“Try ‘is mam,” said a freckled girl named Sally Castle to Simon when he asked. “ ‘Ee likes to hide under ‘er table.”
But Clemmy wasn’t there, nor was he in any of the rooms Simon searched after returning to the building that housed the school. It was not a good start, losing a child his first day as a teacher. Dreading a confrontation with a distraught mother, he returned to the main warehouse. It was then he spotted Clemmy at the far end near one of the kilns. He was little more than a shadow in the distance, but Simon could not mistake the silhouette of a small boy holding a bucket.
When Clemmy caught sight of Simon approaching him, he started as if intending to flee; then a look of bravado entered his eyes, and he held his ground.
“What happened to you, Clemmy?” Simon asked. “We missed you at school.”
The little boy tossed a lock of hair from his eyes. “I don’ like school. I like work.”
“Aren’t you being too hasty? We haven’t really started yet. You might change your mind when you find what it’s like.” Then again, you might not, seeing who your teacher is.
“I make money for my mamma.”
“You’ll still make the same amount of money, Clemmy.”
The child’s lower lip began to tremble. “I like work.”
Simon knelt on one knee and tilted his head. “What’s really wrong, son? Are you afraid of school?”
“I ain’t! Nobody can say I’m ‘fraid!”
Jane Goodehouse, who had been watching them from her worktable across the room, put down the plate she was painting and rushed to her child. “What trouble are ye causing now, Clemmy Goodehouse?”
Tears filled the boy’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “Georgy said Mr. Garret wud drash us if we din’ know our lessons.”
Simon’s heart turned over with compassion. “I’ve never thrashed anyone in my life, Clemmy.”
“Georgy says all teachers hate chillrun and dat’s why dey teach, so’s dey can hit ‘em.”
“Well, that’s not true in my case. Now stop worrying, and put down that pail. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He nodded to Jane, then went upstairs to Darby’s office to await closing time.
* * *
There were few secrets in the pottery, and the story of Clemmy came to Alexander’s ears. Over dinner that evening, he shared it with the others at table, concluding merrily, “The children object to the school even more than I! Perhaps they will revolt and put an early end to it.”
“I hope so,” Uncle Richard said. “Don’t know how we can keep up production without their hands, and you two are always wanting that above everything.”
Darby forked a morsel of veal and suspended it before her mouth. “I’m interviewing for temporary workers tomorrow.”
“What?” Alex exclaimed. “If we’re already paying the children their normal wage, how can we afford to hire other workers?”
“It will not break us,” she said, and began chewing her meat, her eyes on Simon.
“We must be doing famously then, Mr. Lightner,” Aunt Gacia said with enthusiasm. “Your guidance has brought the platery to a new level of success, hasn’t it? Note that, children; note it well. Perhaps now, Mr. Lightner, you will permit me to purchase the Indian silk for the twins’ birthday? It will be more elegant than damask for a mature woman like myself.”
“You would look elegant in homespun,’’ Claude contributed, throwing Gacia into giggling protests.
“Do as you like, m’dear,” responded Uncle Richard, waving his hand dismissively. “Extravagance appears to be the order of the day.”
Lenora, who had remained unusually quiet since the subject of school had been mentioned, said in a serious voice, “I think it’s a marvelous plan.”
“Oh, thank you, dear,” said Aunt Gacia eagerly. “You will weep when you see how brilliant are its colors—”
“No, I meant the school. I think it’s a good idea to educate the children.”
A startled silence met this remark. Simon stared, expecting to see scorn or cynicism on Lenora’s face. He saw only sincerity.
Claude’s fork clattered to his plate. Lowering his lids over bright, quizzical eyes, he commented, “Do you truly? One must wonder why.”
“I think everyone deserves a chance to improve themselves. Besides, won’t a worker who can read and figure be more valuable?”
“You surprise me,” Alex said.
Aunt Gacia looked alarmed. “You are surprising him, Lenora. Speak truth now; you’re feeling ill, aren’t you, dear? Only tell us, and we’ll excuse you until you are better.”
“I’m not ill,” she said. “I’d like to help with the school, if you need me.”
Simon’s pulse quickened. Was she trying to start with him again? The look she gave him across the table was not flirtatious, but maybe she was masking her feelings. Why would a woman like her want to become involved with a band of children? She must be after him.
Claude began to laugh. “What an excellent jest. Well scored, Lenora.”
“Oh, thank heaven,” sighed Aunt Gacia. “For a moment I thought—”
“I’m not jesting. I have always enjoyed children and would like to help teach them, if Simon will allow. I don’t mean to interfere.”
Simon felt Darby’s eyes impaling him. But he couldn’t deny a little help would be welcome. If anyone other than Lenora had asked, he would have jumped at the offer. As it stood, though ...
“Are you certain it’s the children you wish to aid, Lenora?” asked Claude slyly, directing a pointed look at Simon. “Or are you only searching for novelty again?”
Uncle Richard’s voice rumbled worriedly. “Yes, Daughter. Can’t allow some misguided impulse of—of generosity to take you from your duties at home.”
“I have no duties at home. I’m bored all the time.”
Alexander’s hostile gaze had been flitting back and forth between Lenora and Simon for several moments. “Perhaps boredom is not the best reason to teach.”
“Oh, it’s not, it’s not. Dear Lenora, listen to him,” begged Aunt Gacia. “Sweet Alexander is right. You must hear him.”
“All right,” Lenora responded in a heavily resigned voice. “You are all correct, of course. It is not only that I hoped to teach to relieve my ennui; I confess I desired to be near the pottery. I have always wondered what it is Alexander and Darby do there. The school seemed to offer a perfect opportunity to observe and converse with them at odd moments of the day. But I realize now that I have been foolish, so think nothing more of it.”
While the dining room crackled with conflicting emotions, Lenora began to eat her veal with an unconcerned air. After a moment, Alexander cleared his throat.
“I see no reason why you should not teach if you want to,” he said in defensive tones.
“Indeed not,” Aunt Gacia agreed. “Lenora is nothing if not kind-hearted. And intelligent, too, with an inquisitive mind. But not overly so, of course.”
“Since the classroom is Simon’s, perhaps he should speak his mind,” Darby said challengingly.
Simon felt himself shrinking as all eyes turned to him. Maybe Lenora was being truthful in her insinuations; maybe she did hope to spend more time with Alexander. Elena had accused Simon many times of having an inflated ego. He had to stop thinking everything revolved around himself.
Moreover, he was trembling in his boots thinking about tomorrow.
“I could use the help,” he heard himself say.
While Claude laughed uncontrollably, Darby tightened her lips. After glancing resentfully at Simon, she did not speak again the entire evening through.
* * *
By mid-morning on the following day, Simon had resigned himself to a secondary position in the classroom. After several increasingly impatient attempts to explain the nature of the alphabet, he had been swept aside by a laughing Lenora, who proceeded to make a game of the sounds each letter made. It was she who remembered to bring paper and quills, and the children bent to their
practice with more eagerness than Simon thought possible. After awhile he began to suspect their compliance was due more to adoration of Lenora than any incipient desire for learning. Even Clemmy was captivated. When he tried to bolt from the classroom early that morning during Simon’s attempt at teaching, Lenora drew the child aside and whispered to him for several moments. After that, he began to respond more than anyone.
Simon fell into his element at story time, though, when he delighted the children with hair-raising tales of fantastic adventures he recalled from Tay’s books and cartoon videos. That the stories had yet to be written troubled him not at all. He was becoming increasingly bold in his time infractions, but what did the children care?
That afternoon, he also insisted on leading exercises and games. They had no equipment, though, and after one little girl received a bloody nose from a game of dodge-rock, he spoke to Lenora of his determination to procure ropes and balls at least.
“We should bring something for them to eat, too,” Lenora said. “Have you seen what these children bring for their lunch? Some have no more than a piece of stale bread. It’s disgraceful. No wonder they are so thin.”
“I know. It wouldn’t have to be expensive—freshly-baked bread and lots of it, with butter. And cheese and milk, maybe.”
“And fruit, to put color in their cheeks,” she added.
Simon agreed, then marvelled again at this very different woman whose face came alive, not at his presence, but at the proximity of children. He could not help remarking upon it as they sat outside watching the older students play while the younger ones slept in the shade of the warehouse on old packing blankets.
“My love for children surprises you?” she asked. “That’s because you know very little about me. Confess now, Simon. You believed I used teaching as a ruse to seduce you. Last night at dinner, your face was alive with your fear of it.”
He smiled ruefully. “Was it? I’m sorry.”
She laughed. “Never mind, you are safe with me now. I would not have Darby’s wrath fall upon me for the world. The truth is, I’ve enjoyed children since I was a youngster myself. My mother was ill much of the time, and the supervision of my younger brother often fell to me.”
“You have a brother? I didn’t know.”
She gazed into the distance. “Had. He died of the fever that claimed my mother’s life.”
“How terrible for you. I had no idea.”
“It happened a long time ago.” She smiled faintly, her expression growing more thoughtful. “And then, when I lost my own baby, I thought never to be around children again. Especially after Reece died.”
“You ... lost a baby?”
“She was stillborn after I fell down a flight of stairs.” In a testy voice she added, “It was an accident.”
Simon could think of nothing to say. He suspected something dark lay unspoken behind her statement, but he could hardly question her; the wound seemed too raw.
The following day was Saturday, and school met briefly since the factory was open only until noon. A two-day downpour dampened plans to have the Wallaces to dinner on Saturday night, and on Sunday, no one, not even Darby, wanted to attend church in mud-caked shoes.
During the next week, Simon and Lenora fell into a routine at the school. Lenora directed the reading, writing, and arithmetic lessons in the morning. After a nourishing luncheon funded by the ever-loosening Brightings’ purse, Simon conducted exercises, stories and singing.
He found himself forgetting for long periods that Darby remained in danger. No threatening villains appeared to lurk in the shadows, and the school came to occupy his thoughts to a degree that surprised him. The children were a kind of substitute for Tay, he supposed; especially Clemmy. But that was not all of it. He found a purpose and a nobility in the work that no role had ever given him. And most shocking of all, he felt a guarded friendship blossoming between Lenora and himself.
There were few problems with the children themselves. Most had learned self-discipline from their jobs, and other than a personality conflict or two among the youngsters, they presented none of the discipline problems Simon thought they would. Perhaps it was because the class was so small.
In a moment of inspiration, he decided to have the children perform for the birthday ball. “It’ll be more meaningful than anything I can do,” he told Lenora. “And it might make Darby and Alexander view the school more sympathetically. I have to find a guitar, though.”
“I think Alexander is already convinced,” said Lenora. “He comes to watch the children often enough.”
Simon snorted. “He comes to see you.”
“That may be, but he appears to be enjoying their progress in reading especially. Clemmy amazed him this morning by printing his name and sounding out the letters. Darby now ... if she’d only visit us, perhaps we could convince her, too.”
Simon shook his head hopelessly. Darby was avoiding the school and himself with a pointed determination. Every night he tried to interest her in Lenora and his—and increasingly Alexander’s—excited chatter about the school. And every night she buried her nose in her book of sermons and contributed nothing.
Chapter Twelve
Very early on Thursday morning, not long after the grandfather clock tolled midnight, Darby heard the sounds of pebbles hitting her chamber window. Plagued with thoughts of Simon, Lenora and Alex, she had not yet slept, and now she alertly pushed her feet into her bedroom slippers, pulled on her robe, and padded to the window. Just as she peeked outward from the side of the drapes, a fresh assault of pebbles clattered on the glass. She cried out in alarm; then, realizing whose face peered up at hers, she tugged the draperies aside and opened the casement.
“Edward!” she whispered vehemently. “You have nearly killed me with fright.”
“Sorry; couldn’t help it,” he whispered back. “I have to see you.’’ His bright eyes entreated her in the moonlight. “You promised to give me an answer, remember?”
Darby groaned to herself as she recalled Edward’s proposal of marriage. In truth, she’d forgotten to think about it these past days, so distracted was she by Simon’s disloyalty to herself with Lenora and her mixed feelings about the school. “There will surely be a better time than the middle of the night,” she complained.
“You said you’d tell me at the end of the week, and I’ve waited almost two.”
“That’s because I haven’t seen you. Won’t you wait until Saturday, when you come for dinner?”
“I can’t bear another minute. If you don’t join me now, I’ll bay at the moon like a wolf and wake everyone!”
Darby sighed. “Oh, very well, I’m coming.” She walked as softly as she could from the room, down the stairs, and out the parlor door, it being quieter and easier to unlatch than the front.
Edward awaited her on the terrace. With one hand hidden behind his back, he stood between a pair of iron-worked chairs. When they both were seated, Darby said, “Truly, Edward, I don’t know why we must discuss this now. Should anyone see me sitting with you in my nightgown, it would cause a scandal.”
“Not if you’re going to be my bride.” He withdrew his hidden hand and offered her a battered rose. “Well, are you?”
Darby reluctantly took the flower. Unable to look into his earnest face, she stared at the rose and felt moisture gathering in her eyes. “Oh, Edward.”
“I picked it off one of your own bushes. Not very romantic, I suppose.”
“No, it is not,” she said, smiling tearfully. “But it’s so like you. You’re a dear, Edward ... the best friend anyone could ever have.”
“Hopefully I’m such a good friend that you never want to part from me.”
“Oh, I never do. I trust our friendship will always remain; but ...”
“But you don’t wish to marry me,” he finished, then leaped up and stalked to the railing. “Have I agonized for two weeks only to hear you won’t have me?”
For one crazed moment, Darby imagined throwing herself
into his arms and crying, “No, no, you have misunderstood; I will marry you.” It was what Simon had advised. But Edward deserved a wife who truly loved him, and she did not. Her heart was already lost—irredeemably lost, without hope of return or reciprocation.
“I’m sorry,” she said so softly that he was forced to read her lips.
“You’re sorry,” he huffed. “And so you should be. Is it Heathershaw or that actor who’s stolen your heart? Neither one is worth a farthing.”
Darby wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then went to lean against the rail. “I won’t lie to you, Edward; I do love someone, even though I know that love is hopeless. But, having experienced this—this painful, excruciating ... certainty, I believe that what you feel for me is the fondness of long friendship, not the deep love necessary for marriage. I cannot deny you the pleasures of such a union someday. You are the finest man and deserve—”
“Oh, stop it, will you? Don’t speak to me of love and friendship or tell me how I love you. I know my own emotions, not you; and I’d like to chop my rival’s head off his shoulders. Why won’t you tell me who it is?”
She shook her head mutely and looked at her hands.
Balling his fists, he swept past her and ran down the few stairs to the grass. “Don’t expect us here for dinner Saturday night or your birthday. I can’t watch you throw our future away for—for nothing! A foolish dream!”
She watched him stride away and disappear around the corner of the house. There came the sound of a horse’s snort, then hoofbeats. She sank into the chair, a storm of tears rising. Nothing grieved her more than hurting Edward. But it was the right decision, the only decision, she could have made. How sad it was she could not order her heart as she did her workers.
And what to do with herself now? Simon was killing her.
His growing friendship with Lenora hurt her more than his supposed romance had, strangely enough.
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