Belonging (26 page)

“Jimmy,” Colin said, a growl in his voice, “I’m going to deliver that anvil Randall Franklin ordered last week. I’ll be gone most of the afternoon. Tell Charity to do her chores when she gets home from school.”

Jimmy, probably afraid to say anything, nodded.

Colin strode into his living quarters, out the back door, and across the yard to the barn.

Another school day done, another week of teaching behind her, Felicia closed the door to the schoolhouse, holding a satchel of books and papers in her left hand while turning the key in the lock with her right. As she descended the steps, a light breeze tugged at her hair. Leaves in the nearby trees, turning from green to gold, made a sound similar to a baby’s rattle.

She walked swiftly toward her small cottage, eager to get home. Tomorrow night there was to be a barn dance at Yancy and Ann Dowd’s farm, and she wanted to finish making a new dress for the event. She’d purchased the material with money from the first wages she’d drawn and had been working on the skirt and shirtwaist for a number of evenings already. Of course, she wouldn’t have the courage to dance, even if someone asked her. Her friends at normal school had taught her a few steps, but that had been years ago. No, she would be content to help with the refreshments and to watch others dance. Still, she wanted to wear something pretty for the occasion. Not that the new gown was anything fancy. It would be perfectly suitable for a schoolteacher to wear any day of the week.

Felicia had just laid her satchel on the kitchen table when Charity appeared on the other side of the screen door.

“Hi, Miss K.”

“Hello, Charity.”

“Can I come in? Papa’s gone to make a delivery.” She pressed her face against the dark mesh. “Jimmy says he won’t be back for a while yet, and I don’t want to wait in the store. It’s boring.”

“Don’t you have chores to do after school?”

“Uh-huh. But I did ‘em already. Just finished brushing and feeding Princess. That was the last thing I had to do.”

“Well, I have chores to do myself. I don’t think it will be any better here than in the store.”

“Pleeeeease.”

She should tell Charity that it wasn’t polite to beg, but she didn’t. What was it about this particular little girl that made it impossible for her to be as strict as she knew she should? Almost from Felicia’s first day in Frenchman’s Bluff, Charity Murphy had taken hostage her schoolteacher’s heart. Perhaps it was the charm of the Irish.

And her father possesses the same charm.

Not that she’d always thought he did.

She turned her back to the door. “Come in if you wish. You can get our book off the bookshelf and read to me while I sew.”

“Ah, Miss K.”

“If you read to me now, we can skip our tutoring session this evening.”

“Oh … okay.”

Felicia retrieved her sewing basket and settled on the sofa, the skirt of the new outfit on her lap.

Charity found the book and sat on the chair opposite Felicia. “What’re you makin’?”

“A new dress.”

“I like the color. You gonna wear it to the barn dance tomorrow?”

“Yes, if I finish it in time.”

“Papa thinks you look pretty in blue.”

Oh, that horrible-wonderful fluttering heartbeat. “Did he tell you that?” She tried to sound disinterested in the answer.

“Nope. I just know.”

Felicia drew air into her lungs as she put needle to fabric. “You’re prevaricating, Charity.”
And so am I.

“Pre-var-i … what?”

“Prevaricating.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Evasive?”

“Never mind. Just read to me.”

Charity sighed. “Okay.” She opened the book on her lap and flipped it open. “Chapter Three.”

“She wants her fired, Randall.” Leaning against the wagon, Colin peered at the sun, which rode low in the western sky.

“Mrs. Summerville likes to think she runs everything in Frenchman’s Bluff, Colin. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. And I don’t mind for myself, but Felicia … Miss Kristoffersen … she doesn’t deserve this.”

“You like Miss Kristoffersen, don’t you?

Colin grunted, a sound of acknowledgment and frustration at the same time.

“Folks have taken to her,” Randall continued. “I don’t think you have to worry about Mrs. Summerville having her way this time.”

“Maybe not, but she can sure make things uncomfortable.” He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “All she … all Miss Kristoffersen’s done is to help Charity. You wouldn’t believe how much better my girl’s doing since they started working together in the evenings. And she didn’t have to do tutoring on top of everything else. The town sure doesn’t pay her enough to expect it.”

Randall was silent for a long spell before saying, “Maybe you’d best send Charity over to the teacher’s house for the tutoring. That’d take care of Mrs. Summerville’s complaints.”

Colin mulled over the suggestion and decided his friend was right. Sending Charity to the cottage each evening would solve the matter. But Colin would miss listening to the two of them, teacher and student, as they went over the words again and again. Not to mention that without the teacher in his house, he wouldn’t keep learning himself, and he didn’t want to stop learning to read. Silly though it might be, he was proud of the progress he’d made. Almost as proud as he was of Charity.

But then, he supposed pride was part of his problem. He’d always been ashamed, felt stupid, because he couldn’t read. And so, out of pride, he’d kept it to himself, finding every way he could to hide the truth from others. There was no sin in not being able to read. Plenty of folks who lived in and around Frenchman’s Bluff had had to leave school when they were youngsters, just like he’d been, so they could work on the farms or in the businesses run by their parents. He wasn’t the only adult who couldn’t read much beyond his name.

But this wasn’t about him. It was about Felicia and guarding her reputation, and if that meant he couldn’t go on learning to read, then so be it. He had no right to endanger her position in the town because he was too selfish to do what was right and proper.

“You’re right, Randall. That would solve everything.” He pushed off from the wagon. “I’d best get back to town. Charity and I’ll be eating something cold from the icebox as it is.”

“Thanks for delivering that new anvil for me. I was plannin’ to come to town tomorrow to pick it up. You saved me the trip.”

“Glad to do it.” Colin stepped on the hub of the wheel and then sat on the wagon seat.

“I reckon we’ll see you tomorrow night at the Dowds’.”

“Reckon you will.” He slapped the reins against the team’s backsides. “Giddup there.” With a rattle of harness and a creak of wood, the wagon pulled out of the barnyard and headed for town.

TWENTY-SIX

Felicia stood in front of the mirror, turned sideways, and assessed her reflection.

The dark blue grosgrain silk skirt had a full four-and-a-half-yard sweep, which emphasized the narrowness of her waist. The large scroll design on the fabric gave the skirt a stylish appearance, and the fine taffeta lining caused it to rustle softly when she moved. Her new shirtwaist was made from a solid light blue French lawn fabric. It had puff-top sleeves—the latest fashion—and an Alastor choker collar. And in her hair she wore a spray of silk flowers that had once belonged to her mother.

She reached up and fingered the delicate violets, remembering when they were given to her, remembering her mother’s fingers running over her hair and the gentle smile on her mother’s lips. Oh, the love that had been in her mother’s touch.

“I want you to have these, my darling. They were my mother’s. She gave them to me when I married. Now they are yours.” Elethea Brennan had leaned over and kissed Felicia’s forehead. “Think of me whenever you wear them.”

“I will, Mum. I promise.”

But in all the years since then, she’d never had occasion to put flowers in her hair. Tonight she did. She would go to the barn
dance and talk with the parents of her students and drink punch with new friends and watch dancers swirling their partners around the floor. She would laugh and be gay and remember her mother.

I will, Mum. I promise.

The image in the mirror wavered beyond her tears.

“Mercy,” she whispered, dabbing beneath her eyes with a handkerchief. Afterward, she tucked the kerchief into her reticule, took up her wrap, for the ride home would be decidedly cool, and hurried out of the house.

Charity was seated in the rear of the buggy while Colin, standing near the horse’s head, adjusted something on the harness.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Felicia said as she drew near.

Colin looked up. She wasn’t sure what the expression was that crossed his face. Not truly surprise, but something like it perhaps. But it was his slow smile that caused her breath to catch and her heart to pound.

“You look lovely, Miss Kristoffersen.”

He thought her lovely.

Ba-bum … Ba-bum … Ba-bum.

She felt quite strange.

Ba-bum … Ba-bum … Ba-bum.

She could have returned the compliment, could have told him how handsome he looked in his black suit and derby. Different from the shopkeeper and father who had pulled her from the river, but every bit as strong and … and virile.

Ba-bum … Ba-bum.

He came to the side of the buggy and offered his hand. “Charity tells me you made that dress yourself.”

“Yes.” She took his hand.

Ba-bum.

Would she have the courage to dance if he were to ask her?

Ba-bum.

She shouldn’t think such things.

Ba-bum … Ba-bum.

Charity leaned forward, whispering, “I told you he likes it when you wear blue.”

“Shhh.”

The girl giggled as she leaned back again.

The buggy shifted toward the opposite side as Colin got in. He cast another smile in Felicia’s direction as he took up the reins. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Charity answered.

“All right. Let’s go.” He slapped the reins and clucked to the buggy horse.

Colin had planned on telling Felicia tonight that future tutoring sessions would need to take place in her house rather than his. He’d intended to throw out the decision as if it weren’t of any real importance, simply a matter of convenience. With Charity present in the buggy, he’d hoped it would keep Felicia from inquiring as to his reasons for this change. He didn’t want to repeat Helen’s accusations if he didn’t have to.

But something about those deep bluish-purple flowers in her honey-brown hair and the way the shade of that dress brought out the hint of violet in her blue eyes chased all other thoughts from his head. How could a man think of anything else when such a vision of beauty was seated beside him?

Maybe Helen was right, after all. Maybe it
was
inappropriate for Felicia to be in his house in the evenings, even with his daughter present. And if not inappropriate, dangerous. Tempting. Precarious.
Because right now, all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and kiss her until they were both left breathless and panting. He’d like to pull the pins from her hair and watch it cascade about her shoulders. He’d like to—