Montana Rose (5 page)

Chapter 9

Rose rubbed her tired eyes and drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She leaned against the kitchen doorway enjoying the sweet morning air breathe softly against her face. It carried a hint of autumn, and Rose gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of winter coupled with the cold Montana wind.

She squinted into the early morning gray, barely able to make out the wood stacked neatly against the shed. Although it was only a few feet to the pile, it would be a miserable job gathering the frozen, snow-packed wood and carrying it into the schoolhouse. She hadn’t explored the shed, but maybe it could be cleaned and Jesse River’s next load of wood stored there. Yes, that’s what she’d do today.

Today, the last day before school started. The last day before everyone in Wise River, Montana knew what a failure she was as a teacher. The last day before she’d have to face a class of upturned faces, waiting for her to . . . To what? Teach them? Impart knowledge to them?
Oh, Rose, what a foolish mistake you’ve made.

She’d made several trips to Ben and Wisteria’s home determined to tell them she would be moving on and wouldn’t be Wise River’s teacher. Surely they would understand and not want her to stay and be humiliated. But each time, she’d retraced her steps back to the schoolhouse, lacking courage to even knock on their door. Where was the Rose of old? She missed her. Each time, she’d returned to the teacher’s desk and reviewed her lesson plan, re-working it until the page was a mass of illegible smudges.

Rose took another breath and let a smile creep across her face as she thought back to Jesse sitting at her kitchen table, wolfing down cake. He’d even let his guard down long enough to share a few stories about the cattle drives, the men he’d worked with, and the country he’d seen. Yet when Rose had asked him if he regretted leaving that behind and returning to Wise River, he’d shortly replied, “No.” The dark look on his face advised her not to pursue that line of questioning.

She’d mentioned Tory and couldn’t help but notice the tense, worried frown that crossed Jesse’s face. He didn’t disclose much, mentioning only that Tory had problems reading. She had tried not to let her surprise show when he said Tory was unable to read higher than the beginning primers. Piecing together more from what he didn’t say, she surmised Tory fought him over everything, attending school included. Jesse Rivers was a man carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. She had such an urge to reach out and help. Why she would want to share the burdens of a man she’d just met and wasn’t sure she even liked, was something better left alone.

“He’s had a hard twelve years,” Jesse said. “Now I’m back, and he has to adjust to having me take over and tell him what to do. And, to make matters worse, he’s shot up bigger than most of his friends. That is,” he’d muttered under his breath, “if he has any friends.”

Jesse had gone on to assure her he’d step in if Tory gave her any trouble. Just thinking about it made Rose shiver.

The sky in the east was losing the night’s grip, and a sliver of pink mixed in with shades of gray heralded the promise of sunrise. Rose took one last lingering look and stepped back inside.

She had an agenda. Today she’d clean the shed and make sure every chore in her meager domain was caught up. Keeping busy might stop her mind from scattering every which way.

Several hours later, there was an empty shed and a pile of trash to show for her efforts. Finishing that task, she’d heated water and done the washing. Her back ached, but it was a good ache, one born of a job well done.

Rose bent over the oven door and removed a pan of corn bread. That, and the honey Wisteria had left, would make her supper. After she ate, she’d carry in the washtub and fill it with hot water from the stove’s reservoir. A warm bath, clean sheets, and a tasty supper should make for a good night’s rest. Shouldn’t it?

But it didn’t. The sheets twisted around her legs as she tossed and turned. Finally, with a disgusted mutter, she threw off the covers and limped to the kitchen table. Fumbling in the dark, she removed the chimney from the kerosene lamp resting there. What a blessing to have a kerosene lamp. Kerosene was costly, so she had to use it sparingly, but she loved it.

Carefully placing it back in the center of the table, she closed her eyes, letting the brief peace brought about by the welcoming glow of this lamp fill her. Its light cheered the center of the room, driving the night shadows back to hide in corners and against the walls.

Rose took two steps away from the table, took another step, then stopped. “Oh, my,” she said, her eyes as wide as the grin on her face.

Turning around, she went to the lamp and hesitantly placed her palms around its warm base. Perfect. It was perfect. Here in her kitchen, in her hands, rested not only the class’s first history lesson, but also their first art project.

Muttering the word “perfect,” Rose dropped into a chair, her mind whirling with possibilities and plans. She would teach
her
way
,
not someone else’s, and certainly not by the rigid rules set down by the school board. She’d always done things her way, confident and ready to meet any task head on. She wouldn’t confine herself to books. Absolutely not. She’d bring everyday objects alive for the children. Her guide would be the familiar items making up their world. The possibilities were endless. Didn’t she already have a history and art project and the day hadn’t even begun? She could do this. Of course she could. Energy coursed through her. Energy and excitement.

Begrudging the time spent coaxing the kitchen range into life and filling the coffee pot, Rose hurried back to the table eager to map out each step of the glorious idea.

As she planned, waves of gratefulness filled her. Wisteria and Ben had encouraged the townspeople to donate any books. Surprisingly, several textbooks and four McGuffey Readers were offered. Aries, Ben’s sister-in-law and a doctor, had generously given several of her father’s reference and history books. She and Jarrett also gave several Big Chief tablets purchased from the mercantile. Rose would keep them at her desk and judiciously hand out the paper for special projects. And, making it nothing short of a miracle, the school board had loosened purse strings and provided chalk and slates for each child. Wise River was making every effort to assist her in educating their children.

Grateful that worry had robbed her from sleeping, Rose rejoiced now that she had hours before school would start. The time would be put to use assembling today’s first lesson. She could hardly wait. The thrill of anticipation was new and strong enough to banish any earlier fears.

She gulped down her breakfast of oven toast and coffee. Then she grabbed a bowl and mixed up a batch of cookies.
I’ll have a snack ready each day. Most of the children are from outlying ranches and will have started their days early
with chores waiting to be accomplished. Perhaps I’ll make cooking another lesson to be taught.
She laughed at the idea.
No, most of the girls could prepare a meal at an early age. They could probably teach me a thing or two. That’s it! Cooking can be another area to explore. The boys can take the topic of fire and . . .
Her mind was off as possibilities jostled each other. And if an errant thought broke through of wishing she was starting the day on her own ranch with cows to milk, chickens to feed, eggs to gather, and a myriad of other chores waiting to be completed, it was quickly banished to the back of her mind. It would wait there along with the errant thought of Jesse Rivers and his rare smile.

Chapter 10

Rose grabbed the rope and gave it a tug. The school bell rang out clear and strong, a carillon of sound winging over the small town. Standing by her desk, Rose waited for the children to arrive. After several minutes, a tight knot formed in her stomach. No one had arrived. Grimly, she marched over to the bell and just as she was about to give the rope another tug, the sound of feet shuffling across the vestibule’s floor and the subdued sound of children’s voices reached her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The children filed in, sober faced, with all signs of happiness or excitement missing. Like little soldiers, they marched to individual desks, and staring straight ahead, arms stiff at their sides, stood beside them. Rose watched them, puzzled at first, then realization broke. They were taking the same seats assigned to them by the last teacher. She stared at each face, hoping to see a smile, or to even hear a “hello.” There was no sound in the room except for a few restless feet.

“Good morning.” Rose was relieved her voice wasn’t trembling. “I’m Miss Bush, and I’m your new teacher.” She waited for a reply. None came. “My first name is Rose and if you put my first and last name together, you’ll find it makes the silly name of Rose Bush. She forced a smile. “That will be easy for you to remember, won’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Bush,” the class chorused without a trace of emotion.

Now what? “Well, uh, Good Morning. Oh, I already said that.” She ran her tongue nervously over her lips. “Are you standing at your assigned seats?”

“Yes, Miss Bush.”

“Well, then, please sit down.” No response. “You may be seated,” she said more loudly.

Silently, moving as one, the children fell into their seats.

Rose noted two little girls had remained standing.

“Don’t you have an assigned seat?”

Their little heads shook. The girls couldn’t have been much older than three.

“Are you new?”

“Yes,” one lisped.

“Does anyone know anything about these two girls?”

Silence met her question. Then tentatively a hand rose.

“Yes.” Rose nodded, relieved.

“They are my sisters. They’re twins. Ma said they were old enough to come to school now.”

“Their names?”

“Sarah and Lucy.”

“Sarah and Lucy,” Rose repeated. “And their last names?”

“Trawley.”

Rose glanced down at her roll call book and saw the name Amanda Trawley.

“You must be Amanda.”

“Yes, Miss Bush.” Again, the monotone response. Rose felt sure that by the day’s end, the words “Yes, Miss Bush” would be enough to make her cringe.

Just then the door flew open and hit against the wall. Tory Rivers stood scowling in the doorway. Not saying one word, he marched to the corner in the back of the room and stiffly stood there.

Rose’s eyes widened as she watched his blustery entrance. What on earth? She was totally at a loss to explain his actions.

“Tory,” she called out to the boy grimly standing in the corner. Like the other students, he had adopted the earlier pose of body erect, arms stiffly at his side. “Please take your seat.”

A few subdued snickers greeted her request.

Tory didn’t respond, his posture rigid, his eyes focused on a space somewhere behind her head.

Rose raised her voice. “Tory, please take your seat.”

Still no response. Tory wrinkled his brow. Reluctantly, his eyes dropped, meeting hers with a puzzled expression.

Amanda’s hand snaked up.

“Yes, Amanda.” It would seem that having suffered no consequence from her earlier experience, she was the self-appointed spokesperson. She had dared to raise her hand without the teacher requesting her to do so.

“That is his seat, Miss Bush. Well, it’s not exactly a seat.” Her voice dropped off.

“The corner?” Dumbfounded, the question fell from her lips. “Standing in the corner is his seat?”

“Yes, Miss Bush,” Amanda answered.

“But . . . but that’s not a seat. It’s a corner,” Rose said, stating the obvious.

She looked at Tory for an explanation, but other than the flush now working its way up his face, there was no response. Then she glanced back at Amanda.

Emboldened, Amanda said, “That’s where he stays. Mr. Macon said he was a dunce and had to stay in the dunce’s corner. Mr. Macon said he was a big dummy. Mr. Macon said
—
”

“That will be enough, Amanda.”

It was as if a cold wind had filled the room, freezing every set of eyes in her direction. Rose gripped the edge of her desk while her mind raced for a solution. Anger was slowly filling her. How dare someone subject a young boy to such-such humiliation? Her eyes flashed and she bit her lip to keep from voicing the thoughts clamoring inside her head. She’d love to get her hands on . . . No matter. There was a bigger problem facing her than the former teacher.

Where would she sit a boy much too big for the remaining empty desks? If Tory tried to squeeze into one of them, his knees would touch his chin.

A problem that had to be resolved immediately. And Rose felt the way she resolved it would set a tone in her classroom
.
One that would be lasting. She was being judged by twenty-two sets of eyes.

“Very well. Here’s what we’re going to do. I need two blocks of wood, about the same thickness. Would one of you boys volunteer to go out to the woodpile and bring them in?”

The children looked at each other. Finally, one of the older boys stood up. “I will, Miss Bush.”

“And your name is?”

“Art. Art Mackey.”

“Fine. Thank you, Art. And Timmy”—she smiled at Timmy McCabe, her sister’s new nephew—“would you help?”

There wasn’t a sound in the room as Rose and the students waited for their return. All faces had shifted to the door and no one wished for a speedy return more than Rose.

Finally, they appeared, each carrying a thick block of wood.

“Thank you.” She tapped one of the empty desks. “I will need both of you boys to take hold of a side of this desk. When I give the word, you will raise the desk and hold it in place while I slide a block under each runner. Can you do that?”

Heads nodded.

“All right. Get ready. Lift!”

The desk raised and in minutes the wood was in place. And while it looked ungainly, it was now high enough to accommodate a tall boy, knees and all.

“Thank you, boys. You’ve been a big help.”

Tentative smiles acknowledged her thanks.

“Tory, this will be your seat from now on. Please try it out. If it isn’t accommodating enough for your remarkable”—she emphasized the word, letting it hover in the room—“height, then we’ll just look for thicker blocks. I apologize. I should have had your desk ready. My brother was a tall as you and that’s how his teacher solved the problem.

Tory’s mouth fell open in surprise. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. She was apologizing to him? She called his height remarkable? Not sure if he heard her right, he remained rooted to the floor until Miss Rose wiggled her fingers, smiled, and motioned him forward.

Shoulders hunched, he dragged his feet to the altered desk and silently slid into the seat. It fit. His feet rested on the floor and the top of the desk was waist high. Just like everyone else’s. He had to fight the urge to smile.

“Does it feel comfortable, Tory?”

Tory swallowed hard. And in a scratchy voice replied, “Yes, Miss Bush.”