrong?” He managed to keep his voice inquisitive, but his scowl betrayed his anger. He knew why she was there. They all did.
She walked along the outside aisle to the front of the church. With every step forward, the empty click of her boot heels echoed off the chapel walls and ceiling. The hollow sound matched the worried expressions of the elders.
Reaching the front pew, she studied the faces of the men. She knew every one of them well, and they her, but her breach of custom made them feel like strangers. She opened her mouth to speak, but the unwelcoming stares frightened the words from her lips.
Doctor Ashton scratched his bearded cheek then shook his head with short rapid movement, warning her. Mr. Foster looked away. Even kind Mr. Vestal leaned his elbows upon his knees and watched her with one eyebrow raised.
Reverend Colburn broke the silence. “Yes, Miss Owens?”
“I’ve come to ask you all to consider my request. Jesus heard the appeals of those whom His disciples tried to turn away. I ask that you heed our Lord’s example and hear me now.”
Her father raked his callused fingers through his thinning hair. “I apologize for this, Reverend. Go home, Livy.”
Reverend Colburn held up his hand, and her father slowly sat back down. The reverend returned his gaze to her. “What is your request?”
She had planned to look at each of the men one at a time to appeal to them individually as she addressed the group. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t look anyone in the eye other than Reverend Colburn. “As you know I’ve been teaching school from house to house for over a month. I am grateful for the honor of teaching the children, but one class per week is not sufficient to educate the next generation.” She clasped her hands to keep from wringing them. “It is imperative that we build a schoolhouse and soon. The children will learn better in a dedicated environment and benefit greatly from the daily routine of a class schedule. Every man here received a proper education. The least we can do is offer the same opportunity to the children of Good Springs.”
Reverend Colburn tapped one finger repeatedly on the lectern as he eyed her. She waited for him to harangue her for bypassing her family’s elder, for disrespecting their rules, and for interrupting their meeting. At last, he broke his gaze and spread his palms toward the pews. “Does anyone want to sponsor this issue on Miss Owens’ behalf?”
Again more silence.
In her peripheral vision, she could see Gabe looking at her, but she couldn’t get herself to look directly at him. Her breath burned in her lungs, wanting to beg him to help, but if he hoped to win her heart he would have to support her without being asked.
Gabe slowly rose. “I will.”
“You cannot,” Reverend Colburn stated, emphatically. “You are here to learn from your father, but you aren’t an elder yet.”
Gabe remained standing, though he was expected to sit. His set jaw and inscrutable expression gave away neither disdain nor agreement, but he was still standing.
Mr. McIntosh shifted in the pew then stood shoulder to shoulder with his son. “I will sponsor Miss Owens’ request. Olivia has given of herself in a way that no other young woman in the settlement has. My children are learning from her and look forward to their time with her all week. She is especially patient with my Barnabus, teaching him to read though he cannot hear or speak, and Rebecca and I are grateful. Miss Owens is right. Our children would benefit from daily instruction.”
Reverend Colburn removed his spectacles. “All right, Thomas. We will discuss the matter of building a schoolhouse in the future, but not tonight. Thank you, Miss Owens. If that is all, we must continue our business in an orderly manner. Gabriel, would you see Miss Owens home, please?”
Gabriel left the pew, and Mr. McIntosh sat back down.
As Olivia turned to walk to the chapel door, her father put his head in his weathered hands. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Her chin dipped to her chest and she hurried for the exit.
Gabe pushed the door open and closed it behind them. She expected him to offer his arm or give her some touch of reassurance. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and descended the steps in front of her.
She gathered the edge of her shawl around her neck to shield her skin from the wind that blew ahead of the storm. Gabe rushed across the lawn and toward the road. In her haste to keep up, her ankle turned on a rock. She released a wordless curse and slowed her pace. Though shadowy and cold outside, she’d rather walk by herself in the dark than be hurried.
Gabe kept walking. In all the years she’d known him, she couldn’t recall ever having seen him angry. It didn’t suit him.
She’d rather be alone than be treated poorly, now and in life. “If you are hurrying me home so you can return to the meeting, just go back right now. I got myself here and I can see myself home.”
He forcibly exhaled. “Reverend Colburn said for me to take you home.”
She stopped walking. “If you are trying to punish me, I don’t deserve it and I won’t have it.”
He abruptly halted his steps and looked back at her. The wind blew his hair across his forehead. “You shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
“I did it for the children.”
“You did it for yourself.”
“Not so!” she yelled, unintentionally.
“You owe your father an apology.”
Her heart hit the wall of her chest. “I did what I had to do because he didn’t do what he should have done.”
“What about me?”
“You think I owe you an apology too?”
“No. But how about a thank you?”
“I planned to thank you, but you are in such a rush to get me home, I wasn’t sure you would have time for it. But now that you have stopped: thank you, Gabriel McIntosh, for standing up for me.”
“A little less sarcasm would make it more palatable.”
“Well, you should have spoken up for me weeks ago. You wouldn’t, so I had to come here tonight and make the request myself.”
He jerked his hand from his pocket and ja
bbed himself in the chest with his fingertips. “So now it’s my fault?”
“No. It is mine.” She lowered her voice. “I care about the children in this settlement and am devoting my life to teaching them. My request for them was not being heard so I did what I had to do.” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, but he still felt miles away. “I appreciate your standing up on my behalf, even if you don’t understand the passion that drove me to interrupt the meeting in the first place. I am grateful to you and to your father for sponsoring my cause. Whether the schoolhouse gets approved or not remains to be seen. But you stood up for me and I’m grateful. The rest is out of my hands now… and yours.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, matching their tones. Gabe didn’t move. He only looked down at her. His eyes pleaded with her, but for what she didn’t know.
She would not apologize. She had already thanked him. There was nothing more to be said. She turned her face away to break his stare. “You can return to the meeting. I don’t need to be chaperoned home.”
“No. I said I would see you home and I will.”
“I don’t want to walk with you if you’re angry with me.” She glanced at the chapel behind them. “I expected to argue with Reverend Colburn tonight and maybe some of the elders if they became vexed, but not with you.”
“I’m not angry with you, Liv. I’m frustrated by the whole situation. It shouldn’t be this hard. Our settlement needs a school. I have the lumber. My father and I are carpenters. There is plenty of land. And you are right that this shouldn’t be so hard. But this is the system the men agreed on before they left America and they are sticking to it. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
A roll of thunder drew his attention to the east. She expected it to reignite his urgency, but when he looked back at her, his expression had softened. He offered his arm. “I guess this is what you meant when you asked if you had my loyalty.”
“Yes. And you did stand up for me tonight.” She took his arm. “I don’t expect anything else from you.”
“That’s just it… you should expect more from me. I’m going to become one of the elders here someday. I agree with most of their rules. But it wasn’t fair that they ignored your request for so long. You shouldn’t have had to come here tonight.” He smoothed her hand over his arm. “Let me walk you home.”
Chapter Eight
Mud slurped beneath Olivia’s boots as she walked home from teaching at the Ashtons’ house. The storm had left puddles on the rain-soaked road and thick clouds in the afternoon sky. A chill crawled over her skin, and it wasn’t from the cold. She pushed her long braid over her shoulder to cover the back of her neck.
Mrs. Cotter was standing on the sandy lot across from the chapel, speaking in frantic but hushed tones with Mrs. Roberts.
Olivia nodded a greeting to the whispering ladies as she passed.
Neither reciprocated, but only scowled at her. Mrs. Cotter shielded her mouth and leaned toward Mrs. Roberts as she filled her ear. Mrs. Roberts flared her nostrils at whatever Mrs. Cotter said and shook her head in disapproval at Olivia. Their gossipy susurrations carried on the wind until Olivia made it home.
As she opened the back door, her three sisters walked out, one at a time. She held the door and lifted her chin at Alice. “Where are you all going?”
Alice tied her bonnet. “To the Fosters’ farm. Mrs. Foster is going to show us how to weave burlap.”
Olivia wanted to go too, but she had to memorize tomorrow’s lesson plans.
Inside, her mother was wiping the stove. Her father and brother were sitting in front of empty lunch plates at the table. When her father saw her in the doorway unlacing her boots, he set his cup on his tin plate. “Come on, Walter. It’s time to get back to work.” He left without acknowledging her, and Walter followed him.
Richie ran to the back door. “Wait for me!” he called to their father as he jumped from the porch.
Her mother closed the door behind them and then turned to Olivia. “I do hope they let Richie help with the work this afternoon. That boy has energy to spare. Your father is so focused on training Walter to cut stone that he forgets Richie is his son too.”
Olivia stared out the circular window at the figures disappearing into the barn. “How long will Father stay angry with me?”
Mary returned to the stove with her rag. “What did you expect?”
She let her vision blur as she gazed outside. “I expected the elders to say yes, you are right, we need a schoolhouse. Thank you for bringing it to our attention. We shall start building immediately.”
“Wrong.” Mary grinned sardonically. “And what did you expect your father to do?”
“I don’t know.” She left the window and flopped her satchel onto the tabletop. “I guess I thought he’d see how much it meant to me and to the village. Maybe he’d apologize for ignoring the issue. I didn’t expect him to be so angry he wouldn’t say hello to me.”
“I didn’t hear you say hello to him either.” Her mother tossed the rag into the rinse water with a plop. “You will never have a peaceful relationship with men if you insist on castrating them.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You took away his power.”
“He wasn’t using it.”
“That was his choice.”
“He chose poorly.”
Mary wiped her hands on her stained apron. “You have only been teaching for a month. You are forceful with your plans and insist things can only work if they align with your ideal circumstances. The men would have gotten around to building a schoolhouse. And they will get to the salt works Mrs. Colburn thinks we need and the gristmill Mrs. Ashton wants and the iron furnace Mrs. Roberts believes is of vital importance.”
“So that’s why they were whispering about me.” Dejected, Olivia lowered herself into a chair at the table. “I didn’t realize—”
“No, you didn’t. You had your mind set on your own plans and haven’t stopped to consider what other needs there might be in this settlement.” Mary sat on the chair beside her. “You’re young and think you have to prove yourself, but you can’t do it in a month. Take time to watch what is going on around you. Listen to your elders and to the parents and to the students.” Mary held up a finger to emphasize a point. “That doesn’t mean you should stifle your own opinions or that you should live to please everyone else, but at least listen to them.”
Her mother was right. She dropped her head into her hands. “I already felt like an intruder in most of the homes, and now I’ve only made it worse. It’s hard enough to get the students to pay attention to their lessons. Just today, James Ashton, who used to be proficient at calculus, wouldn’t sit still long enough to complete a simple review. He kept going to the window to see what his older brothers were doing with the horse Mr. Cotter gave Doctor Ashton.”
“There will always be some distraction for students. You should help them by making the lessons more interesting.”
She lifted her head. “How? We have limited books, only a few hours together, and hardly any materials to expand the lessons.”
“I’m not sure how, to be truthful. I never had to teach in peculiar circumstances like these. You have to lure them into learning. Make the lessons relevant to their lives.”
Olivia almost rolled her eyes. “Mother, everyone needs to read and write and add. Those lessons are relevant. And the other lessons are all subjects their peers would be learning back home… subjects you taught us in school ten years ago.”
“Yes, but instead of simply assigning reading, writing, and arithmetic homework, equip the children to solve the problems they will encounter in daily life—not daily life doing business in America, but life as it actually is for them here. These children are growing up in the throws of homesteading and building a settlement in a remote land. Someday they might enjoy learning French and calculus, but for now they need to know how to find plants that produce dyes, how to turn flax into linen, and h
ow to test well water.”
“The parents are teaching practical skills, aren’t they?”
“Some. But every family has different knowledge. Find out what your students need to learn.”
“Either formal education is needed and we should establish it, including a schoolhouse, or it isn’t needed and we should just spend our time quilting.”
Mary tilted her head and sighed. “Try not to become bitter. We are all learning as we go. We are teaching each other.”
“I know in my heart I am doing the right thing.” Olivia looked toward the overcast light filtering through the front windows. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is teach school. I believe it is my purpose… my calling.”
“And I believe that too.” Her mother stood and tied on her bonnet. “But I suggest you make the lessons apply to your students’ lives… especially while you are fighting to get their attention and their parents’ approval.”
Mary gathered her gloves and basket and left to check the crab traps at the shore. The house fell quiet, save for the crackling gray leaf log on the grate. Olivia withdrew her lesson planner from her satchel and carried it to her mother’s rocking chair in the parlor. She had work to do.
She lifted the cover of the journal she’d spent two years filling with lesson plans. Her pencil markings on the first page of notes made sense. The monster was asleep or away or had died. How she had begged the Lord to please let it die! God could remove the impairment from her permanently if He chose. Thus far He had not. But in these moments of clarity, she worked as efficiently as she could. Unless the Lord removed this thorn, her ability to read written words might be momentary.
The Uncharted Beginnings Series Box Set Page 31
