The Teacher's Mail Order Bride (14 page)

M
ichael thought
if there ever was a time he’d experienced the legendary Italian temper, it would be now. Just the thought of Rose out at night, by herself—no matter what the reason—had his blood boiling. Nothing had happened, fortunately, but Tombstone after dark, especially on the busiest commercial street—well, it was no place for someone as lovely and fragile as Rose.

Lovely and fragile, she was. But he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye—her chin held high as she stared straight ahead—and he had to admire her determination. And beyond that, her commitment to and love for education. It was a passion they shared, and he loved that about her.

Loved. Yes, that was the word that kept popping into his head when he looked at her, thought of her—and he’d never experienced such pain in his heart as when her father hailed him and Margery to their table earlier in the afternoon. He’d wanted to sink into the carpet, be anywhere but there as he saw the crushed look on Rose’s face.

The afternoon hadn’t gotten any better from there—in fact, it had been a disaster since he’d met the stage earlier in the day. He’d recognized Margery straight away, and she was just as she presented herself—kind, personable and all the rest—and in addition, she truly was a beautiful young lady. He hadn’t expected that, and it threw him a bit off balance.

He glanced again at Rose, his pulse quickening. She was every bit as beautiful as Margery. Even more, to his mind, her copper curls that had escaped fluttering around her face. It was completely dark now, and by the light of the lantern, her skin glowed, her dark eyelashes framing her deep, lovely eyes that were full of passion for life. An infectious passion.

“Rose,” he started, hoping to help her realize how dangerous it was, what she’d done. “I admire what you did tonight. I really do. But, you know, sometimes it’s not safe to be out at night. Especially for a beautiful young lady.”

He rubbed his neck as she turned to him, her eyes misty. Was she going to cry? He didn’t think he’d done anything to hurt her, and his anger was waning, rapidly replaced by a softened heart. His feelings had become clear to him when he’d seen Rose at the restaurant and he wished he’d been there with her, not Margery. And even more clear at the panic he felt knowing Rose had taken such a risk to deliver books—she could have been hurt, and that he cared so much that she not be—well, he knew he had to tell Margery the truth. And Rose.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I hadn’t intended to worry you. In fact, I hadn’t expected to even see you. Especially now that...”

Her voice trailed off and Michael’s heart pinched. “I was just afraid for your safety. I would have gone with you had you asked.”

She turned to him and her eyes flashed in the light of the lantern. “Asked? What do you think your fiancée would have thought of that?”

He tilted his hat back and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “About that...”

He faltered as they passed under the iron Archer Ranch sign and pulled up to the stable just beyond the ranch house. As he pulled on the reins and the horses stopped, he got out and tied the reins to the post, continuing on to help Rose down. As he reached up, emotion surged through him and he grabbed Rose’s waist, lifting her down from the buggy and holding her close.

He could feel her warm breath as he leaned in. He searched her eyes, a tear threatening to spill down her cheek. “Rose, I...I can’t go through with this. When I started this I had no idea that you would...that you were...”

Rose looked down and took a step back, her dark eyelashes wet and sparkling in the light of the lantern. He had to ask—had to know how she felt. He’d made a mistake in writing to Margery, and he needed to make things right. But he had to know how Rose felt. His heart would not rest until he did.

He reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips, his eyes meeting hers as she looked up at him.

“Michael, you are nothing if not a man of integrity, and you’ve made a commitment. Margery was asked to come many miles and leave her home to be your wife. You can’t take that away from her now. I am not willing to be a party to someone else’s heartache. I have enough of my own.”

“But Rose, I—”

“Shhh,” she said as she gently pulled his hand toward her, pressing his palm to her cheek. He felt the wetness of her tears, and pulled her toward him, lifting her chin toward him and pressing his lips on hers, warmth washing over him. He pulled back and opened his eyes, hers sparkling up at him in the moonlight, and he knew in that moment how he felt—and how she felt, no matter what she’d said—and he knew what he had to do.

A
wkward silence hovered
as Ben took Rose to school the following morning. She remembered the night before—all of it, from the mercantile to Mr. Bailey—and her cheeks heated. It had been embarrassing enough, and she didn’t want to rehash the events with Ben now. He glanced at her several times, staying quiet, although she was sure he had lots of questions about why she’d knocked on the door of the bunkhouse and asked him to take Mr. Tate home.

She looked away, not wanting to explain. She’d not slept well, alternating between her own anger that he hadn’t recognized her desire to help the Bailey family, and embarrassment that he’d scolded her for doing the right thing, something helpful. Worse than that, though, she couldn’t bear to think of the next topic of conversation, and she thought she might wonder for the rest of her life whether or not she’d done the right thing.

As they arrived at the schoolhouse and Ben helped her out, she still couldn’t think of anything to say. He tipped his hat at her, his lips tugging up into a smile as he said, “I’d be happy to take you into town any time, Miss Rose. Just say the word.”

She whipped around and marched to the schoolhouse door. He was almost worse than her brother sometimes. She glared at him over her shoulder as he laughed and turned the buggy back toward the ranch.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate,” she said as she entered the schoolhouse, taking off her bonnet and hanging it on the peg next to his coat. She forced a smile for Suzanne and headed to the bookshelf, ready to sort the books to start their school day.

Michael turned around from the chalkboard, his eyebrows raised as his hand paused in mid-air. “Good morning, Miss Archer. I trust you had a good evening.”

Suzanne looked from Rose to Michael and back to Rose, her eyebrows raised as she continued to wipe off the desks. It was an hour yet before school started, and Rose hoped it would pass quickly.

“I did, thank you very much.” She shook off her coat and hung it up, smoothing her skirts and tucking her escaped ringlets back in her chignon with a hairpin she’d retrieved from her pocket. “And you?” Her stomach clenched as the words left her mouth. Why had she asked that? She knew exactly what kind of evening he’d had. And she wanted to forget.

“I had a lovely evening, if anybody wants to know,” Suzanne said, dipping her washrag in the bucket of water she’d carried from desk to desk. She cocked her head to the side and looked at Rose, her gaze pointed.

“That’s wonderful, Suzanne,” Rose said as she took out a book and put it back in its proper place on the bookshelf.

“Yes, wonderful,” Michael said as he turned back to the chalkboard, writing out the day’s schedule for the students.

Rose glanced over her shoulder and shook her head as Suzanne shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, my.” Suzanne walked toward the window. “I’m afraid we have a visitor. Not one we want.” She crossed over to the schoolhouse door, taking a breath and attempting a smile as she reached for the door latch. Glancing at Rose, she opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Samson,” she said as the widow swooshed in and closed her parasol, her gray hair in a perfect, tight bun at the back of her neck, her black hat pinned on tightly.

Mrs. Samson glanced at Suzanne, looking her over from head to toe. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Davis. I trust the mercantile is operating appropriately in your absence and the twins are doing well here in school.”

Suzanne raised her eyebrows at Mrs. Samson’s back as she closed the door. “Yes, Mrs. Samson, everything is fine in both areas. Needn’t you worry.”

Mrs. Samson looked to Suzanne with a smile that looked to Rose more like a grimace.

“What brings you here so early on this lovely morning?” Michael asked with a smile, crossing the classroom to greet the widow.

Mrs. Samson tapped her parasol on the wooden floor and Rose’s stomach clenched at the sound. What could she possibly want this early in the morning?

“I wanted to congratulate you on a successful first week, of course,” she said as she ran her gloved finger over a student desk. “I’ve heard nothing but good things so far.”

Michael smiled and nodded. “I’m very pleased, Mrs. Samson. The three of us have worked very hard on behalf of the children and I believe that their first week was filled with fun and learning.”

The widow stopped and turned toward Michael. “Fun, Mr. Tate? When was fun ever associated with schoolwork?”

Suzanne’s bucket clattered hard to the floor and she stood, wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t see why they can’t go together, Mrs. Samson. I had a great deal of fun when I was in school and learned quite a lot, as well.”

The widow sighed. “Mrs. Davis, I do imagine that you did. But this is a very serious endeavor, not to be taken lightly. We are preparing children to be citizens of our town, to hold to our morals and values.”

“I understand that. I just don’t understand why it can’t be fun, as well.”

The widow crossed over to Michael’s desk, moving papers from one side to another until he came to stand beside her. She withdrew her hand, looking up at him.

“My dear, nothing in life is meant to be ‘fun’. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

Michael sat at his desk and cleared his throat. “Thank you for stopping by, madame. We do appreciate your encouragement.”

“Encouragement. Hm. That brings me to another topic,” she said as she sat at one of the student desks.

“Oh?” Michael said, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. Rose thought she might have seen his eyes flash as she had last night, but couldn’t be sure.

“Yes. I arrived at my usual breakfast establishment this morning, Bailey’s Restaurant. The proprietor came to serve me personally, which is, of course, to be expected.”

Rose covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to stifle a laugh.

The widow glanced at her and continued. “He had nothing but praise for you, Mr. Tate. And also for your assistant, Miss Archer.”

Her statement caught Rose off guard. It had only been last night that they’d been to see Mr. Bailey, and she was surprised that Mrs. Samson had heard so quickly.

“It’s good to hear that he was pleased, Mrs. Samson. Both Miss Archer and I went out of our way to help his children as they are no longer able to attend school during the day due to the death of their mother.”

Rose’s heart warmed at his genuine kindness, and even more when he glanced at her and smiled.

“Hm. Yes. I imagine that on the surface it would appear to be a good thing.”

“Appear to be?” Michael asked, leaning forward and pushing his glasses up.

“Yes. Appear. I do realize that Mr. Bailey was pleased at your efforts, but we do not pay you, Mr. Tate, to take it upon yourself to find and tutor absent students. That is not your priority, in the eyes of the school committee.”

Michael stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Mr. Bailey was pleased to see us both, Mrs. Samson. I can’t imagine what harm it could have done.”

“Mr. Tate,” the widow said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m afraid that you have a very singular view about education. I was encouraged to take this post based on my promise that not all children would be required to attend school, as they had more important matters to attend to.”

Michael’s eyes did flash with anger—this time, Rose was certain of it. In fact, she felt heat rising in her chest as well.

“Mr. Bailey was pleased to have our assistance,” Michael repeated. “How could that be a problem?”

“As I said, Mr. Tate, yes, Mr. Bailey was pleased, but others may not have responded so favorably. It’s too big a risk, and we don’t want to anger the townspeople. I must insist that you and,” she waved her hand in Rose’s direction, “your
assistant
cease such unsolicited after-hour activity. The next parent you bother may not be so accepting.”

Rose stood, her hands clenching at her sides. Michael glanced at her, his eyes dark, and she knew he wanted her not to speak. But this was absurd. All children had a right to learn if they wanted to, and she would do her best to see that each child was able.

“Mrs. Samson, I went to see Mr. Bailey on my own time, of my own volition,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. “I certainly can do so if I feel it’s appropriate.”

The widow stood, tapping the floor with her parasol twice before turning to Rose. “Yes, my dear, you certainly can. You are a
volunteer
here—a position, I might add, that can be rescinded at any time. Mr. Tate, however, is under contract to the school committee, and the school committee does not wish him to take his services to students after hours. And that’s final.”

“Mrs. Samson, I—”

“I’ll not hear another word about it, young lady.” Mrs. Samson held up her black-gloved hand in Rose’s direction, tapping her parasol on the floor. Turning to Michael, she said, “Mr. Tate, this afternoon is a school committee meeting at four o’clock sharp, here. The committee and I are expecting a presentation from you about the first week of school. And we will be discussing the wisdom of volunteers, as well.”

B
y the time
school was out, there was no sense in Rose going all the way back to the ranch and then return by four o’clock for the committee meeting. She’d decided to attend as soon as Mrs. Samson had announced it, hoping maybe she could get the larger group to understand the situation.

She’d said a subdued good bye to Michael and shrugged on her coat, heading toward the mercantile. James had come to take Lucy and Lily home to their housekeeper and Suzanne had gone straight to the store—possibly to continue folding bolts of fabric, for all she knew.

She lifted her skirts, her black boots sending up puffs of dust as she made her way to the boardwalk, and stepped up and under the shade of the awning. As she walked toward the mercantile, she remembered that her father had asked her to pick up a shirt for him at the laundry as he’d dropped it off there for it to be cleaned and pressed.

The bells on the door tinkled as she opened it. She looked for the owner of the laundry, but was greeted by a small girl who couldn’t have been more than ten. “Hello,” she said. “May I help you?”

“Hello,” Rose said, smiling. “I’m here to pick up a package for my father. Beau Archer.”

Reaching behind her, the young girl picked up four packages of what appeared to be shirts wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Each had a customer’s name and a price written on it.

The girl twisted her fingers together, looking down at her shoes. “Here are today’s packages, ma’am. Just show me which one is yours.”

Rose cocked her head to the side and looked at the little girl. “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth, ma’am.”

“Oh, you’re Mr. Walker’s daughter.”

“Yes, ma’am, and he had to take Mama over to the doctor’s. Said I should just let the customers take their packages and leave the money.”

“Do you work here often?”

She looked down at her hands and Rose followed her gaze. The girl’s hands were red, almost raw.

“Yes, every day, but out in the back. I never work up here.”

Rose forced a smile, even though her heart was breaking. “Have you been to school?” she asked softly.

Elizabeth quickly shook her head. “No, ma’am. I have to work here with Papa and Mama stays home with the baby. We do some schooling at night, though.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

Her eyes brightened. “Well, sometimes Mama makes us warm milk and Papa reads us a book. My favorite is
The Swiss Family Robinson.
I want to live in a tree someday.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites, too,” Rose said. Hoping against all hope, she asked a final question. “And do you read to your papa, too?”

The young girl’s braids swished as she shook her head. “Not yet, ma’am, but my papa said someday he’ll teach me. He’s just pretty tired after working all day.”

Rose closed her eyes, her hand over her heart as her eyes misted. She took a deep breath and her pulse quickened as an idea popped into her head. She looked down at Elizabeth. “This is my father’s package right here,” she said, smiling as she opened her reticule and placed the amount of money that was on the tag into Elizabeth’s hand—with a little extra. “Thank you very much for helping my father. Oh, and by the way—what time does your father close his shop?”

“Oh, he closes every day at four. We have to get home to Mama. Nothing but saloons open around here after dark, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” she said as she winked at her and turned to open the door.

She stopped as she began to press the latch and looked out the window. She caught her breath as Michael passed by, walking slowly down the middle of the street. His hands were shoved in his pockets and puffs of dust surrounded his feet with each step. They’d barely spoken all day at school, and seeing him walking so forlornly broke her heart.

She shook her head as he passed, sad they were in this situation and wishing it were different. On the other hand, she felt like she’d had the best idea of her life while she’d been talking to the young girl, and she practically skipped across the street to see what Suzanne thought. She had a little time before she was to be back at the schoolhouse, and she needed every bit of it to think this through.