Nearing the school, she watched a young girl soar on the swing hung from a tree beside the building. Giggles floated on the air as she pumped skinny legs to send her higher. The merry sound ceased as the girl saw Grace approach.
Once her feet were back on the dirt below the swing, the little one stood with her head bowed. “Sorry, ma’am, for helping myself to your swing.”
Grace put out her free hand and, with a finger, tipped up the girl’s face. “That swing is for anyone who wants to use it. This is the school after all, so it belongs to everyone in town.”
A smile brightened the sweet face and the girl plopped back onto the board seat of the swing. Grace watched her pump her short legs and decided to question her. “What is your name? I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting your family.”
As black curls blew back from her face, the girl giggled. “We came to town today. I’m Liza.”
“Are your parents shopping at the mercantile?” Families from outlying farms and ranches came in for supplies and often sent their children over to play in the schoolyard while they shopped.
“Daddy’s working. Shoes, shoes, shoes!” Liza sang those three words as she shot up into the air.
At least that answered who she belonged to and when she’d arrived. Obviously, the traveling cobbler must be her father.
“Are there other children in your family, Liza?” Perhaps the cobbler had decided to move here and start a shop. She welcomed the idea of more students.
Evidently, Liza had grown tired of flying into the air. Now she used her legs to twist the rope of the swing. Lifting her feet, she shrieked with laughter as the rope unwound and she flew in circles. When the girl once again sat looking at Grace, she asked her question again.
Liza shrugged. “Don’t think so. Just Daddy and me.”
“And your mother?” Grace didn’t know why she felt driven to find out if the man was married. At that moment, the information seemed vital.
“Nah. Mommy died. Daddy’s wife died too. He says, ‘I’m cursed’.” The girl said the last words in a deep, sad voice, obviously imitating her father.
Grace laid a comforting hand on the child’s back. “Yes, when a mommy dies, the daddy does lose his wife.” At her words, Liza shook her head and frowned.
She’d upset the child and Grace suddenly felt ashamed. “We won’t speak of that anymore. Do you think you’ll be coming to my school next month?”
“We’ll be on our way.” Liza became chanting, “On our way, never stay,” saying the phrase over and over. When she stopped, she shrugged. “I never go to school.”
Feeling sad for the girl, Grace offered what she could. “Come to see me every day and we can play school. I’ll teach you while you’re in town.”
At the word “play” Liza’s face brightened. She nodded her head, causing her black girls to bounce. Unable to resist, Grace laid a tender hand to those curls. She remembered another head full of black wavy hair as it bent over her to kiss her waiting lips.
With a gasp, she realized where her wild thoughts had wandered. Liza heard the gasp and looked at her oddly. Needing an explanation, she quickly searched her mind. “You have such beautiful hair. Would you like me to wash it for you? Then I can put it into braids and ribbons.”
The boisterous girl looked in the direction of the cobbler’s wagon and then nodded shyly. Grace held out her hand. When Liza placed her smaller one in Grace’s she led her into her home and prepared for a day spent with her new young friend. Gracious but she’d been maudlin lately. Caring for Liza and tutoring her would be exactly the tonic she needed to forget.
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About Marisa
Marisa Masterson and her husband of thirty years reside in Saginaw, Michigan. They have two grown children, one son-in-law, a precious new granddaughter, and one old and lazy dog.
She is a retired high school English teacher and oversaw a high school writing center in partnership with the local university. In addition, she is a National Writing Project fellow and a regular contributor to the Sweet Americana Sweethearts and Sweethearts of the West blogs.
Focusing on her home state of Wisconsin, she writes sweet historical romance. Growing up, she loved hearing stories about her family pioneering in that state. Those stories, in part, are what inspired her to begin writing.
Find her on Facebook, in the Chat Sip and Read Community, Sweet Wild West Reads, or on her Facebook page.
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