The Teacher's Mail Order Bride (8 page)

S
tudents and parents
visited throughout the morning as Suzanne, Rose and Mr. Tate continued to greet them. Rose was able to sneak a few glances in Mr. Tate’s direction as he laughed with students, bending down to greet them all eye-to-eye and making them as comfortable as could be with jittery nerves all around.

As he moved about the room with such confidence and good humor, Rose wondered about his parents. What kind of people would raise a man so at ease in the world of books and learning, his square jaw and olive skin leaving her with a hint of something foreign. He had no accent—well, a slight one, but she’d learned it was from Boston and not a foreign language.

Several times throughout the morning, their eyes met and he invariably smiled broadly, his eyes alight as he nodded in her direction. He was clearly in his element, answering questions from parents and encouraging some of the children to speak while deftly keeping others who were less shy from re-arranging the books on the shelf and dropping pencils all over the floor.

She admired his aplomb and ability to put people at ease. What an interesting bridge he would be from the students to the bigger world of reading and writing. She wondered what it would be like when school actually started and he had so many different age groups to contend with.

She stood to stretch her legs. Suzanne stood also and waved at a father and his daughter as they closed the door behind them on their way out.

“Goodness, that’s quite a crowd you’re going to have, Mr. Tate. Looks like a good turnout for the school year,” Suzanne said as she glanced over the list of names they’d collected during the morning.

Rose picked up the list and glanced over it. Setting it down on the table, she crossed the room to the windows on the far side. Over toward the shade trees in the back of the schoolhouse, a movement caught her eye. She lifted her skirts and hurried toward the back door of the schoolhouse.

“What is it, Miss Archer?” Mr. Tate asked, his brows furrowed.

She held her finger to her lips and gestured for Mr. Tate to follow her. She reached slowly for the door, pressing on the latch quietly, then quickly pulling it toward her. She stepped out onto the porch with Mr. Tate close behind.

As they stood by the schoolhouse and looked toward the shade trees, Rose shouted, “Come on in, boys. We won’t bite.”

All four of the boys standing in a group behind the trees turned toward Rose and stood stock still for a moment, their eyes wide.

“We’d love to meet you,” Mr. Tate said, his welcoming smile present once again. As he took a step toward the boys, they dropped the balls they had been playing with, turned and ran past the slatted wooden fence that surrounded the yard, disappearing in a cloud of dust once they made it to the dirt road.

Mr. Tate ran after them to the gate, his hand held over his eyes as he peered in the direction they’d gone. He turned slowly back toward the schoolhouse, shaking his head slowly.

Rose sat down on the bench right outside the door. Mr. Tate had taken off his coat earlier and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. He sat down on the opposite side of the bench, his eyes clouding as he looked again toward the gate.

“It appears we have more work to do,” Rose said, taking in his solemn expression, his eyes growing even darker than she’d seen them.

He turned slowly toward Rose, his head cocked to one side as he regarded her. “You’ve lived here your whole life, haven’t you?” he asked.

Somehow, Rose felt that his statement wasn’t exactly a compliment and she flushed, smoothing her skirts. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

“We talked about this the other day. There are children who are unable to come to school, for various reasons. And truth be told, some don’t even want to.”

Rose gasped, her hand to her chest. “I can’t believe that. Who wouldn’t want to come and learn?”

Mr. Tate stood and turned to the gate once more. “As I said, Miss Archer, there are many reasons. And I’ve learned there’s not much I can do about it. I haven’t been able to before, anyway.”

His wistful gaze tugged at her heart. She couldn’t know what had made him so sad, but she did now that it was impossible that students couldn’t or wouldn’t come to school. She did know that it wasn’t everyone’s favorite thing to do, but surely they must see the importance of learning how to navigate in the world. Just like Mr. Goodwin said, not everyone could be a farmer. And even farmers needed to know how to sell their goods.

She thought she’d recognized one of the boys—he had been the one leaving the schoolhouse with the books on the day of the fundraiser. She hadn’t seen him before that day. She vowed to find him, and see how she could get him—or his parents—to understand that he needed to be in school with the rest of the children.

She and Mr. Tate both turned toward the door as Suzanne stuck her head out, saying in a loud whisper with a nod of her head back inside the room, “There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Tate.”

He raised his eyebrows at Suzanne as she turned back into the room.

Rose looked questioningly at Mr. Tate who shrugged his shoulders as he gestured for her to precede him back into the room. Her stomach lurched as she stepped inside and looked from Suzanne to the Widow Samson. Standing behind her were several of the other school committee members, their faces blank as they looked toward their chosen leader.

“Hello, ladies,” Mr. Tate said, smiling as he strode forward toward the group. Suzanne had sat back down at the table and Rose joined her.

The Widow Samson picked up the paper with student names on it, her lips pursing as she read from the top to the bottom. She handed it to the ladies behind her who huddled over it, whispering to each other.

“I see you’ve had a fairly good turnout of students,” the widow said, tapping the wooden floor with the tip of her closed parasol.

“We’re quite pleased so far, aren’t we, ladies?” Mr. Tate smiled broadly, running his hand through his hair and nodding at Rose and Suzanne.

“So far? This is almost as many children as the schoolhouse can hold, Mr. Tate.” The widow tapped her parasol harder on the floor.

Rose pushed herself up from the table, standing eye level to the widow. It hadn’t been too many years that she
was
eye level to her and remembered being quite intimidated by her as a young girl. Her chest tightened now, as an adult, as their eyes met.

“Mrs. Samson, there are still more students who have not made themselves known to us, primary students, specifically. Young ones. Ten-year-olds and younger who need to learn to read.” She leveled her gaze at the widow and folded her arms over her chest.

Mrs. Samson tugged her gloves on and tucked a stray, gray lock under her black hat. “Miss Archer, we appreciate your—shall we say—enthusiasm, but it is a fact that not all children can or will come to school. And beyond that, we only have room for so many, and you’ve almost met that limit. Isn’t that right, ladies?” She turned around and nodded at the ladies behind her, a smug smile reappearing as the gaggle behind her nodded in unison.

“Miss Archer and I have been discussing just that, Mrs. Samson, and I believe we have come to terms with that reality.” Mr. Tate turned toward Rose and their eyes met.

He may have come to terms with it but she hadn’t. “Not necessarily, Mr. Tate. I—”

“Come now, Miss Archer. Surely even you can understand the limits of space and funds.
And
interest.”

Rose’s pride stung as she pursed her lips and sat down beside Suzanne, who rested her hand on Rose’s and squeezed gently. She leaned over and whispered in Rose’s ear, “Not now, Rose.”

Michael crossed the desks over to the table. Rose glanced his way and he gave her the slightest nod which she hoped meant they’d discuss the errant students later.

“And the other issue?” said another of the board members, tugging slightly on Mrs. Samson’s black coat.

“What? Oh, yes. The other matter.” Mrs. Samson moved closer to Michel, the others shuffling along behind her. She glanced at Rose and Suzanne before turning her back to them and addressing Mr. Tate.

“And what of your required marriage, young man? This is a local requirement and is non-negotiable if you wish to continue your employment here.”

“Yes, completely unacceptable,” a red-headed school committee member with buck teeth that Rose didn’t recognize said.

“Completely improper,” another chimed in, this one in all black just like Mrs. Samson.

“Ladies, I am doing the best I can. These things take time.” Mr. Tate shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can speak to that. With your permission, of course, Mr. Tate.” Suzanne stood and reached into her pocket for the
Groom’s Gazette
. “Mr. Tate has sent correspondence to two of the eligible women in this publication.” She pointed to one of the advertisements circled on the page she’d opened to, and all of the women leaned forward to peer at it, some raising hand-held spectacles to their eyes as they moved closer.

Mrs. Samson stood back and lowered her glasses. Clearing her throat, she said, “That is a most unconventional way to find a bride, Mr. Tate. But I suppose in the interest of time, it will have to do. Please ensure that she is a lady of good standing and moral fiber.” She tapped her parasol once more, a habit that was beginning to irritate Rose. “And you realize also that the deadline for this union is also non-negotiable. Four weeks from the beginning of the school year.”

Rose’s face flushed with indignation. She looked from the nodding group of close-minded women to Michael, who’d reached for his white linen handkerchief and wiped the sheen from his brow.

He sighed deeply and said, “I do understand, ladies. I mean, I don’t really understand, but you’ve made yourselves clear.”

“
T
his is completely unnecessary
,” Suzanne said as they shut the door behind Mrs. Samson and the school board.

Rose and Michael watched out the window as the group of women walked down the dirt street toward the center of town, chattering the whole way. He turned to her and lowered his eyes, looking away toward Suzanne. He squared his shoulders and crossed the room, picking up the
Groom’s Gazette
.

“I don’t understand. Really, I don’t. What danger could I possibly be to anyone, especially with either or both of you here? What kind of a man do they think I am?” He leaned on the table and rubbed the back of his neck.

Suzanne came around the table and rested her hand on his elbow. “It isn’t personal. I can’t believe that. I do think that it’s just because the Widow Samson has very little else to do but impose her social and moral standards on the only thing that she can control—this little schoolhouse and that committee. Had I known, I would have applied myself. This just isn’t right. In fact, next time they’re open for applicants, I believe I will.” She looked out the window at the retreating cadre with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed.

“Thank you very much for your indignance on my behalf, Suzanne. I wish it could be different, that I could have taken my time to get to know someone, to fall in love—it’s in our blood as Italians.” Michael glanced quickly at Rose before looking back toward the
Groom’s Gazette
. “Now, I don’t even know who I will marry, or if she will be a good match for me. Or I for her, actually.”

Suzanne folded up the newspaper and put it in her pocket. “We just have to have faith, now.”

Rose looked at the watch pinned to her dress as she spotted Ben approaching in the buggy. Two o’clock already?

She narrowed her eyes at Ben, who was traveling much more quickly than he normally did. He jumped down from the buggy, tied the horses to the post and almost ran to the front door of the school house, a white piece of paper flapping in the wind.

Bursting through the door, he looked at the three pair of wide eyes staring at him. As he caught his breath, he waved what appeared to be an envelope in the air in the direction of Michael.

“What is it?” Michael asked, crossing over to Ben.

“I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I was at the post office right before coming over to pick up Miss Rose and they asked me to bring this over to you when they heard I was coming this way.” Ben held the envelope out to Michael.

He took it, perusing the return address, turning it over in his hands several times. He looked up at Suzanne and said, “It’s not from Boston, so it surely isn’t from my parents. Do you think you could open it for me?”

Suzanne’s eyes dropped to the envelope, sympathy and understanding in her eyes. “Certainly, Michael. Sit down here, and I’ll read it for you.”

“Thank you.” He sat down behind the teacher’s desk, rested his elbows on it and dropped his chin into his hands. “I don’t think I can.”

Ben twisted the brim of his hat in his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. Rose crossed over to him and took his elbow. “Ben, I think we should go.”

“Not a chance, Miss Rose. This is much too exciting an event. That is, if you don’t mind, Mr. Tate.”

Michael sighed. “No, I don’t mind, Ben. We all might as well have a front row seat to the show.”

“Now, Michael, this could be from your future bride. You could pretend to be just a little happy about it,” Suzanne said as she reached for the letter opener on the desk.

She opened the envelope, pulling out a lavender piece of paper. Rose could smell the perfume from where she was, several feet away, and she backed up a few steps. Its aroma was incredibly strong and she wondered how it could be after having been transported all the way from—well, she didn’t know where.

Ben, on the other hand, stepped closer, his eyes bright. “That smells divine,” he said, his eyes closed as he sniffed the air.

Rose stifled a laugh as Michael glanced at Ben incredulously and Suzanne also frowned in his direction.

“You wanted nothing to do with any of this, remember?” Rose asked as she pulled Ben back by his elbow.

He pulled his hat down on his head hard and sat in the student desk furthest away from the activity, leaning back in his seat with his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m just taking note,” he said.

Rose turned back to the desk as Suzanne smoothed the paper out on the desk where she’d sat across from Michael. “Are you ready?” she asked Michael.

He leaned back in his chair and looked exceedingly uncomfortable, to Rose’s mind. She even felt a little uncomfortable herself, her stomach fluttering in that way she was noticing more and more.

“Ahem,” Suzanne started. “Would you like me to read it first and tell you what it says, or read the whole thing to you?”

“Read the whole thing,” Ben said from the back row, and all heads turned at once in his direction. “I mean, if that’s what Mr. Tate wants.” Color crept up his neck as he pulled the brim of his hat down over his forehead.

“All right,” Suzanne said softly. “It’s from Margery Tanner, who lives in St. Louis. She’s the one who wanted a fresh start, if you remember, Michael.”

He let out a deep sigh and looked at Rose. “I do remember, yes.”

Suzanne began to read. “This is what she said:

Ben snorted from behind Rose and she turned around to see him laughing.

“She just called him Michael, didn’t she?”

“Maybe extra comments aren’t necessary at the moment, Ben,” Rose said as she held her finger to her mouth, hoping that would shush him. This was hard enough without noise from visitors.

Suzanne continued.

“Hmmm,” Suzanne said when she’d folded the letter up and placed it back in the envelope.

“You have a concern or a comment, Suzanne?” Rose asked before she could stop herself.

“Now look who’s talking out of turn, Miss Rose,” Ben said from behind her as he laughed again.

She turned and glared at him—his eyes grew wide and he closed his mouth firmly.

“My only concern—and not too much of one, really—is that you requested a photograph from her and there is none included. Is that something that would be an issue for you? You did write to another, and we could wait.” She held out the letter to Michael.

He took it from her hand and set it down on the desk in front of him. “I don’t suppose that it really matters, does it? I’d be more concerned that she’s not familiar with teachers. That doesn’t bode well for her education, don’t you think? However, I have to follow through with this or lose my job, and I’m not anxious for that to happen. This is the most expedient manner in which to provide an adequate solution for the Widow Samson. I like it here very much, and if that’s what it takes to stay, I will do it.”

Rose looked down at her hands, surprised to see she was twisting her handkerchief. She folded it and placed it back in her sleeve, standing and turning toward Ben. “Ben, are you ready to go?”

He pushed himself back from the desk and stood, tipping his hat at Michael. “Yes, ma’am. Ready when you are. Nothing left to see here.”

She turned to Michael, shaking her head in apology. “Well, we best get along. We have a big day tomorrow, don’t we?”

“We sure do,” Suzanne said. “Oh, and Lucy and Lily will be here, too.”

Rose smiled. “I hope they’re ready for it. It’s a big change.”

“Let’s hope that
I
am ready for it, in more ways than one.”

Ben helped Rose on with her coat and opened the door. “What time do you want Miss Archer here tomorrow, Professor.”

“If possible, Ben, I’d like to see them both here by seven a.m. A little early never hurts on the first day of school. And, ladies, thank you again for your assistance. I don’t know that I could do it without you both.”

Ben turned to Suzanne and said, “Can we give you a ride home, Mrs. Davis? We have room in the buggy.”

“Oh, no thank you, Ben. James will be here to fetch me soon.” She turned toward Michael. “Besides, we have a letter to write, and it best go in the post today.”

Rose forced a smile and stepped through the door Ben held open for her. As he closed the door behind them, Ben said, “You don’t look too good, Miss Rose. A little green around the gills, I’d say. You all right?”

Rose did feel a little nauseous. But she’d been waiting for this and working toward it for some time now—the first day of school. Surely that must be why she didn’t feel quite right. Excitement. Nerves and excitement. Yes, that must be it.