Mrs. Fitzgerald was kind and motherly, something his own mother hadn’t been able to manage. Last winter when Ruth had fallen ill with a fever and a bad cough, the older woman had made a poultice and sat up with her, relieving John to get some badly needed rest.
“And what about Minnie?” he prodded. “Wouldn’t you be sad if we moved on and you had to leave her behind?”
She gave a tiny shrug.
He’d had to walk away from friendships. Cut ties because it wouldn’t do if the people his parents had wronged came after them. For the first time in his life, he had laid down some roots. And he wasn’t going to give up the sense of security he’d finally begun to get used to.
He ruffled her hair the way he had when she was little. She batted at his hands, huffing what might’ve been exasperation but he hoped was closer to a laugh.
“I know living like…” He lowered his voice, glancing at the darkened hallway to make sure Mrs. Fitzgerald or the new schoolteacher weren’t up and about yet. “Living like honest folk ain’t easy. It takes some getting used to. But it’s worth it.”
He hoped she would agree with him. Hoped she would accept the tutoring and accept Miss White. The truth was, living with morals was harder than he’d thought it would be. Having to always follow the rules when sometimes it would’ve been easier to skirt them. Having to explain himself when it would’ve been faster to just act.
But he wouldn’t trade the friendships for anything. After almost two years, he was finally starting to feel like he had a home.
"More lemonade?"
Cecilia shook her head and smiled at the woman whose name she couldn't remember. She was distantly related to Jenny Jamison, Cecilia thought. Maybe a second cousin or cousin by marriage?
Cecilia sat beside the other women in a circle in the Sullivan’s sitting room. Female voices buzzed all around her in numerous conversations. Last week, Caleb’s mother had come to the schoolhouse to issue a personal invitation, insisting Cecilia attend the ladies’ sewing bee.
During her tenure at the terrible school the year before, the school she wanted to forget, she had never been invited to social events. The townspeople had kept her at a distance, content to let her teach, but not eager to interact with her in their lives. Obviously, Granbury took a different tack.
Cecilia had attended plenty of sewing bees with her mother over the years, but it was much different attending by herself. When she went with her mother and sisters and sometimes even Breanna and Penny, there was always someone she could talk to if no one else made conversation. She hadn't realized what a comfort it had been. Now it was entirely up to her to make conversation.
And as the newest resident in town, it seemed everyone was curious and wanted to get to know her. She’d barely added in a stitch on the embroidery she’d begun for Mama’s Christmas gift. She kept fielding questions about her childhood and her family. Thankfully, no one had pried about her last teaching job.
She had the sewing hoop in her lap and a needle in hand. The initial interest in the new schoolteacher seemed to wane as the women conversed about their families or local gossip, which left Cecilia free to work on her project.
All around the room, women were managing different projects. One mother had a basket of mending at her feet and was working through each item. An older woman was piecing together a quilt. Cecilia recognized Lucy Koch, the young mother who’d been kind to her at the picnic. She was working on a small dress that must be for her infant daughter.
This was just the same as at home in Bear Creek, she told herself.
Cecilia had just started her next stitch when someone new sat in the empty seat at her left. She looked up with a smile to find Mrs. Stauck, Jericho and Edward’s mother.
"I wanted to see how you were doing."
How kind. "I enjoy having your boys in my class," Cecilia said. "Along with the other children. The work is a challenge, but I enjoy it. I do miss my family, but I'll be traveling home in two weeks for a short visit."
"I'm so glad the boys are behaving in your classroom. I was worried when they didn't have formal schooling last year."
Based on the boys’ performance in the classroom, Cecilia knew the woman must have instructed them herself. They were more advanced in reading than their peers. She couldn't help asking, “By any chance, were you a teacher?"
Mrs. Stauck absolutely beamed at the question. "Why, yes. I was."
They conversed for a few moments about Mrs. Stauck’s time in the classroom before she had married and had children. She offered to help out in the classroom if Cecilia should ever need it.
"Thank you for such a generous offer," Cecilia said. "Between your willingness to help and how Mr. Morgan has stocked the classroom with everything we need, I can tell we are in for a good school year."
It didn't seem possible, but the woman glowed even brighter. "Isn't Mr. Morgan wonderful? We were in dire straits, but he has positively changed the fate of our little town."
Cecilia was taken aback. Her embroidery ignored in her lap, she stared at the woman. She knew John had moved into town two years ago and that his sawmill had helped support the town and bring business in. But surely saving the entire town was giving the man a little too much credit, wasn't it?
“Do you know Mrs. Stiles?” Another woman close to Mrs. Stauck’s age was pulled into the conversation. She was sitting on Mrs. Stauck’s other side.
The conversation ebbed and flowed as the women worked, and Cecilia was left pondering her boss’s situation.
As the afternoon went on, Mrs. Stauck wasn't the only one to make such a statement. The third woman to claim that John had saved the town was Lucy Koch, the wife of the local blacksmith. Cecilia had slipped into the kitchen to refresh her lemonade and have a cookie. They were the only two in the kitchen at that moment.
Lucy must’ve sensed her confusion. "John invested in my husband’s business. Things were so bad before he arrived in town that we couldn't afford to stay, nor could we afford to move."
It sounded terrible. Cecilia couldn't imagine the hardship of trying to survive in a situation like that.
"John gave us the money to keep running the livery and, within a few months of the sawmill being open, profits were higher than they had ever been. Now John is a silent partner in the livery.”
Lucy glanced to the sitting area, where the women were still chattering. No one even seemed to notice them here in the kitchen. She lowered her voice anyway. “I shouldn’t gossip, but John also invested in the dry goods store and the milliner. He even bought Mrs. Fitzgerald's house, and now he pays her a monthly amount so that he and Ruth can live there."
Cecilia's mind whirled at all the new information. She hadn't understood why so many people in town seemed to sing John's praises. But this… now it made a sort of terrible sense. He had walked into what had been a dying town, left abandoned when the railroad had passed it by. And he had saved several businesses and brought in more customers and more residents with his mill. To the people of Granbury, he must seem like a savior, indeed.
"Where did he get the money?"
Lucy shook her head as if she couldn’t comprehend Cecilia's question.
"He invested in your husband's business and several others," Cecilia said. "Was that before he started the sawmill?”
“Yes.” Lucy nodded slowly.
"So he must've had the funds when he arrived in town. Where did he get the money from?" Cecilia mused.
She smiled tightly. "I guess I always figured he was independently wealthy. We never asked. At the time, we had no choice but to accept his offer. And it has been a blessing. John has been a blessing to us. He's our friend."
She changed the subject, and Cecilia excused herself soon after. She settled back in her chair and picked up her embroidery again. But she couldn't stop thinking about the conversation. Her curiosity was piqued.
John had been wealthy before he’d moved to town. He supported the local businesses and had been single-handedly tur
ning Granbury’s economy around. What has brought him there, to a tiny town where no one knew him?
Everyone liked him. Even her, though she knew herself to be a terrible judge of character.
Simon had been charming, and she’d fallen for his lies.
John was charming… but she didn’t know what he was hiding.
If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Which meant she couldn’t trust John.
7
"Is this laugh? L-A-F?”
"Very close." Cecilia braced one hand on the back of the kitchen chair and leaned over John’s shoulder, pointing at the word in the primer open in front of him. "See here. L-E-A-F. Leaf. The A sitting next to that E makes it a long vowel sound.”
He nodded. He was conscious of Ruth sitting across the table with her own book in front of her. And conscious of Cecilia herself. It took everything in him to concentrate on the work again when he would much rather stand up and leave the room.
He had agreed to the tutoring because it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But he hadn't expected it to make him feel so inadequate.
He hadn't realized what it would feel like to be starting from the very beginning. As if he were five years old again, practically an infant in the classroom.
Oh, Cecilia was gracious and patient. She encouraged his progress. But it was the inevitable stumbles that made him feel like a simpleton.
He hated it.
But she’d been kind enough to agree to the tutoring, and he couldn't very well turn his frustration on her.
Cecilia moved to sit at Ruth’s side, and he used the moment they were poring over the primer together to unobtrusively study her. She had a spray of freckles across her nose that he hadn't noticed before. Had her lashes always been so long?
She glanced up and caught his stare from across the table. She flushed, and maybe he should've felt embarrassment for getting caught, but he didn't.
The more time he spent with the pretty schoolteacher, the more intrigued he became. His attraction had bloomed into something more. He was smitten.
She worked long days, getting up early so she could walk across town and prepare the classroom for her students. After class, she often stayed late grading assignments. Sometimes she tutored other children in the schoolroom. And then after supper, she tutored both him and Ruth until they were all yawning and ready for bed.
Why did she work so hard? What was she trying to prove? He was proud of the work he did with businessmen in town, but he’d never met someone with such a strong drive as Cecilia. He couldn’t understand it.
"I can't do this." Ruth slumped in her seat.
Cecilia perched in the chair next to her, her full attention on the girl. “Sure you can. You’ve already got the two-digit addition here. The subtraction is a bit tricky, but—”
Ruth didn't seem to hear her. Her chin was set at a stubborn angle, and she pushed the book away from her. "My mama and papa never made me do school."
He set aside his own schoolbook. "We've talked about this, Ruth. You promised to give Miss White a chance."
"It will get easier the more you practice," Cecilia said quietly.
"I don't want to practice!"
He didn't know what else to say to her. Ruth could be just as stubborn as he was.
"I know it feels frustrating.” Cecilia played with Ruth's pencil, which she had left lying on the table, rolling it back-and-forth, her eyes on the motion. "My father died when I was very young, and my mother died when I was just a little older than you."
Ruth didn't look up, but he found himself listening intently. He’d told her about losing his parents on her first day in town, but she hadn't reciprocated.
"I missed them very much. I still miss them, sometimes. Sometimes when we’ve lost someone, our sadness can make it hard to concentrate."
He wasn't entirely sure that was Ruth’s problem, but he didn’t say so.
Cecilia went on. “Your brother cares about you. He wants what's best for you—”
Ruth flew out of the chair before Cecilia could finish her sentence. "No, he doesn't. He only wants what's best for himself."
She stormed from the room before he could form a reply, leaving him alone with Cecilia in the kitchen.
He straightened in his chair, debating over whether he should go after Ruth or let her have a few minutes to cool down. In the end, he stayed where he was, planting his elbows on the table and rubbing his hands down his face. "I'm sorry about her attitude. I'll talk to her. Again."
He didn't want to look at Cecilia and see her judging him for how Ruth was acting.
"She's had a great loss.”
“So did you. Why didn’t you tell me before?” Now he did glance up, only to see Cecilia with a pinched frown directed at him.
“When you first shared about your parents and your situation with Ruth, we were barely acquainted.”
That was true, but… “We’ve spent a lot of time together. Surely we’re friends now, aren’t we?”
For instance, he knew that she didn’t like peas and always passed the serving bowl if they were served at the dinner table. He knew the way her eyes went soft and out-of-focus as she concentrated on solving a problem. He knew she smiled when she read letters from her family and that she missed them.
He was a little jealous. He wished he could make her smile like that.
“I don’t know.” All of a sudden, she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. She looked down at her hands resting in her lap. “How did your parents die?"
“It happened very quickly," he said. It was a vague answer that he usually gave when asked. He lowered his hands to clasp them on the tabletop, and when he glanced at her, he saw her eyes shining with compassion before she dropped them.
Suddenly, his rote answer didn't seem good enough. "It was fairly traumatic. For Ruth.” And for himself, though he didn't like to think about it.
The bank robbery had gone very bad. He’d only been a lookout—his father hadn’t wanted him involved. Both his parents had gone inside—his mother dressed as a man—and both had been shot by a sheriff’s deputy who none of them had realized was sitting in the bank lobby.
The man had run out of the bank building shooting wildly, and John had barely escaped without being injured himself. He’d held his mother in his arms as they rode away. Pa had been slumped in his saddle, more intent on escaping with the loot than the wound leaking blood out his side.
John had been holding onto Ma as she slipped away. They finally reached the hideout. John had been unable to slow his father’s bleeding, and his father had refused to let him ride for help. Pa died the next day.
Ruth hadn't been there for the shootout. She’d been too young, and Pa had insisted she stay in the tumble-down mining shack where they’d been holed up. John guessed he should be thankful for that.
But she had seen John unload Ma’s body from his horse, and she’d stood over his shoulder as Pa had faded away.
Maybe she would never get over it. Maybe John wouldn't either.
Before the shootout, he'd been trying to find a way for the family to leave the life of crime behind. Surely there was some way they could go straight.
He hadn't had the guts to say so to his father, to stand up for what he knew was right. Maybe if he had told Pa that he wanted out, the robbery never would’ve happened.
It was his fault his parents had died. He should’ve tried harder.
As for Ruth, he didn't know how big a part of the grief played in her fighting against everything Cecilia was trying to do. His ma had never been much for discipline. If John had gotten caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, he could get away with it if he came up with a good enough excuse. He’d gotten very, very good at telling half-truths and using his best smile to get out of trouble.
Ruth had been a quick study. She started using her smile to charm Pa from the age of three. She’d also learned to manipulate and sneak when she couldn’t charm
her way out of a solution.
Now John was trying to instill a moral code in her. Had too much damage already been done?
Cecilia knew she should excuse herself and go to her room. Being alone with John was a recipe for disaster, even if the interaction was completely innocent.
He stared at a point over her shoulder, his eyes distant and a little bit lost, and she couldn't quite make herself stand up.
"What happened after your mother died?" he asked suddenly.
"It took a while, but the memories and the grief began to fade."
He watched her face with eyes that felt like they saw a little too much. "I meant, what happened to you? You have five siblings. What happened to your family?"
He wanted to know about her life, her history. She didn't know how wise it was to share, but she found herself answering anyway. "I had two younger sisters." She shook her head slightly at the memories that sparked. "We were left with our stepfather to care for us but… it wasn't a good situation. When he died a few months later, we were very fortunate that a young woman, our teacher actually, took us in. It was supposed to be temporary, but she ended up marrying, and she and my father adopted us."
A glance up showed his eyes burning with curiosity, but she had already divulged more than she’d intended to. She stood and closed Ruth’s math book, stacking the slate and chalk and pencil on top of it.
“Is that why you work so hard? Are you trying to prove yourself to your schoolteacher mother?"
"Of course not. I enjoy my work," she said stiffly. She had never thought of it that way before. That she felt that she needed to prove herself to Mama. If anything, she was trying to prove she was better than what had happened during the last school year.
John stood, and even though the table was still between them, suddenly the kitchen that had seemed spacious moments ago had somehow shrunk. His presence wasn’t intimidating, exactly. But he filled the room with intensity.
Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14) Page 6
