Belonging (12 page)

Felicia’s voice broke into his memory. “I don’t want you to worry, Mr. Murphy. Charity is a bright child. I’ll find a way to improve her reading and arithmetic skills. I promise you that.”

Miss Lucas hadn’t thought Charity bright. She’d thought education was wasted on her. And Colin had accepted the opinion as fact, having no way to dispute it. But if Felicia was right?

He felt a spark of hope spring to life in his heart—and a surprising affection for the woman standing opposite him.

Kathleen liked Felicia, but she wasn’t sure the schoolteacher was right about Charity Murphy. After all, Kathleen had helped with the teaching duties after Miss Lucas married and moved away. She’d personally worked with Charity on her reading. It had been a frustrating exercise for them both. Phoebe, who was the younger by two years, read almost as well as Charity. Maybe even better.

But Kathleen was wise enough to keep her thoughts to herself,
especially when she saw the look that crossed Colin’s face. He doted on his daughter. Too much, according to Mother Summerville, who thought Charity spoiled and unruly.

Kathleen didn’t agree with her mother-in-law completely. Yes, Charity was tomboyish and undoubtedly would benefit from a woman in the home, but Kathleen would never criticize the way Colin raised his child. Besides, Charity was happy and carefree and bighearted. How many mistakes could he have made? Not many. Probably fewer than Kathleen had made with her own daughters.

Colin turned to look at her. “And what can I help you with, Mrs. Summerville?”

For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She’d almost forgotten what had brought her to the mercantile beyond accompanying Felicia. Oh yes. Needles and thread and a pound of sugar.

“I can find what I need,” she answered him at last. “Thank you.”

She moved down the aisle toward the dry goods, the voice of Mother Summerville whispering in her head. It wouldn’t hurt you to let him wait on you, Kathleen. Instead, you left him at the counter with Miss Kristoffersen. How do you ever hope to win his attention if you make no effort?

Her thoughts drifted back in time to when she’d first met Harold. He’d been a student, and she’d been visiting a cousin in the same town. The moment they were introduced, her heart had been lost to him. She hadn’t worked to win his affections or his attentions. She hadn’t planned and schemed. She’d simply loved.

But things were different when one was a girl of nineteen than they were when one was a widow of thirty and the mother of two. And if she didn’t want to go on living in her in-laws’ home and depending on them for everything, including the money to buy a
few needles and some thread, she would have to do whatever was necessary to get herself another husband.

Dropping a packet of needles into her shopping basket, she looked toward the counter in time to see Felicia bid Colin a good day, then turn to leave the store. When their gazes met, Felicia waved her fingers. “See you in church tomorrow, Kathleen.”

“Yes.” She returned the small wave.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help, Mrs. Summerville?” Colin asked, his attention returning to her.

Grabbing a couple of spools of thread, she replied, “I’m sure.” She walked toward the counter. “The only other item I need is a pound or two of sugar.”

“Jimmy, can you help Mrs. Summerville with the last of her order? I need to check something in the stockroom.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Murphy.”

Colin gave Kathleen a distracted glance before disappearing through the doorway into the back room.

I might as well be invisible for all he notices me. She drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. At this rate, I’ll live with Mother Summerville until I’m a hundred.

Returning home, Felicia removed her straw hat and left it on the kitchen table. Then she took a basket outside and removed the clean laundry from the clothesline. Before she went to bed, she would have to iron her clothes for Sunday, but she would wait for the day to cool before she heated the iron on the stove.

“Hi, Miss K.”

Felicia glanced over her shoulder as she removed the last shirtwaist from the line. “Hello, Charity.”

Perhaps that morning the girl’s long hair had been tidy,
captured at the nape, but now most of it had pulled free from the ribbon. It hung in loose curls over her shoulders and down her back. Her cheeks and the skirt of her dress were smudged with dirt.

“What have you been up to?” Felicia asked, smiling.

“Tommy Bryant’s dog Goldie was missing, so I helped look for her.”

“And were you successful?”

“Yes’m. We found her and her new puppies too.”

“Puppies?”

Charity nodded. “Twelve of ‘em.”

“Gracious. Twelve puppies. That’s a large litter.”

“That’s what Mrs. Bryant said. Tommy wanted to keep ‘em in his room, but his mother said dogs don’t belong in the house. I don’t see why not. Do you?”

Britta Kristoffersen hadn’t allowed any pets, let alone any pets in the house, but Felicia liked to think her real mother would have allowed it, had they had the money to feed an extra mouth.

Sadness pulled at her heart.

“Something wrong, Miss K?”

She forced another smile. “No, Charity. Nothing’s wrong. I was remembering something from my childhood.”

“Want me to carry that basket inside for you?”

Felicia’s sadness disappeared like a vapor, and she laughed. “You, Charity Murphy, are an amazing child.”

The girl cocked her head to one side, obviously wondering why her teacher had said such a thing.

“I’ve never known anyone—child or adult—so quick to help others as you’ve been to help me.”

Charity grinned. “That’s ‘cause I knew I was gonna like you right from the start. Even before you got here. Don’t know why. Just knew I would. And I want you to like me too.”

“I do like you, Charity. Very much. I like all of my students.”

“And do you like Frenchman’s Bluff?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Then you’re gonna stay. Papa said if you didn’t like it here, you’d wanna leave and not be the teacher anymore.”

“Well, I do like it, so neither you nor your father need be concerned about that.” She picked up the clothes basket, balancing it on her hip, and started toward the door to her cottage.

Charity followed. “I’m gonna ask Papa if I can have one of Goldie’s puppies. He told me I could have a dog when I was old enough to take care of it on my own. Nine’s old enough for that. Don’t you think, Miss K? I’m gonna be nine tomorrow. That oughta be old enough to take care of a dog. Don’t you think?”

Felicia set the basket on the kitchen table, once again refraining from comment.

“Maybe you can get one of the puppies too.” Charity flopped onto a chair. “I bet Mrs. Bryant would let you have one if you asked her.”

“I’m sure she would.” No doubt Mrs. Bryant was eager to find new homes as quickly as possible for Goldie’s entire litter.

“We’re going to the Franklins’ tomorrow after church.” Charity leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her knuckles. “Mrs. Franklin’s making me a cake for my birthday. She makes really good cakes. I hope she makes mine chocolate. That’s my favorite. What’s your favorite?”

“Lemon.”

The girl’s nose wrinkled. “Lemon? You mean like lemonade?”

“Mmm.” Felicia sat on a chair opposite Charity. “Maybe it’s my favorite because I couldn’t have it very often. Lemons were a rare treat when I was your age.”

The girl’s gaze roamed from the kitchen to the small sitting
room. All of a sudden—presumably when she saw the time on the clock in the parlor—she hopped up from the chair. “Gotta go! I was supposed to be home before now.” She dashed out of the cottage as fast as her legs could carry her.

Felicia leaned back, a smile once again slipping into place. That child was a delight. It was going to be terribly hard not to make a favorite of her.

ELEVEN

Ellen Franklin lifted the crumb-scattered plate from the table. “And here I thought there might be some cake left over for you to take home.” She shook her head. “Silly to think so, considering my boys.”

“Just as well. It would’ve been too much temptation.” Colin patted his stomach. “Best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten.”

“Thanks.” She carried the plate into the kitchen. When she returned, she had a package in her hands. “Happy birthday, Charity.”

His daughter’s eyes lit with excitement. “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin.” She took the package, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. “You didn’t have to do nothin’ more than the cake.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to.” Ellen sat on her chair again. “Go on. Open it.”

A few seconds later, the string was untied and the paper folded back to reveal the gift inside.

“A book.” Charity’s voice was soft, but her disappointment was obvious all the same.

Colin felt like scolding her but managed to hold his tongue. But when they got home, they would discuss the matter at length.

Ellen said, “It’s
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
by Lewis Carroll. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read it since I was a girl. It’s a wonderful story.”

Charity glanced at her father, then turned her eyes on their hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. Mr. Franklin.”

“You’re very welcome.” Ellen leaned forward and patted the cover of the book. “Maybe you’ll come over sometime and we can read the book together. My boys were never as taken by Alice as I am, but I’m sure you’ll love her.”

Colin’s irritation with his daughter turned to empathy. He knew she was ashamed because she couldn’t read as well as her friends. Miss Lucas had said she needed to try harder, to apply herself to the task with more diligence, to stop daydreaming, stop talking, and make herself read. The schoolmistress had told Charity she would never excel in her studies as long as she was lazy. But Colin didn’t believe his daughter was lazy.

He rose from his chair. “Charity, come with me.”

The last traces of excitement drained from her face. He hadn’t meant to do that to her, hadn’t meant to make her think she was in trouble.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “This won’t take long.”

Eyes locked on the floor, shoulders slumped, expression dejected, Charity fell into step beside him. Once they were outside, she said, “I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t like the book, Papa. Honest, I didn’t.”

“I know.”
If I was a better pa, you’d probably read better.

They walked across the yard toward the barn, but before they reached the entrance, an idea occurred to him. He steered them to the left, stopping just before the corral came into view. Then he lifted his daughter into his arms.

“Tell you what.” He resumed his walk. “You read two pages in
that new book of yours every night before bed, and I’ll do something for you in return.”

Suspicion replaced dejection in her dark brown eyes. “What?”

He stopped, set her feet on the ground, and turned her toward the corral where the dun mare stood, a bright blue ribbon—courtesy of the Franklins—tied around her neck. “Well, how about I give you your own horse.”

Charity seemed momentarily frozen in place, her mouth agape.

“Happy birthday, pumpkin.”

She let out an ear-piercing squeal of excitement that probably carried for miles. The mare tossed her head and moved to the farthest part of the corral.

“She’s mine?” Charity looked up at him. “She’s really
mine?”

“She’s yours. That means you have to feed and water her and brush her and take care of her every day. No exceptions.”

“I will! I will!” She jumped up, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Papa! Thank you! Thank you! This is even better than one of Goldie’s pups.”

He barely had time to return her hug before she was out of his arms and rushing to the corral, slipping through the bottom two rails.

“What’s her name?” she called back to him.

“That’s up to you.” He strode to the corral, opened the gate, and entered. “You could call her Alice, like in the book Mrs. Franklin gave you.”

“Don’t be silly, Papa. She doesn’t look like an Alice.”

Although he couldn’t see her face, Colin was fairly certain she rolled her eyes.