Wooing the Schoolmarm, page 12
“You’re wrong, Willa. I didn’t cry because of gossip. I cried because I didn’t know how I was going to care for you. We were about to lose our home and I had nowhere to go, no way to earn a living. It was our friends, talking together, who came up with the idea of my doing laundry in exchange for living in our cabin. I will be eternally grateful to them for that.”
“I didn’t know… I thought you were the one…”
Her mother shook her head and wiped moisture from her cheeks. “No. I was too devastated when your papa walked out on us to think clearly. All I could see was the trouble and want ahead. It was the women of the village who figured out the answer. Now… What did you mean by ‘there’s no way to avoid it now’?”
She studied her mother’s face, took a deep breath and let the words flow. “When I saw Thomas tonight, I hurried away. I was shocked by his drinking and did not want him to approach me. Reverend Calvert, who was chatting with Ellen, thought I was ill. He followed and offered to escort me home.”
The memory of his concern for her stole the strength from her voice. She leaned down and picked up the shirt that had fallen to the floor earlier and smoothed it out on her lap. “Thomas stopped us on the path and accused Reverend Calvert of ‘poaching on his property.’ He told him we were betrothed.” The look on his face! What must he think of her… She blinked, swallowed back a rush of tears. “When the reverend left, Thomas reminded me I was ‘his,’ and warned me not to ‘walk out’ with another man again. He said if I did, he would spread gossip about my ‘loose virtue.’”
Her mother jerked erect. “I wish David Dibble had beaten him!”
She’d never seen her mother so angry. She grabbed hold of her nearest fisted, work-roughened hand. “It’s all right. Sit down, Mama.”
“It certainly is not all right!” Her mother pulled her hand away and paced around the room, stopped by the door. “I’ve a good mind to go and speak to David right now.”
“David?” She stared at her mother, shocked by her use of the given name, even more by the color that climbed into her mother’s cheeks.
“I mean, Mr. Dibble, of course. I misspoke in my anger.”
She nodded, watched her mother rub her hands on her skirt, smooth back her hair, then come back and take her seat. She was nervous!
“Why do you say it’s all right, Willa?”
The question brought the memory of her confrontation with Thomas flooding back. “Because the strangest thing happened. I was frightened of the way Thomas was acting, and then I suddenly realized he was a bully, like some children are, and I was no longer frightened.” She folded the shirt and set it aside. “I demanded to know what he wanted as it was obvious he had no regard for me. And he told me.” She stopped, still amazed at the way things had changed.
“What did he say?”
“That he had lost his stake to go west in a game of chance and come back to Pinewood to get another. That he figured about six months of my teaching pay would be enough.”
His note! Willa, I’m sorry I haven’t time to wait and talk to you, but I must hasten to meet Jack. He sent word he has funds for us to head west, and I am going after my dream. It all made sense now.
“Willa…”
She jerked her thoughts back. “I just realized he never wanted me, Mama, not even before when he wooed me. He only wanted to marry me for my pay, and this time, when I refused, he threatened me to make me agree.”
“But, Willa, if—”
“Yes.” She looked at her mother and nodded. “I told him his plan was flawed, that married women were not allowed to teach and, therefore, there would be no pay if he wed me.” Laughter surged. She shook her head. “Isn’t it odd, Mama, that the very thing that made Thomas pursue me is the thing that set me free of him!”
The urge to laugh died. Her breath caught. “I could be married to him, Mama. Thank goodness he left that first time.”
“Yes, thank goodness!” Her mother leaned forward and gripped her hands. “I’m so glad you’re rid of him, Willa.”
“Yes, but he was very angry, and I’m certain he will seek revenge. I’m afraid the gossip will start tomorrow, and that I might be dismissed from my teaching position because of it. A teacher must have no hint of a taint on her reputation.” Her throat constricted, tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know what we’ll do without my earnings.”
Her mother rose and came to her. “Hush, Willa.” She yielded to her mother’s comforting arms, rested her head against her breast. “There’s no reason to cry. Trust our friends, dear. No one in this village will believe such a vicious tale about you.” Her mother cupped her chin and tilted her head up to meet her gaze. “I promise you, Willa Jean, if Thomas Hunter spreads that rumor, all he will do is make it impossible for him to stay in Pinewood.”
* * *
Moonlight flowed from the sky, endowed the landscape with silver splendor and created shadows and dimensions that played tricks on the eye. Cold from off the small window panes touched Matthew’s face. He frowned, wished for something pressing to do. He had heard Joshua and Sally’s bedtime prayers, and now there was nothing but the empty night stretching out before him.
Willa was betrothed. The knowledge brought an inner emptiness, a hollowness. He would no longer be able to seek her out, to try to win her…favor. He yanked his hands from his pockets, scrubbed the back of his neck and paced to the other side of his study. He sat at his desk, closed his eyes to pray, saw an image of Willa’s face, the stricken look in her eyes as she had acknowledged her betrothal, and opened them again.
Something was wrong. She had seemed…what? He couldn’t put a name to it. It was simply something he’d sensed. Or was it something he wished? How could she marry a man like that? There was something about Thomas Hunter, something beyond the drinking and the belligerence, something in his eyes…
The muscles in his face drew taut. It had taken all of his inner strength to walk away and leave Willa standing there alone on the path to town with that two-bit drunk. And then he’d had to go back and pretend to enjoy the stump burning for Joshua’s and Sally’s sakes. It had been a miserable afternoon.
It was time for some coffee. He yanked his thoughts from the memory and headed for the kitchen. It would give him something to do. He raised the wick on the oil lamp to give more light, quietly fitted it into the slot on the stove plate and set it aside even though his hands itched to slam it down. He’d wanted to slam and bang things ever since he’d refrained from punching Thomas Hunter’s sneering face. If only the man had thrown a punch with those fisted hands and given him a reason, he would have put all that sparring he and Robert had done when they were young to good use.
He curved his lips in a grim smile, cleared away the ashes, placed wood on the smoldering embers, then replaced the plate and opened the draft. The lingering smell of the beef stew Bertha had cooked for dinner made his stomach turn over. It was good, and Bertha was an excellent cook, but he’d only been able to choke down a few bites for the children’s sakes.
Being a parent was more difficult than he’d expected. He shook his head and ladled water into the coffeepot. He hadn’t thought about all the little ordinary things you had to do, like smiling and pretending you were having a good time, or eating when your stomach was tied in knots. But Joshua and Sally were worth it.
He snatched up the bag of “Old Java” and grabbed a spoon. He’d always wanted a family, a wife and children of his own, and lately he’d been thinking—
A knock jolted him out of his thoughts. He spun around and hurried to the door. People coming at this time of night meant an emergency. He paused and closed his eyes. “Give me grace to answer the need, Lord. Amen.” He opened the door, peered out into the night. “Yes?”
Thomas Hunter stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight and looked up at him. “C’mon outside, Reverend. You an’ me got to talk.”
Something decidedly unspiritual rushed through him. I’ll handle this one on my own, Lord.
The thought went winging on its way before he had even closed the door. His second thought, as he crossed the porch, was that he’d have to repent for the first one later. He found he didn’t mind. He walked down the steps and stopped. “You have something to say to me, Mr. Hunter?”
“I want money.”
Was the man asking alms of the church? That was doubtful, judging from the look on his face. “Would you care to explain that request?”
“I need money to head west. See, I planned to marry Willa, figured about six months or so of her teacher’s pay would stake me, and meanwhile, I’d have it nice and cozy living with her in her ma’s cabin.”
He sucked in a breath, stepped forward. Wait, let him strike the first blow. He stopped, took another breath.
“Don’t like that idea, do you, Reverend?”
What he would like was to wipe the sneering smile right off Thomas Hunter’s face.
“Well, don’t fret about it. I found out tonight married women can’t teach school, an’ if I married Willa she wouldn’t have any pay.”
Thank You, Lord!
“That’s why I come here.”
The gall of the man! “To ask alms of the church?”
Thomas stepped closer, narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t askin’ nothin’ of any church.” His lips curled into that contemptuous smile again. “I seen the way you looked at Willa today, an’ your bein’ a preacher an’ all, I figure you wouldn’t want any sort of gossip ’bout that gettin’ round.”
Let him strike the first blow. He flexed his hands, left them open. “And you want me to give you money to keep those rumors from starting. That, Mr. Hunter, is blackmail.”
“I don’t care what you call it, just give me the money. I figure a hundred dollars will do.”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m not frightened by your threatened rumors, Mr. Hunter, and I do not pay blackmail. ‘Treasures of wickedness profit nothing, but righteousness delivereth from death.’ I suggest you give up your scheme, repent and go to work to earn your money.”
“I ain’t interested in your suggestions, Preacher!” Thomas’s eyes darkened, glittered. Moonlight outlined his jutted chin. “Maybe you don’t care if rumors ’bout you travel ’round town, but how ’bout Willa? How would you feel if rumors of Willa’s loose virtue—”
His left fist jabbed forward in a blur, connected with Thomas’s jaw with a satisfying thud, his right followed in an uppercut to that perfectly outlined jutting jaw that landed with all the force of his shoulder behind it. Thomas Hunter’s head snapped back and he dropped like a stone at his feet.
“‘Violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.’ But you sure took your sweet time about it, Reverend.”
He pivoted. Bertha stood in the dark shadow on the porch. He frowned. “How long have you been there, Bertha?”
“I followed you out the door.”
“Then you heard—”
“Not a thing worth repeating.” She stepped to the edge of the porch and looked down at him. “You needn’t fear of anything that plug-ugly said going any further than us, Reverend. I love Willa, too.”
Too. His heart jolted. Were his feelings for Willa that plain to see? Probably so because he’d just knocked a man unconscious for threatening to besmirch her reputation. He grinned and rubbed his stinging knuckles. “I trust that information also will go no further than the two of us.”
Bertha grinned right back. “I let a man do his own courting, Reverend. Now, you’d best stop feeling proud of yourself and think about what comes next.” She dipped her head toward Thomas, who was beginning to stir. “What’re you going to do with him?”
“Why, I’m going to give him his heart’s desire and help him on his way west.” His grin died. “Thankfully, no one will pay any attention to my leaving in my buggy this time of night. Pastors get emergency calls at all hours.” He leaned down, grabbed hold of the back of Thomas Hunter’s jacket collar and started dragging him toward the stable. “But I have to say, this one is going to befuddle those who see my buggy and try to figure out what the emergency was and who came for me.”
“For sure it’ll give people something to talk about.” Bertha chuckled and turned to go inside. “I’ll get your coat.”
* * *
The buggy jolted and swayed. Thomas Hunter gave a groan and lifted his head. “What happened?”
Matthew watched as the trussed man slumped in the corner tried to shove himself erect by placing his shoulder against the roof frame. “A wheel hit a deep rut. Go back to sleep.”
Hunter swore and gave up the struggle. “Whyn’t you untie my hands now? My jaw hurts an’ I want to rub it.”
“I’ll untie you when we get to the depot and it’s time for you to board the stage, not before.” An animal broke from the woods and dashed across the road in front of them. He tightened his grip on the reins as the mare snorted and tossed her head. “Easy, girl, easy. It’s only a fox.”
“I can always come back you know.”
He glanced at Hunter. Must be the alcohol and the fogginess from being knocked unconscious had worn off—the man’s belligerent attitude was back. “I wouldn’t advise it. You’re not the only one who can start gossip, and if you ever show up in Pinewood again I will personally see to it that you are not welcomed by anyone. Including your drinking pals. How will Johnny Taylor…excuse me…I mean, Jack, feel when he finds out you had money for the stage ride and headed west without him? He did share his stake with you the last time, did he not?”
“How did you find out about that?”
He turned his head and gave the two-bit bully a wide smile. “You talk in your sleep. It’s very enlightening.”
Hunter glared. “I ain’t afraid of your threats. You’re a preacher an’ preachers don’t do things like startin’ rumors.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t think preachers knew how to throw a knockout punch, either.” He gave him another smile.
A surly growl was his only answer. A few minutes later snores came from the other corner. He drove on, thankful for the bright moonlight.
* * *
Matthew glanced up at the sky. Dawn was but a lighter gray promise in the east. It was a long trip to the depot in Dunkirk, especially through the night, but worth the time. He didn’t want anyone to find out about this. Thankfully, he had Bertha to care for Joshua and Sally until he got home. He frowned, glanced at the sky again. He ought to reach home by dusk, he’d make better time in the daylight.
He tightened his grip on Hunter’s arm and hurried him to the stage. “I’ve paid your fare to Buffalo.” He stepped behind him and untied the rope that bound his hands. “This time, when you get to Buffalo, you will have to get a job on a boat and work your way west from there.”
Hunter scowled and rubbed his wrists. “I’ll need some money for food and such, ’til I get that job.”
He coiled the rope and shook his head. “Sorry, but paying your stage fare is as much as I will do.”
“Then I’ll have to take the money!”
Hunter’s fist punched through the air toward him. He jerked his head to the side, rammed his fist into the bully’s exposed gut, then caught his chin with an uppercut when he bent over.
“Ugh!” Hunter’s eyes widened, then closed. He collapsed in a heap beside the stage.
He opened the door, picked Hunter up by the collar and the seat of the pants, heaved him inside and closed the door. He handed a half eagle up to the driver. “That’s for putting him on a boat headed west.”
The driver nodded, tucked the coin in his leather vest and grinned down at him. “That’s quite an uppercut you’ve got there.”
He rubbed his swollen knuckles and returned the grin. “Thanks. I learned it from my brother.”
“You a boxer or somethin’?”
His grin widened. “No, I’m a preacher.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Very good, Eli.” Willa took the stick of chalk the boy handed her and turned to the class. “Chloe, please come and work the next problem.”
Someone coughed. She sighed. It was that time of year. There would be coughs and sniffles among the children all winter. She made a mental note to bring in camphor and keep thyme and peppermint tea on hand and gave Chloe the chalk.
The sun’s golden rays streamed through the small glass panes from a blue, cloudless sky. It was a welcome break after the cold weather they had been experiencing. But there was a dark cloud hanging over her. This afternoon it would be two days since Thomas had made his threats. Nothing had happened yesterday. When would the gossip start? Would she have to face it when she left school today? Her already-sour stomach roiled. She dreaded having her name besmirched, even if, as her mother said, no one in the village would believe the lies.
“I’m done, Miss Wright.”
“Oh. Yes. Very good, Chloe. You may take your seat.” She focused her thoughts and moved over to stand by the slate board. “Now that the examples are completed, I want you first graders to copy the last four problems on your slates and write the answers. Be sure to keep your numbers in a straight line and make your plus signs clear.”
She raised the piece of chalk and wrote the five vowels in upper and lower cases. “Kindergartners, write these letters on your slates, and form them carefully. I shall come around to check them and to help you. Second graders—” She brushed the chalk dust from her fingers and lifted her gaze to the last bench where the oldest children in her class were seated. Mary Burton was bent forward, her forehead resting on her crossed arms on the bench desk. That did not bode well. Mary was a very painstaking scholar.
“Mary?” She hurried to the young girl, placed her hand on her small back and leaned over her. “What’s wrong, Mary?”
“I don’t f-feel good.” The muffled words ended with a cough.
“Look at me, Mary.”
The eight-year-old lifted her head and looked up at her through squinted eyes.
“Have you a headache?” She noted Mary’s glassy eyes and red cheeks and placed her hand on her forehead. Too warm.
