The Sugar Queen

by Tess Thompson

  “Miss Cooper, I have a secret.” She leaned close and spoke softly in my ear. “No one knows, but I already know how to read English.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone know?”

  “Because Harley can only read in French, and I don’t want him to feel bad.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “Josephine.”

  Josephine taught her? When had they found time for that? “That’s great news,” I said.

  “She lends me books, too, but that’s also a secret.”

  “I feel quite sure your brother would be proud of you.”

  “Josephine said you’re going to teach the townsfolk if they come to you.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Would you teach Harley?”

  “I’ll teach any person willing to learn.”

  She smiled. “I’ll have to convince him. He’s stubborn as a mule.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “So am I.”

  The last was nine-year-old Louisa Kellam. Dressed in a thin, frayed dress with holes in the toes of her boots, she was so shy she couldn’t look at me when I asked her for her name and age. She could pick out a few words from the primary reader but didn’t know any of her numbers.

  “Have you ever been to school before?” I asked.

  “No, miss. When we lived in Nebraska, Pa says he ain’t got time to take me to school and that he needed my help at home.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’s dead,” she said, without emotion.

  “How did you get here this morning?” I asked.

  “I walked. Our house is just a ways down the road.”

  I remembered a shack I’d spotted in the woods on the way into town. I had a feeling she lived there. How could she walk all that way in the snow? She’d freeze to death in that thin coat and those boots with the holes in the toes.

  “I really, really want to go to school and Pa don’t like it. But if I sneak out before he wakes up, I figure he can’t stop me.”

  Before he woke up? I knew what that meant. Her pa must be a frequent patron at the saloon.

  “Do you think your pa would mind if I came out to talk with him about why it’s important you be here?”

  She shook her head so violently I thought it might fall off her skinny neck. “No, please don’t do that.”

  “Won’t he notice when you’re not there all day?”

  “He sleeps most of the day. I don’t figure he’ll know.”

  “All right, then.” I’d have to sort through this later. “You can go back to your seat.”

  I looked down at my class roster. My first class. I hoped I would do them justice.

  Martha Johnson, 16

  Elsa Johnson, 14

  Josephine Barnes, 13

  Poppy Depaul, 13

  Isak Olofsson, 11

  Alma Cassidy, 10

  Theo Barnes, 9

  Flynn Barnes, 9

  Louisa Kellam, 9

  Viktor Olofsson, 9

  Shannon Cassidy, 8

  Nora Cassidy, 6

  Cymbeline Barnes, 6

  By this time, we’d missed our first recess and gone straight into lunchtime. The children had been remarkably good, even Flynn and Cymbeline, all sitting quietly with their books. Many of whom couldn’t read much of them. Life had been hard for them, even the Barnes children who had everything except what mattered most—a mother. Martha and Elsa appeared to be the most fortunate. They had both parents and a father with a good livelihood. I might rely on them to help me with some of the little ones.

  “You’ve been very good, and we worked through our first recess, so you may all have an extra fifteen minutes for lunch.”

  Flynn’s hand popped up.

  “Yes, Flynn?”

  “Do we have to eat first before we go outside?”

  “Yes, please. Now you may all return your books to the shelf, get your lunch, and come back to your seats to eat.”

  I watched as they put their books away and grabbed their lunch pails and returned to their seats. All but Louisa. She had no lunch. My own stomach, so often empty during my childhood, rumbled in sympathy. Without a word, I fetched mine, intending to give her half. I’d learned to live on little, and I’d had that large breakfast. I halted by the window, watching a pair of winter sparrows flirting on the tree in front of the school. By the time I returned to the front, the situation had been taken care of by the children. Sitting before Louisa were two half sandwiches—not of the same sandwich, as one was on thick brown bread and the other white—an apple, and a boiled egg. I took a look around the room, but everyone’s head was down. Josephine only had one half of her sandwich left. Theo was missing an apple. Alma was taking a bite out of one half of a dark bread sandwich. She couldn’t have eaten the other half that fast, given the size of the bread. Elsa had an egg on her desk, but Martha did not. It didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out Louisa’s benefactors.

  Louisa looked up at me, the question in her eyes—was she allowed to take the food? I nodded and went back to my desk. Choked up, I kept my head down so the children wouldn’t see how moved I was by their kindness. They’d taken my rules seriously, it seemed.

  We all ate in silence. Louisa scarfed every morsel of her gifted lunch. The others finished theirs, and I dismissed them to play outside. Everyone bolted from their seats, clearly joyful to get outside for some exercise. They all clambered into their coats and headed outdoors. Shouts of glee followed.

  I looked up to see that Louisa remained at her seat. There were dark quarter moons under her eyes.

  “Don’t you want to play?” I asked.

  “Would it be all right if I took a nap over by the stove?”

  “Didn’t you sleep last night?” I asked.

  A look of such misery crossed her face that it chilled me to the core. “Pa had things for me to do the last few nights, so I haven’t been able to sleep much.”

  “You may lie down by the fire,” I said as I walked over to the coatrack. “But here, sleep on my coat. The floor’s dirty.”

  She looked down at the front of her dirty dress. “No, Miss Cooper. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  I nodded and said no more. I knew all about shame.

  Chapter 12

  Alexander

  * * *

  When we came home from our first day of school, the older children tumbled from the sleigh and ran to play in the last few minutes of light. This time of year, the days were short. Miss Cooper, tucked beside me, lifted the blanket from around her lap and allowed me to assist her out of the sleigh. Cymbeline, pretty as a picture in her red coat and matching hat, was fast asleep in the middle seat. With her hat askew and her thick black lashes splayed over her cheekbones, she looked more like the baby she’d once been. Whereas when I’d picked them all up at school, she’d marched right behind the twins looking pleased with herself and quite grown up. My heart ached a little, thinking of her childhood slipping away before my eyes. Soon, my house would be empty of all the noise and chaos. What would I have left then?

  “Poor mite,” I said. “Tired out from her first day of school.”

  “She did very well for being so young,” Miss Cooper said. “Toward the end of the day, she grew tired and unable to sit still, so I had her clean the erasers and bring in kindling.”

  I chuckled. “Giving her tasks is a great solution to her naughtiness.”

  I lifted Cymbeline from the sleigh and carried her toward the door.

  Jasper stepped outside to greet us. “Welcome home.” He held open the door, and Miss Cooper passed through with me right behind her.

  The moment we entered the house, Cymbeline’s eyes flew open. “Papa, I was very good at school.”

  I set her on her feet and knelt on my knees to help her out of her coat and hat. “I’m proud to hear this good report.”

  Miss Cooper, next to me, unbuttoned her coat and handed it to Jasper, who hung it in the closet.

  “It was hard to
stay still so long.” Cymbeline yawned and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands in the way that always made me want to hold her close to my chest.

  “You did quite well,” Miss Cooper said.

  Cymbeline beamed. “Miss Cooper said we have to be curious and kind and to take care of our team.”

  “And did you?” I asked, tweaking her nose.

  Cymbeline tugged off her hat. Her curls, happy to be free of their imprisonment, immediately fell over her forehead. “I tried to give someone my sandwich, but Jojo said no.”

  I looked up at Miss Cooper for an explanation.

  “Louisa Kellam came to school without a lunch,” she said. “The children took it upon themselves to share theirs.”

  “But not me,” Cymbeline said. “Jojo said I was too little and that I needed all my sandwich.”

  “Your sister was right to give hers instead,” I said, knowing Josephine’s heart. She would not want her little sister to be hungry.

  “Josephine might need an extra portion at supper tonight,” Miss Cooper said as she took out the pins that secured her hat.

  Fiona came running into the foyer, calling out her sister’s name as if she’d been parted from her for years instead of hours. She threw herself into Cymbeline’s arms. “I missed you.”

  Cymbeline returned the affectionate hug. “Were you bored without me?”

  “No. Lizzie let me help her in the kitchen,” Fiona said. “We made bread and I got to help churn the butter.”

  “Lizzie has tea for you in the kitchen,” Jasper said. “She made her special raspberry biscuits.”

  “I love those ones,” Cymbeline said.

  “Didn’t you say that about the oatmeal ones?” I asked.

  “Those too,” Cymbeline said.

  I watched as Fiona and Cymbeline clasped hands and walked toward the door that led down to the kitchen, chattering away about their day. Jasper gestured toward the library. “I’ve set tea for you and Miss Cooper in the library.”

  Miss Cooper’s eyes widened, obviously delighted. “I’m allowed tea?”

  “We all have tea in this house, Miss Cooper,” Jasper said, then sniffed.

  “Right, of course,” Miss Cooper said.

  I smiled over at Miss Cooper, hoping to distract her from Jasper’s rudeness. “Would you join me?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like more at the moment than one of those raspberry cookies.”

  “I can assure you—they do not disappoint.”

  Our eyes locked and we grinned at each other, like children.

  Jasper cleared his throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him examine his cuff links.

  We walked out of the foyer and through the open doors of the library. A teapot and plates of biscuits and tiny sandwiches waited on the table. Miss Cooper and I took seats opposite each other. Jasper poured tea and then backed away to stand near the doorway. Given my choice of a small staff and Jasper’s unwillingness to let go of the past, he was butler, valet, and footman. Unless I specifically asked him to leave, he would stand in wait.

  Knowing Jasper would die rather than leave us alone unsupervised, I didn’t bother to dismiss him. I wished we could be alone, but my loyal staff saved me from my foibles.

  “Tell me about your day,” I said. “Were the children what you expected?”

  “They were as varied in skills and temperaments as I feared they would be,” she said. “I’ve had to group them by abilities rather than age. They all seemed willing to learn and follow the rules. All in all, it was a most satisfying first day.” She leaned over the table to put a few sandwiches and a biscuit on her plate. As she had the other time I’d seen her eat, she dived into the meal with gusto and appreciation.

  After her third sandwich, Miss Cooper began to chatter away about her students. I learned more than I wanted to. Louisa Kellam was coming to school without her father’s permission or knowledge. I knew Kellam. He was a drunk who did odd jobs around town when he wasn’t at the saloon playing cards and drinking. How he kept the poor girl alive was anyone’s guess. They lived on my property in an abandoned shack. I looked the other way, even though he didn’t pay rent, because of the child.

  “I’m worried what will happen if he finds out,” Miss Cooper said. “Is he dangerous? Will he hurt her?”

  I shared my opinion of John Kellam. Miss Cooper didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “I thought as such,” she said. “I’ll have to think about what to do. Louisa didn’t want me to talk to her father, but it may come to that.”

  “If anyone talks to him, it will be me. You’re not to go to his place alone.”

  She waved away my concern with a flutter of her slender hand. “We’ll worry about that if it comes.”

  “Miss Cooper, I realize you’re an independent woman, but there are certain situations out here in the West that require a man’s help. Preferably a man with a gun.”

  She raised one eyebrow and popped another cookie in her mouth.

  I let it go for now. Miss Cooper’s courage both captivated and disarmed me.

  According to Miss Cooper, the Johnson girls were smart and a delight. “In fact, they might be a great help to me with the night school students. I could pair them with the women students. If we have any, that is.”

  She went on to tell me about the Cassidy children—quiet and shy but excited for school. This was good to hear. Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy were good, hardworking immigrants from Ireland. Mr. Cassidy, along with a dozen others, had volunteered his time to help construct the school last summer.

  “The two little boys from Sweden, Isak and Viktor, speak almost no English,” she said. “They’ll be challenging, but nothing we can’t conquer.”

  “Their father owns the tailor shop,” I said. “Good people.”

  Miss Cooper clapped her hands and smiled. Her small white teeth were in such a perfect row in that pink mouth. “I have saved the best for last. You’ll never guess. Poppy can read English. And guess who taught her?” She paused dramatically, her eyes sparkling. “Josephine. They did it on the sly.”

  “She did? But why hide it?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t want Harley to feel bad.”

  “How sweet,” I said.

  “As is your Josephine. I’ve never heard of such a thing. There’s something in the mountain air, Lord Barnes. These are the dearest children I’ve ever met.” She glanced at the ceiling. “I’m blessed to be here. Truly.” She looked back at me. “Which brings me to the next subject.”

  The sound of stomping feet and laughter interrupted us as the children came into the foyer from outside. Merry’s voice came next, instructing them to take off their wet coats and boots before they destroyed the floors and caught their deaths.

  All five tumbled into the library, looking like the picture of health with red cheeks and noses. “Hello, Papa and Miss Cooper.” I swear Jo exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Theo before coming over to kiss me on the cheek.

  The boys ran to the fire, warming their hands.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. “Miss Cooper’s told me of your generosity toward Louisa.”

  “My insides are eating themselves.” Flynn clutched his stomach.

  “I doubt that. Regardless, Lizzie has tea for you downstairs,” I said. “Go on now.”

  After the children left, Miss Cooper returned her attention to me. “I have an idea. I’d like to take the place as your nanny while I’m here at the house as a way to thank you for allowing me to stay here. I’m quite capable of looking after children.”

  “I’m sorry, no. It’s too much.”

  “It’s no trouble. You have to have someone. Merry and Lizzie are obviously busy with their own work.”

  I considered her offer. As much as I disliked the idea, I was rather desperate. “Just until I can find someone else. And I’ll increase your pay. It will give you more to send home.”

  “Wonderful.” She held out her hand. “You have a deal.”

  I wante
d to bring that porcelain hand to my mouth, but I settled for a handshake instead.

  Chapter 13

  Quinn

  * * *

  That night while the children and Lord Barnes ate upstairs in the dining room, I huddled with Lizzie and Merry at the square table in the kitchen. We’d already eaten the most delectable chicken potpie and were now drinking mugs of coffee mixed with thick cream and sugar. I’d never been in a more modern kitchen. They had a boiler and gas range and the largest sink I’d ever seen. Black-and-white-checkered flooring shone under the lights.

  “I have to ask. What happened to the children’s mother?” I asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

  Lizzie spoke just above a whisper. “She just walked out into the snow in the middle of the night wearing nothing but her nightdress and curled up and froze to death.”

  “Theo found her,” Merry said, tears welling in her eyes.

  “He was only six,” Lizzie said.

  “He’s never been the same,” Merry said.

  “How awful.” His sweet little face swam before me.

  “She’d always been strange,” Lizzie said. “When he brought her here from back east, we had no warning until a few days before they showed up. The Lord and Jasper had gone east for business. One day we got a letter from Jasper that Lord Barnes had married and was bringing his bride home. He was always the spontaneous sort, so we weren’t terribly surprised. He makes decisions from his heart, not his head. That’s what brought him to America in the first place—this desire for adventure and freedom. He couldn’t stomach the idea of doing what his father and father before him had done. He wanted to make his own way. It’s highly unusual to give up his rightful inheritance to a younger brother.”

  “Did you know him then?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. Jasper and I worked for the family in England. His family have employed both our families for as long as anyone can remember. He sent for me after the house was built, but Jasper had been with him since he left.”