Courting Miss Amsel (8 page)

Without waiting for a response, she bustled to the stove. She retrieved the cake from the warming hub and offered the first good-sized wedge to her husband. But he shook his head and pushed away from the table. “I got work to do in the barn. Henry, I need your help. C’mon.”

Henry cast an embarrassed look at Edythe before trailing his father out the door.

Edythe accepted a piece of cake, but she only managed to choke down a few bites of the richly spiced, moist concoction. Her stomach, filled with dread at having created an enemy of a town council member, resisted accepting food. Less than half an hour after Mr. Libolt stormed out the door, she bid Mrs. Libolt, Anna, and Little Will good-bye and climbed into the wagon for the drive back to town.

As she turned from the Libolts’ lane onto the main road, she sighed, her breath forming a puff of white. Tomorrow evening after supper she would ride to the Townsend farm. She intended to take her landlady with her; it wouldn’t do for her to spend time alone with a single man, even though his nephews would be in attendance. Would Mr. Townsend, like Mr. Libolt, berate her for her desire to broaden the children’s views beyond the limited scope of their farming community? For some reason, she wanted to believe he would be more accepting.

She raised her tired gaze skyward and loosened her grip on Gert’s traces; the reliable mare knew the way to town. “At least,” she muttered to the dusky sky, “I didn’t have to eat that heart stew. . . .” Then she laughed at her own expense. Such a meager reason to be thankful, but a meager reason was better than none.

Sighing again, she gave the traces a little flick. “You’re lollygagging, Gertie – I need to get back.” A stack of papers required grading, and she needed to plan the means of demonstrating the geographical landscapes of the United States. Would river clay be suitable for molding mountains? She could already hear Mr. Libolt’s snort of displeasure when he found out his children were playing with clay in the classroom.

“I will not allow that man’s shortsightedness to prevent me from being the very best teacher I can be!” Saying the words aloud heartened her. Education gave power, and as long as she was the schoolmarm of Walnut Hill, she would empower her students to think expansively.

But as she looked ahead to tomorrow’s meeting with yet another farm family, her resolve wavered. What would she do if the local farmers banded together in support of Hank Libolt’s feelings about appropriate subjects for the town’s students?

As much as she disliked the thought, her beliefs about the fundamentals of education might create dissension – and cost her a job she couldn’t afford to lose.

Chapter
NINE

“Miz Kinsley’s wagon’s comin’, Uncle Joel! I see it!”

Johnny’s shout carried through the closed front door, startling Joel.
Here we go . . .
His belly churned. He gave the tabletop one more swish with his palm in case he’d missed a crumb or two earlier and then smoothed the front of his shirt. Yep, it was still neatly tucked into his britches. After a quick glance around the cabin’s main room, he pulled in a breath of fortification. Nothing fancy to offer the new teacher, but she’d see the real Joel Townsend. He hoped he measured up. Why he needed to measure up he couldn’t explain – not even to himself. He just knew it was important that Miss Amsel not think ill of him or his boys.

He stepped out onto the porch. Johnny and Robert stood on their tiptoes with their arms dangling over the roughhewn top bar of the porch railing. They’d fidgeted all through supper, eager to be excused to watch for their teacher. Even though the evening air had turned cool, Joel had let them wait on the porch rather than stay penned up inside. Miss Amsel had surely wormed her way into his nephews’ affections.

“See there?” Johnny pointed as the wagon rolled through the gate. “Miss Amsel – an’ Miz Kinsley, too.” He puckered his face. “Why’d Miz Kinsley come, you reckon?”

Robert bounced on his heels. “Maybe she brought us more cookies!”

“You haven’t even finished the ones she gave you Sunday.”

“Only ’cause you wouldn’t let me,” the boy replied, sending Joel an impish grin.

Joel laughed, but his laughter died when the wagon reached the yard and the boys rushed out to greet the schoolmarm. Her smile, although aimed at Johnny and Robert, warmed him from the distance of twenty feet. If she turned it at him at close range, he just might melt.

Knock it off, Townsend. You’re actin’ like a moonstruck boy.

Joel moved to the wide opening between the rails and held his hand out to Mrs. Kinsley. She took hold, and he hefted her onto the porch. It didn’t take much effort – there wasn’t a whole lot to Miz Kinsley in size. But what she lacked in size she made up for in spunk.

As soon as he’d let her go, she set her hands on her hips. “When’re you gonna put a step out here so’s a person doesn’t have to get winded climbin’ on up?”

Her words sounded like a challenge, but Joel heard the teasing note beneath the brusque tone. “The boys an’ me just give a hop, but I reckon it’s not so easy for you ladies with your skirts.”

Miss Amsel and the boys approached. The boys leaped onto the porch, agile as young deer, but she looked dubiously at the distance between the hard-packed ground and the porch’s planked floor.

Joel cleared his throat. “Here, Miss Amsel, catch hold.”

For a moment she stared at his leathery palm, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. She flashed a quick look at Mrs. Kinsley, then gingerly lifted her deep red skirt with one hand and placed her other hand in his. His fingers closed around hers. Her hand fit perfectly in his grasp. He gave a tug, and she stepped onto the porch.

A smile wavered on her lips. He stared, mesmerized. The schoolmarm’s face was graced with full, rosy, inviting lips – even more inviting than Susannah’s had been, and he hadn’t thought any woman could possess a more kissable mouth than Susannah Mohler. Pushing the ridiculous recollection aside, he scrambled for the proper way to greet a guest. “So . . . won’tcha come in?”

Johnny bolted forward and opened the door, and the two women stepped over the threshold. Robert darted in front of Joel to catch his teacher’s hand and lead her to the table. Joel latched the door and followed. He might not know how to greet guests, but his nephews held no such compunctions. They took charge. Joel couldn’t decide if he was grateful or jealous.

“Miss Amsel, sit here.” Johnny pulled out a straight-backed chair from the table. “Miz Jeffers baked us a pie for your visit. Rhubarb an’ strawberry. I can get you some.” He threw his shoulders back, beaming at his teacher. “Uncle Joel lets me use the carvin’ knife if I’m real careful. Want a big piece or a little ’un?”

Joel caught the boy by the shoulders before he could dash to the breakfront cabinet and start cutting into the pie. “Let the ladies sit for a minute or two first, Johnny. We’ll break out the pie when the coffee’s done perkin’.” He’d put on a fresh pot – he hoped Miss Amsel would be happy with coffee. Judging by her ruffly-front blouse and skirt with a bustle that forced her to sit on the front edge of the chair, she probably preferred tea. But he never kept tea in the house. Maybe he should add it to his shopping list for the next time he visited the mercantile.

“Since Mrs. Kinsley and I just finished our supper, pie and coffee a bit later will be perfect.”

Miss Amsel glanced at the circle of empty seats around the table, and Joel sensed her desire for someone to join her. Jolting forward, he yanked out a chair. “Miz Kinsley?” He waited until the older woman slid into the seat, then he plunked himself in the chair across from Miss Amsel. The two boys shared the single remaining chair.

Joel cleared his throat. “Well . . . Miss Amsel . . .” He wished he could call her Edythe, but that wouldn’t be proper. “You been enjoyin’ gettin’ to know the folks around here?”

Although her smile remained intact, he thought he detected a slight recoil. Then she laughed lightly. “It has been very . . . enlightening.”

Did she stumble over the word or did he only imagine it? And what exactly did she mean by “enlightening”?

“Of course, I’ve only begun my visits. Yours is the fourth family thus far.” She bobbed her chin to indicate her companion. “Although this is Mrs. Kinsley’s first.”

When Joel had seen both women on the wagon seat, he’d assumed Mrs. Kinsley had been Miss Amsel’s guide to all of the local farmsteads. “You didn’t go on the others?”

“No need.” Miz Kinsley’s eyes shone with approval. “Miss Amsel thought – rightly so – it’d be better to have me along for this one, seein’ as how you’re a single man an’ she’s a single gal. She don’t want any ill conjectures for her, or for you.”

If the folks from town had any inkling where his mind had run earlier when he’d focused on the schoolmarm’s lips, they’d certainly harbor some ill conjecture toward him. He needed to watch himself.

Miz Kinsley released a throaty chuckle. “She don’t know it yet, but I’m fixin’ to go with her to the Sterbinzes, too. Wouldn’t be a problem if it were only Martha an’ her ma, but with no pa in the house
and
Terrill still livin’ there . . .” She pulled her eyebrows together in an uncertain scowl. “I’m thinkin’ it’s best not to encourage Terrill to get a wild notion.”

Even though the town gossips had it Miss Amsel was refusing the attention of any single man in town, Terrill Sterbinz possessed a stubborn streak as long as the Platte River. He just might turn a visit concerning Martha into an opportunity to pursue courting. Jealousy struck at the idea of Terrill and Miss Amsel keeping company, and Joel gave himself a mental kick.

“That’s sound thinking,” he finally responded, relieved when Miss Amsel’s posture relaxed. He searched for something else to say and wished the boys would pipe up, but they just sat there smiling at Miss Amsel. “The boys here” – Johnny and Robert’s heads turned in unison to face Joel – “come home full of good reports about what they’re doin’ in school. They especially liked the lesson on bugs.”

“They did?” Miss Amsel seemed surprised. The boys’ heads swiveled toward her again. “And you . . . you thought it was a worthwhile activity?”

“Sure did.” Joel hid a smirk as Johnny and Robert promptly swung their faces toward him again. They’d get dizzy with this back-and-forth looking if they weren’t careful. “We rely on the crops to make our living. The boys here were always catchin’ ladybugs, puttin’ them in jars. But after you talked about how ladybugs eat plant lice, they’ve promised to let them be. I’m thinkin’ my cornstalks’ll be grateful.”

Delight bloomed on Miss Amsel’s face, causing Joel’s heart to thump hard in his chest. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked when she let herself relax and smile that way?

“Mr. Townsend, I must be honest, I had a rather unpleasant exchange with . . . another parent . . . concerning some of the activities in which the children have engaged at school.”

Most women would just blurt out everything, including the name of the other person. But apparently she refrained from gossip.
Attractive, kind to the boys, churchgoing, a controlled tongue
. . .

“I’m relieved that you see value in the study of entomology.”

Joel laughed self-consciously and scratched his head. “What’s that you said?”

Johnny poked his uncle’s arm. “She’s talkin’ about studyin’ bugs . . . I mean, insects. Miss Amsel says it’s an important part of zoology. That means animal science.” The boy grinned at his teacher. “Right, Miss Amsel?”

Miss Amsel nodded. “That’s exactly right, Johnny, and your explanation proves you do a wonderful job of paying attention in class.” Her expression turned pensive. “I wish all fathers were as supportive as you are, Mr. Townsend.”

“He ain’t our father,” Robert inserted. “He’s our uncle. Our pa an’ ma went to Heaven.” The boy tipped his head. “Where’s your pa an’ ma, Miss Amsel?”

Of course the boy couldn’t know he was asking a personal question, but from the pained look on Miss Amsel’s face, she’d been caught by surprise. Joel tousled Robert’s hair. “Don’t be nosy, Robert.”

“But I just asked – ”

Joel frowned.

Robert ducked his head, peering at his teacher through a heavy fringe of bangs – Joel needed to get out the shears again. “Didn’t mean to be nosy. Sorry, Miss Amsel.”

Joel’s heart turned over at the tender look the schoolmarm gave his talkative nephew. “That’s all right, Robert. And it seems we have something in common. My ma is gone, too.”

Robert’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “To Heaven?”

“That’s right.”

There was no mistaking the pain in Miss Amsel’s voice. As if acting independently of Joel’s good sense, his hand shot across the table and loosely cupped hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her gaze met his, her expression both shocked and appreciative. “Why . . . thank you, Mr. Townsend.” She sounded as if she’d been running a footrace. Very slowly, she pulled her hand from beneath his. “She’s been gone for many years, but I find I still miss her. Just as Johnny and Robert must miss their parents.”

A glance at the boys confirmed her statement – the pair wore matching frowns. But then Johnny sat up. “Least you still got your pa. An’ me an’ Robert got Uncle Joel. So we’re lucky, huh?”

“You’re very right, Johnny.” Even though Miss Amsel’s words agreed, her eyes sent a different message. Something bothered her. Badly. Joel wished he could ask why she looked so uncertain, but after accusing Robert of being nosy he couldn’t question her.

Miz Kinsley suddenly cleared her throat, startling Joel. He’d been so focused on Miss Amsel, he’d forgotten the other woman was in the room. “You ’bout ready to serve up that pie an’ coffee? Been sittin’ here smellin’ it so long my belly’s convinced I 82 didn’t feed it supper.”

Joel laughed and pushed to his feet. “Sure, Miz Kinsley. Johnny, you get the pie. I’ll fetch some plates an’ the coffee.” Robert’s lower lip poked out. “An’, Robert, why don’t you put out some of those molasses cookies. Might be Miz Kinsley or your teacher’ll want a little somethin’ more than pie.”

Robert dashed for the cookie crock.

As they sipped coffee from rose-painted teacups borrowed from Miz Jeffers and ate their pie, the talk returned to school and the boys’ progress. Miss Amsel’s praise made Joel’s chest swell with pride in his nephews. But even while he laughed at the boys’ antics and held up his end of the conversation, a niggling question rolled in the back of Joel’s mind: Why did Miss Amsel look so sad when talking about her father?