Northern Lights Trilogy (66 page)

Tora walked briskly to the front of the class, pasting on a smile and looking at each of the children. About twelve of the desks were filled, mostly with very young children. In the last row sat two boys of about fifteen years of age. They sat up straight when she turned to face them. “That’s the prettiest schoolmarm I ever laid eyes on,” one of the fifteen-year-olds said to the other, looking at her boldly. Tora ignored him, continuing to peruse the rest of the class.

Nine girls and five boys, she counted. One by one she took stock of what age she guessed each to be, and their demeanor. She felt overwhelmed—what did she know about dealing with children? But, she decided, they were simply small people, meant to be dealt with like small adults.

“I am Miss Anders,” she announced lightly, still taking stock. “I am your new teacher.” There was a redheaded boy of about ten, a brunette girl of about seven, and next to her, another brunette of about five or six. Tora’s eyes rested on hers. With hair that gently curled to her shoulders, and dark summer-blue eyes that reminded her of … Tora stifled a gasp. Why, the girl was the spitting image of Soren! Of herself!

She sat down abruptly on the edge of her desk. Was this … was this Jessica? She could feel the blood drain from her face.

Swallowing hard and looking away from the girl, Tora fought to find her voice. “I would like you each to tell me your name, age, and how much you can do numbers, read, and write.” Tora worked her way around to the other side of the desk on shaky legs. She sat down hard, trying to appear as if she were listening, all the while waiting for the children to be done and for the girl that looked like Jessica to speak. At last, her turn arrived.

She stood, and Tora noted her slender frame, yet tall height. Both she and Soren were tall. “My name is Letitia Conner,” she said. She paused as Tora closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. “Miss Anders, are you feeling poorly?”

Letitia Conner
, Tora repeated to herself.
Letitia Conner. She’s not the
girl! She’s not my daughter
. Tora managed to look up and smile at her. “Yes, Letitia. I’m sorry, I have a headache. You look so familiar. What are your parents’ names?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Edward Conner.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’m sorry, I do not know them. Please go on.”

The girl did so, but Tora was not listening. All she could think of was how the girl looked like Soren, like herself for that matter. The cut of her chin, the perky tilt of her nose, the bow of her mouth … It was all like Tora’s. Did anyone else in the room notice? She glanced around. How foolish of her! She was in a classroom of children! Children did not notice such things. But her name … had Kaatje changed Jessica’s name, as well as her own? Remarried? No doubt that louse Soren had moved on. Had Kaatje moved here from the Dakota Territory? Or had she given Tora’s child up for adoption?

It was all too much to consider. As she pretended to listen to the other children as they stood to speak, the tears came unbidden. At first, Tora tried to hide them, pretending she was merely bothered by the dust, and she blew her nose, but she could not stop them. On and on they came until she gave in to the deep sobs that had been aching inside her chest ever since … ever since Letitia caught her eye.

She could hear the children hush in shock, then begin to scatter.

“She’s loony,” whispered one.

“We need to get my ma,” said another.

Tora didn’t care. It seemed all she could do was stay there and cry, cry as she hadn’t cried in years. How long had it been since she had thought about Jessica? How long had she been missing her? For that was what struck her most; she had found her long-lost daughter, the daughter she had always missed.

A small hand rested on her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Miss Anders,” said a soft voice. “It will be all right.”

But when Tora looked up, she just cried harder.

Letitia
was
Jessica. She had to be.

It was Mrs. Conner who came and retrieved her from the empty classroom and quietly led her to the shanty. Tucked under the comforter and given a sip of water, Tora looked at her rescuer for the first time. She was the spitting image of Letitia. The girl’s mother.
She isn’t Jessica
. Tora fought to find her voice, wondering at the disappointment that mingled with relief in her breast. “You … you are Letitia’s mother?”

“I am.” She stroked Tora’s brow in a concerned fashion, obviously checking for fever. “Are you ill, miss?”

“A bit … overwhelmed.” Tora’s mind flew, trying to find a legitimate excuse for her breakdown. What would another woman understand, identify with, empathize with her for? For the first time in a long while, truth was her ally. “You see, I’ve lost everything. My home, my occupation, my love.” She turned away as if it pained her to speak. And it surprised Tora that it actually did hurt to talk of such things.

“Poor girl,” Mrs. Conner murmured. “And you lived where.?”

“Helena. I was in Helena.” Tora thought fast, afraid that if she told too much of her story, these people could be affected by Trent Storm’s long arm too and despise her as everyone else had. “I was in love with a man who cast me away like yesterday’s bath water. Suddenly, I was lost. I had thought we would marry! I was employed by him, so then I was out of work too.”

“Poor, poor girl!” Mrs. Conner said, obviously aghast at Tora’s turn in fortune. “What brought you here?”

“I bought a train ticket with next to my last dollar. Mr. Crosby found me in town, looking for work, and mentioned you all needed a schoolteacher. No doubt you’re thinking he made a huge mistake.” She sat up and wiped away her tears. “I promise you, Mrs. Conner, this is truly unlike me. It was all just too much. I had just arrived—”

“That’s right!” she interrupted. “Just last night! It was too much for any woman, let alone a woman who’s been through what you have. You rest, dear. Get settled. Tomorrow’s soon enough to begin school.
I’ll speak to the other parents and explain. You just take care of yourself.”

“Oh, thank you. You are too kind.”

“Not at all. Let me know if you need anything. We’re the closest farm, not a mile down the road to the east. I’ll have my boy bring supper by for you.”

“You needn’t—”

“Nonsense,” she said, pushing Tora’s shoulders back until she lay down again. “You rest and let my boy know tonight if you’re needing a thing.”

“Thank you,” Tora whispered as Mrs. Conner left the shanty quietly. “Thank you.” She was so weary! With eyelids of stone, Tora gave in to the sleep that called her from deep within.

Tora did not usually dream. She could not remember the last time she had had a dream. But that day she had a dream so vivid that it was difficult to shake. So when the Conner boy appeared at five with a knock on her shaky door, Tora struggled to wake. She shook her head, embarrassed that she had slept all afternoon, and went to the door.

It was one of the older boys who had sat in the back. “You’re a Conner?” she asked.

“Ross Conner,” he said with a nod as he pushed a large basket toward her. “Mama sent this. I’ll pick up the basket tomorrow at school. We’re havin’ school tomorrow?”

“Yes. Eight sharp. Do not be late.”

He stood straighter when he heard the serious note in her tone, then shuffled his feet. “Mama wanted me to ask if you’re needin’ anything.”

“No. Thank you. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Bye!” he said, scooting away from her door as if she were the village witch, the relief in his walk visible.

Tora closed the door, still half lost in her dream. She sat back down on the bed, basket at her feet, trying to remember just how the
dream went … There had been a girl, a girl that looked somewhat like Letitia, but not like her exactly. It was Jessica, she supposed. Did a mother have some supernatural power to discern what her baby would look like as a child? The last she had seen of Jessie, she was just an infant, chubby and cute, with eyes the color of cornflowers, and hair that curled up at the ends in little ringlets.

It was nonsense. All of it, Tora thought, suddenly angry. She stood and paced. Why, she hadn’t thought of Jessica since that day she had left her in the road at Kaatje’s feet, determined to go on with her life. It was all that rotten Soren’s fault! If he had not gotten her pregnant, none of this would have happened! She could have gone to work for Trent immediately, they would have fallen in love, and no secrets from the past would have split them apart.

The anger dissipated as Tora once again thought of the child in her dream. When she had seen Jessica in her sleep, she had felt neither anger nor the weight of responsibility. Only the overpowering sense of lost time and guilt. What had she done? She sat down hard on the edge of her bed. Had she given up a child she had actually wanted? That was impossible! Her life held no place for a baby, a toddler, a girl. What Tora wanted excluded children. Once she and Trent had married and a suitable nanny was hired, then.

It was all too much, she concluded once again. Perhaps she was truly on the edge of hysteria. Who wouldn’t be in her position? One of the greatest ladies in the West, now fighting it out as a schoolmarm in the Washington Territory! Next she’d be ambushed by Indians, the way her luck was running.

Wearily, she reached for the basket and unwrapped some roast beef, potatoes, and carrots on a plate. She picked at it for a few minutes then lay back down. Sleep overtook her immediately.

The next morning, she was up and ready for her students before they arrived. Determined to make things right—since she could see few options—she had built a fire in the school’s woodstove and, after
checking a student’s primer, had written the alphabet on the board. Although she could speak English with almost no accent, she still had trouble remembering not to write her letters as she had as a child in Bergen, with crossed
o
’s and such.

She walked back to the woodstove, to see how her fire was faring. It sputtered and was a sorry excuse for heat, but at least Tora had tried. She’d assign Ross to see to it as soon as he got in. Today, she felt together, ready for this new challenge before her. One never knew. Perhaps her stint as a schoolteacher would lead her to other opportunities. Today after school she would go to Mr. Crosby and ask for a small advance on her salary in order to buy some food supplies. If the townspeople were to respect her, she needed to act respectable and stop assuming people would feed her. She felt a slight blush climb her neck at the thought. Imagine! Tora Anders relying on others for food! Not since she had stowed away on the
Herald
did she feel so on the edge, teetering between her dreams and disaster.

However, she felt much closer to disaster here, outside Spokane, than she had crossing the Atlantic. Perhaps it was because she had tasted success and failure, she thought to herself as she wiped off her dusty desk. And that taste of success had left her wanting more. No, this school would only be a place to rest, take stock, and then move on. She simply had to decide where she wanted to go. Back east? Farther west?

Thoughts of Elsa came to mind. She knew from the newspaper accounts that she and Peder were in Seattle. What would it be like to see her sister again? Perhaps she could go, packed with all her fine things, with the excuse that she wanted to reestablish their relationship. Tora shook her head. No, that would never do. Elsa drove her mad with her elder sibling ways, so condescending and self-righteous. And knowing Peder, he would probably sniff out the truth of her predicament, just as Trent had.

No, Tora Anders would make her own way in the world. One way or another.

October 1886

I
t took Karl several days to work up the courage to return to Kaatje’s farm. For hours he had paced the floor of his small hotel room, thinking about what he would say and how he would say it. Regardless that he only felt friendship with Elsa as he had stared inside at her, he doubted it would hold. For years he had drilled it into his mind and heart that she was married, that she belonged to another. And yet he had continued to love her. Now she was alone. Available. How could he talk to her, see her beautiful face without those old feelings of love and desire returning? That was the last thing she needed right now. Yet he so desperately needed to talk to her, to seek her absolution!