Debra Holland (26 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After talking to the Cobbs, Harriet stormed off to the schoolhouse, a book tucked under one arm, anger giving fuel to her stride.
How dare the Cobbs meddle in my business, calling a meeting of the town leaders to talk to Ant without consulting me!
She held her head high, conscious of her stomach churning and flags of embarrassed color in her cheeks. She barely acknowledged anyone walking past her.

Once at the schoolhouse, she unlocked and flung open the door, stepped inside the hushed, hot room, then shut the door behind her. The sun streamed through the windows, providing welcome light. Even though school was out for the summer, she’d left the shutters to the windows open because she often came here for peace and quiet.

Harriet walked up the aisle and set her book down on the table she used for a desk. Then she wove her way through the rows of long plank benches with corresponding narrow tables in front of them to the windows on each side of the building. She flung open the sashes to let some air into the stifling room. A slight breeze wafted in. Not enough to cool her cheeks. But at least with the huge old oak shading one side of the building the temperature in the schoolhouse was more pleasant than at the Cobbs’.

In winter—she shuddered at the memory—the room would be freezing, except for the area near the stove in the right front of the room. Harriet made sure to rotate her pupils, so each had some time near the stove and some away. Yet, even close to the stove, it wasn’t uncommon to have one side of your body warm and another chilled. She’d heard some teachers only allowed their favorites to sit next to the stove, or they punished students by forcing them to sit in the coldest part of the room all day. Other weak-willed teachers allowed the oldest students, the bullies, or most popular ones, to decide who sat near the stove, another practice she didn’t condone.

Harriet sighed and stepped away from the window. Just thinking about winter seemed to cool her somewhat.

Unable to sit just yet, she strolled around her domain. Harriet knew she was lucky in the teaching tools the more prosperous citizens of Sweetwater Springs had provided. Her school had a slate chalkboard in the front of the room, with a map of the United States hanging on one side and one of the world on the other. She twirled the suspension globe donated by the Carters, glad that she didn’t have to use an apple and a ball as she’d done at her previous school.

A shelf held
Harper’s Young Ladies, Chatterbox, McGuffy’s Readers
and
Youth’s Companion
, several books of poetry, dictionaries and almanacs, a Bible, and some well-read novels by Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, and Jules Verne, and a copy of
Elsie Dinsmore
. Hopefully soon, Ant’s newspapers would also have shelf space.

Another shelf held a pile of extra slates for those students whose families couldn’t afford one per child, along with a box of chalk. Each student was supposed to bring his or her own, but a request to Pamela Carter had resulted in extras to loan out. She made a mental note to request more. She doubted the Swensen girls would be able to provide their own.

Stopping at her desk, she straightened the ruler and pencils propped in a tin can. She fingered the horsewhip, inherited from the former schoolmaster, she kept on the side of her desk, not that she’d ever had to use it, thank goodness. Nevertheless, the whip was a deterrent to potentially disobedient students.

Harriet sat down in her chair, opened
The Count of Monte Cristo
, and began to read. But even in the solitude of the schoolhouse, she had a hard time concentrating on the book. The delights of a new story and the freedom to read in peace couldn’t stop her from worrying about the outcome of the meeting at Banker Livingston’s.
I’ve never taken so long to finish a new book before.

She had barely read a chapter when the sound of hoofbeats and wheels made her get up from her desk and run to the window. She saw Ant pull up in front of the schoolhouse driving Mack Taylor’s rented buggy. Although she was tempted to fling open the door and run outside, she knew it would be better for Ant to come inside, away from prying eyes.

Harriet returned to her desk, placed a piece of paper in the book to mark her place, and closed it. Carrying it with her, she hurried to the door just as Ant came in. His tall frame filled the entranceway.

All of a sudden, her stays seemed too tight, and she struggled to breathe.

When he saw her, he grinned, his smile big and white, and canted a tad to the right. “I’ve been released on my own recognizance, but it was a close call.”

“What did they say?”

“Only good things about you, my dear lady,” he drawled. “They obviously value their schoolteacher as they ought.”

For the first time since she’d heard about the meeting, Harriet took a deep breath. “Then they’re going to allow me to be David’s governess?”

His eyebrow pulled even higher. “It’s not their place to disallow you from working an extra job as long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties as a teacher. Not that they agree with me. It wasn’t your duties that were in question, just your virtue.”

Heat flooded Harriet’s cheeks, and she put her hands on her face. “They didn’t?”

He winked at her. “I assured them that your virtue was safe with me.”

“Oh, Ant. I don’t even know what to say.”

He sobered. “Don’t worry, Harriet. They were just being protective of you. They gave us their blessing.” He looked as if he was going to say more, but stopped.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You are now free to teach school in Sweetwater Springs
and
be David’s governess.”

She clapped her hands. “I’m
so
thankful.”

He walked over to her desk, picked up her new bonnet, and held it out to her. “David’s waiting in the buggy. Do you want to drive with us to see your new home?”

She grabbed her bonnet and set it on her head. “Oh, yes!”

* * *

David sat in the buggy between his uncle and Miss Stanton. Once Uncle Ant had gotten the Falabella for him, David had started to trust him and stopped cringing away from the big man whenever he got close … mostly. Instead he had a warm feeling inside his body and knew he hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

The big man still scared him. Not because of anything he did or said. Uncle Ant wasn’t mean—drunk or not—like his pa. The way the man loomed over him was enough to sometimes send creepy crawlies scuttling through David’s stomach. But he no longer wanted to run away.

Most times, he held back the good feeling. He still felt like he had to look over his shoulder for his pa. He knew Pa was dead. But it didn’t feel that way. He kept expecting that heavy hand to land on his shoulder, the beginning of bad things. He shrugged his shoulders as if shaking off the memory.

Miss Stanton looked at him. “Are you all right, David?”

He gave her a quick nod, staring at the brown horse pulling the buggy.

Tomorrow Uncle Ant said they were going to drive out to the Sanders’ ranch and buy a horse for him. He wiggled in his seat, just thinking about having two horses of his own, although from old habit, he was careful not to touch his uncle or Miss Stanton. He started daydreaming about riding his own horse, galloping it down the road. Would it be black or brown? Maybe an Appaloosa like he’d seen Mr. Sanders riding.

The track they followed curved around a hill, and a house came in sight. Not tall like Widda Murphy’s and the mercantile building, but long, with a great, shady porch. David had never lived in a home with a porch.

Across the yard was a big barn with weathered gray wood. The barn interested him more than the house because his horses and Ole Blue would live there, and he wanted them to be snug in winter.

When Uncle Ant pulled up to the house and helped them down, David pointed to the barn.
 

Uncle Ant laughed and ruffled David’s hair. “Go ahead and explore, Davy boy. We’ll be in the house. Give my regards to the pigs.” Then as David took off running, he called, “There’s a surprise for you in the barn.”

David increased his speed, liking the feel of the flat land, so different from the mountain he’d gotten used to.
Much easier to run.
 

He reached the broad barn door and pushed it aside. Light filtered in through the opening. In the front was a big open area, probably, he recalled from seeing other barns, for the wagon. Up above was a loft with hay spilling over the edge. A ladder was propped against it.

David ran down the aisle peeking into the six empty stalls, the floors swept clean of straw. He imagined his horse and the Falabella in them and could hardly wait until the horses were real not just in his imagination.

Ole Blue will like it here.
For a moment he faltered, feeling guilty about the mule. Ole Blue had been David’s only refuge. That mule loved him.
Said something when a mule cared about a boy more than his own pa.
His throat tightened at the familiar pain.

Old Blue had been the only one David had talked to. Sometimes while feeding or brushing him, David would whisper in his ear.
Secrets.
The mule’s ear would twitch, and he’d toss his head like he understood. He’d felt frustrated and sad how Pa mistreated Ole Blue.

But he’s going to be all right. Uncle Ant said so.

Reassured, David kept going.

In the last stall, curled up on a bundle of straw, a fat brown puppy with a black masked face plunged to its feet and waddled over to him, plumy tail wagging. Joy washed over him, and David scooped the puppy into his arms, where it wiggled in ecstasy and licked his face. He giggled before turning it over to see. Boy or girl?
Girl. I’ll have to think of a good name.

David played with the puppy for a few minutes and then carried her with him while he explored the rest of the barn. One last stall held a brown cow with big soft eyes. He wanted to go into the stall and get acquainted, but the puppy squirmed in his arms, and he wasn’t sure what might happen if he introduced the two.

There was another open area, then a back door. He pushed it open and saw some pigs wallowing in mud. The hot breeze carried pig stench his way, and he wrinkled his nose at the odor. He wanted to go closer to them, but the hayloft lured him back inside. He waved at the pigs.
Uncle Ant sends his regards.

He scrambled up the ladder, one arm holding the puppy, then set her down and bounced into the soft hay. With a giggle, he spread his arms and let himself fall backward onto the springy hay. The puppy galloped over and licked his face.
Yes, this is good.

* * *

Harriet loved the house on sight. Although her dream home had planks instead of squared off logs, this one, although bigger, was close enough to her imaging to make her heart quicken. She put her hand over her chest to still the rapid beating. “I love the porch.” Harriet could imagine herself sitting in one of the two rockers and reading.

Ant had told her that the house had been well cared for until Abe’s wife died. And she could see the truth of that statement. Weeds poked through the hard-packed dirt between the house and the barn. The roses needed to be deadheaded and more weeds had overgrown the garden—what there was of it. Abe probably hadn’t planted new vegetables this year, and only ones that had seeded themselves or came back year-after-year had straggled through the ground. She hoped Abe at least had watered the garden and that she could save some of the plants.

 
Her gaze continued around. “Look,” she pointed. “There’s an orchard. There’ll be apples in the autumn. I can make applesauce and pies.”

“So you bake?”

“My mother wouldn’t allow either of her daughters to forego the fine art of domesticity. Although, Mrs. Cobb never lets me do anything, so my skills are rusty.”

“I’m sure lucky in my selection of governess and housekeeper.”

“What would you have done if I couldn’t cook?”

“Muddled through. You should see what I can cook over a campfire.”

“What?”

“Beans, beans, and more beans.”

Harriet laughed and looked at the house again, imagining it with a picket fence with roses growing on it. “I want a house just like this someday.”

She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until Ant gave her a curious glance.

“My father died when I was three. My mother and sister and I moved from relative to relative, never a place to call our own.” Harriet lifted her chin. “But I will have my own place. As soon as I save up enough money.”

“Why don’t you claim a homestead?”

“I’ve thought of it. I know other women who have.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I don’t think I have the fortitude to spend long months alone on the prairie. I’d rather have a house in town. Near people.”

He gestured to the house. “Shall we go inside?”

“Of course.”

He took her elbow and escorted her to the porch.
 

Harriet shivered at his touch.
Why does he have this effect on me?

“Abe told me his wife wanted high ceilings. She was a tall woman apparently.”

“Tall and big-boned. She towered above her husband. I always thought them a comical sight. He adored her, though. That was obvious.”
And touching.
Harriet looked up, comparing the top of Ant’s head to the roof. “You must bump your head a lot.”