“What colors does she like?” she asked. “Who is it for?”
I laughed under my breath. If I told Mrs. Johnson who it was for, the news would have reached the entire town by nightfall. “My sister back home in England,” I said. Strange how easily that lie rolled from my tongue.
“And what’s her coloring?”
“She’s fair with blond hair and brown eyes.” I reached into a bowl on the counter containing buttons and picked up a brown button. “This color.”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Johnson said. “She must look a lot like Miss Cooper.”
I laughed. That didn’t take long. “Mrs. Johnson, what a strange thing for you to say.”
Her amber eyes sparkled at me. “I would suggest the dark green. It’ll contrast nicely with her skin.” She moved the ladder stored behind the counter over to the spot where the green wool was stacked on a top shelf. “She’ll need a liner, though. Otherwise the wool will scratch.”
“Fine, whatever you think is best,” I said as I wandered over to a glass shelf displaying various styles of gloves.
Martha came in from the back room. “Mother, do you need help?”
Mrs. Johnson said yes, and would she please measure out five yards of the green wool as well as the liner fabric.
“I’ll take a pair of these as well.” I tapped the glass shelf displaying a pair of long white gloves. “And do you have any wool stockings?”
“It must be very cold in England,” Mrs. Johnson said from behind me.
“Frigid. Like this,” I said.
“I’d always heard England was rainy but mild.” Mrs. Johnson opened the display case for the gloves.
“Can be,” I said.
With a knowing smile planted on her face, she pulled out a pad and started to write up a receipt for my items. Next to her, Martha had measured and cut the wool and was now rolling it into a cylinder.
“Don’t go to too much trouble,” I said to Martha. “I’m taking it straight over to the tailor’s shop.”
“He’s having a coat made for his sister,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Isn’t that sweet?”
Martha clearly wasn’t as savvy as her mother when it came to matters of the heart. She simply gave me the bland, benign smile young people gave their elders and went back to measuring the lining.
“Martha and Elsa are skating this afternoon,” Mrs. Johnson said.
“Will Josephine and Poppy be able to come?” Martha asked.
Over the last few years, skating parties on Saturday afternoons had become a tradition. If the weather permitted, families and young people alike came out to skate. The town’s fiddler provided music, and Mrs. Johnson made and sold popcorn for a penny a bag.
“I’ll bring them all in later,” I said.
Mrs. Johnson pointed to a shelf where shiny new Barney & Berry clamp-on skates were displayed. “It would be a shame if our new teacher had to watch while the rest of you skate.”
I chuckled. She was right. We couldn’t leave Quinn out of the fun. “I’m not sure she knows how.”
“She’ll have to learn then,” Martha said. “Skating parties are the best part of winter, other than Christmas.”
“I don’t know her size, though.”
Mrs. Johnson came out from behind her counter to join me. She picked a pair from the middle of the shelf. “I’d say these should do.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“We sell a lot of boots and shoes,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I can judge the size in my sleep.”
Mrs. Johnson, with her uncanny sales ability, must have sensed my next request. “Does your sister need a pair of boots?” she asked.
“Mrs. Johnson, it’s no wonder your husband’s such a successful businessman.”
Her expression remained merry. She wasn’t serious like her daughter Martha, who appeared to take after the stoic Mr. Johnson. “I have no idea what you mean, Lord Barnes.”
“I’ll take a pair in the same size as the skates. My sister and Miss Cooper have a lot in common.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Johnson’s skirts made a swishing sound as she crossed over to the boot shelf. “We’ve just gotten these in from back east. Practical yet pretty.”
The boots were black patent leather with dainty buttons up the side. I held one in my hand, inspecting the quality of the leather and sturdiness of the one-inch heel. We couldn’t have Miss Cooper slipping and hurting herself.
“They’ll withstand our winters,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Or the English one, that is.”
“I’ll take them, please. And throw in a pound of candies for our skating party, Miss Martha.”
“Yes, Lord Barnes.” Martha smiled politely before scurrying over to the candy bin.
When everything was packaged up, I bade them good day and walked over to the Olofssons’ tailor shop. I removed my hat while stomping the snow from my boots onto the small rug they kept at the entrance so as not to track any mud or water into the tidy, dry shop.
Near the front window, Mr. Olofsson hunched over his sewing machine working on a pair of trousers. The top of his balding head shone in the sunlight that filtered through the glass. Mrs. Olofsson cut a piece of fabric behind the counter.
I said hello as they looked up from their work. “Good morning,” Mr. Olofsson said in this thick Swedish accent. He was a slight man with sleepy blue eyes and a gentle smile, and his profession had given him stooped shoulders.
“Have you been busy?” I asked.
“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Olofsson placed her hands over her plump pink cheeks. “We are happy.” She was as round as her husband was thin. They shared the same thick accent and sweet disposition.
“I’d like you to make a woman’s coat,” I said. “But I don’t have the measurements because it’s a surprise.”
“Who is it for?” Mr. Olofsson asked. “If I know them, I can figure size.”
“Miss Cooper,” I said, mumbling.
“Did you say Miss Cooper? The teacher?’ Mrs. Olofsson asked.
“Yes. Her coat’s too thin and worn for this climate,” I said as my neck went hot.
“Say no more,” Mrs. Olofsson said with a knowing wink.
This would be out by lunchtime. Lord Barnes was ordering a coat for the lovely Miss Cooper. Did you know she’s living at the house?
“Give me a few days,” Mr. Olofsson said. “I’ll make it beautiful for our pretty teacher.”
I escaped finally to the crisp, cold afternoon with the distinct feeling that the whole town would know my heart by nightfall.
When I walked in the house, it was quiet. Too quiet. I wondered what everyone was up to and hoped they hadn’t caused Miss Cooper too much trouble. To my surprise, they were all in the library. Miss Cooper sat on one end of the couch reading out loud from a novel. Josephine was in her favorite chair knitting something out of a bright blue yarn. Cymbeline and Flynn were sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace playing checkers. Theo and Fiona snuggled in my leather chair. I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. How could one man be so blessed?
I set my packages on one of the tables. Fiona caught sight of me and wriggled off the chair to hurl herself into my arms. Miss Cooper ceased reading and set the book aside as the other children called out to me.
“What did you bring, Papa?” Cymbeline asked. “Is it for me?”
“No, you wicked girl,” I said. “They’re for Miss Quinn.”
“For me?” she asked. “What have I done to deserve gifts?”
I set the two boxes containing the skates, boots, gloves, and stockings expertly tied with bows by Mrs. Johnson into Fiona’s arms. “Take them to Miss Quinn, please.”
“Yes, Papa. I love packages.” Fiona walked with the boxes held out in front of her as if presenting the crown to the king of England, then placed them on Miss Cooper’s lap.
“Open them, open them, Miss Quinn,” Cymbeline said as she rose from the floor to go sit next to her on the couch.
Miss Cooper untied the s
tring of the box containing the new boots, gloves, and stockings. She gasped as she lifted the lid. “What have you done? These are too much.”
“You’ll need sturdier boots for the rest of this winter. The almanac says we’re in for more blizzards.”
“These are so pretty, though. I won’t be able to wear them for fear of ruining them.”
“You’ll wear them,” I said. “Or risk my wrath.”
“I wouldn’t want your wrath.” Her brown eyes were as shiny and happy as a child’s at Christmas. She fingered the stockings, then rubbed the gloves against her cheek. “I’ve never felt anything so soft before.”
“Open the other one,” Fiona shouted as she jumped up and down.
“Inside voice, please,” Quinn said.
“Yes, Miss Quinn,” Fiona said. “I forgot.”
“It’s all right. Would you like to pull the string?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” Fiona’s chubby fingers untied the bow. Quinn lifted the lid of the box. “Skates?”
“Yes, skates. Now that you’re a resident of Emerson Pass, you must have skates,” I said. “There’s a skating party this afternoon. Shall we all go?”
The children all shouted enthusiastic agreements with this idea. I turned back to Quinn. To my alarm, tears had formed in her pretty eyes.
“What is it?” I asked, coming closer. “Do you not like skating?”
“I’ve never skated before,” Quinn said.
“We can teach you,” Flynn said. “There’s nothing to it.”
Quinn wiped her eyes. “That’s not it. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I longed for a pair when I was a child. In Boston, skating is quite popular. I was never able to join any of my friends.”
“Even though you wanted to?” Cymbeline asked.
“That’s right. I asked Santa for skates every year for a long time,” Quinn said.
“And they never came?” Fiona asked, tears in her eyes.
Quinn held out her arms to Fiona, who went into them. “Don’t be sad. This is such a happy day for me.”
“Papa, this was thoughtful of you,” Josephine said in her grown-up voice. “We couldn’t have possibly gone skating without Miss Quinn.”
“We might have gone anyway,” Cymbeline said, looking doubtful that she would have been able to make a sacrifice for Quinn. The child knew herself well.
“But now we don’t have to,” Flynn said.
“I would’ve gone with you and watched,” Quinn said. “Which I might have to do today, since I’ve never been on ice other than the kind you walk on because you have to get somewhere.”
“We’ll teach you,” Flynn said. “But you might slip a little at first.”
“Don’t be scared to fall,” Theo said.
“That’s what Papa always says,” Fiona said, gravely. “Because that’s the way you learn.”
“Very wise words.” Quinn smiled at me, making my heart race. “For skating and the rest of life as well.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Cymbeline said as if anyone had asked. “Including falling.”
“Me either,” Flynn said. “Not that I ever fall. I’m the fastest in the whole town.”
Quinn and Theo exchanged a glance and a smile. For the second time in a half dozen minutes, I filled with gratitude that someone was managing to reach inside the heart of my sweet boy.
Chapter 23
Quinn
The twins each took one of my hands and led me onto the ice. For a split second I hovered on the thin blades of my new skates before my legs went out from under me and I fell hard on my bottom. The twins tumbled after me, all of us ending up together in a laughing heap.
The boys leapt up, as if springs were tied to their feet instead of skates. They attempted to help me, but it was no use. Every time I put my feet on the ice, I fell, leaving us all in a fit of laughter.
Alexander, with Fiona on his shoulders, skated up to us.
“Papa, she can’t stand up,” Flynn said.
“Boys, leave this to me.” Alexander lifted Fiona over his head and set her on the ice. She sped away, her little feet sure on the slippery surface.
“Papa, Miss Quinn’s heavier than she looks,” Flynn said.
“Flynn, we never talk about a woman’s weight,” Josephine said as she came to a stop in front of us. What a sight I must be, I thought. A grown woman sprawled on the ice.
Alexander held out his hand and I took it, holding my breath as he attempted to help me to my feet. The skates slid out from under me, and I fell once more on my bottom. My backside was starting to hurt. “It’s no use. I can’t get up.”
He knelt over me. “I’ll have to lift you by the waist. It’s the only way.”
His rich, low voice made my insides do funny flips. “Do what must be done,” I said.
With one knee on the ice and the other leg bent, he reached for me, lifting me easily and then holding me tight against him. My legs wobbled, and I thought I was going down again. I clung to him with my arms around his neck, so close I could see the flecks of yellow in his green eyes. “Falling hurts,” I said, laughing. “Don’t let me go.”
He slipped both arms around my waist and held me upright with the force of his strong frame. “You’ll have to stay this way, it appears, if you’re going to remain on your feet.”
“You shouldn’t tease me,” I said. “It’s terrible manners.”
“Slip your arm around my back.” He shifted so that only one arm encircled my waist. “And let’s see if we can take a turn around the pond. All you have to do is slide one skate forward, then the other.”
Feeling ridiculous, I lifted a foot, then the other. I did this for six or so steps. “It’s working. I’m skating,” I said.
His entire body shook with laughter. “Usually, we glide a little. You’re more stomping than skating. Are you mad at the ice?”
“I would poke you in the ribs with my elbow, but I’m at your mercy,” I said.
The pond was about the width of ten skaters standing side by side and thirty lengthwise. We inched toward the other end as one body. As I felt more secure next to my strong companion, I relaxed and took in my surroundings.
All of my students, other than Louisa and the Cole family, were out on the ice. The Johnson sisters skated by arm in arm, striking in their red coats and hats. Josephine wore a pale green that matched her eyes. She and Fiona skated together with their hands intertwined. Cymbeline had challenged Viktor Olofsson to a race from one end of the pond to the other. Cymbeline’s brown eyes were furious as she chased behind him. If one were to win on will alone, it would be Cymbeline. However, a nine-year-old boy and a small girl of six were no match. Viktor won by at least two feet. Cymbeline fell on her knees and pounded the ice.
“She’s mad at the ice,” I said to Alexander.
“What will we do with our sassy one?” he asked. “She has to learn about defeat.”
Flynn coasted by with his red scarf flying behind him and shouted words of encouragement. “You’re doing great, Miss Quinn.” I laughed and raised a hand toward him, then almost lost my balance. My partner steadied me with a firmer grip around my middle.
As we neared the tip of the pond, the three Cassidy girls stepped onto the ice and immediately started twirling like ballerinas. They were all small in stature but strong as little oxen. Alma had told me they’d been expected to help at the family dairy farm from the time they could walk.
“How sweet they all are,” I said.
“Little beasts,” he said. “Every one of them.”
The sky was the brilliant blue I’d already grown accustomed to, and the sun warmed my back despite the chill. The mountains loomed above like magnificent white giants. With each passing day in this fresh air and Lizzie’s nourishing meals, I was growing strong and sure of my destiny. I was the schoolmistress of Emerson Pass. The first teacher in a town made from the grit and courage of men and women who’d come in search of a better life. Yes, I was here in the modern age
with bathrooms and a luxurious home to stay in, so it wasn’t as if I had anything to do with what had made this place special. But I was here now. I would shape the future through my influence on the young people who twirled about me now. I had the chance for love and family.
“What’s my favorite teacher thinking about?” Alexander asked.
I looked up at him. “I was thinking how happy I am here. The hue of the sky.” I gestured toward the sound of a winter sparrow’s song. “That, there. Do you hear him singing?”
“Yes, he’s giving us a concert.”
“Back home, I spent so much energy simply surviving,” I said.
“You did survive. That’s the notable part.”
At the tip of the pond now, I held on to him even more tightly as we rounded the corner. My gaze went to Cymbeline, who was now demanding a rematch with Viktor. He had his cap in his hands and was shaking his head.
He touched his free hand to the lapel of his jacket. “Of all my children, she reminds me the most of myself.”
“Were you like that—challenging boys much older and bigger than you?” I tried to conjure an image of a young Alexander wearing knickers and a cap, with freckles on his nose like his sons.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. There was never a race or game I wasn’t keen to win. That’s what drove me to America, I suppose. I wanted to conquer the world in my own way”
“Do you ever regret coming here?” I asked. We continued to move along the ice at a snail’s pace, but the skates were starting to feel more like extensions of my feet instead of a weapon meant for my demise.
He made a sound in his chest as if he were carefully contemplating his answer. “As a young man, I didn’t think beyond proving myself and craving adventure. Looking back, I can see it was my destiny to come to this place. The questions I had were all answered when I stepped off the train that first day.”
“Questions?”
“About who I was. What I wanted. How I might matter. There’s something about the way the mountains loomed so dramatically that seemed to speak to me.”
The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Book 1) Page 20
