The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Book 1)

by Tess Thompson

  Chapter 16

  Alexander

  Around nine that evening Jasper and I nursed whiskeys in the corner of the saloon. Tonight, I’d made an exception to my aversion to public drunkenness and gambling. I wanted to gather as much gossip as I could about Samuel’s death. Men in bars talked too much.

  A man named Mike Murphy ran the saloon. I leased him the building. Other than that, I stayed out of his way. Every town needed at least one watering hole, whether I approved of what went on here or not.

  “Do you ever wish we’d settled in Denver instead?” I asked.

  “Never.” Jasper gestured toward the window. “A man can breathe here.”

  When we’d come west, I’d bought up land in Denver. Whole city blocks belonged to me. If my family had taught me anything, it was that land ownership equaled wealth.

  The rest of my land holdings were for profit. Emerson Pass was my heart.

  I fell in love with this part of the country the moment we arrived that first spring. Meadows of columbine, lilies, and buttercups grew in the valley between mountains that kissed the bluest sky I’d ever seen. Aspens with their light green leaves fluttered in the breeze. The dry air smelled of pine and firs. In the time it took to unhitch our horses, I imagined the town we could build in this valley. I’d decided right then. This was home. I’d rebuild from the ashes.

  “Why do you ask?” Jasper finished his whiskey and set the empty glass on the table.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering if I’ve been naive that this town is safer than most places.”

  “There are bad people everywhere. Here there are fewer of them because there are fewer people than in the city. You’re not responsible for Samuel’s death.”

  I traced the rings in the pine table. The first winter I’d spent here, Samuel had taught me that the growth rings in a tree told the history of a place as well as any book. Pale rings were from spring growth, whereas dark ones were from late summer. Skinny rings were indicative of drought or other environmental impacts such as insects or too-densely-populated forests. Fat lines told the tale of an abundant growing season. I’d teased him about his love of trees. “Trees never let you down, unlike people,” he’d said.

  I wished the trees could tell me the secrets of the night Samuel was murdered. What had they seen? But trees only talked to Samuel, not to me.

  “Harley and Merry have asked if they might attend night school,” Jasper said, pulling me from my brooding.

  “Excellent.”

  Jasper said nothing.

  “Is there a reason they shouldn’t?” I asked.

  “Their evening duties would fall to someone else twice a week,” he said. “And what will the children do without Miss Cooper? Who will put them to bed?”

  I studied him for a moment, trying not to laugh. Jasper did not care for change. “I’ll put the young ones to bed. Harley’s duties can be done before and after school.”

  “And Merry’s?” One eyebrow went up as he tapped his middle finger on the side of his glass.

  “Two evenings a week won’t cause the house to go into chaos,” I said. “This is important for them.”

  He lifted both brows this time but didn’t say anything further. Long-suffering Jasper. My ways continued to scandalize him, even though he would never admit to it. I’d become too American for him.

  Still, he was loyal to me. Even during the embattled years with Ida, his dedication never wavered. I believe he would have let someone chop off his hands rather than any harm come to me or the children.

  I spotted the Higgins brothers as they came through the door and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Come sit with us,” I called out. “I’d like to buy you a drink for saving our schoolteacher.”

  They ambled over as Jasper rose to order the drinks from Mike.

  “How is she?” Clive asked.

  “Quite well,” I said.

  They each took a chair as Jasper approached with four glasses of whiskey.

  “We heard there’s a night school starting,” Clive said.

  “You interested?” I asked. Neither brother had gone to school, having been born and raised on the prairies with nothing more than a lean-to on their father’s claim. Their mother had died giving birth to Clive and left them to grow up without an education or anything much to begin with. They’d come here, hoping for a chance, and they’d gotten it.

  “Nah, probably not,” Wayne said.

  “Why not?” I asked the Higgins brothers. “A few hours a week and you could learn to read.”

  “I’d feel stupid sitting there in desks made for kids.” Wayne slapped his thigh. “Can you imagine these gangly legs in the classroom?” Wayne and Clive were strapping young men, broad-shouldered and tall with light hair bleached even blonder from the Colorado sun.

  I chuckled but had no intention of letting him off that easily. I’d have to provide incentive to them in another way. “Are you ever bored during our long winter months? Wouldn’t you love to read an adventure story during those evenings when there’s nothing else to do?”

  Clive straightened slightly and looked over at me with an inquisitive glint in his eyes. “I’d like that, yes.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “If and when you’re ready, you may borrow any book from my library anytime you want.”

  Clive’s eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight.” He gestured with his hand to indicate the patrons in the bar. “You’re willing to let any of these men here inside your home, handling your books, simply because you want us all to learn to read.”

  I rubbed my chin. When he said it out loud, I sounded a bit daft. “That’s correct. It’s important to me that everyone in our town has access to books. What good are they collecting dust in my library?”

  “Books improve lives,” Jasper said.

  “How exactly?” Wayne asked.

  “Let me count the ways,” I said, quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning, then inwardly cringing at my pretentiousness. “Entertainment during long winter months, transportation to other worlds, learning about new subjects. Your life will expand through reading, I can promise you.”

  “Why do you care about us expanding our lives?” Wayne asked.

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?” Clive asked, not unkindly but sounding genuinely curious.

  I blinked as I tried to form an answer that wouldn’t make me sound arrogant and condescending. “Because I care about the people in this community.”

  The men still seemed unconvinced.

  “You give away a lot of meat,” I said. “Why do you do that?”

  Wayne shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  “No one goes hungry in our town,” Clive said.

  “You told us that when we came here,” Wayne said. “And we took it to heart. If we have scraps or extra, we give them away.”

  “This is the same thing,” I said. “Miss Cooper is a teacher. I have books.”

  Clive leaned forward and peered into his whiskey. “If you’re willing to have us into your home and share your books, then I suppose we could try school.”

  “No promises that it’ll work,” Wayne said. “Higgins men aren’t known for our brains.”

  “Most men aren’t,” I said.

  We all chuckled and sipped from our drinks.

  “Lord Barnes, we were sorry to hear about Samuel Cole,” Clive said.

  “He was a good man,” Wayne said.

  “You hear anything around town?” I asked quietly.

  Wayne glanced nervously around the room before returning his gaze to me. “We have some fresh beef coming in tomorrow. You should stop in and get some.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. “Now, who wants a refill? I’m still buying.”

  The starry sky and full moon shed light over the snow as I drove us home. Oliver’s and Twist’s hooves made a pleasant clip-clop. The world seemed untouched and perfect under the glow of that yellow moon.

  Jasper’s shoulders sagged slig
htly from the whiskey. On the way there, his posture had been upright and stiff, but now he resembled a mere mortal.

  “You and Miss Cooper,” Jasper said.

  “What about us?”

  “You fancy her.” He paused as he looked up at the sky and let out a long sigh. “She fancies you.”

  “I’m sure of the first thing, anyway,” I said.

  He fell silent, adjusting his hat, then buttoning his coat up to his neck.

  “It’s been three years,” Jasper said. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t remarry. Not all women are like Lady Ida.”

  “True. Miss Cooper doesn’t seem the type prone to either madness or hatred, regardless of the weather,” I said. “Ida was fragile even before she had Josephine.”

  “Did you know how fragile she was before you married?” he asked.

  “No. I was in love. You remember.”

  “I do. I remember exactly.”

  “You saw it from the beginning, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “I hoped I was wrong.”

  I shuddered as I slipped into the memory of the night I’d found Ida standing over our two-week-old Fiona’s crib with a knife.

  Ida wore nothing but a thin white nightgown. Her fair hair had been crudely chopped and fallen in tufts around her bare feet. I grabbed her by the waist and tackled her to the floor. She didn’t struggle as I pried the knife from her hand and tossed it across the room. Seconds later, she went limp as a rag doll on the braided rug and curled into the fetal position. Fiona had wakened during the commotion and started screaming. Josephine, at age ten, had come running from the room she shared with Cymbeline. She paled and slumped against the doorframe at the sight before her. Her mother on the floor with hair like a baby chick. Me, on my knees, weeping. The knife glittered in the moonlight.

  “Papa,” she whispered.

  “Take the baby,” I said. “Get the others and lock yourselves in the nursery.”

  Two weeks later, Ida had walked into the snow wearing nothing but her dressing gown.

  Now, I blinked and looked up at the stars. Those days were gone. We’d come out of that awful time to the present.

  My wife had changed dramatically after the birth of the twins. Before them, she’d been prone to sadness and irrational fears, but she’d still been able to participate in life. With Josephine, she’d been trepidatious and overly worried about the baby, yet distant from her. After the boys came, she seemed uninterested in them and preferred to spend her days in her room, painting or drawing. I hired a nanny to help, and we continued to live as we had. At the mercy of Ida’s moods. I loved the children enough for both of us. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  During her energetic cycles, she’d come to my bed. I’m ashamed how weak I was. Even knowing how sick the pregnancies made her, I was unable to fend off her advances. She became pregnant with Cymbeline. When she gave birth, she wouldn’t feed or hold her. One night, she said the baby had been sent from the devil to kill her.

  I asked Dr. Moore to examine her. He said he’d seen it before. Psychosis after giving birth. He assured me the irrational fears would subside after a few months. He’d asked if she’d demonstrated any unstable symptoms before this. I lied to him. I couldn’t tell him of her manic behavior, of the ups and downs I’d endured with her from the very first year of our marriage. The weeks she wouldn’t get out of her bed. The many, many nights she couldn’t sleep, pacing around the house like a caged tiger. The endless cycle of despondency followed by a clamored elation.

  He was right. Three months after Cymbeline came, Ida returned to her usual behavior. The manic cycles continued, but she no longer thought the baby was sent by the devil. In hindsight, I can see that her psychosis grew deeper and more violent, ending finally with her poised over her own baby’s crib with a knife.

  Even now, after three years, shame flamed inside me. Her poor, tortured mind had finally been given relief as she died in the cold, all alone. I’d grieved for my babies who would never know their mother. Yet, and I’m ashamed of this too, I felt a sense of relief. Living with her had been a daily hell. Without her, I could bring calm and routine into my home.

  Bloody hell, this was not doing me any good. Rehashing everything for the thousandth time. Allowing the shame to bubble to the surface and strangle me. Was I deserving of a new love? A second chance for happiness? I had no idea. Was it bold and ridiculous to hope that Miss Cooper would fall in love with me and agree to be my wife? Would that even be the right thing for her? I’d driven one woman to madness already. I’d brought danger into Miss Cooper’s life by bringing her out here.

  Oh, but she was breathtaking. And intelligent. Graceful, steady, and exceptionally brave to come all the way out west to teach school on the frontier.

  “What do you think of Miss Cooper?” I asked. Oliver and Twist both whinnied in response. “I’d say the horses like her.”

  “She’s lively and authoritative. Like a herding dog.”

  I laughed. “And you disapprove?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I’m rather taken with her myself.”

  I nudged his shoulder. “Jasper, are you growing soft on me?”

  He sniffed. “I’m thinking of the children. What could be better than a herding dog for your brood?”

  “What about for me? Do I need a herding dog?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  I laughed again.

  “You’re interested for real,” Jasper asked.

  “I’m interested,” I said. “Not that I remember how to court someone.”

  “I’m happy to hear this. Lizzie and I have worried you’d never get over what happened with Lady Ida.”

  “It’s too soon to know if there’s anything special between us, of course. The children are keen on the idea.” I told him about the strange way they’d reacted to her looking after them. “They were adamant that she would be my wife, not their nanny. I’ve never known them to do or say anything so outlandish. Then they asked if I’d ordered her, like Carter did with this wife.”

  I expected Jasper to chuckle over that. Instead, I heard him sniff and looked over to see him dabbing at his eyes.

  “Something in your eye?” I asked.

  “A fleck of dust,” he said.

  “You really are getting soft on me.”

  “I’ve always been soft when it comes to the children,” he said. “It’s shameful how they have me wrapped around their fingers.”

  “You and me both,” I said.

  We turned into the driveway toward the house. The familiar scent of woodsmoke welcomed us home. “What about you? Do you ever think about marrying?” I asked.

  “How could I and continue to work for you? Butlers do not marry.”

  I turned to look at him. His profile in the light of the moon was as sharp and precise as his statement. “If there was someone you wanted, we could build a cottage for you. There’s no reason to keep to those old rules. Not here.”

  “Lizzie’s certainly embraced the new ways. It’s that blasted raspberry wine she drinks after supper. Her tongue loosens, and the next thing I know she’s telling me she loves me.”

  “What did you say?” Was he joking? No, his features were arranged in their usual serious position. “I thought you two were mortal enemies.”

  “How a person could be so irritatingly cheerful is beyond my comprehension. However, I wouldn’t describe her as my enemy. I vacillate between wanting to kiss her and send her to her room with no supper.”

  I chuckled. “Given that she cooks our supper, that would be difficult. I’d go with kissing.”

  “There’s a bothersome and distracting tension between us. Acting upon it could ruin both our lives.”

  “I’m not sure how taking a woman to bed could ruin your life. Especially if you’ve married her first.”

  “I’m not the kind to fall in love.”

  “You could be happy together. What’s wrong with happiness?” I asked. “You wa
nt it for me.”

  “Happiness is for other people. Normal people.”

  “You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever known,” I said.

  “Thank you, lord.”

  “That was not praise.” I slowed the horses as we passed by the house. The horses neighed, happy to see the barn. “Listen to me carefully. If you continue to break both your hearts by being a mulish fool, then I have no choice but to send you home to England.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t. But I can’t have you hurting Lizzie.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Let me ask you this,” I said. “What would you think if I told you Clive Higgins was asking about her?”

  He didn’t answer, but his shoulders stiffened.

  “Should I tell him she’s available for courting?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t like him. He’s uneducated.”

  “I believe the ladies find him handsome.”

  Again, silence, then a sniff.

  Forgive me for my white lie, I prayed silently. But what’s a man to do with a mule?

  “If she liked him, it would settle things once and for all,” Jasper said.

  “Sure thing. I’ll throw them a nice wedding reception in the garden next summer. Soon they’ll have pretty babies, and you’ll still be all alone in your room downstairs.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  Despite his words to the contrary, his tight tone betrayed him. I smiled to myself in the darkness. Clive Higgins might need to drop by to borrow some sugar one afternoon. Nothing like a little competition to wake a man to his destiny.