Twin Willows: A Novel (3 page)

“Well, ma’am, my aunt and uncle have some hogs and cows and a yoke of oxen on the place,” she had replied, setting off titters of ill-concealed laughter from the other young ladies at the table and making Miss Martin scowl at her.

“I will not be mocked by a half-breed, Miss McKnight,” Miss Martin had replied. The gasp that had gone up from the other girls had been followed by dead silence as Miss Martin’s face turned from scarlet to ashen. Her mouth had opened and closed a few times before the headmistress recovered her composure and riveted her gaze on Anna.

“We will discuss this matter later,” she said, but never again had Miss Martin directly referred to Anna’s heritage. Anna had continued to be the object of sly glances and whispered conversation among Miss Martin’s other pupils, however, which the headmistress had done little or nothing to stop.

“Half-breed,” the other girls called Anna behind her back, and “squaw.” Sometimes they made gestures of raising tomahawks and uttering their versions of war whoops. Anna tried to ignore them, but it was difficult.

Only two people in Philadelphia had ever seemed to accept Anna McKnight for herself. One was her roommate and only friend, Felicia Darby. The other person was Stuart Martin. Since he knew her father so well, Stuart was certainly aware of her mixed blood, but he had never mentioned it.

Until now, in fact, most of the time Anna had seen Stuart Martin with the ten or so other girls who crowded into the small dining room for his Latin and Greek classes. Other than that he had been her father’s friend, Anna knew little about Miss Martin’s nephew.

I don’t even know what he’s studying at Princeton
, Anna thought as she returned to the sitting room and unrolled the giant tapestry on which all Miss Martin’s young ladies had been working for several months. She had fallen behind on her part during a recent bad cold that had confined her to her room for over a week. Since Anna had never done fancy-work before coming to Miss Martin’s and was judged to lack skill in it, she had been relegated to filling in the dark background of a grandiose mural depicting some sort of triumphal procession. Once when Alice Daniels complained that Anna had spoiled her fleur-de-lis, Miss Martin had given Anna five blows with the ruler she called the Corrector. Twice afterwards, Miss Martin had delivered Anna two more blows, not for any specific error, but because she had failed to fill in the background as rapidly as the others had the designs.

Today, as Anna stretched the fabric taut around her hoop and threaded her fine-pointed tapestry needle, it was hard not to think about her forthcoming meeting with Stuart Martin. As she monotonously pushed the needle through the fabric, pulled the thread taut, then reinserted the needle as close as she could get it to the last stitch without splitting the thread, Anna found herself daydreaming about the way Stuart Martin had looked at her that morning. Did she dare hope that he was beginning to return her interest, or had she merely imagined what she wanted to see in his eyes?

Anna was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice when Stuart entered the room. He stood beside her for several moments before he quietly spoke her name. Startled, Anna jabbed her finger with the needle. With horror she watched a drop of blood fall onto and stain some fancy golden-threaded scrollwork.

“Oh!” Anna exclaimed. She grabbed the fabric of her skirt between two fingers, aiming to blot the spot with it, but Stuart stayed her hand. Since he had just come inside, his own hand was still cold. Yet his touch made her feel strangely warm.

“Don’t do that—you’ll only make it worse.” Quickly Stuart applied the corner of his lawn handkerchief to the globule of blood. Like a wick, it absorbed most of it. He dampened another corner of the cloth and pressed it against the remaining stain for a moment. When he took it away, Anna could see that most of the pinkness was gone.

“When it dries, it will be almost invisible,” Stuart assured her.

“Miss Martin will see it,” Anna said.

Stuart smiled. “Aunt Matilda doesn’t miss much,” he agreed. “But if you move your hoop to a fresh place and start over, I don’t think even she will notice.”

“I must finish this section first—she’ll know if I don’t.”

“Will it distract you if I join you?” Stuart Martin asked. “I won’t look at your stitches,” he added, seeing Anna’s hesitation.

“Of course not,” she said.

Stuart Martin pulled up a Windsor chair and sat near enough to Anna for his presence to have an odd effect. She had looked forward to being alone with him, yet now that she was, Anna felt awkward and tongue-tied.

“I went out to buy a mathematics text I need for my studies, but no one in Philadelphia seems to have it,” he said.

“What will you do, then?” Anna asked.

He shrugged. “Go to New York, I suppose, although it will be a hard trip in this weather.”

The easy manner in which Stuart Martin spoke to her, not as schoolmaster and pupil but as if they were friends, gave Anna courage to address him the same way. “I suppose you must have become accustomed to traveling in all kinds of weather in the army,” she said.

“Colonel McKnight taught me how to be as comfortable as possible, no matter what the circumstances. I will always be in his debt for that.”

Anna looked up briefly from her embroidery. It seemed strange to realize that Stuart Martin not only had seen her father more recently than she had, but also knew Ian McKnight perhaps even better than she did. Anna was also reminded of how long it had been since she had heard from him. “Do you know where my father went after your troop disbanded?” she asked.

Stuart returned her look and shook his head. “No, I don’t. Several months before the war ended, he volunteered to scout in the Western territory, and I haven’t seen him since. But Colonel McKnight often spoke about returning to the site of his first post. He said that when the war ended, the British wouldn’t be continually stirring up the Indians, and it’d be a good time to branch out and establish new business.”

Anna lowered her head and stilled her needle. “My father always promised to take me back to my mother’s village, but he never did,” she said wistfully. “I wish I knew for certain that he is still all right.”

Stuart leaned forward and took Anna’s left hand as if he meant to comfort her. “Don’t worry. Your father is a man of action, not words. He knows your schooling will be finished in a few months. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up on the doorstep quite unannounced.”

Anna’s hand tingled in Stuart’s, and she pressed it lightly against his, happy that he continued to hold her hand as if it were natural to do so. “Do you really think he’ll come for me?”

Stuart nodded. “Your father spoke about you many times. He regretted that he’s had to be away from you so much, and that the frontier hasn’t been safe enough for him to take you with him. Wherever he is, you can be sure that Ian McKnight will never forget his daughter.”

It was the longest, most personal conversation Anna had ever had with any man, and she could only nod in response. She feared that if she attempted to say even a word, the tears that she had so far managed to suppress would surely spill onto her cheeks.

All opportunity for private conversation ended abruptly when the front door opened and Matilda Martin swept into the room. She registered immediate surprise at seeing her nephew, who had hastily dropped Anna’s hand and stood, just in the nick of time.

“I thought you went out,” she said accusingly.

“I did, and now I’m back again. It appears I must travel to New York City to find the book I need.”

Anna thought that Miss Martin looked almost relieved. “When will you leave?” she asked.

Stuart half smiled at his aunt. “Don’t sound so eager to get rid of me, Aunt Matilda. I’ll make an early return to Princeton after Christmas Day and go on to New York from there.”

“As you wish.” Miss Martin turned her attention from her nephew to Anna. “You may work on the tapestry until luncheon, then help me mend the table linens.”

“You forget that Miss McKnight has a previous engagement with Mr. Caesar and his wars,” Stuart said smoothly.

His aunt looked annoyed, then shrugged and turned away. “Go ahead, for all the good it will do,” she murmured.

What did she mean by that
? Anna thought. Then she realized that she already knew. Miss Martin expected that when Anna completed her schooling, she would return either to the farm or to the frontier where Ian McKnight had always conducted his business. In neither place would a polished education be an advantage.

When his aunt was well out of earshot, Stuart leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “I hope you pay her no mind, Miss McKnight. My aunt and I often disagree, and I can assure you that I don’t share some of her views about the value of education to a young lady.”

Surprised by his tone, Anna raised her eyebrows. “And just what are your views about the education of young ladies?”

Stuart flushed. “That was a bit pompous, I suppose. I don’t mean to sound as if I know it all, because I certainly do not. But my studies have led me to believe that true education is never wasted if any individual—male or female—uses it to realize his or her highest potential.” He half bowed. “I apologize for interrupting your work. I’ll go now and attend to some studying of my own.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Anna said quickly. She wanted to tell Stuart she could listen to him talk all day, but such an admission would only embarrass them both.

“I am glad you think so, Miss McKnight. Caesar and I will see you later.”

Luncheon passed quietly, without the spirited discussions that had marked breakfast. However, Miss Martin’s disapproval of her nephew’s determination to spend the afternoon tutoring Anna hung in the air like a dark cloud. When the headmistress finally excused herself and left the table, Anna had to restrain herself from breathing an audible sigh of relief.

Neither Anna nor Stuart spoke as the cook cleared away the luncheon dishes and crumbed the table, but when they were alone, he smiled at Anna as if they were co-conspirators. “Well, shall we begin now?”

“Yes, sir,” Anna replied.

Stuart moved his chair so close to Anna’s that their knees touched—too close for propriety.
I should move away
, she thought, but did not.

Without seeming to notice their nearness, Stuart opened the book on top of the stack of texts he had brought from the attic and pushed it toward Anna. “Translate, please.”

She looked at him questioningly. “You have already taught us this.”

“I know. I want to see how much you recall.”

He was so near that Anna could hear his even breathing and feel the warmth of his body. With difficulty she forced herself to concentrate on the strangely marked words, and began to read, sliding her finger along the line. “All Gaul is divided into three parts.”

Stuart moved even closer and used his left hand to remove Anna’s right hand from the book. “Don’t ever use your finger as a place mark,” he said.

Anna’s cheeks warmed, more because Stuart held her hand than from his gentle reprimand. “Why not?” she asked. “It’s the way I learned to read.”

“It slows you down, for one thing, and it wears the pages out as well. Books are too dear-bought to be ill treated.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Stuart released Anna’s hand and smiled slightly. “Don’t look so distressed,” he said. “That’s not the worst thing you could ever do. Read on.”

After Anna had translated another page, Stuart stopped her and turned to the next section. “Can you read this?”

With Stuart pressed close to her side, Anna thought it was a wonder she could read anything at all. She made a halting start, but many of the words were unfamiliar, and she soon had to stop.

“This is where we shall begin,” he said. “See that word you didn’t know? If you will note, its root is the same as one you had no trouble with earlier.”

Stuart’s head bent close to hers and their shoulders met as he pointed out the line of text. Anna was so conscious of his nearness that she found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying about the ablative and genitive. For some strange reason, Anna found herself wondering how Stuart Martin’s arms would feel around her, how his lips might feel on hers . . .

She swallowed hard and tried to make her voice firm, despite the fluttering she felt inside. “I’m not sure I understand,” she finally managed.

As if he, too, had become aware of their closeness and found it uncomfortable, Stuart leaned back and moved his chair away. Even though their bodies no longer touched, Stuart’s violet eyes looked into hers with an intensity that almost took away Anna’s breath.

“You will.”

His expression indicated that he had more in mind than Latin.

Aware that their conversation ought to be brought back to a safer level, Anna said the first thing that came into her mind. “I have never heard what you are studying at Princeton. Some of the girls think you plan to come back and take over this school yourself.”

Stuart’s laughter was quick and hearty. “No, I can assure you that I will never do that. As for what I am studying, just now it is a little of everything.”

“Perhaps the girls said it because you really are a good teacher.”

Unlike your aunt
, Anna refrained from saying, but she thought that Stuart was well aware that Miss Martin’s instruction was long on social graces and artistic pursuits, but rather short on the finer points of mathematics and rhetoric.

“You think so because you have never known better,” Stuart said, confirming her belief that he knew all of his aunt’s academic deficiencies.

“Then what do you plan to do, Mr. Martin?” It was a bold question, but Anna had grown up speaking plainly, and Stuart Martin’s frankness had encouraged her to respond the same way.

“I am not certain, Miss McKnight,” he replied, using her name as formally as she had his, “but I want nothing more to do with fighting and ill feeling amongst people. I have no desire to return to the army life, nor to read law. And I most certainly don’t want become a physician.”

“That doesn’t leave much,” Anna said.