by Lynn Donovan
Doc cleared his throat, straightened, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gavin. She is gone.”
Aunt Carolyn wailed, “Oh, Sister! My precious sister!” Burying her face into the wet rag that she had been wiping Abigail’s hot brow with. Suddenly, she leapt to her feet. The cane-back chair tipped and fell to the wood floor with a loud crack, like a bull whip. The sudden noise raked Gavin’s nerves. He gritted his teeth.
The babies busted out crying anew. Gavin glared at his aunt. Did she have to carry on so? Torn between comforting his siblings and attending to his father, Gavin gathered the little ones into his arms.
“You’re alright.” He rocked them on the floor, speaking the only thing he could think of. Momma had always said it. Now, more than ever, it seemed appropriate. He looked over the tops of Cole and Lily’s heads to see Doc positioning Momma’s hands over her chest and pulling the sheet to cover her face but leaving the top of her greying hair exposed. Doc returned to Poppa’s side of the bed to continue administering to him. Gavin gritting his teeth to stay his own tears. He had to be strong for the little ones in his arms.
A snake oil salesman had brought The Fever to Seward, Kansas from south Texas. He’d died three months ago. A number of the town’s people were sick before they realized the stranger was the cause. Some survived. Several didn’t.
Only by the grace of God, Gavin and his two younger siblings had survived The Fever a month ago. Momma had vigilantly nursed them back to health. There were many parents in town who were not as blessed, and many fresh graves were evidence of the losses.
Riggins and his wife, Abigail, had come down with The Fever within days of each other after the children were back on their feet. As soon as Gavin realized what was wrong, He left his younger siblings with his sick parents because he could ride to town faster than taking a wagon and the babies. Doc had his own horse and rode out to the Sallee farm with Gavin. Gavin wasn’t sure how Aunt Carolyn found out, but she showed up at their farmhouse not long after Doc.
Doc dipped a rag in the water bowl and wiped Poppa’s fevered brow. “She’s gone, Riggins.” Doc spoke softly to Poppa. “I did all I could do. You hold on, you hear. You can beat this.”
Aunt Carolyn wailed all the louder and threw herself across Momma’s covered body, pulling the sheet down from her face. Gavin pursed his lips. Why was she even here? Where was she when Momma was worn out from staying awake for three days and nights to keep watch over Gavin and the babies? Where was Uncle David, Carolyn’s husband, when Poppa was trying to manage the farm without Momma’s or Gavin’s help? Both his parents had worked themselves to a frazzle while the children were sick, and now they had The Fever.
Poppa licked his dry, cracked lips with great effort. He squeezed his eyes tight. Tears oozed out from behind his lashes. “Gavin.” He croaked.
Gavin peeled Cole and Lily’s arms off of him and approached the bed. “Yes, Poppa.”
“Son.” Riggins sounded like his throat had been stripped by acid. “You need… to know… a trunk…buried… I’m countin’ on ya…”
Gavin stared at his father. This man he’d looked up to all his life. This man he longed to be like when he became a man. This man who loved his momma with all his heart, and she obviously loved him the same. This man… was gone.
“Poppa?” Gavin swallowed hard. His fight with the tears was lost. Sinking to his knees beside his poppa’s bed, he quietly cried against his father’s red long-handles sleeve. Gavin felt poppa’s once taut arm soften under the weight of his head, like momma had done just moments ago. He jerked his head up and darted his eyes to Doc.
“Doc?”
The man nodded and slowly stepped forward to check, but everyone in the house knew Riggins had joined his wife for their eternal reward, as Pastor Dalky Davis had said at so many funerals lately. Gavin quietly stood, then backed away to let Doc do his job. Aunt Carolyn lifted her head, glaring at the dead body that was her brother-in-law, and slowly rose to her feet. “Well.” She swallowed. “I guess that’s that.”
Gavin shot her a curious look. What did she mean by that? He joined his siblings on the floor, gathering them onto his cross-legged lap. They buried their faces against his neck and cried softly. He rubbed their backs, cooing words he didn’t know if he meant. “It’s all right. We’ll be all right.”
Aunt Carolyn’s emotional state waned. She calmly walked to the stove, filled a large cooking pot with water from the bucket Gavin had drawn from the well that morning, and struck a match to light the kindling inside the stove. Gavin just watched from the floor. Would she stay and take care of them? He couldn’t remember when they’d eaten last. He’d given the babies the last of Momma’s biscuits she made before she became so sick. When was that? A day or two ago.
Cole and Lily fell asleep, so did his feet. Doc placed Poppa’s hands across his chest, like he had done Momma’s, and pulled the other half of the sheet over his head. He adjusted Momma’s sheet as well, then stood with a sigh. “I’ll go let Sam Bivens know. He’ll bring his hearse wagon out to pick up your parents. You’ll need to go to town tomorrow to make the arrangements.”
Gavin nodded.
Carolyn turned abruptly from the stove. “I want my sister buried in our family’s section of the cemetery.”
Gavin glared at her. “I think she’d want to be laid beside Poppa and that’ll be on the Sallee side.”
Carolyn huffed, making her nostrils flare. “She deserves to be with her family.”
Gavin eased his sleeping siblings onto the braided rug, not waking them, and stood to face his aunt. “You mean on the wealthy side of the cemetery.” He took a deep breath. “Momma and Poppa will be laid side-by-side on the Sallee side of the cemetery. It’s just a short walk from where Grandma and Grandpa Garret are buried. When you go visit your parents, it’s not like you can’t walk—”
“We’ll see about that!” Carolyn gathered her hat and gloves and turned as she opened the door. “When that water gets hot, it’s to wash their bodies. I reckon you can handle that, too.” She slammed the door and stomped across the porch.
Gavin lifted tired, sad eyes to Doc. “What do we do now?”
“Don’t worry about her. You’re old enough to take care of yourself, aren’t ya?” Doc looked tired, too. He gathered his instruments into a black leather bag.
Gavin jerked a nod, but was he? He looked at his sleeping siblings on the rug. Could he take care of them, the farm, and himself? A sick feeling pierced his gut. At nearly seventeen, he was on the cusp of being a grown man and yet, still a boy. He wasn’t as strong as Poppa, but surely, he could bring in the harvest— when it was ready. Maybe he could get a lady from the church to help with the babies. Didn’t those grey-haired women always tell Momma if she needed anything, to let them know?
Tomorrow.
Doc had said Gavin should go into town tomorrow to make arrangements. He would stop by the church to talk to Pastor Davis about the service for his parents, maybe Mrs. Davis would have some advice on who to ask for help.
Doc patted Gavin on the back of his shoulder. “Son, do you have any stores in your root cellar?”
“Yessir.”
“I’d go down there and gather you some root vegetables and dried meat. Make yourself and the babies a hardy stew.” He sighed as he wiped his spectacles with a handkerchief. “Then, I advise you to get some rest. When you go to town tomorrow, stop by my office, and we can talk some more.”
Gavin nodded.
“Like I said. I’ll let Sam know he’s got two more. He’ll be out soon as he can, probably right after I let him know there’s a need for his services. This time of year, he won’t want to leave your folks for too long.”
Gavin glanced at the bulges under the sheet. No. He didn’t want his parents to stay there like that much longer either. Kansas heat was brutal this time of year. He nodded understanding.
As if he were in a trance, Gavin walked the doc to the door and stood with him on the porch. It felt complet
ely awkward shaking his hand as the man of the house and watching him walk to his buggy. Gavin was the adult now. The doc began the task of gathering his horse to hitch him to the buggy.
Gavin left the porch, and the doc to prepare his ride back into town, and scurried down into the root cellar, like the doc had suggested. He gathered carrots, onions, tomatoes that Momma had canned already, and dried meat. He paused next to the flour crock, then scooped two teacups full into a bowl. He’d make the stew and some of Momma’s biscuits.
He needed to milk the cow in order to make more biscuits. He and the babies could drink the milk with supper. How long had it been since Prudence had been milked anyway? Surely the eggs needed to be gathered, too.
Gavin folded down on the top step of the stairs to the root cellar, with the supplies in his arms, and sobbed. How could he do this all by himself?
Lily whimpered and then began to cry. Gavin wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and sniffed. He didn’t know how he’d manage, but for now, all he had to do was make stew and biscuits. He could do that. Thank God Momma had taught him some of her treasured recipes, and he knew where her little tin box of secrets was hidden. That was what momma called her recipe box Grandma Garret had given her when she married Poppa. With that, and a little help from God, at least they wouldn’t starve. Not today, anyway.
Chapter Three
Franklin, Ohio - Spring that same year…
Miss Emma Grace Humphries sat behind her desk, pleased with herself for the task the children were now conducting. She had worked it out so that all the children, whether five years old or sixteen, could be occupied with a learning activity while she graded the older students’ writing assignment. It was Friday and spring was in the air. Keeping the students on a task, any task, was nearly a miracle unto itself.
It was not easy having a single-room schoolhouse and this many students of such diverse ages. Over the four years that she had been the Schoolmarm in this small community, she had used her creative intellect to perfect a curriculum of tasks, in blocked units of study, and separate modular areas of the classroom, to keep order and learning throughout the day. Even the desks were not arranged in the usual rows and columns, but clustered in pinwheel fashion for specific small groups. She paired the younger ones with the older for some projects to help teach the older students important skills they would need once they become parents. By design of her lessons, they didn’t even realize they were honing such skills. That was the genius behind Emma Grace’s curriculum. Not only did she prepare them academically and socially, but also parentally.
Her education to be a teacher had not exposed her to such a clever curriculum. The school board of three cranky elders had not provided any advice or age-appropriate textbooks when she accepted the job. Necessity and utter chaos the first week of school led her to devise this plan for teaching. Over time, she had a well-oiled system.
The local printing press office had helped her put together soft textbooks and readers that suited this novel approach. Now, four years later, she considered writing an academic paper and submitting it to the college to help other teachers in her position to begin their careers on firmer footing than what she had.
The only guidance she did receive from the Franklin school board, were three hard-and-fast rules:
One, she must wear modest, demure-colored clothing that exposed no part of her skin except her face and hands, and never to wear her hair down about her shoulders.
Two, she must reside in the small but convenient cottage behind the classroom building.
And three, above all else, she must remain a single woman. She was not allowed to accept any gentleman’s attention or invitation to socialize. Even after-church socials were off limits for fear a gentleman would notice her and seek her interests.
If she, in any way, broke any of these three rules, she would be terminated immediately and expected to vacate the cottage and classroom, posthaste, with no complaint or appeal.
The not-so-hard-and-fast rules allowed her to keep a small number of chickens and a garden, if she wished— she wished— for both. The local butcher provided her an allotted amount of meat each week which his wife brought to Emma Grace on Mondays, and some kind women from church gave her leftover baked goods after the Sunday socials that she was not allowed to attend. Daniela Andrews was among the women who thought to bring Emma Grace the baked goods and quickly became Emma Grace’s dear, and perhaps only, friend.
Emma routinely returned home from church while everyone else lingered to eat a potluck style meal and visit afterward in the churchyard. Daniela Andrews would sneak a plate of food from the selections and gather the leftover cakes, pies, and muffins. Emma always had tea ready when Daniela arrived and the two would sit in Emma’s small cottage-style home for a few hours of chit-chat and laughter. Those were some of Emma Grace’s favorite times.
If it were not for Daniela and those chats, Emma Grace was certain she would have lost her mind. A woman needed interaction with another woman, no matter what the school board deemed appropriate for her position. Why they thought a schoolteacher needed to be a recluse in order to be an effective teacher was beyond her. It was a lonely life but fulfilling all the same. She adored her students, even the difficult ones, and loved watching them learn and grow into who they were meant to be.
Remaining a spinster was a sacrifice she made willingly in order to fulfill what she felt God had put in her heart to do: Teach the young ones. Most days, her heart was satisfied with that mission from God. But some days, her body ached to have a husband who loved her and children of her own to rock to sleep at night.
Emma Grace marked Robby’s paper with a B+ and set it aside. He’d written a comprehensive account about raising corn. She was impressed with the depth of knowledge the fifteen-year-old boy had for a successful operation to provide meal and feed to a small community like Franklin. If it had not been for his misspelled words and grammar blunders, he would have received an A+.
Footsteps on the porch of her schoolhouse drew her attention to the door. It swung open without a knock as Mr. Claud Greenleaf led another gentleman, whom she did not know, into her classroom. She glanced at the timepiece brooch pinned to her bodice. The children noticed also and stopped what they were doing to watch the two men unceremoniously walk in. How rude of the board member to interrupt her class. School would be dismissed in less than two hours; couldn’t they have waited until she rang the bell?
Emma Grace stood. “Mister Greenleaf. How may I help you?”
“Miss Humphries, I’d like to introduce you to Mister H.G. Williams.”
The man nodded in salutation.
She resisted curtsying. “How do you do, Mister Williams.” Returning her gaze to the board member. “What brings you to the schoolhouse during class time rather than after the bell?”
A strange sensation twisted in her abdomen. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Well,” Greenleaf glanced back at Williams. The stranger surveyed the unusual arrangement of her students’ desks. His entire face frowned. Was he an inspector or some sort of superintendent for the school district? “We would like to have a word with you, Miss Humphries. Could we step outside?”
The children began to chatter, speculating on who these men were, and why they wanted to take their teacher outside. How would she ever get them back on task? Well, perhaps with this interruption, she’d just let them go home early. However, while she spoke to her supervisor outdoors, she needed them to be orderly.
She glared at her students and snapped her fingers. “Children. Quiet. Return to your projects.” Satisfied she had regained control of their behavior, she returned her attention to her boss and smiled graciously. “Of course. Shall we go out back?”
Mr. Greenleaf led the way, Emma Grace stepped in behind the visitor. Once she stood in what she considered her yard which lay between the schoolhouse and her cottage, she crossed her arms over of her chest. “Now. What may I do for you gentlemen?”
/> Mr. Greenleaf cleared his throat. “Miss Humphries, H.G., er, um, Mister Williams is here… we have hired Mister Williams to” —he glanced at Williams who stood stoic with a slight smile— “to take your place. You may dismiss the children for the remainder of the day and gather your belongings from the cottage. Here is your final paycheck.” He handed her an envelope.
Emma Grace’s jaw dropped. She stared at Mr. Greenleaf. Surely, she misunderstood. Her hands went to her sides. She giggled nervously. “I beg your pardon?”
“You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises, with anything that is your personal belongings, of course. Mister Williams has expressed he does not wish to attend to poultry, so you may take them as well. I-uh, can send over a crate this evening.”
She stared at Greenleaf, stunned and confused. “I don’t understand.”
Greenleaf sighed. “Your services are no longer required, Miss Humphries. Mister Williams is here to take over as teacher for the Franklin Schoolhouse.”
“But…” Emma Grace swung her gaze to Mr. Williams. “But, why? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.” Mr. Greenleaf shifted his stance. “We prefer a gentleman as teacher. Until now, the only person who applied for the position was… uh… you. Mr. Williams has come highly recommended and willing to move to our small community. It’s nothing personal, I assure you. It’s just preferable to have a gentleman who has the longevity needed to remain in the position.”
Emma Grace opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She blinked. “But I have remained a single person. I followed all your rules. I have not broken a single one. You, you have no cause to fire me.”
“Oh, we are not firing you, Miss Humphries. We have simply brought a more suitable candidate into the position. You will find the check in that envelope is quite generous and should help you relocate quickly.
“Relocate… quickly?” She spoke slowly while shaking her head. “You mean to tell me, not only am I fired, but I have to leave town? How can you do that?”