The Teacher's Mail Order Bride (5 page)

R
ose headed
straight for the kitchen, knowing that Maria would know how to make this situation the least awkward it could be. Maria had been their housekeeper for as long as Rose could remember and had lived in Tombstone for—well, a long time, since before there was an Arizona Territory and where they lived now was part of Mexico. She’d stayed after the war and had been a close friend of Rose’s mother’s—and was like a mother to her now.

As she walked into the kitchen, she smiled at the flurry of activity—her twin sisters, Saffron and Sage, aprons on and their hair braided and out of the way, giggled at Maria’s rapid-fire Spanish instructions. Rose’s eyes widened as the twins tossed small pinches of flour at each other as they rolled small bits of dough into round pieces and placed them on a colorful platter on the counter.

She looked quickly at Maria, her back to them as she stirred a wonderful-smelling pot on the wood stove. She raised an eyebrow at the twins and cleared her throat. Saffron quickly sat down, wiping the flour on her apron, her face was covered in white also. Sage sat down, too, but folded her arms over her chest, clearly not happy that the fun had ended.

They’d sat down just in time as Maria turned around to see Rose.

“Ah, Rosemary.” She wrapped Rose in a hug and narrowed her eyes at Saffron. “Saffron, explain to me why your face is white.”

Saffron’s eyebrows rose. She wiped hastily at her cheeks and pulled her hands away. Her face reddened as she gazed at her white palms and she looked to her twin with pleading eyes.

“We’re tired of making tortillas, Maria.” Sage waved her hand at the platter, piled high with little balls of dough. “There will be enough here for the whole town.”

Maria pulled a dishtowel from the counter and flapped it in the twins’ direction. “We have enough ready for the tortillas, but we still have to make them. Shoo for a bit. Out into the garden with you. I will need some onions next and you can take a break and get some from there.”

Rose knew there was no place that the twins would rather be than in the garden—or outside anywhere at all—and she wasn’t surprised that within seconds, the girls had run out the back door and were already halfway to their mother’s garden that Sage and Saffron had lovingly claimed, along with Clara, her new sister-in-law.

“Ah,
dios mío
,” Maria said as she looked after them. “When those two are together, there’s no way to know what will happen.”

She turned toward Rose and straightened her colorful apron. She reached up and pushed the hairpins in more tightly as they’d threatened to escape the thick, black bun in the back of her head made up of long braids. She eyed Rose thoughtfully and sat down at the kitchen table, patting the seat beside her. “You have that look in your eyes. Is everything okay? Is your father behaving himself?”

Rose brushed the flour off the chair and into her hand, dumping it in the pile on the table as she laughed, thankful that Maria had been with them for so long and understood her father and his gruff—but gentle—ways. Rose quickly explained her predicament and Maria sat back in her chair as she clapped her hands.

“Your father, my goodness.” Maria laughed and folded the dishtowel, setting it on the counter as she fell silent for a moment. “He has had a difficult few years, as you know. But I think we can make this a little more comfortable for you.”

Rose’s eyes lit and her heart tugged. Maria had been able to fix anything and everything—usually with food involved—and Rose was hopeful that this would be one of those times.

“If it would make it any easier, I’ve been preparing a fiesta for Nutmeg and Sam for tomorrow afternoon. As he’s new in town it wouldn’t be odd for him to be invited, along with Suzanne and James, if you’d like.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Rose said. She’d been so involved with her plan that she hadn’t realized that the day had come for Nutmeg and Sam to come celebrate their new marriage with the family. Properly, anyway.

“Saffron and Sage haven’t forgotten.” Maria laughed and looked out the window at the twins gathering tomatoes. “They’ve been helping me for two days. I remember that Mrs. Allen liked Mexican food, so I’m making all of the family favorites.”

“Oh, Mrs. Allen is coming as well? She’s very nice.”

Maria turned back to the pot, picking up the spoon and stirring slowly. “Yes, she is very nice. And I think your father thinks so, too.”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. “You don’t think—”

Setting the spoon down with a clatter, Maria turned quickly, her eyes twinkling as she said, “I think nothing. Nothing at all. I just like to have parties, so you invite your Mr. Tate and all will be well.”

“He’s not
my
Mr. Tate, Maria, he’s the teacher,” Rose said as Maria gently guided her out the door.

“All right, the teacher. Just invite him. Everything will be fine.” She winked at Rose and turned back into the kitchen. “And come back later this afternoon, after you clean up, and help me prepare. You are the best tamale maker in the house.”

The kitchen door swung shut and Rose stared at it for a while, wondering if Maria was right. A larger group of people might make it easier than trying to breathe while Mr. Tate was in private with her father in his library. She shuddered at that thought and hoped if she sent Ben into town with a dinner invitation for Mr. Tate that he wouldn’t have other plans.

“Not likely,” she said aloud, walking to her room. Mr. Tate hadn’t been in Tombstone very long and didn’t know many people, so Rose imagined that he would probably be free. She just hoped he agreed to come so she could start working in the classroom as soon as possible. She was sorry that the fiesta wasn’t this very night as she was eager to get back into the classroom.

She opened the door to her room and stepped inside, sitting in the red velvet wingback chair and unlacing her black and dusty boots. She caught a glimpse of herself in her vanity mirror and her jaw dropped, shocked at the amount of dirt that she’d not known had stuck to her face and been smeared into mud. She clamped her mouth shut and as she began to rinse her face in the washbasin, she laughed. What must Mr. Tate have thought of her? And Suzanne hadn’t mentioned anything, either. And Sage? Saffron? Maria? She hoped that she wouldn’t have to rely on any of them to tell her of anything truly critical.

She patted her face with the towel and hung it on the back of the chair. She looked in the mirror, making sure that all the mud was gone from her face and from behind her ears. In the reflection, her eyes landed on the bookshelf behind her. She turned and walked over to her prized possessions, stacked neatly in two rows. Her mother had always brought her books back from her travels with her father, and for her sixteenth birthday, her brother Hank had made these bookshelves for her.

She ran her hand lovingly over the spines and the well-worn covers. She’d read each book more than once and looked forward to reading them all again, wanting to spend as much time as she could in the different worlds inside. She noted the titles, although they were emblazoned in her memory.
Pride and Prejudice, A Tale of Two Cities, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
She picked up the brass frame on her nightstand, her hand once again on the glass that covered her mother’s face.

“Thank you, Mother, for bringing the world to me through these books.” She set the frame down gently, wondering if she’d ever be able to see any of these places that she dreamt about, places that lived inside her imagination.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought of Mr. Tate coming to the fiesta tomorrow. She imagined he might be annoyed to have to go to so much trouble just for a volunteer. Although she’d only seen him a couple of times, he didn’t seem like the type to get flustered much, though, and he had said he liked to see new places.

There was nothing she could do now—if she wanted to volunteer at the schoolhouse, she’d have to live through her father’s inquisition of Mr. Tate. To try to forget about the forthcoming event, she flopped on her bed and reached under her pillow. She thought she had a few spare moments before Maria would expect her assistance in the kitchen, and her fingers wrapped around her very most prized possession, the leather cool to her touch.

She pulled the book out and leaned against the wall, opening to the first page for what she thought might be the twentieth time she’d read through from the beginning to the end. No matter. She’d be happy to read it a hundred times more, and she sighed, starting once again at her chance to go—even in her imagination—to faraway places.

R
ose took
a step back as she set the last vase of flowers on the table that had been set up on the patio for the buffet. Her mother had enjoyed parties just as much as Maria, and Rose nodded, knowing her mother would be pleased with the outcome today.

The entire family was excited that Meg and Sam would be visiting. Meg hadn’t been home much since she’d been married, and Rose, for one, looked forward to talking to her older sister about her new, exciting life.

The house had been a bustle of activity all day. Sage and Saffron had collected flowers and set them in bundles in the large kitchen of the ranch house. The youngest Archer sister, Pepper, had been tasked with chopping anything Maria needed and the second youngest, Tarragon, had helped Rose with the linens and table decorations.

Rose paused as the grandfather clock just inside the parlor doors rang a quarter to the hour. Guests would be arriving soon, and Rose moved the pitcher of lemonade from one side of the table to the other and stood back, looking at the table, wondering if this was how they set tables in England. Or France. Or even San Francisco.

No, they had tea in England, not lemonade, she remembered. This would also be probably the last time they would be having lemonade as fall had arrived and this last Indian summer day was a nice one to take advantage of being outside.

She wrung her hands for a moment, eager to see her sister and her new family, but nervous nonetheless about Mr. Tate’s impending discussion with her father. She’d heard ranch hands describe her father as tough, and she’d seen it herself a few times. She clasped her hands together for a moment in silent prayer that all would go well and her dream would be closer to coming true.

“Everything looks beautiful, Rose. Don’t worry.” Tara came onto the patio carrying a large platter, heavy with what looked like Maria’s wonderful enchiladas, something that she knew Mrs. Allen, Sam’s mother, was particularly fond of. “You’ve done a wonderful job of it.”

Tara set down the platter and clasped Rose’s hand. “I know how much this means to you. I’m sure Papa will allow it.”

“I do hope you’re right, Tara.” Rose gave her sister’s hand a squeeze back and took a deep breath as Pepper ran into the room.

“They’re here!” she shouted and spun around, heading out the front door and leaving it wide open.

Tara laughed and grabbed Rose’s elbow, guiding her toward the front door. “Pepper will be a good distraction if anything goes wrong. As she usually is.”

Rose smoothed her skirts and felt for any stray ringlets, not quite sure why she was concerned about what she looked like. At least she knew she hadn’t any mud on her face.

Lucy and Lily were first through the door and ran straight to Rose and Tara, each hugging one of the twins and Rose nuzzling Lucy’s cheek. “Hello, Miss Lucy. We are so glad to have you here for our fiesta.”

“Lemonade,” Lucy said as she wriggled from Rose’s arms.

“I’ll get you both some,” Tara said and led the girls onto the back patio. She turned back toward Rose and winked. “Rose, you go greet your guests.”

Rose walked slowly toward the front door, stepping onto the porch beside her father. His face was stern and he leaned against the house, his arms folded over his chest. Rose placed a hand on his arm. “Try not to look angry before they even stop the buggies, Papa.”

Beau Archer looked down at his daughter, his eyes softening. “Do I look angry? I don’t mean to. I’m looking forward to seeing your sister and Sam.”

“And Mrs. Allen?” Rose turned her gaze down the drive, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Oh, is she coming?” Her father turned away and sat on the porch swing, leaving Rose puzzled at the irritation in his tone.

“Are the girls in here?” Suzanne held her skirts in her hand and rushed toward the front door, James right behind her. “We stopped at the barn to say hello to Hank and all of a sudden they were gone.”

Rose laughed and pointed through the door. “They’re just fine. Tara is pouring some lemonade for them.”

Suzanne shook her head. “James, we need to teach them not to do that. After the accident with the horses, it’s just not safe. They just can’t go off doing whatever they feel like. They’ll be starting school soon.”

“Yes, dear,” James said as he winked at Rose with a sigh as he took off his hat and hung it on the rack by the door. “Hello, Mr. Archer. Thank you for inviting us.” James held his hand out and shook her father’s hand. “And this is Mr. Michael Tate, the new headmaster of the schoolhouse.” James stepped aside and Rose’s breath caught as she saw Mr. Tate step onto the porch behind James. Rose hadn’t even seen him behind the equally tall James and she stepped aside as her father reached out his hand.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Tate.” Mr. Archer shook Mr. Tate’s offered hand and gestured to the hat rack. “You can hang your hat right there and come on inside.”

Mr. Tate took off his bowler hat and held it to his chest, nodding his head slightly in Rose’s direction. “Hello, Miss Archer. Very nice to see you again,” he said as he ran his hand through his dark hair.

Rose nodded in return and smiled as her father called out, “Come on in, Mr. Tate. Hope you like Mexican food.”

“I’ve never had Mexican food before, Mr. Archer. I’m eager to try anything,” Mr. Tate said as he disappeared into the house.

Rose let out a whoosh of breath. The train was on the tracks and there was no stopping it now. She looked down the drive and, with no sign of Meg yet, she turned and followed them inside.

“Mr. Tate has come to town with very impressive credentials, Mr. Archer. He trained to be a teacher in Boston, where he was raised, and this is his second teaching assignment. Unfortunately, there is not enough money for the town to hire any help for him. Therefore, I volunteered to help and it is my understanding that Rose would like to, also.” Suzanne smiled at Rose and lifted her glass of lemonade toward her.

“Is that so, Mr. Tate? Your second teaching position? What happened to your first one?” Rose’s father narrowed his eyes at Mr. Tate, who smiled and nodded.

“Second, yes, Mr. Archer. My first was in the school I went to as a child. It’s in Boston and serves mainly immigrants, students from other countries. After I was able to work as a teacher, I wanted to work there for a bit to...well, sort of help those who’d helped me.” Mr. Tate’s smile hadn’t left his face, his eyes filled with humor and respect. Rose admired his ability to remain calm—although he didn’t have as much at stake with this conversation as she did.

“That’s a noble thing to do.” Mr. Archer’s brows drew together and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why come to Tombstone, then? If you were happy in your position there.”

“Let’s go onto the patio, shall we?” Rose ushered the group outside, hoping that it would be a little easier for her to breathe out there. Still listening in to the conversation, she reached for glasses and filled them with lemonade.

“Thank you, Miss Archer,” Mr. Tate said as he accepted the glass she held out to him. His fingers brushed hers as she did and she felt an unfamiliar tightness in her chest and frowned. “Are you all right, Miss?”

“Oh, yes, fine,” Rose said, smiling as brightly as she could manage, wishing this would be over soon.

Mr. Tate turned back to her father. “I taught there for three years, and helped as much as I could. And when the last term was up, my professor notified me of the position here in Tombstone. I’d always wanted to travel, see the world, but I’d been unable to prior. With the silver strike and so many people traveling here, I thought I would take my chances and see what it was like. I applied to the school committee, they requested a contract and here I am.”

He smiled so brightly that Rose turned away. His courage to travel to new, unseen places was something she hoped she had when the time came. If it came.

“I hear there’s been some trouble with the contract. Something about a wife?” Mr. Archer raised his eyebrows in Suzanne’s direction. “I suppose you’re planning to get him out of that fix.”

Suzanne set down her lemonade. “Well, I have had a bit of success making successful and happy matches, Mr. Archer.”

Mr. Archer smiled for the first time at Suzanne. “Yes, I believe you have, young lady.”

“And as a matter of fact, yesterday Mr. Tate and I went through some advertisements and composed a letter to two fine young ladies who may be a perfect fit. The letter went out in the post just today, actually.” Suzanne nodded with satisfaction.

Mr. Tate, however, didn’t look as pleased as Suzanne. He shifted from one foot to the other and rubbed the back of his neck. “I sure wasn’t expecting this, Mr. Archer, I have to tell you. I’ve been given very little time, but the Widow Samson seems to at least be appeased that I’ve started the process.”

“I never thought I’d say this, son, but if a match of Suzanne’s makes you as happy as it has my son, you’ll be a mighty lucky fellow.” He clapped Mr. Tate on the back and laughed. “Guess you’ll just have to hope for the best.”

“Hope for the best? Now, what kind of assurance is that, Mr. Archer?” Everyone turned at Mrs. Allen’s voice, and Rose couldn’t help think how lovely she was, and how much she reminded her of her own mother. Kind, beautiful, elegant and always knowing just what to say.

Her father nodded his head in Mrs. Allen’s direction and Rose wondered if that was red she saw creeping out of his collar. She looked to Suzanne, who held up crossed fingers as Mr. Archer walked over to greet his daughter, Meg, his new son-in-law, Sam, and Sam’s mother, Mrs. Allen.

After she’d greeted everyone, Mrs. Allen said, “And, Mr. Archer, have you decided to allow Rosemary to follow her passion?”

Rose’s cheeks heated as her father let out a sigh and looked from Mrs. Allen to Suzanne, then from Rose to Mr. Tate. “I think I may be outnumbered on this one. You have my consent, Rosemary, but please know, Mr. Tate, that I will—”

“Goodness gracious, Mr. Archer. Let the young people have some fun and pour me something cool to drink.” Mrs. Allen reached for Mr. Archer’s elbow, looking back at Rose and winking as she pulled him toward the lemonade.