“They might sound strange to you,” Emma said with a smile in her voice. “But for anyone who has studied their Texas history, they know all the Hart brothers are named after important Texans.”
Again, the murmurs.
Hays used the opportunity to push the door open all the way and slip into the back of the church.
Emma looked up and her cheeks blossomed with color. “It looks like one of those strange-named men has come for an unexpected visit.”
Dozens of eyes turned to Hays, and several of them looked at him with new admiration—some with downright awe.
“This particular Hart is named after John Coffee Hays,” Emma said, keeping the attention on him. “Colonel Jack Hays, as he’s known, is still alive and lives in California with his family, but when he was a young man, he was a heroic Texas Ranger, leading several campaigns against the Comanche Indians. Even though he fought the Comanche, they had great admiration for him.”
Hays took off his hat and nodded at Emma, though he spoke to the children. “You have a smart teacher. She knows more about my namesake than I do.”
The children giggled, and Emma smiled. “I doubt that.”
“Still,” he said, “I’m impressed that you did your research.” Had she researched all his brothers’ namesakes … or only his?
He held her gaze for a moment before she glanced down at her lapel watch. “We’re about out of time, children. Class is dismissed for the day.”
The children cheered and quickly gathered up their things. Hays ruffled David Longley’s hair as he passed by.
When the last child had left, Hays walked to the front of the room, where Emma stood waiting.
“I’m surprised to see you so early,” Emma said. “Is something wrong?”
He clutched his hat and motioned to her chair. “You should probably take a seat.”
The welcoming gleam left her eyes. “Is it that bad?”
He let out a long, weary sigh. “I’m afraid it is.”
Emma walked around her desk and slowly lowered herself to her chair. “Go ahead.”
“Perla was in town this morning. She went to Mortenson’s Mercantile, and Meribeth Mortenson told her that there’s a petition going around town to try to stop you from building the school.”
“A petition?” Emma’s eyes grew round as she rose from her chair. “But why? Who?”
“I don’t know, but Meribeth said there were already dozens of names on it.”
Emma’s face grew pale, and she dropped into the chair once again. “If there are dozens of names, how will we get enough people to attend our fund-raiser?”
Hays’s thoughts exactly. He hated that there were people in Hartville who didn’t want Emma to succeed.
“Emma.” Hays walked around the desk and squatted in front of her. “We can’t let these people win. I want to see that school built as much as you do. People are just afraid of change, that’s all.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “All this work wasted.”
“It’s not wasted. We’ll still get that school built.”
“How?” She finally looked at him. “If we don’t raise enough money, it will be an impossible task.”
“My pa made an offer the first time you met, and I know the offer still stands. He’d be happy to donate whatever you nee—”
“No.” Emma stood and walked around Hays. “I won’t let your father give yet one more thing to this town.”
“Why not?” Hays also stood. “We owe them a lot.”
“Because your grandfather founded the town?”
“Yes.”
“If anything, they owe you.”
“Why does it matter so much?”
She walked to the window and wrapped her arms around her waist. “They need to be loyal.”
Hays frowned. “Loyal to what?”
“I want the citizens of Hartville to be loyal to their children and to each other. If you don’t have loyalty, what do you have?”
He crossed the room. “Emma, what are you talking about?”
She turned, disappointment lining the edges of her mouth. “It’s nothing.”
“This isn’t ‘nothing.’”
She twisted her hands together and walked back to her desk, putting space between them. “When I was a little girl, my family was forced to spend three weeks inside a stockade when one of the Ojibwe chiefs threatened to attack the white settlers.”
Hays joined her by her desk. “I can’t imagine what that was like.”
“It was horrible, but what hurt the most was that the people I had lived with, our Ojibwe friends and neighbors, had become disloyal to us. Or, at least, that’s what I believed for a long time.” She let out a weary sigh and met his gaze. “Loyalty means everything to me.”
“That’s why this fund-raiser is so important?”
“Yes. It may seem insignificant—”
“I don’t think it’s insignificant at all.”
“So then you understand why I can’t accept your father’s money?”
Hays scratched his chin. He didn’t understand that part, not fully. “I suppose.”
“What will we do?”
He paced away from her, thinking about their options—which were few. “If you aren’t willing to accept Pa’s money, are you willing to accept some other kind of help?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What if he made an announcement encouraging people to attend the fund-raiser? Would you allow him to do that?”
Hope sparked in her gaze. “Do you think he would?”
“If you ask him.”
Pa wouldn’t turn down Emma. He had taken quite a shine to her after Sunday dinner.
In the meantime, they would continue to plan the fund-raiser, and Hays would track down that petition and find the scoundrel who’d started it.
Every moment of Emma’s spare time was dedicated to the fund-raiser. It was exactly what she needed to keep her mind off of her growing attraction to Hays. The only trouble was that he came into town almost every day to help.
Emma glanced out the window of the parsonage on Saturday morning and watched as Hays helped Papa and David build a table for the bazaar. The three of them worked well together, and Emma often found Papa and David laughing at something Hays had said. Even now, Papa was standing straight, his hammer in hand, as he listened intently to whatever it was Hays was saying as he sawed a piece of wood. Just as she expected, Papa bent over in laughter while Hays grinned.
“Your father and brother really like Hays,” Mama said, entering the parlor from the kitchen.
Emma let the curtain fall back into place. “Oh?”
Mama’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “You hadn’t noticed?”
They were two weeks away from the bazaar, and everyone was busy doing their part to help. Last week, GW had stood up after church and invited the whole town to attend the fund-raiser. Yesterday, Hays had located the petition and finally destroyed it, though he hadn’t found the person who started it. And right now, Mama, Hope, and Emma were sewing quilts for the raffle. If all went as planned, they would have three made before the bazaar.
“Has Hope finished binding the red, white, and blue quilt?” Emma asked, walking away from the window and taking a seat at the Singer sewing machine.
“Yes.” Mama set a pile of fabric squares on the worktable next to Emma and then took a seat on the settee.
Hope came down the stairs, a beautiful quilt hanging over her arm. She still limped on her tender ankle, but it had healed enough for her to get around without assistance. “I just finished.” She laid it over the back of a rocking chair near the front door. “I can start quilting the next one as soon as you finish piecing the squares together.”
Emma surveyed the stack of squares, and a sigh left her lips before she could stop it.
“What’s wrong, Em?” Mama asked, picking up a set of shears.
Emma stood and paced back to the window, where the cloudless blue sky
beckoned her. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you take a break?” Hope asked, taking Emma’s place at the machine. “You’ve been working day and night for weeks now.”
“There’s still so much to do.”
“Hope and I can manage without you for a while.” Mama glanced up from her work. “The men would probably enjoy some refreshment. Why don’t you take some cold water and sugar cookies out to them? And who knows?” She cut another square. “Maybe you and Hays could take a little walk.”
“Mama.” Emma crossed her arms and paced away from the window. “You know how I feel about Hays Hart.”
“I know what you’ve told me,” Mama said, sharing a quiet smile with Hope. “But what someone says and what they feel are sometimes two different things.”
Emma continued to pace. “We’re only friends.”
“And getting friendlier every day,” Hope added as she inspected the sewing machine to make sure the bobbin was full.
Emma ignored her sister’s comment. It was true she and Hays had grown fond of each other, but that didn’t indicate romance.
“For what it’s worth to you,” Mama said. “I like Hays and so does your papa. He’s a nice young man.”
“And he lives here in Hartville,” Emma added for her. “Not Minnesota.”
“It’s no secret we’d like you to stay in Texas.” Mama spoke gently. “We hate to think of you fourteen hundred miles away … but if that’s where God is calling you…”
The letter from Mrs. Greenfield had been everything Emma hoped for and more. Not only did they want her to come back to the mission and teach, but they had asked her to be the lead teacher for the entire school. Emma had been certain when she first arrived in Texas that God was calling her back to Minnesota, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her determination to build this school had curbed her homesickness and given her something to look forward to. The thought of leaving it all behind didn’t appeal to her as much as it had only a month or so before.
At the same time, she ached to see her old friends in Minnesota and return to her work with the Ojibwe children. She also missed the lakes and rivers. It was the place she felt closest to God. Since coming to Texas, she had longed for the refreshment the cool water gave her.
“Maybe I will go for a walk,” Emma said. She needed to get out of the house and simply enjoy the outdoors.
“Will you ask Hays to join you?” Hope inquired, peeking over her shoulder.
Emma didn’t bother to answer as she took her shawl off the hook. But she paused as she thought of Papa and Hays working hard on the tables for the bazaar. “Maybe I will take them some refreshments first.”
Her mother and sister didn’t say anything as she crossed the room and entered the kitchen, though Emma suspected they would have much to discuss after she left.
Emma quickly put everything on the tray and then opened the back door.
“Invite Hays to stay for supper,” Mama called to Emma as the door closed behind her.
The day was a bit cool, but the brilliant blue sky and warm sunshine made up for the lack of heat.
Papa, David, and Hays were working in the churchyard. Hays had his shirtsleeves rolled up and the muscles in his forearms rippled as he sawed. He was listening intently as Papa spoke about his work as a missionary in the early years, when Minnesota was still a territory, before he had met Mama. Neither man noticed Emma’s approach.
“I always knew what I wanted, even back then,” Papa said. “Emma’s a lot like me in that way.”
“I admire her determination,” Hays said. “I have a feeling she accomplishes everything she sets her mind to.”
Papa paused, a rueful smile on his face. “I have a feeling you’re quite similar.”
“I usually don’t have a problem getting what I want, if that’s what you mean.”
Papa laughed. “That’s exactly what I mean, but I sense you’ve met your match.”
“I have, indeed.” Hays glanced up then and a smile lit his blue eyes.
Papa also looked in her direction. “Hello, Em.”
“Are those Mama’s cookies?” David asked, reaching for one.
“Yes.” Emma extended the tray.
Papa also took one. “I married Mrs. Longley before I knew how good her cookies were. I would have married her simply for that reason alone.”
Hays laughed, but Emma had heard the joke so many times, all she could do was smile.
She set the tray on a finished table and duly admired their work. “Mama is roasting a chicken for supper. You’re invited to stay, Hays.”
“Will you?” David asked. “Could you show me how to lasso? Could I help with the spring roundup if I know how? Do you think I could learn how to brand the cattle, too? Mr. Bowie said I—”
“That’s enough, son.” Papa set his hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s let Hays answer the first question before you ask him another.”
Hays finished chewing a bite of cookie. “If Mrs. Longley’s roasted chicken is as good as her sugar cookies, I’d be a fool not to stay.”
“Her chicken is good.” David rubbed his belly.
“Emma is lucky her mama taught her everything she knows,” Papa added.
“Are you a good cook?” Hays asked Emma.
“My food is passable.”
“Don’t let her modesty fool you.” Papa winked at Emma. “She’s the second-best cook I know.”
“Yet another reason to admire you.” Hays winked.
“I’m going for a walk,” Emma said quickly. “I’ll be back before supper.”
“We’ll be here building tables,” Papa said.
“All right.” Emma started off toward town and Hays made no motion to follow her.
Soon the sound of their tools and companionable conversation found its way to her ears.
Emma pulled her shawl closer around her body and tried not to feel disappointed that Hays hadn’t insisted on joining her.
Chapter Six
It was the last day of January, which meant they were only one week away from the fund-raiser and one month away from the end of the school term. Hays inspected his reflection in the hall mirror before reaching for his Stetson.
He was on his way into town to see Emma again, but this time he wasn’t going to help with the fund-raiser. There was something far more enjoyable he had in mind for today.
Courting.
“Hays?” Pa’s voice reached Hays from inside his office.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come here, son.”
With a sigh, Hays set his hat back on the hook. He hadn’t told Emma he was coming, though Reverend Longley knew of his plans. He hated to be late, but he also hated to disappoint his pa.
Hays opened the door leading into the office. The room had always impressed and intimidated him. It was one of the largest in the house and boasted a brilliant view of the ranch from the six floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding Pa’s desk. A large longhorn bull’s head was mounted on the wall above a commanding fireplace, and the remaining walls were lined with hundreds of his pa’s books.
Pa sat in his large chair, his feet propped up on his desk, as he watched Hays enter. “Have a seat, son.”
Hays took the leather chair he often occupied while visiting with his father, but he didn’t settle in like usual. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you off again?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Into Hartville to see Miss Longley?”
Hays nodded. It was no secret that he had been spending all of his free time at the parsonage.
Pa dropped his feet and put his hands on his desk, a surefire sign that he was about to get serious. “Austin’s been in here complaining that you’ve got your head in the clouds and you’re not gettin’ your work done around the ranch.”
Hays couldn’t deny the claim. “I’m not doing it on purpose. I’ve been helping Emma with—”
“None of that matters,” Pa said, studying Hays. “I’m only concerne
d about one thing.”
Hays frowned. “The ranch?”
“Your marriage prospects.”
“My what?”
“Are you making progress with Miss Longley? She’s the one you’re pursuing, isn’t she? ’Cause if not, you’re wasting time.”
“Pa!” Hays stood, unable to stay in his seat.
“What?” Pa looked up at him. “I laid down the law a month ago and you’re the only one takin’ me seriously. Are you makin’ any progress?”
“Pa,” Hays said again. “These things take time and patience.”
Pa shook his head. “If I was thirty years younger, I’d show you whippersnappers how to go about courtin’ proper-like.”
Hays grinned. “I remember Mother said she was the one who had to pursue you.”
“That’s because I was a knothead like your brothers.” He propped his feet up on his desk again, longing in his voice. “If I had to do it all over again, I would’ve been a lot smarter.”
“I’m trying—I just wish Emma wasn’t so reluctant.”
“I like her,” Pa said. “And I like that she’s making you work for her hand. She’s a keeper.”
“She is.” Hays tilted his head toward the door. “Can I go to it?”
Pa nodded. “Don’t worry about Austin and the ranch. Courtin’ is more important right now.”
Hays couldn’t agree more. He left his pa’s office, grabbing his Stetson on his way out the front door. He had no time to lose. In less than five weeks, Emma would get on a stagecoach and leave Hartville for good. The thought caused him to sprint to the barn.
Hays hitched the team up to a buggy and drove into town as quickly as he could. When he arrived at the parsonage, he jumped out of the buggy and strode to the front door to knock. Even though he had come to this house every day for the past three weeks, he stood a bit stiff, more nervous than he’d ever felt in his life. It was a humbling experience to stand on a young lady’s front porch and risk her rejection.
The door opened, and Mrs. Longley stood wiping her hands on her white apron. “Hello, Hays.”
“Hello, Mrs. Longley. Is Emma at home?”
“She’s in the backyard binding one of the quilts. You’re more than welcome to join her.”
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 6