“John is a family man,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. She put her arm around the younger woman. “And he works too much. You won’t see much of him. I keep telling him he needs a wife.”
John didn’t rise to her teasing. He was used to her occasional matchmaking attempts.
If Miss White had come to Granbury looking to find a husband, she would be sorely disappointed. As the population had dwindled, the town had nearly died. Young men and women of a marriageable age had moved away. John was the only single man in town.
The fact that Miss White had insisted numerous times during her interview that she wasn’t interested in marriage had been a point in her favor. If she wasn’t looking to marry, she would stay.
He hadn’t considered that boarding under the same roof might pose a problem.
He met her direct stare from two steps above her. “Mrs. Fitzgerald is the most moral person I know. The school board accepted that we would both be living under her watchful eyes.”
“It’s true,” the older woman said. “I don’t abide any uncouth behavior in my house.”
Miss White shot him an inscrutable glance as he excused himself. He went inside and carried the carpetbag upstairs. He could hear the murmur of both women’s voices as he set the bag down in front of Miss White’s door.
There was a window at the end of the hallway, and through it he saw a wagon approaching. That must be Bart from the livery, bringing her trunk over from the station. John would meet him downstairs.
As he clomped down the stairs, he heard Mrs. Fitzgerald and Miss White’s voices from the parlor. He probably should’ve warned her that the other school board members, Mr. Collins and Mr. Tellers, would be by later to greet her.
Collins had voiced a minor concern that Miss White hadn’t been able to provide a reference from her last year teaching. But John had seen it differently. Without a reference, she was more inclined to take the first job that was offered. And Granbury was difficult to travel to without a train station.
It had been easy for John to sway Collins and Tellers to his way of thinking. Not that they’d had any other applicants. It also helped that John’s opinion was as good as gold in their eyes. He’d single-handedly managed to turn things around for the failing town.
Two years ago, when Granbury had been as faded and listless as the paint on the buildings, he’d decided this was the perfect place to put his sawmill. The handful of families barely eking out a living had come to life again.
Now the town was rebuilding. The livery was doing good business, and so was the mercantile. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s boardinghouse was surviving. The only dark cloud was the fact that the creek supplying water to his mill had dried up due to last summer’s drought. But he had a plan for that too.
The town of Granbury thought he’d saved them, when in reality they’d saved him and Ruth. The little town that wasn’t on any of the maps had been a place for the siblings to disappear. To try and make a new life for themselves.
He owed more than the duty of being mayor to the town. He owed them everything.
And finding a schoolteacher was only part of paying back the debt he owed.
He was going to make things work out with Miss White.
He had to.
2
Crunch. Scritch. Roll roll roll.
Cecilia clenched her back teeth against the rising irritation.
She wanted so badly for her first day in the classroom to go well.
The morning had gone according to plan. She’d had the children sit in a circle outside, and they had played a game where they'd tossed a ball around the circle and introduced themselves. She’d memorized half of the children's names and been repeating the others all afternoon.
Jericho and Edward were brothers, nine and ten, and they looked so similar with their brown hair and eyes that she had a hard time telling them apart. It didn't help that their mother had made their shirts out of the same pale blue material.
Ethel was all of five, tiny and blue-eyed. She could already read some of the easier words.
Roy was seven and couldn’t read at all.
Ruth, of course. John’s sister. Cecilia couldn’t figure her out. She’d been quiet all morning at her desk. But outside at recess, she’d been a hellion during a game of tag and a chatterbox sitting next to a girl her age. Minnie something.
Scriiitch.
She glanced up, noting that everyone was still and silent, looking at the slates on their desks.
Sometime after lunch, someone had brought what seemed like a bushel of acorns into the classroom. At first, they’d rolled along the floor like marbles. And then as they spread throughout the classroom, people had stomped on them or were using the pieces to drag along the plank floor. It created the most obnoxious noise Cecilia had ever heard.
When it had first happened, she’d tried to unobtrusively discover who had brought the acorns in. They’d spilled from the back of the classroom toward the front, so she had started there.
Asher and Caleb, thirteen and fifteen respectively, sat on the back row. Both of them had appeared to be innocent, blushing and stammering when she’d asked them whether they knew where the acorns had come from. Maybe Mr. Morgan was right about Cecilia being a distraction to them. She could only hope it would pass as time went on.
In the next row of children were a boy of ten named Lee, along with Minnie and Ruth. Cecilia had asked whether any of those three knew where the acorns had come from, and they’d all proclaimed innocence.
The problem was, she didn't know any of them well enough to tell who was lying. One of the five children was a consummate liar, giving no indication of their guilt with eyes that slanted to the side or a blush or even a dropped head.
At least the day was almost over.
She’d spent most of the afternoon evaluating the children individually. Each child stood near her desk as she took them through some basic mathematics and reading exercises. Over the next weeks, she would formulate a plan for each one that would challenge them to learn at their level.
Now, the older children were supposed to be writing a short essay about their favorite day during the summer while the younger children drew a picture of the same.
At her desk, she looked over the list of names and the notations she’d made about their education. She was beginning to understand why she’d been hired on even without a reference.
She knew from the school board that there had been no formal school in place last year due to lack of a teacher. Many of the children were far behind what she would have expected for their ages.
Perhaps a different teacher might've felt dread at the amount of work that needed to be done. Cecilia only felt a stirring of excitement. These children needed her. It wasn't as if she hadn’t expected a prank or two on her first few days in the classroom. It happened every year when she was a child, and it happened ever since she’d begun teaching. The children wanted to know who their teacher was. She only had to show them that she wouldn't stand for any nonsense. That if they came to class and did their work, everyone would get along fine.
"Asher, would you fetch the broom and sweep up all of the acorn detritus?”
“What’s detr—det—?” Lee stumbled over the word.
Most of the back two rows looked at Cecilia curiously.
“Detritus is a word that means debris.” When Minnie scrunched up her face almost comically, Cecilia went on. “The acorn shells and pieces.”
“Why didn’t she just say that?”
Cecilia couldn’t tell where the mumble came from. Either Asher or Caleb, in the last row.
“I’ll do it!" Ruth jumped from her desk and headed for the back of the classroom, where the broom was kept.
It was her first day. Cecilia should speak to the girl about acting out of turn. Technically, she’d asked Asher to do the task. But she let it go for now, not wanting to seem unreasonable.
She didn't know whether having Ruth sweep up the acorns was more of a distraction than the ac
orns themselves, but at the least it made Cecilia feel as if something was being accomplished.
She checked the watch pinned to her blouse and then walked down the rows of desks, picking up the children's essays.
When the day was over, she dismissed the children with a smile and a wave and told them she was looking forward to seeing them again tomorrow.
She was back at her desk, shuffling through the essays, when she realized that Ruth’s paper was completely blank.
Cecilia strolled down Main Street after she'd tidied up the classroom. She still had hours of work ahead of her this evening preparing lessons for tomorrow. But if she didn’t take a break, her thoughts would tumble about like dandelion fluff.
She greeted the man behind the counter at the dry goods store with a wave. He was with another customer so she didn't interrupt. She idly browsed the bolts of fabric. Mama had made her two new dresses over the summer, a gift for Cecilia's birthday. She didn't need anything for herself, but it was still fun to look. Nearby, she saw a beautiful pair of kidskin gloves and couldn't help touching them. They would make a perfect gift for her sister Velma's twelfth birthday later this fall.
She told the proprietor as much when he greeted her a few minutes later.
“Harold Jamison. Happy to meet you." He was all smiles. "I can give you a good price on the gloves, if you're of a mind to buy them today."
"I'll think about it. I'm still getting settled in."
"Folks around here is sure happy to have you. My son spoke highly of you this afternoon.”
She wracked her brain to connect the two. A Jamison child… ah. The thirteen-year-old Asher.
"I'm delighted to be here. I've only begun to know Asher in the classroom, but I feel certain we will have a good year together."
He nodded, clearly pleased. “Mr. Morgan did a good thing hiring you. He's a good man to work for. Bringing back the school was his idea, you know."
She shook her head noncommittally.
Mr. Jamison seemed to think her a willing audience. “John's a fine businessman. Gave me some good advice when my store was struggling. His mill brought life back to the town. We even had three new families move here last year. And it's all because of John."
Mr. Jamison certainly seemed to think her new boss hung the moon. So did Mrs. Fitzgerald, who had spent a good portion of their chat yesterday telling Cecilia how wonderful John was.
Cecilia wasn’t convinced. She relived the dip her stomach had felt yesterday when he’d escorted her down the boardwalk. Wasn’t there such a thing as too charming? She wasn’t sure she trusted him, no matter what Mr. Jamison and Mrs. Fitzgerald thought.
Another customer entered, and Cecilia was taking her leave of the store when Mr. Jamison called out, “My wife’s looking forward to meeting you at the social after church service on Sunday. Everyone in town will be there.”
A frisson of unease slithered down her spine even as she waved and ducked out the door. She didn't mind standing in front of the classroom to teach, but being put on display for the entire town to gawk at was another thing. Would she be grilled on her education? Her teaching experience? What was she to say if some of the parents asked about her last job? She’d told the school board the truth but couldn't imagine they wanted rumors of her behavior floating around town. She needed to earn Granbury’s trust if she was to teach their children.
Mrs. Fitzgerald had told her supper would be served promptly at half past five, so she headed toward the boardinghouse. Last night, she’d taken a tray up to her room, tired after her journey.
But it would be rude to ask for a tray again, the second night in a row. The thought of eating supper across the table from John made her appetite waver, but she told herself it would be a good chance to get to know Ruth. The girl had seemed friendly enough in the classroom, but she hadn't completed the simple assignment that Cecilia had given the class. Cecilia needed to know why.
If the girl needed help, that was one thing. But if Ruth had refused out of spite and Cecilia let it go, it could set a precedent for the rest of the year.
Mrs. Fitzgerald rang the dinner bell from the back porch. Probably calling for Ruth, who was playing outside.
John stood over his desk in the parlor, leaning on one hand as he pored over the sketches spread across the surface. In the beginning, he’d arranged with Mrs. Fitzgerald to use part of the room to conduct his business. The ornate desk and chair had been incorporated into the room’s décor, and Mrs. Fitzgerald usually left him with plenty of privacy to balance his accounts.
The creek still wasn’t producing enough of a current to turn his waterwheel, and he needed to make a decision soon on the purchase of a steam engine.
The schematics for the engine he was considering were more complicated than he had anticipated. Neither he nor his foreman had worked with an engine like this before, but they needed some way to operate the saws and produce lumber, which was in high demand. Two freighters worked for John, delivering lumber by the wagonload.
Movement in the hallway alerted him that he wasn’t alone. He looked up to see Miss White hovering outside the sitting room. Her gaze glanced to him and then bounced away.
He acknowledged her with a nod. "Good evening."
“Mr. Morgan."
If anything, she was even more stilted than she had been yesterday. That wouldn’t do at all. “Shall we forego the formalities? I’m John and you’re Cecilia. All right?”
Her lips pressed together in a tiny frown. “As you wish.”
"I trust you had a good day in the classroom. Any problems?"
Something shifted in her eyes. Her smile seemed contrived. “Things went smoothly for the most part. The children and I are still getting to know one another."
"Don't hesitate to come to me if anything comes up."
"Certainly,” she said stiffly. "Although I'm not sure how you'll have time to deal with anything trivial. I spoke to several people in town this afternoon who mentioned how hard you work and that your business keeps you very busy." She inclined her head to indicate the paper spread on the desk in front of him. "I can see that they’re right.”
"Schooling is important. I'll make time."
He’d never had any formal education. His childhood had been spent constantly moving around, looking over his shoulder to see whether someone his parents had wronged was on their trail. His father was sometimes a confidence man and sometimes an outright thief. His mother had gone along with all of it, often helping his father to spin the lies they told.
At one point his mother had bought John a set of primers, but she herself didn't know how to read and hadn't been able to teach him. He could pick out some letters but didn't know how to put them together to form words. Thankfully, counting and sums came easily to him. He might not be able to read a contract, but he had good business sense and could make the numbers work.
There was something about Cecilia… Maybe it was the way she looked at him with a hint of suspicion. Or the way she’d admired his looks in the very beginning. Or maybe it was his own pride.
But he had no intention of telling her he couldn’t read. She didn't need to know that he hadn't had an education, only that he supported her and wanted a good education for Ruth.
Mrs. Fitzgerald came through the kitchen door off of the porch, Ruth’s chatter following her.
"Wash up, young lady."
He left his desk and followed Cecilia into the dining room. The table sat six, but Mrs. Fitzgerald rarely had other boarders. He ended up directly across from the schoolteacher, with Ruth at her side. Mrs. Fitzgerald sat at his side, and the head and foot of the table remained empty.
Mrs. Fitzgerald always insisted on a prayer before the meal, and he reached his hand across the table. Cecilia hesitated before slipping her fingers into his. Her skin was cool and soft, and awareness traveled up his arm. It took him a moment to settle his thoughts and give thanks for their meal.
Cecilia was quick to drop his hand after his amen. Too
quick. It was almost unnatural.
"Did you have a good day at school?" Mrs. Fitzgerald was the one to ask the question, and he was once again thankful for the woman who’d become a close friend.
His sister needed a woman's influence in her life. It would be even better having Cecilia here, having two women that Ruth could look up to. Certainly the experiences she’d had growing up weren't the best examples of moral character.
Mrs. Fitzgerald had directed the question at Ruth, but when the girl shoved a bite of fried chicken into her mouth, it was Cecilia who spoke.
“We had a lovely day. Ruth helped me sweep up a mess toward the end of the day. It's nice to have someone in class who’s ready to help."
He cut his eyes to his sister, who was studiously scooping mashed potatoes into a little mountain on her plate. Ruth often had to be reminded two or three times to complete her chores. She never made her bed without complaining.
He didn’t believe the innocence in her expression now, though Cecilia didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
Cecilia looked at her plate as she addressed him. “I was wondering whether the school board had given any thought to putting on a performance. Or recitation. Maybe close to Christmas?"
Mrs. Fitzgerald rose from the table. “That sounds lovely.” She excused herself to the kitchen.
Ruth perked up, too. "Like playacting?"
He sent an exasperated glance toward his sister. When they had first moved to Granbury, he'd impressed upon her the importance of living their new lives the right way. He didn't want her pretending or being someone other than who she was.
Cecilia smiled, obviously getting excited about the idea. “Not playacting. It would be an opportunity for each child to show their parents some of the things we learn. Perhaps you will have memorized a poem. Do you like poetry?"
His sister wrinkled her nose and didn't answer.
Cecilia glanced at him. She cleared her throat delicately and placed a dainty bite into her mouth and chewed.
Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14) Page 2
