She noticed that the large hand he used to touch the fabric was clean, with not a speck of dirt to be found. He’d either scrubbed up very well or hadn’t wrangled cattle in some time, if her guess was right that he was a cowboy.
“They’re all easy to wash. If you opt for striped silk, you’ll need to take an iron to it occasionally. If you buy cotton or wool twill, though, it’ll stay free from wrinkles. It depends on the time of day you’ll be finished with your work whether you’ll still have light to do the ironing…” Her voice trailed off, providing him for a second time with the opening to reveal his profession.
Again, he didn’t take the hint. “Land’s sake! I didn’t even think about ironing. I’ll take a cotton shirt for sure. I’ve never even touched an iron. Wouldn’t know what the devil to do with one.”
Victoria pulled out a dark blue shirt and held it up to him. “This will fit you. It’s broad enough in the shoulders.” As she held it in front of his dingy clothing, she confirmed that it was indeed a good match for him, both in color and cut.
The man nodded and smiled at her. “Thanks for your help, miss. Do you have a name?”
His smile was handsome, accompanied by twinkling eyes that made it appear as though he were sharing a joke with her, though nothing humorous had been said.
She was astonished to feel herself blushing. “Victoria,” she answered, a bit breathlessly.
One eyebrow rose slowly, and his eyes seemed to twinkle even more. “Pleased to meet you, Victoria. Since you’ve been so friendly as to offer me your given name, will you call me by mine?”
She could hardly believe her faux pas. What was she thinking, giving a stranger her Christian name? It had been done naturally, as though she and this stranger were meant to be friends. She blushed harder. “I’ll call you whatever you like.”
“Frank,” he said, his smile broadening. “You know, Victoria, I only just arrived in Thorndale yesterday evening, and you’re the first person I’ve spoken to other than Mrs. Fairfax, the widowed landlady of the boardinghouse. I must say I’ve a very good impression of the town thanks to you. You’ve been helpful and kind.”
“Ha,” she scoffed, and turned on her heel. Striding toward the back of the store with the shirt draped over her arm, she said, “I’m a businesswoman, Frank. I’m kind to anyone who might line my pockets.” She was glad to be turned away from him so that she might regain her senses. For some reason, his mere presence was causing all sorts of butterflies in her belly.
Frank followed her and remained silent as she folded the shirt and wrapped brown paper around it. “That’ll be two-and-a-quarter dollars,” she said.
As he reached into the pocket of his trousers, she noticed that all merriment was gone from his expression. His brows were furrowed instead of lifted in amusement, and when he handed her the money, his serious eyes met hers. He held her gaze even as she took the money. “It’s not my place to ask,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “but do you always act in that manner, Victoria?”
She blinked. “How do you mean?” She hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about, and it seemed odd that his demeanor had so quickly changed from jovial to serious.
“I gave you a compliment, and your response was to insult both of us. I can’t help but wonder if you do that often.”
Victoria’s jaw dropped. Never in her adult life had anyone, least of all a stranger, dared to comment on her behavior. She suddenly felt like she was a child again, getting a scolding for not minding her tongue. “I don’t see how… how I insulted you, or myself for that matter,” she stammered.
“Don’t you?” He quirked his head and his dark eyes studied her.
She squirmed, uncomfortable at once again being scrutinized by this imposing stranger. “No, I don’t,” she confirmed, scowling.
He smiled. It was a gentle smile, as though she were a simpleton in need of indulgence. “I’m confident that if you think on it, you’ll understand what I meant when I said you insulted us both.”
She wanted to be offended. She wanted to find a smart remark, but for the first time since she could remember, her tongue felt numb and slow. She shifted from one foot to the other and looked at the floor. It didn’t take much thinking. He had said she was kind and helpful. Instead of accepting it as a friendly exchange, she’d told him he was worth nothing but the money he could give her. In the process, she’d managed to sound greedy and unworthy of his compliment.
“I see what you mean,” she said, surprising herself at the humble quality in her voice. She stared at his scuffed boots as he leaned against the counter, taking weight off his injured leg. “I don’t know whether I always respond to people that way,” she continued. “If so, no one has dared to mention it before.” She gave a short laugh and looked up at him. She was relieved to find his dark eyes twinkling once again.
He placed the brown package containing his shirt under his arm. “I’ve always been the courageous sort, with mixed results. Should we start over?”
She nodded. “I would like that.”
Frank placed his hat on his head, adding even more height to his substantial figure. “It was sure nice to meet you, Victoria. Your helpfulness has given me a fine first impression of Thorndale.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Frank, and welcome to town. I hope you enjoy whatever it is you’ll be doing…?”
The sides of his lips twitched. “That was a very good do-over, Victoria. I’ll give you an A-minus.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, though she didn’t feel annoyed. He’d managed to make her feel chastened, even when praising her. “Now I feel like I’m being schooled. Shall I clean the blackboard and clap the erasers for you now?”
“Nah,” he said, shoving himself away from the counter to a standing position. He righted his cane and headed for the door. “I already did that. Now to fix the broken benches before school starts next week. I don’t want any of my pupils falling during their lessons.” He placed his hand on the doorknob and looked back at her over his shoulder. With a chuckle, he added, “And that’s the only clue I’ll be giving you about my job, Victoria.”
She stared after him long after he left, processing his words, running through their entire exchange from the moment he entered the shop to when he left.
When she returned to her sewing machine, she tried to resume her work, but all she could focus on was how the handsome stranger had so adeptly and kindly put her in her place. She felt giddy and disoriented—as though she’d been spun around a few times on the dancefloor.
She found herself wondering when she would run into him again. She wanted to know how he’d injured his leg and what he’d done before. And what made him want to be a teacher, of all things? It was a woman’s job. That was something she couldn’t wrap her head around until she thought about how well he’d taught her a lesson in manners. She then realized he would be quite good at teaching children. His kind but no-nonsense approach seemed just right.
She wanted to know everything there was to know about the damaged yet undeniably charming new arrival, and she hoped he would seek out her company sooner rather than later. She would love if he asked her out to supper. He’d made a point of saying he was unmarried, so surely it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that he should try to court her. The thought caused her heart to sing.
As the day wore on, however, she convinced herself that it was a fool’s notion to seek anything more than an acquaintance with Frank. She wanted someone whose station in life was similar to hers, and she couldn’t imagine spending her life walking alongside someone with a bum leg and a cane.
Chapter Three
Throughout the next week, Frank thought often about the beautiful, haughty little seamstress. He liked the way she’d tried to be coy in discovering his occupation, while accidentally being so guileless as to offer him her given name. She seemed to him a study of paradoxes that he found beguiling. How could a woman with such a healthy constitution and beautifu
l appearance scowl so fiercely while engaged in her work? What caused her sourness, and would he be able to make her laugh?
There was no time during his first week in Thorndale to act on his fascination with Victoria. His days were filled from sunup to sundown preparing for lessons to start. Frank learned that after a wave of malaria had scourged the town, killing an unprecedented number of citizens, the government resources mostly had been dedicated to rehoming orphans. As a result, the schoolhouse had fallen into disrepair, many of the books had been lost or damaged, and the place had to be scrubbed from floor to ceiling.
The local carpenter donated planks of wood and lent Frank the tools to fix the schoolhouse benches. The saloon owner dropped off a sack of chalk for the blackboard. Marshal Clyde Shaw and the boy he adopted, a surly child by the name of Wade, helped Frank chop wood to feed the stove that would keep the room warm during the winter. After each of the seven days spent preparing for the first day of school, Frank collapsed into his bed at the boardinghouse. So much for not doing manual labor, he thought wryly, though he knew the type of work he was doing was short-lived, and soon a different pace would begin.
The pain in his leg was all but gone, but walking for any length of time caused his other leg to ache with the exertion of working for two. The Thorndale doctor gave him more knitbone to use on his joints every evening, and though he would never be as strong as he used to be, he no longer felt like a cripple. He felt like a new man, with a new purpose in life and a determination to be the best teacher Thorndale had ever seen.
He said as much to the town council in his expression of gratitude for choosing him as their teacher. They told him his letter had caused them to view him favorably. The town was damaged by disease, and they thought an injured newcomer looking for a fresh start would fit in well. Though he’d only been in Thorndale for a week, Frank already agreed. The people of the town were friendly and honest, with the kind of character built of hard work and struggle, and he was glad to call it his new home.
***
August twenty-second, at eight o’clock in the morning, Frank stepped outside the door of the schoolhouse, waiting for the children to arrive for their first day of school. He gazed into the distance, watching smoke rise from the various buildings’ chimneys.
It was going to be a hot day. The sun had already burned away all mist and dew, and he predicted that by noontime the heat would be stifling. With that in mind, he’d opened all four windows of the schoolhouse, with the plan to collect the chill in the air for as long as possible. He considered that the noises in town might distract the children, but upon further reflection decided that discomfort from heat would be more distracting than noise.
He spotted a group of five children approaching the schoolhouse. As they drew nearer, he recognized them as the marshal’s wards, one of which was his by blood and four he’d taken in.
“Good morning, Wade,” he said to the eldest, who had helped him and the marshal with wood-chopping.
“Mornin’, Mr. Bassett,” he mumbled.
Frank shook hands with Sadie, the older girl, who was the marshal’s only kin of the group. Her eyes were dull and sad, like she was a hundred years old with the weight of the world on her shoulders, instead of only twelve.
He then shook hands with Grace, Luke, and Miles, telling them he was glad to meet them. When they grinned at him, Frank saw that the boys were young enough to boast missing teeth. Grace was slightly older, but she still wore pigtails and ribbons.
“Go ahead and sit wherever you like,” Frank said, tilting his head to the door. “When the rest of the children arrive, I’ll have you all move about according to your grade level.”
Twenty-four more children attended, bringing the total to twenty-nine, and Frank shook hands with each of them, memorizing their names as he did. The oldest was Ethel White, age sixteen, who told him she needed to leave by noon every day to help her parents at the farm. The youngest was a six-year-old named Bobby Taylor, and his appearance immediately gave Frank cause for concern.
Bobby was the last to arrive, several minutes after school was set to start at eight-thirty, and Frank was about to go inside and close the door, but he spotted the boy in the distance, half-running, half-stumbling toward the schoolhouse. When Bobby stopped in front of him, panting, Frank enclosed the boy’s small hand in his and discovered his name.
Frank noticed that his entire person was filthy, from his greasy black hair to his bare feet. He wore oversized overalls, the pant legs rolled up to his ankles. Under the overalls he had on what might have at one time been a shirt, but in its present state looked like cheesecloth, with more holes than fabric.
“Come on in, Bobby,” Frank said. Once inside, he closed the door behind him. “Follow me, please.” He planned to seat the first-level children in the front, so he directed Bobby to his desk and had him sit in a chair next to it.
The children chatted and laughed with each other. Since the wooden furniture and log walls didn’t absorb much noise, their voices echoed and roused a moderate din in the small space. Frank looked at the large group and suddenly wondered whether he was in over his head. Being responsible for teaching so many rowdy youngsters of different ages and grade levels was daunting.
Frank knew it would be unwise to let on that he was nervous. Children were attuned to the moods and feelings of others, more so than adults, and giving them a first impression of weakness would likely make the rest of his days miserable. He might be considered weak by some because of his injury, so showing softness of character would be his doom.
Blessed with a deep voice that could carry across any room, Frank called out for silence. He rapped on the desk with his cane. “Come to order, children!”
The chatter stopped, and Frank gave the short introduction he’d prepared. He told the children the story of his previous job wrangling cattle and explained his injured leg. He went on to tell them his expectations. “My plan is to push you to succeed, and success will look different for each of you. For some, it might mean preparing for college. For others, it’ll mean learning principles of business to apply to your family’s occupation. The important thing is to broaden your mind and reap the benefits of becoming an educated person. To my way of thinking, that starts foremost by reading all you can get your hands on. If you need to be taught how to read, I’d like you to come join me and Bobby here.” Frank placed his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and his heart constricted with sympathy. Frank could tell he was emaciated just by touching his thin shoulder.
The rest of the younger children joined him up front. He looked at the older ones and guessed that some of them were too embarrassed to admit they couldn’t read. “Don’t be afraid to say what you don’t know,” he admonished. “If you maybe recognize some letters but can’t read words or sentences, join us up here and don’t be ashamed. You might not be good at reading, but I bet you could teach me something I don’t know. We’re all good at something.”
After a few moments, three of the older children reluctantly joined him at the front. He nodded at them in appreciation of their honesty.
“I’m going to spend the first part of the day teaching letters and words to the front group. The rest of you, sit in pairs on the benches and read the book on your table. There’s only one book per two students, so you’ll have to share, but I’m going to work at getting more books. Later after our first recess I’ll come around and quiz you on what you’ve read.”
The day was long, and Frank thought to himself that in some respects wrangling children was much harder than wrangling cattle, for a lot less pay. Despite the challenges, however, he found enjoyment in the small moments of success. When Bobby recognized the first five letters of the alphabet by the end of the day, he was proud. When Wade located and named all the countries in Africa, he was impressed.
As Frank fell asleep that night in his small room at the boardinghouse, he remembered an incident with Bobby, the only child who hadn’t brought something to eat. Frank had slipped
him a hardboiled egg from his own lunch, and the boy’s eyes, which already seemed large on his thin face, had rounded even more. He’d gobbled the egg in seconds.
Frank’s last thought was of Victoria. He longed to see her again, but he needed to have a good reason to approach her. He could tell she was not the type to suffer fools. She would expect to be wooed and complimented, and he thought asking her to dine with him would be a good way to do that. As he slipped into sleep, he decided he would visit her again after receiving his pay for the month. Then he could ask her out to supper.
Chapter Four
Payday came not a day too early. Meals were included at the boardinghouse, so Frank didn’t need to buy food, but he was sorely in need of better clothing. He stopped by the mercantile and spent the bulk of his first salary on a new slicker for the winter months. His buckskin jacket had grown weathered and torn during his years riding rough country, brushing up against mesquite, catclaw, and white thorns.
With the remaining coins jingling with promise in his pocket, he headed to the sewing and fabric shop where he hoped to find Victoria and ask her to join him for lunch. He didn’t want to wait until supper to spend time with her, and after making such a large purchase, he couldn’t afford much more than stews for the two of them.
As he approached Victoria’s shop, from across the street, Frank spotted Bobby Taylor. The boy was rummaging through the garbage bin, pulling out rags and depositing them on the ground. Frank stopped, leaned against a beam, and observed him.
Bobby glanced nervously around, likely afraid of being caught. After he’d collected several strips of worn cloth, he stuffed them into the top of his overalls.
Frank let out a sigh. The boy was destitute, and Frank felt compelled to do something about it other than giving him an egg and slice of bread each day for lunch.
Taming Tori Page 2