Wooing the Schoolmarm
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She nodded and rose to her feet. “There are rules, yes. It is the custom in Pinewood to close the schools and send the village children home when a storm threatens, lest they be caught out in it.” Her voice steadied. She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’m thankful you called me here and told me what happened, Reverend Calvert. Now that I understand, should there be another thunderstorm, I will keep Sally and Joshua with me until you come for them, or should the hour grow late, I will bring them home and stay with them until your return.”
“That is far beyond your duty as their teacher, Miss Wright.” A frown tugged at his brows. “I appreciate your kindness, as will the children, but I assure you, I meant only to explain, not to impose upon you.”
She went still, stared up at him. “Nor did you, Reverend Calvert. You did not ask—I offered.” A look he could only describe as disgust flashed into her eyes. She tore her gaze from his and turned toward the door. “I must get home.”
He held himself from stopping her, from demanding that she tell him what he had done to bring about that look. “Yes, of course. I did not mean to take so much of your time.”
They walked out into the entrance hall and he lifted her cloak off the hook. The sound of rain drumming on the porch roof was clear in the small room. “You cannot walk home in that downpour, Miss Wright.” He settled the still-damp garment on her shoulders. “If you will wait here, I will get the buggy and drive you home.”
“That is not necessary, Reverend Calvert.” She raised her hands and tugged the hood in place. “I’m accustomed to walking home in all sorts of weather. The children need you here.”
Why must the woman be so prickly when he was trying to do her a kindness? The stubborn side of his nature stirred. “I insist, Miss Wright. The lightning has stopped. The children will be fine with Mrs. Franklin. Wait here.” He snatched his coat off its hook and hurried out the door before she could voice the refusal he read in her eyes.
* * *
The buggy moved along the muddy road, each rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves a step closer to her home, yet the way had never seemed so long. She had done it again! She’d allowed the man to reach her heart in spite of her resolve. Willa stared down at her hands and willed her gaze not to drift to the handsome profile of Reverend Matthew Calvert. The sense of intimacy created by the curtain of rain around the buggy did not help.
The horse’s hooves struck against the planks of Stony Creek bridge and the carriage lurched slightly as the wheels rolled onto the hard surface. She grabbed for the hold strap to keep from brushing against him and held herself rigid as the buggy rumbled across the span, splashed back onto the mud of Main Street, then swayed around the corner onto her road.
“Miss Wright, may I ask your opinion about something that troubles me with Sally?” Matthew Calvert turned his head and looked at her.
She lifted her hand and adjusted her hood to avoid meeting his gaze. She was too easily swayed by the look of sincerity in his brown eyes. And she knew better, although her actions didn’t reflect it. Hadn’t the man just manipulated her into offering to watch his children if he was delayed, perhaps deliberately, in coming for them during a thunderstorm? What did he want of her now?
“To be fair, I must tell you it is a personal situation and has nothing to do with school. I simply don’t know what to do for the best. And I thought a woman would have a better understanding of a little girl’s needs than I.”
If it did not pertain to school, why involve her? She opened her mouth to suggest he ask Bertha Franklin, then closed it again at the remembered feel of Sally clinging to her. “What is it?” She fixed her mind on her father’s and Thomas’s selfishness and brought a “no” ready to her lips.
“Sally misses her mother terribly. It seems especially difficult for her at bedtime. That first evening, when I put them to bed in the parsonage, she wanted to sleep in Joshua’s bedroom. She cried so hard, I moved a trundle bed in for her.” He glanced her way again. “Perhaps I should not have done so, but it…troubles…me when she cries.”
She steeled her heart against the image of the grieving little girl and boy, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the rain splashing off the horse’s rump. Sympathy came too easily when she looked into Matthew Calvert’s eyes.
“When we moved here, I decided permitting Sally to sleep in Joshua’s room was not for the best, and, in spite of her tears, I put her in a bedroom by herself. When I went to check on her later that night, I found her asleep—with one of Judith’s gloves clutched in her hand.”
The poor, hurting child! Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and, under the cover of her cloak, rubbed at the growing tightness in her chest. “That is my cabin ahead.”
The reverend nodded and drew back on the reins. The horse stopped. The drum of the rain on the buggy roof grew louder.
“Miss Wright, Sally takes comfort from Judith’s glove, but it seems she is becoming more dependent on it. It was the first thing she wanted when we came home earlier.” He turned on the seat to face her. “I don’t know what to do, Miss Wright. And, though I feel it is unfair of me to ask for your advice, I feel so inadequate to the situation that I find myself unable to refrain from doing so.” The sincerity in his voice tugged her gaze to meet his. “In your opinion, should I let Sally keep the glove? Or should I take it away?”
She couldn’t answer—couldn’t think clearly. Her memories were too strong, her emotions too stirred. This man and his wards were a danger to her. She squared her shoulders and shook her head. “I’m afraid I have no answer for you, Reverend Calvert. However, I will consider the problem, and if a suggestion should occur to me, I will tell you.” She pulled her hood farther forward and prepared to alight.
He drooped the reins over the dashboard, climbed down and hurried around to offer her his hand. She did not want his help, did not want to touch him, but there was no way around it. She placed her hand on his wet, uplifted palm and felt the warm strength of his fingers close over hers as she stepped down. The gesture was meant to steady her, but the effect was the opposite. She withdrew her hand, clasped the edges of her cloak against the driving rain and looked up at him. “Thank you for your kindness in bringing me home, Reverend Calvert.”
“Not at all, Miss Wright. It was the least I could do. Watch that puddle.”
His hand clasped her elbow. He guided her around the muddy water onto the wet planks that led to the stoop. Water from the soaked yard squished around his boots as he walked her to her door, released his hold and gave a polite bow of his head.
“Thank you for allowing me to unburden myself of my concerns over Sally and Joshua, Miss Wright. It was good of you to listen. Good afternoon.”
She nodded, opened the door and stepped inside, but could not resist a glance over her shoulder. He was running to his buggy.
“I expected you home when the storm started, Willa. Was there something wrong? I heard a buggy. Are you all right?”
She closed the door, turned and shoved the wet hood off her head. “I’m fine, Mama. Reverend Calvert’s ward, Sally, is frightened of thunderstorms and it took a bit to calm her. The reverend drove me home because of the rain.”
“You were scared of thunder and lightning when you were little. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” Too many things. The memories keep rearing up and betraying me. “You used to hold me and tell me stories.”
Her mother smiled and nodded. “I hope the reverend’s little girl gets over her fright. It’s a terrible thing when a child is afraid.” She narrowed her eyes, peered closely at her. “Are you certain you’re all right, Willa? You look…odd.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why. I’m perfectly fine.” She was. Or at least she would be, as soon as the tingly warmth of Matthew Calvert’s touch left her hand.
Chapter Five
Willa wrapped her bread and butter with a napkin, placed the bundle in the small wicker basket, added an apple and slammed the lid closed. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about yesterday? About the way her heart had sped at Matthew Calvert’s nearness when he removed her cloak? About that carriage ride, and the way her breath had caught when he took her hand in his? Those things were mere courtesies. Yet here she was mooning about them. It was disgusting. Why wasn’t she thinking about the way he had again manipulated her into offering to help with the children to free his time? Where was her self-control?
She dropped the dirty knife in the dishpan, swirled her cloak about her shoulders, grabbed her lunch basket and strode to the kitchen doorway. “I’m ready to go, Mama.”
Her mother nodded, poured the iron kettle of steaming water she held into the washtub, then turned and stepped to the pump to refill it. “I figured you’d be going early to stoke up the stove. It turned right cold last night.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. She hated the tiredness that lived in her mother’s voice. Hated that her mother worked from dawn to dusk every day but Sunday to keep the small cabin they called home. Most of all she hated her father for walking away and leaving her mother to find a way for them to survive without him.
She lifted the hem of her long skirt and stepped down into the lean-to wash shed.
Her mother raised her head and gave her a wry smile. “One thing about scrubbing clothes for a living—you’re never cold.” Her green eyes narrowed, peered at her. “What are you riled about?”
“Nothing. Except that you work too hard. Let me get that!” Willa plopped her basket on the corner of the wash bench and grabbed hold of the kettle handle. “You need to eat, Mama. I made a piece of bread and honey for you. It’s on the kitchen table.”
Her mother straightened and brushed a lock of curly hair off her sweat-beaded forehead. “Don’t you know it’s the mother who’s supposed to take care of the child, Willa?” There was sorrow and regret in the soft words.
“You’ve been doing that all my life, Mama.” She grabbed a towel and pulled the iron crane toward her, lifted the newly filled kettle onto a hook beside the one already heating and slowly pushed the crane back. The flames devouring the chunks of wood rose and licked at the large pot. The beads of water sliding down the iron sides hissed in protest. “I hope that someday I will be able to take care of you, and you will never have to do laundry again.”
Her mother smiled, dumped the first pile of dirty clothes into the washtub, set the washboard in place and reached for the bar of soap. “You’re a wonderful daughter to want to take care of me, Willa. But your future husband might have something to say about that.”
She snatched the soap out of her mother’s reach. “I told you there’s not going to be a future husband for me, Mama. I am never going to marry. Thomas cured me of that desire.” And Papa. “Now please, go and eat your bread while the rinse water is heating. I have to go.”
She put the soap back in its place, hung the towel back on its nail and picked up her basket. “Please leave the ironing, Mama. I will do it tonight. And I’ll stop at Brody’s on my way home and get some pork chops for supper. Danny told me they were butchering pigs at their farm yesterday. Now, I’ve got to leave or I’ll never get the schoolroom warm before my students come.”
She kissed her mother’s warm, moist cheek, opened the door of the lean-to and stepped out into breaking dawn of the brisk October morning. Dim, gray light guided her around the cabin to the road and filtered through the overhanging branches of trees along the path as she hurried on her way.
* * *
The stove was cold to the touch. Willa grabbed the handle of the grate, gave it a vigorous shake to get rid of the ashes that covered the live embers, then opened the drafts. The remaining coals glowed, turned red. She added a handful of kindling, stood shivering until it caught fire, then fed in a few chunks of firewood, lit a spill and closed the firebox door.
The flame on the spill fluttered. She cupped her free hand around it, stepped to the wall and unwound the narrow chain to lower the oil-lamp chandelier. The glass chimneys fogged from her warm breath as she lifted them one by one, lit the wicks, set the flame to a smokeless, steady burn and settled them back in place. Heat smarted her fingertips. She lit the oil lamp on her desk and blew out the shortened sliver of wood.
Everything was in readiness. Almost. She grabbed the oak bucket off the short bench and headed for the back door to fetch fresh drinking water from the well.
The door latch chilled her fingers. She stared at her hand gripping the metal and a horrible, hollow feeling settled in her stomach. This would be the sum of her life. She turned and surveyed the readied classroom, then looked down at the bucket dangling from her hand. She would spend her years teaching the children of others—until her mother’s strength gave out and she had to take over doing the loggers’ laundry to keep their home. Her back stiffened. “Well, at least I won’t have to live with a broken heart.” She hurled the defiant words into the emptiness, squared her shoulders and opened the door. If she hurried there was still time for her to write her letter before the children came.
Dearest Callie,
I was so pleased to receive your latest letter. And I thank you for your kind invitation to visit, perhaps I shall, later when school closes. I do apologize for being so tardy in answering, but you know helping Mama with her work leaves me little time for pleasurable activities.
I must tell you about Reverend Calvert and his wards. I am certain your aunt Sophia has written you about him as there is little talk of anything else in Pinewood since his arrival. And, truly, I am grateful for that as talk of Thomas’s hasty departure has ceased.
Willa frowned, tapped her lips with her fingertip and stared at the letter, then dipped her pen in the inkwell and made her confession.
You, and Sadie, and Mama are the only ones who know the truth of Thomas’s desertion of me. My pride demands that others believe I told him to follow his dream and go west without me, that the choice to remain behind was mine. I could not bear to face the pity of the entire village! Sadie knows well what I mean.
Oh, Callie, the folly of believing a man’s words of love. But I know you are aware of that danger. How my heart aches for you, my dear friend. I am so sorry your parents persist in their desire to find a wealthy husband for you, no matter his character. You write that you are praying and trusting God to undertake and bring you a man of strong faith and high morals in spite of their efforts, but I do not believe God troubles Himself with the difficulties and despairs of mere mortals. He certainly has never bestirred Himself on Mama’s behalf. Or mine.
Reverend Calvert is tall, and well-proportioned, and exceedingly handsome. He possesses an abundant charm, and a very persuasive manner. A dangerous combination, as you might imagine. One must stay on one’s guard around him lest
Light footfalls raced across the porch. The door opened. Willa wiped the nib of her pen, stoppered her inkwell and blotted the unfinished letter.
“Good morning, Mith Wright.” Billy Karcher shucked his jacket and hat, hung them on a peg on the wall and gave her a grin. “I’m getting a new tooth. Wanna thee?”
“Good morning, Billy. I certainly do.” She folded the letter and tucked it into her lunch basket to finish later.
The second grader tipped his head up and skimmed his lips back to expose the white edge of a new front tooth.
* * *
“Thank you for the prompt service, Mr. Dibble.” Matthew watched the fluid stride of his bay mare as the blacksmith led her in a tight circle. She was no longer favoring her left rear leg. “She seems fine now. What was the problem?”
“Nail was set wrong. Irritated the quick enough it got sore.” The blacksmith shook his head and led the horse over to him. “It’s a good thing you brought her in. Shoddy work like that can maim a horse.” He handed over the halter lead. “I checked the other shoes. They’re all good.”
“That’s good to know.” He stroked the bay’s neck, got a soft nicker and head bump in return. “What do I owe you?”
“Fourteen cents will take care of it.”
He counted out the coins, smiled and handed them over. “Thank you again, Mr. Dibble. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll look forward to seeing you in church Sunday.”
The man’s gray eyes clouded, his hard, callused hand dropped the coins in the pocket of the leather apron that protected him. “I don’t go to church, Reverend. I figure all that praying and such is a waste of time. God’s never done anything for—” The livery owner’s straight, dark brown brows pulled down into a frown. “I’ll leave it there. Details don’t matter.”
“They do to the Lord. But He already knows them.”
“He don’t pay them no mind.”
“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood, Mr. Dibble.” He smiled to take any challenge from his words, stroked his mare’s neck and framed a careful reply to the man’s acrimony. “God doesn’t always answer our prayers as we hope or expect He will. Or perhaps God hasn’t had time—”
“I understand all right. There ain’t no way to not understand. And He’s had time aplenty.” David Dibble gave a curt nod and strode off toward his livery stables.
He watched him disappear into the shadowed interior. “I don’t know what is causing Mr. Dibble’s anger and bitterness, Lord, but I pray You will answer his prayers according to Your will. And that You will save his soul. Amen.” He took a firm grip on Clover’s halter and started for the road.
A buggy swept into the graveled yard, rumbled to a halt beside him. He glanced up, tugged on the halter and stopped his horse. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hall.” He lifted his free hand and removed his hat, dipped his head in the passenger’s direction. “Miss Hall.”
“Good afternoon, Reverend Calvert.” Ellen Hall’s full, red lips curved upward. “How fortunate that we have chanced to meet. Isn’t it, Father?”
The words were almost purred. Ellen Hall looked straight into his eyes, then swept her long, dark lashes down, tipped her head and fussed with a button on her glove. A practiced maneuver if he’d ever seen one—and he’d seen plenty back in Albany. He ignored her flirting and shifted his gaze back to Conrad Hall.
“Fortuitous indeed.” The man’s blue eyes peered at him from beneath dark, bushy brows. “Mrs. Hall and I would like to extend you a dinner invitation, Reverend. Tomorrow night. Our home is the second house on Oak Street, opposite the village park. We eat promptly at six o’clock.”
The man’s tone left no room for refusal. And it was certainly impolitic to turn down an invitation to dine with one of the founders of the church, but he had no choice. He chose his words carefully. “That’s very kind of you and Mrs. Hall, sir, but I’m afraid I must decline. I’m not yet fully settled in and my children—”
“Will be welcome, Reverend. We shall see you at six tomorrow night.” The man glanced at his daughter, then flicked the reins and drove off.
Ellen gave him a sidelong look from beneath her lashes, lifted her gloved hand in a small wave and smiled. He dipped his head in response, then replaced his hat and tugged the bay into motion.
“Did you see that, Clover?” His growled words were punctuated by the thud of the bay’s hooves as he led her across the wood walk into the road. “If I ever see you flirting with a stallion like that, I’ll trade you to Mr. Totten and you can spend the rest of your days pulling his trolley.”
The horse snorted and tossed her head as he turned her toward home.
* * *
“What are you doing in here, Willa? The children are gone. And I’ve been waiting…” Ellen closed the door and swept down the aisle between the bench desks.
Willa snuffed the flame of the last lamp, raised the chandelier and turned to face her friend. “I was finishing a letter to Callie. I want to post it on my way home. You wanted something?”
“I have news.”
She looked at Ellen’s smug expression and shook her head. “Obviously, it pleases you.”
“Oh, it does.”
She nodded and stepped to the stove and twisted the handles to close the drafts for a slow burn that would preserve the fire for morning.
“Don’t you want to hear my news?”
“Of course.” She turned and grinned up at her friend. “And you will tell me as soon as you have your little dramatic moment.” She stepped to her desk and picked up her basket.
“Oh, very well.” Ellen hurried up beside her and gripped her forearm. “Reverend Calvert is coming for dinner tomorrow night!”
It took her aback. There was no denying it. And there was absolutely no reason why it should. She nodded and smiled. “That’s quite a ‘coup,’ Ellen. Every young woman in the village has been hoping to have the reverend for dinner.” She started for the door. “Was the dinner your father’s idea, or—”
“He thinks it was.” Ellen laughed and tugged the velvet collar on her coat higher as they went out the door. “I planned it, of course—with Mother’s help.”
Of course. “I’m surprised he accepted.” Really? “I know he’s turned down other invitations because of the children.” But those young women don’t possess Ellen’s beauty. She stifled a spurt of disgust and hurried down the porch steps and turned toward town.
“Yes, I’d heard, so I planned for that. I had father tell him the children were welcome.”
She stopped and stared up at Ellen. The smug look on her friend’s face made her want to shake her. “And are they welcome?”
“Of course, as long as they don’t get in the way. And they won’t. I’ve made certain of that. They will have their own meal in the breakfast room. And Isobel has been instructed to keep them there until my performance is finished.” Ellen smiled and patted her curls with a gloved hand. “I’m going to recite a Psalm. I want the reverend to see my spiritual side.”
“I’m certain he will be duly impressed.”
“He will be when he sees my new gown.” Ellen laughed and moved ahead. “Bye, Willa.” She waved a gloved hand and turned onto the stone walkway to her house.
Willa released the white-knuckled grip she had on the basket handle and marched down the sidewalk. Her disgust carried her all the way to Brody’s meat market. She took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face and went inside to buy pork chops for their supper. A supper that would have included children at the table—if she had had any.
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