The Teacher's Star

by Marisa Masterson

  The Teacher’s Star

  The Belles of Wyoming #35

  Marisa Masterson

  The Teacher’s Star

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  The Teacher’s Star ©2020 Marisa Masterson

  Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt

  http://www.virginiamckevitt.com

  Editing by Amy Petrowich

  Formatting by Christine Sterling

  1st Ed.

  Table of Contents

  Become Part of the Belles of Wyoming Family

  The Belles of Wyoming

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Leave a Review

  Available Now

  About Marisa

  Become Part of the

  Belles of Wyoming Family

  Click here to join the Belles of Wyoming Reader Group

  You can see all The Belles of Wyoming Books on our Amazon Series page.

  Our beautiful covers were designed by Virginia McKevitt of Black Widow Books.

  The Belles of Wyoming

  Christmas 2018 (Theme: Holiday)

  Book 1, Christine Sterling, Wynter’s Bride

  Book 2, Marianne Spitzer, Holly's Christmas Wish

  Book 3, Cyndi Raye, A Tin Star for Christmas

  Book 4, P. Creeden, A Pony for Christmas

  Book 5, Julia Ridgmont, Natalie's Surprise Engagement

  Spring 2019 (Theme: Renewal/Redemption)

  Book 6, Christine Sterling, The Homecoming

  Book 7, Ginny Sterling, Blessings of Love

  Book 8, Cyndi Raye, Mercy’s Gift

  Book 9, P. Creeden, Moments of Grace

  Book 10, Julia Ridgmont, Emeline's Redemption

  Summer 2019 (Theme: Summer Love

  / Barn Raising)

  Book 11, Ginny Sterling, Lightning Strikes Twice

  Book 12, Julia Ridgmont, In the Nick of Time

  Book 13, Jenna Brandt, June’s Remedy

  Book 14, Lynn Donovan, The Wrong Bride

  Book 15, Marisa Masterson, Grace for a Drifter

  Book 16, Rose Castro, Lucy’s Luck

  Book 17, P. Creeden, Steel Blue Bride

  Book 18, Cyndi Raye, Stealing Her Heart

  Book 19, Cheryl Wright, Eleanor’s Dilemma

  Book 20, Jo Grafford, Wild Rose Summer

  Book 21, Patricia PacJac Carroll, Summer’s Love

  Book 22, Lisa M. Prysock, The Prairie Princess

  Book 23, Marie Higgins, Whispers of Yesterday

  Book 24, Amelia Adams, Butterfly Kisses

  Book 25, Margaret Tanner, Flynn's Debt

  Book 26, Mimi Milan, September’s Switch

  Book 27, Julia Ridgmont, Daring to Love Again

  Book 28, Christine Sterling, A Matter of Marriage

  Book 29, Ginny Sterling, Change of Heart

  Book 30, Christine Sterling, The Barn Raising

  Winter 2020 (Theme: New Beginnings)

  Book 31, Patricia PACJAC Carroll, Setting Things Straight

  Book 32, Marianne Spitzer, Charity’s Promise

  Book 33, Marie Higgins, Too Many Secrets

  Book 34, Marlene Bierworth, From Mourning to Joy

  Book 35, Marisa Masterson, The Teacher’s Star

  Book 36, Lisa Prysock, Hazel’s Tribulation

  Book 37, Lynn Donovan, Nellie’s New Attitude

  Book 38, Julia Ridgmont, The Trouble with Lucy

  Chapter 1

  September 27, 1871

  “Yes, Mother. I will use a bit of the money to send a telegram. But, a short one.”

  “All I needs is that one word—Here! You sends it right quick or I’ll be on a train lickety-split.”

  Her mother’s light brown eyes flashed a teasing glance in what many people believed to be a lightly tanned face, kept that way even in winter by the Missouri sunshine. That is, everyone except the good people of Evergreen who knew the truth.

  The woman reached across the bag her daughter clutched and put a golden finger under her ivory chin. “Wouldn’t look good for the important teacher to have her mama chasing her, now would it?” Though her voice quivered, Delia knew her mother was determined to make this a happy parting. No matter that it seemed somehow, well, final.

  Even during Delia’s college years, the two had seen each other often. Delia had been able to attend a normal school in Springfield. She’d lived there and worked, in her free time, as a sort of gardener and cleaner for families in the area. The same thing her washerwoman mother did in Evergreen. Even so, Delia made sure to head back to Evergreen as often as she could to be with her mother. To be with the person who was both father and mother to her.

  She loved the outdoors. Raking, weeding, pruning—none of it was a hardship to her way of thinking. The jobs paid her to be outside. Many folks wanted to hire only men for such tasks. Thanks to the members of her church who worked in service for various wealthy families, she’d had the connections to gain enough jobs, paying her tuition at the college.

  During winter months, she’d picked up jobs cleaning houses or helping in kitchens when the wealthy had parties. That had been the hardest part about being away from her mother. They each needed to work, in separate towns, at Christmas. Thank goodness for the train that brought them together.

  Except, now it would move them farther apart. Her teacher, Miss Winkler who was now married, left a teaching position in Wyoming. After meeting the woman again in Evergreen, Miss Winkler had suggested that the job would be just the thing for a young woman who loved the outdoors and wanted excitement.

  In months to come, those innocent and convincing words haunted Delia more than once.

  But, on this day in late September 1871, Delia Perkins kissed her mother’s cheek and allowed the conductor to help her up the steps of the passenger car. After seating herself on the thinly padded second-class seat, she looked through misty eyes out the window.

  Her mother stood, waving. She blew a kiss. It was an old game and the daughter automatically caught the invisible kiss and brought it to her pink-tinged cheek. The leaving was hard, but adventure—and students—beckoned.

  The school year in Belle would be late starting. The officials had agreed to hold the position while she tied up loose ends in Missouri. She had promised to teach for two weeks in a classroom in Springfield, starting the classroom for a man who’d been in a cast over the summer.

  The teacher was expected to be well enough to take over by the third week of September. As she’d only committed herself to the school for those few weeks, Delia was able to hire on as Belle’s teacher. Her first full-time position!

  Now, on her way west, she felt hope bloom inside her chest even as her body swayed with the motion of the train. Her hope was huge and ruffled, she imagined, like the many layers of petals in a peony blossom.

  She almost giggled aloud at her silly comparison. She did so love peonies, even
though ants always crawled over and inside the buds. After all, without the ants the peony blossoms could never open.

  Oh, dear me! Maybe that wasn’t a good comparison. Did she want a lot of inconveniences before she realized her dream? No, not a peony. Perhaps her hope could be compared to—

  “Is anyone using this seat, miss?” A deep voice pulled her from her silly game of imagining.

  Smiling at the man from under her straw bonnet, she shook her head. “Please, feel free to sit here.”

  An older gentleman if the creases at his eyes spoke of honest living instead of a misspent past, he appeared to be in his early fifties. He lowered his wiry body onto the seat next to her and stowed a carpet bag at his feet.

  “Emory Jessup, Miss, at your service.” He grinned and touched the brim of his low-crowned hat, greeting her.

  For years, women had looked past her, children had teased her, and men seemed predatory to Delia. This man looked into her face and treated her as he would any other white woman.

  Smiling broadly, she looked directly in his face as she returned the greeting. “Miss Delia Perkins, late of Springfield.”

  For several hours, she and Mr. Jessup sat side by side. He asked her many questions, one of the first being her destination. At the mention of Wyoming, his eyes twinkled.

  “Say, you know I visited a little town out there once. Nice place called Belle.” As he named the town, an odd expectancy shone from his intense blue eyes. It caused Delia to pull back slightly from him.

  Controlling a stutter of surprise, she was unable to suppress the doubt in her voice as she spoke. “Why, uh, how odd! I happen to be the new schoolteacher for Belle.”

  “You don’t say. That is quite something. I wonder, do you know anyone in the town already?”

  Suddenly, Delia had the oddest image of Mr. Jessup holding a fishing pole. Was she the trout he wanted to catch? His questions seemed suspicious.

  Still, if this were an innocent coincidence? It would be nice to find out more about the town. Maybe, just until the next depot, she would continue to speak with him. After that, certainly a different seat would open up. She would use the excuse of wanting a new view from the train when she moved. As she rehearsed the excuse in her mind, it sounded very mature.

  Forgive me, sir. I see a seat on the other side. Allow me to pass, as I would like a new view of our great country as the train takes us further into the west.

  Oh, that did sound nice. Very much like something her teachers would say.

  “Miss, you didn’t answer my question?” The gentle prodding in Mr. Jessup’s voice brought her back to the present. Her light brown eyes probably betrayed confusion at his statement since he repeated it.

  With a weak chuckle, he tried to smile. Not the broad grin he’d flashed when greeting her earlier. No, this was the smile of a man who either felt very tired or suddenly weak. “Remember? I asked if you knew any--anyone in Belle.”

  Unease changed to concern as she came fully out of her imaginings and studied the man. He had a pasty color and his eyes seemed pinched, none of the intensity of a few minutes before lingering in them.

  “Are you alright?” Alarmed, she nonetheless kept her voice lowed and controlled. Years of attempting to be invisible taught her how to do that well. No wonder she still daydreamed much too often.

  He shook his head and inched back his dark coat with trembling fingers. A shaft of sunshine glinted off a star pinned to his vest. She made out the U and Mar before the coat slipped from Jessup’s fingers, covering the star again.

  “Answer. Please. Will anyone know—” He broke off and sank back into the seat, clutching his middle. She wrung her hands, not sure how to help. When his eyes met hers, they seemed to will her to answer.

  “Will anyone know me? No, no one at all.”

  Gripping his right side, the man struggled with his words. “Heard—you say—Belle—depot.”

  Delia’s brows flew upward. “So, you knew where I was headed? That’s why you sat by me?”

  He gave an abrupt nod and reached into his inside coat pocket. His right fist gripped something tightly as he withdrew it. A piece of paper appeared in his left hand from his outside pocket.

  “Swear—”

  “You want me to cuss?” Was the man delirious?

  “Sign. Like swearing in…to office.” The man thrust the paper toward her as if reaching up to her while he dangled from a cliff.

  He wanted her to sign it? Easy enough.

  She dug briefly through her oversized reticule and came up with a short pencil. Taking the paper, she filled in her name and rapidly affixed her signature in what looked to be the correct spot.

  “Read—to me.” He gagged and gripped his belly, his face snowy white.

  Sneaking her wire-framed spectacles out of her bag, she slid them quickly up her nose and began to read softly to the suffering man.

  “I, Delia Perkins, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute all lawful precepts, directed to the Marshal of the United States for the territory of Wyoming, under the authority of the United States—”

  Her voice trailed off, alarm keeping her from closing her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  Mr. Jessup ignored her question. Between pains, he groaned out, “Finish it.”

  Adventure, obedience, pride. She didn’t know which of these drove her at that moment. Delia opened her mouth and wholeheartedly affirmed, “And in all things well and truly, and without malice or partiality, perform the duties of Deputy Marshal of the Wyoming Territory during my continuance in said office, and take only my lawful fees, so help me God.”

  The raspy voice begged, “The pencil. Paper.”

  She handed both to him. Jessup scrawled his name. “Date.”

  Retrieving the pencil and paper, she filled in September 21, 1871, showing it to him. He nodded and opened his right fist. A silver star landed in her lap, gleaming against the dark brown skirt of her traveling suit. A large envelope landed on top of it.

  He gasped, bringing her gaze up to his pinched face. “Other marshal, already—Belle.”

  At her nod, he struggled to continue. “Suspect man. Rol Anders. Tell him.”

  “Mr. Jessup, I don’t understand. Is Mr. Anders the suspect?”

  Opening his mouth to gasp air, fish-like Delia thought, Jessup pitched forward, landing on top of the envelope.

  “Help!” Heads turned and a blue-hatted conductor ran toward them. “I think he’s ill.”

  “That, Miss, I think is an understatement.”

  A doctor who happened to be traveling in the same car volunteered his services. After proclaiming that Mr. Jessup was undoubtedly suffering with appendix trouble, he left the train at the next stop with his newly acquired patient—coincidentally, where the man’s home and practice was located.

  During the time he remained on the train, the man woke only once. He thrashed from side to side before muttering two words, “Rol Anders.” The anguish in his voice convinced Delia Perkins that Rol Anders was someone to be on guard against.

  So, like such men as Bat Masterson, Bass Reeves, and Wyatt Earp who would become famous, Delia Perkins became a United States Marshal.

  Quite a feat for the daughter of a former slave!

  Delia didn’t expect to be met at the station. She had sent Mr. Stewart, who she knew owned the mercantile, a telegram about her expected arrival. Still, what man could afford to close his store in the middle of a busy day to welcome a stranger?

  Even so, Delia searched the platform after the conductor helped her down the few steps as she left the passenger car. Her eyes lit on a tall man whose wavy dark hair peeked from underneath his hat. During her trip to Belle, she’d seen hats like his with a deep crown and wide brim. The further west she traveled the more hats like his appeared rather than the bowlers she commonly saw in Springfield.

  The man stood in the shadow of the depot building. Perhaps he felt her gaze since he looked up, meeting her eyes. She saw his eyebrows ra
ise at her and blushed. Then a slow smile creased his face. The expression caused a funny curl inside her middle. A very unfamiliar feeling. The man wasn’t unusually handsome. Why, then, did he draw this response from her? It was as if he’d reached across the distance and stroked her arm. Had he felt the same reaction? Is that why he’d smiled in her direction?

  She willed herself to look away. Wanting to distract her mind, she searched the rest of the platform, glancing also through the large window of the depot itself. A throat clearing nearby caused her to jump and whirl.

  “Excuse me, miss. Was there an older man traveling on the same train as you?”

  Delia stared for a moment at the stranger who’d been brazen enough to approach her. He was sparely built, rawboned and red faced. Something about his smile reminded her of a vicious dog. Any moment she expected to see foam drip from his teeth or to hear a growl echo from his throat. Nothing about him hinted that he could be the marshal Jessup expected to meet in Belle.

  Deciding quickly, Delia tightly gripped the reticule that hid the envelope and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  When she would have turned to leave, the man extended his hand to halt her. His oily tone, when he spoke again, caused her to shy away from his extended hand. “Name’s Jubal Yarbourough. Maybe you just don’t remember. If something does come to you later, head on over to my cobbler’s wagon. I…”

  Yarborough’s voice trailed off to a soft whistle. He leered at her, his eyes traveling over her body. What had he seen that caused this sudden change she wondered, even as she shuddered in response to his almost tactile gaze.

  Stepping closer, his voice took on an edge of unwelcome warmth. The tone cause her to back up as she tried to get away from the man.

  “You, my dear, can visit my wagon even if you don’t have anything to tell me. I’d love to be your very good friend.”

  Even as his arm stretched out toward her an umbrella fell hard onto it. A woman hissed, “Get away from her,” as she brought the weapon up for another swing at the man.