by Sara Donati
“Books!” Mr. Smythe exclaimed. “Did you bring books all the way from England?”
“I did,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Or at least, they are coming with my trunks—as soon as Galileo has time to fetch them; they came after by iceboat. Primers and readers and arithmetic, some geometry and algebra, history—” She saw the faces around her begin to cloud and she continued, less sure of herself. “Geography, maps of course, literature, and Latin—”
“Latin!” Anna snapped the word. “What use would these children have for Latin?”
“Why, Latin is—” began Elizabeth, but she was interrupted.
“Reading and writing is fine,” Mr. Cameron said. “Arithmetic and geometry are useful things. But Latin? And history, I don’t know. My boys won’t have much use for Romans and Greeks while they are trying to run a farm.”
“Latin—” tried Elizabeth again.
“Latin will bring nothing but discontent! These are frontier children, they don’t need ideas about philosophy! Next thing you’ll want to send them off to university where their heads will be filled with poetry!” Moses Southern was working himself up to a high pitch, and Anna stepped in with a calmer tone.
“Our young folk don’t need to know about lords and ladies and such-like.”
But Moses wasn’t to be calmed. “Royalty!” he fairly spat. “It took long enough to roust the Redcoats. Why would we want to study on them?” He seemed not to realize, or perhaps care, that Elizabeth was English.
“The girls will never look at another honest, hardworking farmer, if you fill their heads with royalty,” Anna pointed out to Elizabeth, clearly torn between the wish to be an ally and the obvious truth of the situation.
Distraught, Elizabeth saw that she had taken the wrong strategy with the very people she needed to win over; without their support and the support of others just like them, she would never be able to start her school. She searched madly for an argument which would save her plans. They stood around her, their faces expectant, waiting for her to counter the logic they had served up. The Bible, thought Elizabeth, something from the Bible, but nothing came to mind. Frantic, she saw their expressions begin to close against her.
“ ‘Blessed are those wise in the ways of books,’ ” she said quickly, “ ‘for theirs is the kingdom of righteousness and fair play.’ ” Then she flushed. From the corner of her eye she saw Galileo, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange, raise a grizzled eyebrow in surprise. One of the farmers was looking at her doubtfully, but she lifted her chin.
“Matthew,” she added, defiantly.
Suddenly her bravado left her and she wished for nothing so much as to walk away and come in to start over again. She was telling these people that she was worthy of teaching their children and the first example she had given them of her own education and worthiness of such a task was a completely fraudulent—and self-serving—Bible verse.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to see if Galileo was ready to go, and she started.
Nathaniel Bonner stood at the door, and on his face, the certainty that he had overheard at least some of this conversation, and most certainly the part of which she was least proud.
Elizabeth had never been in such a situation in her entire life; she took in Nathaniel’s cool but amused look, and she barely knew how to contain her embarrassment. He nodded to her, and wished her good day, but Elizabeth could barely nod in return. She took the very first opportunity to take her leave from Anna and her customers, who had returned to their places around the hearth.
Out on the porch Elizabeth was glad of the cold air which cooled her hot cheeks. For a moment she watched while Galileo loaded supplies into the sleigh, all the while sending her curious sidelong glances. Resolutely, Elizabeth avoided direct eye contact.
“I think I’ll take a walk now, Galileo,” she said as lightly as she could. “I’ll be able to find my way back home.”
And Elizabeth took off as fast as she could down a narrow but well-trodden path which led past a number of small cabins. Women came to doors to wave to her, but she pressed on, smiling politely. She needed to be alone for a while, to sort out her thoughts.
The path led through a stand of evergreens and then, beyond that, it took Elizabeth to the lakeside. She stopped suddenly within a foot of a little beach with its own dock, its supports all encased in ice, and saw that the fishermen were coming in now, dragging with them their heavy nets. There were six men and a number of boys, Elizabeth counted, and they were coming straight toward her with curious and expectant looks on their faces. She suppressed a little groan, and turned abruptly away back up the path, running as she did so directly into Nathaniel.
With a little cry Elizabeth slipped and would have lost her footing on the hard-packed snow if Nathaniel had not reached out to steady her, both his hands catching her upper arms just above the elbows, her own hands coming to rest on firmly muscled forearms. Dismayed at her own clumsiness and confused by his sudden appearance, Elizabeth looked up at Nathaniel, who stood calmly with his head inclined toward her. She felt the press of his fingers quite clearly through her cape and she was aware of his warm breath on her face; for a moment Elizabeth was strangely paralyzed, and then she pulled away with a little twist. Breathing heavily, she glanced back toward the lake at the approaching fishermen.
“Pardon me,” she murmured to Nathaniel and she started up the path once again. “Excuse me, Mr. Bonner.”
“Wait!” Nathaniel called after her, and Elizabeth walked all the faster. She picked up her skirts a little to increase her speed.
“Elizabeth, wait!” he called again, this time much closer. Realizing that she could not outpace him, Elizabeth stopped and tried to calm her breathing. Then she turned toward Nathaniel.
“Yes?” she asked as evenly as she was capable. He stood before her dressed as he had been the day before. Elizabeth noted that under his own lined mantle he wore a clean buckskin shirt, and this brought to mind his injury; her face fell.
“Pardon me, Mr. Bonner—” she began.
“Nathaniel.”
Elizabeth drew in her breath and let it out. When she was calmer, she set her face in what she hoped were friendly but distant lines. “Please pardon me for bumping into you that way. I hope I did not disturb your wound.”
Nathaniel glanced at his own shoulder and back again.
“I did not realize you were behind me,” Elizabeth finished.
“I was coming after you,” Nathaniel said. “I should have thought that was clear enough. I need to talk to you,” he paused. “About your schoolhouse.”
Elizabeth looked away and made an effort to control her breathing, to steady her voice. “I doubt that there will be a school,” she said. “The people here don’t seem particularly interested in one.”
“You give up easily.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it of you, that you give up so easy. That little bit of ribbing at the trading post couldn’t change your mind, if it was really set.”
“I haven’t given up,” she said. “It’s just—” She paused, and seeing that Nathaniel was not laughing at her, she continued more slowly. “It’s just more complicated than I anticipated. It’s not what I expected,” she finished.
“You’re not what they expected, either,” Nathaniel said.
“And what did they expect?” she asked, although she was a little afraid of what Nathaniel might offer in reply.
“Not a bluestocking,” he said lightly.
The term was not familiar to Elizabeth, but she sensed that it was not complimentary. “I expect that unmarried women who care little for fashion are what you call bluestockings,” said Elizabeth.
“A spinster who teaches school is a bluestocking, in these parts,” corrected Nathaniel. Before Elizabeth could comment, he continued: “They thought that a princess was coming, you see, the judge’s daughter. Dressed in silks and satins, on the lookout for a rich husband. The doctor, mos
t likely. Which ain’t what they got—if it weren’t for those fancy boots you could be a Quaker, as simple as you dress. Since you won’t be the spoiled princess they expected, they don’t know what to do with you.”
“I am so sorry to disappoint,” Elizabeth snapped.
“On the contrary,” Nathaniel said, producing a slow smile. “I ain’t the least bit disappointed.”
In a fluster, Elizabeth picked up her skirts in preparation for walking back uphill and caught sight of her boots: soft cordovan leather polished to a gleam, brass hooks, tassels, and delicate heels. Not sufficiently lined for the icy byroads of upper New-York State, her toes were informing her. Pretty boots: her one luxury and weakness.
“Don’t go,” he said behind her in a gentler tone. “I won’t make light of your boots anymore.”
Elizabeth came to a halt, wondering even as she did so why she should not go. Why she did not wish to go.
He said, “Folks will send their children to your school, but you got to have one first.”
She had been ready to do battle, but Elizabeth found herself suddenly less angry than curious. She turned to him. “Do you think they’ll come? I thought that I had ruined everything.”
Nathaniel stepped back off the path to lean up against a tree trunk. Elizabeth noted, distracted, how big a man he was. There were many tall men in her family; uncle Merriweather dwarfed most in the neighborhood. She realized it was not so much his size but his gaze which truly disconcerted her, absolutely direct and without apology.
“Folks here’re a little tougher than you might be used to, but they know an opportunity when they see one. Didn’t the judge tell you that he hired me to build a schoolhouse for you?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Settled it at dinner last night.”
She barely knew what to say. She had been truly afraid that her father would not honor his promise, that she would never get her school; but it seemed her father had arranged for its construction after all. A wave of reluctant appreciation overwhelmed her, along with the realization that she had Nathaniel to thank for this. Why he would want to be of help to her she could not imagine. There must be some other motivation, some good he saw in the idea of the school, to want to put himself in this position. She looked at him and tried to puzzle out what it was, but all she saw was Nathaniel’s patient and somewhat amused look.
“I must say,” she said with an uncertain smile, “I didn’t expect—I had no idea. It is very kind of you—”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “It’s got little to do with kindness and more to do with cash money. He’s paying me.”
Elizabeth glanced down. “I see.”
“But money wouldn’t be enough to make the job to my liking if it weren’t for other considerations,” Nathaniel added.
When it was clear that Elizabeth did not know how to respond to this, Nathaniel found himself smiling. The woman had a quick wit, there was no doubt about that, but she was not in the habit of flirting. He found that this pleased him. He watched Elizabeth struggling to formulate some overly polite response and he was taken by the urge to tease her.
“I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you himself.”
“I haven’t seen him yet this morning, I wanted to be up and about,” Elizabeth said.
“Ah,” Nathaniel said softly. “Couldn’t wait to see the village, then. Looking for likely candidates.”
She rose to this bait neatly. “Just what do you mean, sir?” she asked sharply.
“I meant you are on the lookout for students. What did you think I meant?” he asked, smiling even more broadly.
Elizabeth laid a hand on her hood to set it in place. Her hair had come loose and curls lay on her cheek; she brushed these back. Nathaniel resisted the urge to step up to her and pull them back out. He thought about doing it because he knew it would make her blush, and he found he was developing an appetite for her blushes. But he was patient, and she was not; he had the advantage, and he would use it. He admitted to himself that his father was right—he had plans for this woman.
“Have you made the acquaintance of the parson yet?” he asked in a kinder tone, not pushing for an answer to his previous question. “He’s got a daughter, she’d be the person to talk to about the list you wanted. Of the children. Kitty Witherspoon.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “That’s very helpful.” She looked about herself and saw they were hidden from both the lake and the settlement where they stood.
“I suppose I should be going, Mr.—” She paused. “If you are willing, we could speak this evening about the schoolhouse.”
“Are you asking me to call on you this evening?”
Elizabeth fought with an angry retort, realizing that she must learn new rules of engagement here that were, at present, beyond her.
“It is Christmas Eve. I thought my father had invited all of his friends.”
His gaze narrowed. “What makes you think I am a friend of your father’s?”
“Whatever the quarrel between you and my father, it is Christmas Eve,” Elizabeth repeated. “And if he has not invited you, then I shall invite you. And your family.” She steadied her expression and looked him straight in the eye. “You may not be his friend, but—” She paused. “You will be mine, will you not?”
Nathaniel returned her gaze without a smile. “That I will, Boots,” he said. “For a start.”
V
Elizabeth arrived back at her father’s home exhausted; the distance between the village and the house which had seemed so little in the sleigh had nearly undone her. She withdrew to her room after a brief conversation with her father, and although it was only mid-morning, she fell into a deep sleep without dreams.
Curiosity came to wake her in the mid-afternoon.
“I let you sleep through lunch but you must be half-starved by this time,” she said, putting a tray on a small table by the bed. The aroma of chicken and gravy and potatoes rose from the covered dishes and made Elizabeth’s stomach cramp with hunger. There were beans and relish and hot corn bread, as well. She thanked Curiosity and then fell to her food, noting out loud that the cold air and altitude were good for her appetite.
“It’s running around the village in the snow,” Curiosity pointed out. “But you’ve got your rest now. There’s company waiting for you downstairs once you’ve had your fill.”
Elizabeth looked up, startled.
“Calm yourself. Just Kitty Witherspoon, come to pay her respects. Your brother’s entertaining her until you come down.”
· · ·
Katherine Witherspoon—she did not call herself Kitty to Elizabeth—waited in the sitting room on the edge of her chair. There was no sign of Julian, which was disappointing to Elizabeth: he was much better than she ever would be at the type of conversation required of such calls. But then, Elizabeth reminded herself, she had no idea how calls were made here.
Miss Witherspoon was a young woman in her early twenties, Elizabeth imagined. She was of medium height, quite mature in her form, with a narrow face below waves of pale blond hair. Her eyes, a watery blue, were surrounded with a fringe of the same pale blond. The younger woman came up from her chair quickly to greet Elizabeth, her hand damp with nervousness. She was so enthusiastic and eager that she stumbled a little over a speech Elizabeth thought was surely rehearsed, in which Miss Witherspoon listed all the reasons she was so very pleased to have Elizabeth and her brother in the neighborhood.
It had begun to snow in earnest and the two young women settled before the hearth in the sitting room, where Daisy brought them tea. Elizabeth sighed with relief to find herself in such peaceful surroundings after the last few days and the unsettling events of the morning. Thoughts of her conversation with Nathaniel distracted her for a moment away from the story Katherine was telling.
“I’m afraid I’m taxing you too much after your long journey,” Katherine said, breaking off her narrative.
“Oh, no,” Elizabeth assured her
, wanting very much to set the young woman at ease. “Please pardon me. Everything is so new to me, I sometimes am distracted by little things.”
“Were you thinking of yesterday’s accident?”
Elizabeth considered her answer, realizing that everything that had passed between her family and Nathaniel yesterday was now common knowledge.
“Pardon me,” Katherine went on, coloring slightly. “I shouldn’t have presumed.”
“No, that’s quite all right,” Elizabeth said, but she did not answer Katherine’s question. An awkward silence fell between them, and Elizabeth roused herself.
“Miss Witherspoon—Katherine,” she said. “Perhaps you could be of assistance to me. You may have heard that I wish to start a school here for the younger children?”
Katherine nodded.
“The first step is for me to find out who my students will be, and to approach their parents. Since you must be acquainted with all the families in Paradise, would you be so kind?” And Elizabeth fetched paper and writing instruments and together the two women began a list.
Katherine listed eight families with school-age children, and was able to give Elizabeth names and directions to their cabins, as well as an approximate age of each child. Quite pleased to have this accomplished so easily, Elizabeth looked over the list and counted twelve names.
“These are all the children, then?” she asked, somewhat apprehensively. She was afraid she would have to directly inquire after the names of the children of slaves, but Katherine seemed to realize this.
“Those are all the children in the village, free or slave,” Katherine said. “I expect that in some cases it will be hard for you to convince parents to let the children come to school. Billy Kirby, for instance.”
“Billy Kirby?”
“He’s a farmer, hunter, hauls timber, and he does some building. He built this house for your father. Billy is raising his younger brother since his parents passed on.” Katherine hesitated. “He won’t be very enthusiastic about the idea of sending Liam to school.”
“Well, I can talk to him, can’t I?” Elizabeth said.