“Do you remember how to find your home?” Mantie broached the question gently. Nathan was the only child in town she didn’t know. Today was his first time at school.
“My brother said to wait. He said he’d come get me when school was over.”
“Then I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Doesn’t your brother go to school?”
The look he gave her indicated he thought her comment stupid, but his voice remained properly respectful. “He doesn’t have to go to school. He’s a man.”
“I see.” She wondered how old the brother was. Any male over twelve seemed a man to an eight-year-old.
Nathan continued to watch the village lane, which led past a scattering of log and clapboard homes to the short, straggling business street. The only movement on the street was the children laughing and teasing each other on their way to their homes, their winter clothing splashes of moving color against the snow-covered ground. Books swung from leather straps at the children’s sides. Snowballs arched through the air.
Jesse scooped up a handful of snow, hurried up behind his sister, Jenny, and stuck snow down the back of her coat. An indignant yell resulted. Jesse ran off laughing amid loud but meaningless threats from Jenny.
Mantie shook her head, still smiling. Things haven’t changed much from when I was their age, she mused. A bittersweet memory of Colin Ward bombarding her with snowballs at the ripe old age of ten whisked her into the past. Colin had been the new boy in town. She’d been too young to know the attack and the gleam in his brown eyes meant he found her attractive.
She touched the cameo locket at her throat, sighed, then closed the door on both the winter scene and the past. “Why don’t we wait inside where it’s warm, Nathan?”
He walked with her into the schoolroom, rather reluctantly, she thought. He kept his brown wool jacket buttoned up and his darker brown mittens on. Instead of standing beside the stove at the front of the room, he moved to a window and stared out.
“How many people are in your family besides you and your brother?” Mantie sat down on a desk near him and tried to draw him out. “None.”
Her heart twisted. His parents must be dead, like Jesse and Jenny’s parents. She hated that any child needed to live through that.
Her gaze slid over his clothes. The jacket, corduroy pants, and high-buttoned black boots looked new. They weren’t fancier than the other children’s clothes but were in better shape than most. His brother must make enough money to provide well for Nathan. She searched her mind for the newcomers to town. “Is your brother the new blacksmith? Everyone is excited to finally have a blacksmith in town.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What does your brother do? Is he a farmer?” New farmers still flooded the area, enticed by the rich soil that until seven years ago had belonged to the Sioux. Former soldiers, tired of the war between the North and South, embraced the land that the Homestead Act offered them for nothing but the sweat of their brow.
“He bought the livery stable.”
She hadn’t realized the stable had a new owner. The boy didn’t seem eager to discuss his family. Perhaps he’d open up on another topic. “What do you think of our schoolhouse? It’s only three months old.” To Mantie, it still smelled of newly planed wood and fresh paint.
The boy shrugged.
Mantie smiled. “I suppose boys don’t get excited over new school buildings like adults do. Until now, the children in town went to school in a room over the general store, so you see why I think this building is special.”
He continued to stare out the window.
Was he reticent because he was terribly wounded over his parents’ deaths? Please find a way to heal him, Lord. She wondered how long ago he’d lost his parents—and how. Apparently there wasn’t a sister-in-law to help raise the boy, since the family was made up of only Nathan and his brother. Or perhaps Nathan didn’t consider a sister-in-law family.
“Did the other students tell you that I’m not the teacher? I’m helping out today because the teacher is down with the croup.”
“They said the teacher is a man.” His voice announced he didn’t particularly care.
“Yes, Mr. Wren. I think you’ll like him. He loves children and loves to teach.” Silence.
The door opened. Nathan turned, hope written large on his wide face.
Mantie stood and turned around to greet the newcomer. A tall young man entered the room, his gait quick without a sense of rush. Like Nathan, the man held his beige hat in his hands. The friendly gaze from blue eyes beneath pale brown hair swept over her to the boy. “I’m sorry I’m late, Nate. I was helping a customer.” The gaze moved back to Mantie. He nodded, smiling. “I’m Lane Powell, Nathan’s brother.”
“Mantie Clark.”
Nathan moved quickly to stand beside his brother. Mantie noted with approval that Mr. Powell rested a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
The man’s clothes were shades of brown and tan, like Nathan’s. Unlike Nathan’s, the older brother’s clothes showed signs of wear. A patch covered one corduroy knee. Sweat stained the broad-brimmed hat. He brought a scent of horses and hay and leather, but it was mild next to the animal smells on some of the farmers she knew.
Nathan looked up at his brother. “She’s not the teacher. The teacher’s sick.” Mantie bit back a laugh. “That’s right. I hope Mr. Wren will be back Monday. The croup caught him.”
“He’s not alone in that, I hear.”
“No. A number of students stayed home today. Nathan tells me you bought the livery stable.”
“Yes. The new blacksmith, Abe Newsome, is my good friend. When he decided to move here, Nate and I decided to join him.”
He isn’t as secretive as Nathan, she thought. “I hope you’ll like it here.”
“I’m sure we will. Town’s new, but not so new as the towns to the west. That’s where Mr. Frank, the former livery stable owner, headed. You probably knew that.”
“No. I’m surprised to hear he left. Usually news in this small town is common knowledge before the weekly newspaper comes out on Fridays.”
“Mr. Frank said he’s itching to try business in one of the towns on the prairie. This is far enough west for me. Peace is older than those prairie towns, but it shows lots of promise. It’s nice to see people so excited about building it together.”
“Yes, I think so, too.” People were eager to leave behind the miseries of the war that had ended four years earlier and look ahead to a more promising future. She didn’t correct him by saying people thought of the rolling lands around Peace as prairie. Descriptions of prairie to the west told of flatter lands with trees only along rivers. Here much of the land was treeless, but the hills north of the river, where she lived, reminded her of the Big Woods to the east. “The town still needs an assortment of skilled tradesmen. We’ve not a cabinetmaker or shoemaker or milliner, for instance.”
“Is the town offering free lots to people with those skills? Have to say, that’s what convinced my friend Abe to move here.”
“The town fathers consider a blacksmith more important than most trades, evidently. I know of no other trades for which free land is offered.”
“Certainly not for the livery. What does your husband do?” Mr. Powell’s inflection hinted at the simple curiosity of a newcomer rather than interest in her as a woman.
She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m not married. I live with my brother, Walter Clark, and his wife, Alice. He has a position with the railroad here.”
His eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, yes, I met him briefly.”
Silence fell between them. Nathan shifted impatiently, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor.
Mantie returned to the business required of her as schoolmistress. “I noticed Nathan brought his slate today.” She smiled down at him and looked back at Lane. “He’ll need to purchase a reader and an arithmetic book. You can find them at the general store. The proprietor will know what Nathan needs.”
“Thank you kindly, but Nate brought a reader and an arithmetic book along from Wisconsin. That’s where we moved from. Guess Nate forgot to bring the books with him this morning.”
She smiled at Nate once more. “It’s easy to forget things in the excitement of starting at a new school.”
Nate flushed and looked at the floor, but Mr. Powell beamed at her. Appreciation for her understanding of his brother shone from his smiling eyes.
“There’s no school tomorrow, Nathan,” she reminded him, “so don’t forget to bring your books on Monday.”
He looked up at his brother. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. We had a play today about the first Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims and the Indians who helped them. I didn’t have a part since I’m new.”
“Next year you’ll have a part,” Mantie assured him. “The women will make Thanksgiving dinner for the town tomorrow. Everyone is invited. It’s a tradition.” She didn’t reveal the reason for the dinner. Bachelors outnumbered married men two to one. The married women felt it their obligation to ensure the bachelors ate at least one good home-cooked meal each year. “The children will give the play for the town tomorrow.” An idea struck her. “Nathan, would you like to help by introducing the play? It’s an important job. You’d only need to learn a few lines.”
Nathan didn’t look eager. “In front of the whole town?”
“You won’t be alone. I’ll be there and so will all the other children. You can wear the black paper hat and collar Jesse wears in the play. When you’re done with your speech, you can return them to him.”
“What do you say, Nate? I’ll help you with your lines,” Mr. Powell encouraged.
“All right, I guess.”
Mantie clasped her hands lightly in front of her. “Thank you. You’ll be a big help to me.”
In small letters she wrote a few sentences, which took up both sides of his slate. He read the words aloud, slowly.
“Perfect.” She beamed at him. “Be careful carrying the slate home so you don’t brush the chalk off.”
Mr. Powell frowned slightly. “Miss Clark, where is this play going to be given?”
“Here, at the schoolhouse.”
“Here?” He looked around.
Her gaze followed his. No wonder he looked doubtful. The room held no tables—only desks and a few benches along the walls. “I assure you, tomorrow there will be tables. We’ll set boards across the desks and use the benches. People may need to eat in shifts, but that only adds to the fun. It gives people more time to visit.” She laughed. “It may seem unusual, but it’s better than meeting at the saloon, which is where public meetings were held before the school was built. Church meetings are held here, too.”
Mr. Powell grinned. “Sounds like the school needs a carpenter more than a livery stable.”
She laughed with him. “I hope you and Nathan will join us for both the play and dinner.”
Immediately she regretted her words. Would he think them a personal invitation? Her intention had been simply to extend welcome to a new member of their small community. “We’re all like family here.” Would that sound to Mr. Powell like the lame afterthought it was?
If so, he didn’t show it. Instead he looked pleasantly surprised. “Thank you. We’ll be there with bells on. My cooking is good enough for everyday, but a holiday demands something better, don’t you think, Nate?”
Nathan shrugged but grinned.
“Good. We’ll see you tomorrow then.” Mantie began briskly picking up papers from the simple, handmade teacher’s desk.
Mr. Powell seemed to hesitate, but she kept her attention on her work.
“Come on, Nate. We’re keeping Miss Clark from her duties. Likely she’s eager to get home after a day herding you youngsters. Good-bye, Miss Clark.”
“Good-bye.” She didn’t look up until she heard the door close behind them. Lane Powell seemed a nice enough man, but she didn’t want to give a hint that she might like him to show her anything but friendly interest. Romance wasn’t in her future.
Chapter 2
Lane shut the schoolhouse door and followed Nate down the steps. It was a beautiful day, but his mind remained inside the school. There was something about that schoolmarm-for-a-day that appealed to him. He liked that she found a way to make Nate feel a part of the school by including him in the play at the last minute. He liked her intelligence, liked that she smiled easily, and liked her pretty green eyes. He especially liked that she was friendly without being flirtatious or shy. Is she the one, Lord?
Lane cleared his throat. “Miss Clark seems like a nice lady to start your school days with here.”
Nate shrugged. “I guess.”
“Meet any boys your age?”
“No.”
Lane swallowed a sigh of exasperation. He’d hoped the move to Peace would be good for Nate. Instead, Nate grew quieter every day. “Thought I saw a couple kids pass by the livery stable after school who looked about your age.”
“No one is eight like me.”
“Close?”
“One boy is nine.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jesse.”
At this rate, it was going to take the entire walk back to the livery to get two full sentences out of the boy. “Does this Jesse seem friendly?”
Another shrug. “I guess so. He didn’t tell me he’s going to beat me up.”
Lane chuckled. “That’s a good sign.”
“Two older boys said they’re going to beat me up.”
“Why?”
A shrug. “Jesse said they want to prove they’re tougher than me.” A look of disgust crossed Nate’s face. “Isn’t that stupid? They’re ten. Of course they’re stronger than me.”
“Sounds like you’re smarter than they are.”
Nate looked pleased at that.
Lane was tempted to ask what Nate planned to do if the boys bullied him to a fight. He decided against it. Boys hadn’t changed much since he was young. Sometimes a fight was hard to avoid. Some kids seemed born bullies.
“Jesse says the boys who want to fight me think they’re tougher than everybody else and are always trying to prove it. Nobody else likes them much.”
“What else does Jesse say?”
Shrug. “He lives on the other side of the river.”
“Does he have brothers and sisters?”
“Only a sister. She’s ten. Her name is Jenny. Miss Clark lives with them. She’s their aunt.”
Now there’s some worthwhile news, Lane thought. “What about their parents?”
“They’re dead. Their dad died in the war. So did Miss Clark’s beau. He and Jesse’s dad died in the same battle, fighting side by side.”
“I see.”
Was that why she was still Miss Clark instead of Mrs.? A lot of women lost brothers and beaus in the war, but it would be especially difficult to lose both in one day. Sounded like she might be helping raise her brother’s children, too. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t married. Many men didn’t like taking on a ready-made family along with a wife. He’d never thought much about the issue one way or another.
Strange that he hadn’t. Any woman who married him would have to not only accept but also love Nate. Lane couldn’t imagine refusing to do the same for any children dear to the heart of a woman he loved.
He’d been barely more than a boy when he’d entered the war. When the war was over, his first responsibility had been to find a way to support himself. He knew he couldn’t support a wife right away.
Besides, he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to marry. For the last two years, he’d been asking the Lord to bring into his life the woman God meant for him. He wanted more than someone to help him with the everyday chores and to bear his children. He wanted a woman for whom he would be a special blessing and who would be a special blessing to him.
Miss Mantie Clark’s green eyes smiled in his memory.
Is she the one, Lord?
The small white clapboard house smelled of ba
king pies and wood smoke when Mantie entered. The warmth in the house felt good to her chilled cheeks. She hung her fox-trimmed, hooded, gray wool cloak on the pegs on the entry wall, set her books and gloves on the trunk beneath the pegs, and hurried into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry I left you alone with all the Thanksgiving baking, Alice.” Mantie reached for an apron while apologizing to her sister-in-law.
“I don’t mind as long as you’re up early tomorrow to help me with the turkey.” Alice grinned and brushed a dark brown lock of hair behind her ear. “Or perhaps the most diligent work will be keeping the family away from the baking tonight. We’d hate to go to the dinner tomorrow without dessert.”
Mantie slipped the gray-and-blue-plaid apron over her head and tied it behind her back. The colors clashed with the navy-and-green plaid of her dress, but as long as the material was protected, it didn’t matter. She picked up the quilted potholders, scorched from use, and lifted the cover from the deep pot on top of the cast-iron stove. Simmering vegetable soup, thick with barley, set her stomach protesting in hunger. “I didn’t even smell the soup for the pies when I entered. Soup always tastes especially good on a cold evening like this.”
“I’m sure Walter will complain we aren’t having meat and potatoes, but I didn’t think it necessary with the large meal tomorrow.”
“You always feed him well. He’s put on a few pounds since you married last summer. It must be your good cooking. Or perhaps it is that he is so content with you.”
Alice stopped beside the oven, about to open the door with the hot pad Mantie had set down. Pleased surprise filled her deep blue eyes. “Do you truly think he is content?”
“Absolutely. There’s a restfulness about him when he’s with you that wasn’t there before.”
A smile played on Alice’s lips as she removed two maple syrup pies from the oven and set them on wooden slats to cool.
Twenty-year-old Alice sometimes acted the mother to twenty-five-year-old Mantie. Normally, Mantie didn’t mind. She’d been the homemaker for her brother Walter and their late brother Howard’s children, Jesse and Jenny, for more than five years. It was sometimes difficult handing control of the household over to Alice, but Mantie knew it was only right for Alice to be allowed that place in her husband’s home.
Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote Page 14