Lilah leaped from her bench once more, with almost enough force to knock it over, and spelled loudly, “Recommendation. R-E-C-O-M-M-E-N-D-A-T-I-O-N. Recommendation.”
“That is correct. Congratulations, Lilah.”
The schoolhouse erupted in cheers. Throughout the celebration, Jessalyn kept her eyes on Noah, who had slumped in his seat with his arms folded on the table. “I don’t believe this . . .” he muttered.
“Remember from our lesson last week, Noah.” Jessalyn went to the blackboard and wrote out the letters in question. “There are many words that end in the letters T-I-O-N, which creates the ‘shun’ sound.”
Noah stared at the blackboard in confusion. “That don’t make no sense.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jessalyn corrected.
“S’what I said.”
The other students snickered.
Jessalyn wiped the chalk dust from her hands. “All right, class, that’ll be all for today. For tonight, please work through pages twenty to twenty-five of your readers. The menu at Mamie Piper’s place may teach you how to spell ‘sarsaparilla’, but it won’t teach you much else. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
The children gathered their books and ran from the schoolhouse, eager to enjoy the sunshine and freedom.
The room always felt so much bigger once it was empty. Jessalyn fell into her after-school routine of straightening all the benches back into orderly rows, before taking a wet rag and washing the blackboard clean. About halfway across the board, she stopped. Though the students had left, it didn’t seem to be getting any quieter. Usually they would have all been on their way to their homes by now, but Jessalyn could still hear excited voices close to the schoolhouse. She folded the rag and placed it on the chalk tray before stepping quickly towards the door.
As Jessalyn exited the building, she saw exactly what she’d feared. Many of her students stood in a crowd a few yards off. A few of the children shifted, revealing Noah and Lilah standing at the center of the circle, facing off.
“Tch. Where do you get off acting so important?” Noah called. “We all know Miss Joy has to tutor you after school’s out.”
Lilah bristled. “It ain’t tutoring, it’s extra lessons. I’m aspiring to something greater. I’m gonna leave Three Willows and go to college like Miss Joy did.”
Noah laughed, and the group of boys directly behind him joined in. “No, you ain’t! Face it. Your mama pops out kids faster than she can feed them. If your folks stopped screwin’ like rabbits, maybe you’d have a chance, but everyone knows you’re gonna be a nanny for the rest of your life.”
“Noah Heeley, you take that back!” Lilah marched forward, rolling up her sleeve, her long blonde braid swinging behind her like an angry snake.
“What if I don’t?”
“I’ve sent you home with a bloody lip before, I can do it again.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You wanna press that luck?”
The other children began chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Jessalyn grabbed a fistful of her skirts and strode towards the mob, raising her voice. “Noah! Lilah! I will not have you two at each other’s throats three steps away from my school.” She pushed the two teens apart. “But I will happily tell your father that you’ve been picking on girls again, Noah. I’m sure he’ll be pleased. And, Lilah, I know how much your mother loves hearing about the trouble you get into.”
Noah rolled his shoulders, loosing Jessalyn’s grip on his shirt sleeve. He grunted, his eyes cast downward. “Sorry, Miss Joy.”
“Now, go on. Run home, all of you.” With only the tiniest hints of disappointment at missing out witnessing a fight, the children departed.
Lilah bent down to pick up her books from where she had dropped them in the dirt.
“May I have a word, Lilah?”
Lilah’s smug smile melted into a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, Miss Joy . . .”
Jessalyn folded her arms. “I’ve warned you about that temper of yours. You ought to know better.” This wasn’t the first time a fight had nearly broken out in the schoolyard, and certainly not the first time Lilah had been involved.
“I couldn’t just stand there and let him talk about my family like that—"
Jessalyn held up her hand. “It’s called taking the high road. You’re nearing sixteen, Lilah. one of the oldest students in class. The others look up to you. You need to set a good example. Think about Charlie and your other siblings.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, again.”
“Thank you.” This conversation wasn’t new to either of them, but the tension of the reprimand didn’t linger for long.
As if suddenly remembering something, Lilah’s entire form perked up. “Oh! Before I forget. I know we usually don’t meet on Thursdays, but could we tomorrow night? I have so many questions about this book, and Mama’s gonna need my help around the house this weekend.”
There were times Jessalyn felt guilty over the favor she showed Lilah, but the girl was a quick learner, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. Jessalyn had been her teacher since she’d first been old enough to attend school and had seen the potential she possessed. They’d come up with an arrangement of meeting every other school night for extracurricular reading. Lilah had been introduced to literature classics and absorbed them all hungrily. It made it quite hard to refuse her. “Of course, we can,” Jessalyn answered.
Lilah bounced on her feet. “Thank you!”
A young boy, around eight years old who hadn’t scattered off with the others, walked to Lilah’s side. “Don’t worry, Lilah. While you’re on the high road, I can wallop Noah Heeley for ya,” he boasted, puffing out his tiny chest.
Lilah ruffled her younger brother’s hair. “I appreciate that, Charlie. C’mon. Let’s head home.”
3
My dearest Jessa,
It is nearing twilight now, and I have a moment of peace in which to write to you. We have not left camp for some time, and from what I hear, have no plans to head out in the near future, but there is always training and management to be done. I’ve continued to use my knowledge of first aid to be of use in the medical tent. The work is hard, but good.
I must confess, my mind makes much of you. We’ve shared several winters together now, I know how much you despise the chill. As the cold months draw closer, I wish I could be beside you to keep you warm. Be safe, Jessa. Be well. I am in good company here. These are fine men and I am honored to serve with them. We will defend this country and its ideals with pride, and before long I will return to you.
Until my heart stops beating, Amos.
JESSALYN RAN HER FINGER ALONG the side of the paper as she read the letter. Amos had sent it to her several months ago, the winter weather he spoke of had long given over to the scorching heat of summer.
Jessalyn sighed and filed the letter back in its place. She kept Amos’s letters organized by date in a box, and had revisited them all so many times, it never took her long to find the one she wanted. If she ever found herself wanting, her husband’s letters were there. As she closed the box, her hand absently went to her wedding ring. Why had she longed to reread that particular letter today? It was only the middle of the week, she ought not to feel this tired already. Rewarding as teaching was, it was exhausting. Maybe that’s what she had wanted. To picture Amos in a moment of quiet, away from his duties with the Union Army, alone and thinking of her, as she thought of him every day.
Jessalyn rose from her kitchen table and reached out to draw back the pale blue curtains hanging in front of the window. The sun was beginning its westward trek toward the horizon. Though her house and the school where she taught were closer to the edge of Three Willows, she could still see a sliver of the town square through the gaps between her neighbors’ homes. And no matter where you were in town, you could always see the crests of the three ancient willow trees that grew behind the church.
&n
bsp; This was where Amos had grown up. She remembered how the pride had made his face light up when he’d first brought her here after they’d been married. The two of them had built this very house together. The memories filled these rooms. Planning lessons by the fireplace. Amos teaching her how to properly cook beef. Helping him around the house after he’d foolishly broken his leg while working at the Bishops’ ranch. Reading together. Sleeping together. Being together.
And then he’d enlisted.
Jessalyn shut her eyes. It was turning into one of those nights. One of those nights when everything she saw, touched, smelled, turned her thoughts to him. She stood, resolutely placing the letter box in its corner on her kitchen table. She didn’t have time for such melancholy.
A knock at the door interrupted her tidying.
“Miss Joy? Are you in?”
Jessalyn recognized the voice immediately as that of Roger Shaw, the assistant priest at the church. “Yes. Yes, come in.”
The door opened a crack and a young bespectacled man leaned inside. “I’m not interrupting you, am I?”
“No, not at all.”
“I went by the school first, but there was no answer so I thought you might be here at your house.”
“I was just,” she paused, “finishing up some paperwork.”
Roger, still leaning in through the half open door, glanced around at the room behind her, then back at Jessalyn. “So, you are busy?”
“No, that’s all finished.”
“I can come back another day.”
“Roger—”
“This isn’t urgent,” Roger cut her off. “Absolutely not urgent, I can just—”
Jessalyn raised her voice. “Roger!”
Roger blinked, startled into silence. “. . . yes?”
She reached out and tugged her front door out of his grip, making it quite clear that he was welcome to come inside, which he finally did. “How can I help you?”
Roger stood awkwardly in the center of the room, rocking up on the balls of his feet. His hair was slicked perfectly into place and his dark gray vest didn’t have a speck of dust on it, despite the gentle winds outside. Jessalyn surreptitiously smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. She always felt a bit disheveled when standing next to Roger.
“Well, I’ve had some news.” Roger tightened his grip on the bundle of books and papers he carried under his arm. “Last week went so well that Reverend Finley has agreed to let me lead the congregation again this Sunday.”
“Oh, Roger! That’s wonderful!” Jessalyn pulled out a chair and motioned Roger to sit.
“Indeed,” said Roger. “To know the reverend can put his faith in me . . . I’m very grateful.”
“He’s found an excellent apprentice in you.”
Roger smiled. “He’s a great teacher. I can only hope to measure up to him someday. All the good he’s done in this town. It’s a marvel.”
He wasn’t wrong. From what she knew, the establishing of the church was a large contributing factor to the town’s reputation as a place of peace. Jessalyn owed Reverend Finley and the mayor of Three Willows, Ebenezer Carson, quite a bit, as they had been very helpful in the building of the school. Roger had been brought to Three Willows a few years ago, presumably to take over in the reverend’s old age.
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of marvels yourself, Roger, when your time comes,” Jessalyn said.
“I do try. Which is what brings me here, actually. It would be selfish to claim last week’s successful service all to myself. Your thoughts and suggestions regarding my sermon were most insightful, and I wondered . . . if you might be willing to lend me your editorial eye once more?”
Jessalyn nodded. She had wondered if Roger’s visit was to ask her something like this. Her taking a look over the town sermons was almost routine at this point. “I’d be honored.”
Roger let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Your writing really has improved since I’ve known you, Roger. You should be proud.”
“Oh, I am! I can only imagine what this constant sense of . . . elucidation is like for your students! Soon we’ll have an army of young scholars from Three Willows spreading across the country.”
“Well,” Jessalyn said, “I’m not sure about that. Most of my students are needed as extra hands to work their family’s land. Those born in this town don’t tend to stray too far.”
Roger broke his gaze and stared down at the table, a flush illuminating his cheeks. He could be a bit overzealous at times, and he often spoke and thought much too fast, but that was part of what Jessalyn liked about him. She didn’t let him steep in his embarrassment for long. “Was there anything else, Roger?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact . . . “ Roger laughed nervously. “I was, uh, I wanted to know if, perhaps . . . maybe you’d been by the general store lately? And picked up any of the new serials?” He drummed his fingers on top of the book he still clutched.
“I’m afraid I haven’t really had the time to—”
“That’s all right!” Roger jumped in. “That’s fine! I understand! I thought as much! To save you the effort of making a selection that might not agree with you, I thought I’d come and lend you something that I can attest for in quality.”
Jessalyn forced herself to hold back a laugh. She took the book he was offering. “My! Thank you, Roger.” Jessalyn examined the cover. A crumbling castle stood against a purple-red sunset. A swarthy looking man with an impressive mustache clutched the waist of a woman who was dressed quite too scantily for the outdoors. Jessalyn raised her eyebrows. Grateful as she was to have found a friend in town capable of discussing Dickens with her, when Roger offered to share his literary choices, she couldn’t help but question his taste. She read out the title. “The Castle of O’Donoughoe?”
Roger bounced in his seat, all embarrassment gone from his face as he gushed. “I don’t want to give too much away, but I found it thrilling. A haunted castle, mistaken identities, an inheritance plot, danger, romance!”
“You do have a soft spot for these adventure stories, don’t you?” The previous book Roger had recommended to her had involved the vengeful ghost of a jilted bride, and the one before that concerned a search for treasure buried on Indian land.
“Ha. My weakness, I suppose.” Roger grinned broadly. “I’ve always found a thrill in the escapism of a good book. And there’s always a chance to learn something! Do you remember The Secret Across the Rio?”
“I do.” The treasure hunt novel.
“After some further research, it turns out some of the depictions of Apache rituals were fairly accurate! The author must have spent some time here in the southwest.”
“Is that so?” Jessalyn could easily picture Roger holed up in his room at the back of the church, poring over research papers and case studies, meticulously fact checking books meant for the masses to enjoy. Ever the scholar. Much like herself. Roger was several years younger than she, but he was one of the few people in Three Willows she could truly relate to.
“I must confess, I’ve had a desire for some time now to visit the tribal lands myself,” said Roger.
“As a missionary?”
“No, no. Simply to learn. There are so many cultures and religions beyond what we know. I find it fascinating.”
“You are a remarkable man, Roger Shaw,” Jessalyn said, running her fingertips over the embossed lettering on The Castle of O’Donoghoe’s cover. “Though, if these cover illustrations get any more risqué, I’m not sure what Reverend Finley will say about a man of the cloth having these books in his possession.”
Roger’s face fell instantly. “Oh. That is—if . . . if you could not mention—”
Jessalyn held up her hands. “Just a joke, Roger. He won’t hear a word from me. When I finish it, you can drop by and we can discuss the thrills. How does that sound?”
“I would like that very much.”
Jessal
yn’s eyes drifted from the novel to the box of Amos’s letters. She couldn’t help it. Even the enthusiastic, jittery atmosphere that Roger brought to her home wasn’t enough to fully banish her gloom. But it was a small start.
4
SAM HAD AWOKEN THAT MORNING to the tapping of well-groomed fingernails against his door. Mamie-Not-Missus Piper had arrived to inform him that the mayor would meet with him that morning.
As Sam splashed water on his face, he felt the chaotic buzz in the back of his brain that told him he was in over his head. A slip here and he’d be found out for sure. He’d already given Mamie his real name, so a quick lie there was no good. He could just leave. There was no rule stating he had to stay here. He could grab Sinbad and go. Make this the shortest amount of time he’d ever stayed in one place.
But that wouldn’t work either. Three Willows wasn’t like the towns he’d stumbled into on his wandering journeys. He’d come here specifically. He’d promised to.
There were too many details to deal with all at once. For now, he’d just focus on getting through this meeting.
A few early morning patrons were scattered around the tables on the main floor of the downstairs bar. Yesterday’s whiskey had been good, but Sam wondered if he could track down a pot of coffee. Not wanting to attract attention, he settled himself on one of the swiveling bar stools.
After about fifteen minutes, a figure pushed their way through the bar’s red door. A man in perhaps his early fifties, with a waxed black mustache and equally waxed black hair, stepped inside. He surveyed the room, passing over the tables, before locking his gaze onto Sam. Leading with his chest, the man took three long steps to the bar counter and stretched out his arm..
“Samuel Brooks, I presume?”
Sam rose and took the offered hand. “You presume correctly. You must be the mayor of this fine town?” When in doubt, go for flattery.
“Indeed, I am,” the man answered. “Ebenezer Carson. A pleasure.” Carson settled himself on the barstool next to Sam. “Mamie’s told me all about your arrival yesterday. I must thank you for agreeing to speak with me first and foremost.”
Then Came the Thunder Page 2