Then he left his whiskey and his gawking friends behind, and hied himself off to the schoolhouse. He had a wife to reclaim, and not a moment to waste.
Chapter Nineteen
With trembling fingers, Sarah reached for little Emily’s dress collar. She straightened the calico, offering a smile for reassurance.
“Don’t worry, Emily. You’ll do fine.”
The girl gave a wobbly grin. She ducked her head to continue studying the list of spelling words Sarah had issued over the current term. All around them, the schoolhouse teemed with gussied-up children and interested parents.
As they traditionally did, much of Morrow Creek had turned out for the spelling bee. The event was a source of entertainment—and sometimes enlightenment—to the children and their families alike.
Ordinarily, the attention didn’t bother Sarah. This year, though, she felt extraordinarily nervous—mostly owing to the presence of several school board members in the front row. They sat on the collected and borrowed benches Sarah had assembled, all waiting in judgment of her.
The hubbub rose. Determinedly, Sarah blocked it out. She concentrated on each of her students in turn, giving reminders here and encouragement there. There would be a few recitations to open the event, mostly given by older students. Then, the spelling bee. At the last, a holiday song.
All of it was designed to demonstrate, to the waiting parents and the students themselves, how much the students had learned so far during the year. It was a standard practice—one Sarah typically enjoyed. She was terribly proud of her students. She never minded an opportunity to let them demonstrate their learning.
It was nearly time to begin. Hastily, Sarah darted a glance to the school board members. Every one of the officials looked impatient—probably to replace her with a newer, unmarried teacher. To a man, the board members had insinuated that the “distractions” of being married had adversely affected her ability to teach. Doubtless, they all expected her students’ learning—or lack thereof—to reflect the “overly difficult workload” Daniel had complained to them about.
She knew he’d meant well. Daniel was a man, after all. It was his way to solve problems. But this one…it was a regular fix, indeed. It was true that most schoolteachers were unmarried. And that often schoolteachers retired their duties once they wed. But Sarah was different, and tonight she intended to show everyone assembled exactly that.
The schoolhouse felt jammed with people. They milled about, talking while they removed their coats. Every time a newcomer entered, the scents of tobacco, bay rum and dress starch swirled in the air, carried on a chilly December draft. Sarah sent one of the older boys to stoke the woodstove again, then called for attention.
“Thank you all very much for coming tonight,” she began. “I know the students are delighted you’re here, and so am I.”
She centered her attention on the assembled families as she went on talking. She explained the program and did her best not to let her voice quiver as she felt the intent gazes of the school board members upon her. It felt as though they measured her—as though they saw through her practiced preamble to the spelling bee—and judged her lacking.
Well. If she was about to fail—to lose her schoolteaching as abruptly and unwelcomely as she’d lost Daniel—she would not go down without a fight. Mustering a smile, Sarah introduced the first set of children. She announced their recitations, then started the applause for them herself. If nothing else, she was heartily proud of these students. They deserved a chance to shine.
The coughing and rustling in the room settled as the first child began. Holding his hands behind his back, he recited a poem in a determined voice. By the time the proceedings moved on to the spelling bee portion of the evening, Sarah felt looser. Her hands didn’t even tremble as she gripped the list of spelling bee words and took her place at the podium.
From the front row, one of the school board members looked on approvingly. He gave her a subtle nod. Jubilation shot through her. She was succeeding! Her students were performing wonderfully, right down to the smallest.
There was a general murmuring as they lined up in the front of the room. A late arrival entered, making the schoolhouse door creak. Determined not to be distracted, Sarah examined her list. She swept her gaze over the crowd, making sure she had their attention, then began.
“Supposedly,” nine-year-old Emily said a short while later. “S-u-p-p-o-s-e-d-l-y. Supposedly.”
Applause shook the rafters, exactly as it had following the last few successful spellings. The girl grinned, showing a gap in her teeth. The next round began with Eli, who’d been allowed to participate because of his delayed trip.
“Change.” He caught his lip between his teeth, pondering the word. “C-h-a-n-g-e. Change.”
“Very good.” Sarah offered him a smile.
From a few rows distant, Lillian and Lyman cheered raucously. The Crabtrees shouted encouragement.
Grinning over their enthusiasm, Sarah turned to the next student. “All right, William. Your word is ‘love.’”
The boy hesitated. Spelling was not his strong suit.
“I know that one.”
The hearty male voice came from the back of the schoolhouse. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Sarah peered in that direction. It wasn’t uncommon, in their small community, for those watching the spelling bee to become caught up in the excitement. Even grown men were liable to shout out a word.
Ready with a gentle admonishment, Sarah searched the crowd. Her reminder would be more effective if she delivered it directly to the man who’d spoken.
“Love,” he said again. “S-a-r-a-h. Love.”
Sarah stilled. That voice…
The crowd turned in obvious puzzlement. In their midst in the last row, a man stood, hat in hand. He had serious brown eyes, dark hair and resoundingly stuck-out ears. Daniel.
Her heart pounded. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid that’s not the correct spelling. If you’ll just—”
“Give me another try,” he said.
Another try. Did he mean another word? Or something entirely more meaningful? Flustered, Sarah glanced to the assembled friends, neighbors and students. She gripped the sides of her lectern with suddenly damp palms.
Her muddled mind registered that she’d never seen Daniel look so serious, so resolute…so wonderful.
“William?” she croaked. “Your word is ‘love.’”
The boy stared at Daniel, doubtless recognizing the schoolmarm’s husband from his visits. A girl nearby elbowed her neighbor and pointed. Giggles erupted.
“Love?” Sarah tried again.
A murmur rose. “Give him another try!” someone yelled.
General shouts of approval were heard. A woman in the second row nodded, as did one of the school board members. The Crabtrees looked on avidly from their seats. Little Eli watched from his place among the spelling bee participants, wearing a wide grin. There probably wasn’t a soul in Morrow Creek, Sarah realized belatedly, who did not know of the troubles between her and her husband.
“Yes,” Daniel urged. “Give me another try.”
His deep voice shook her to the core. Drawn to look at him again, Sarah could scarcely believe he was here. Here, in her spelling bee! What was he about? He didn’t look drunk. Yet to him, the spelling of love…translated to Sarah?
“You, Mr. McCabe, are a disruptive influence.” But there was a smile in her voice as she said it. There was not enough schoolmarm starchiness in the world to squelch it.
“Love,” Daniel announced again in a booming, sure voice. “S-a-r-a-h. Love. I know that one for certain.”
For certain. That could only mean…
Resolutely, Sarah managed to stay her course—albeit with a silly-feeling grin. She did her best to smother it beneath a pretend frown. Her pulse quickened still further.
“But since you seem determined to participate in the spelling bee…very well. I’ll give you one word, then we will go back to the real students.”
The crowd approved. All rustling stopped, although several more smiles could be seen. Obviously, people in town loved good gossip much more than they did a responsible spelling bee. Even the clearly tolerant and now bemused school board members.
Daniel waited, his gaze fixed on her. There was something changed about him, something solid and sure that she could not identify but liked, all the same. He straightened his spine, muscles rippling along his shoulders. He looked as ready as a man could be.
Sarah breathed in. “Your word is…‘reunion.’”
A broad grin split his face. “Reunion,” he said solemnly. “Y-e-s. Reunion.”
Tears blurred her vision. Hastily blinking them back, Sarah cleared her throat. “You’re correct, Mr. McCabe. Absolutely correct, I think. However—” here her voice wavered, tugged by emotions too powerful to contain “—you will definitely need to see the teacher after the spelling bee is finished.”
Seriously, Daniel nodded. He clenched his hat harder in his fingers, still watching her with that curious expression of his. Sarah fancied she glimpsed yearning in his face. Love, too. She didn’t doubt the same was reflected in hers.
The spelling bee finished to a rousing success. Somehow, Sarah managed to announce a few more words, then to applaud the winner. In a haze, she introduced the song finale. The students took their places, the lot of them giggling and sneaking glances toward the crowd and her.
Never had Sarah heard a song performed so rapidly. Her students sang in double-time, finishing the tune almost before she’d cued them to begin. Astonished, she gawked at them.
As a unit, they beamed mischievously back at her.
“Go, Mrs. McCabe!” One of her students stage-whispered, shooing her to the back of the schoolhouse. “Fetch your husband, afore he starts spelling badly again!”
Miraculously, when Sarah stepped forward, the crowd parted. Her friends and neighbors made way for her, leaving a trail clear to…Daniel. She saw him waiting there, looking as fine and as beloved as he ever had, and knew that these were the most important steps she would ever take.
“He’s a mighty poor speller,” O’Neill, the butcher, said as she passed. “I’m purty sure that ain’t how you spell ‘love.’”
But Sarah—S-a-r-a-h—felt heartily glad that, for Daniel at least, it was. She clenched her skirts in quivering hands and approached him, finally stopping to gaze into his face.
He seemed surpassingly pleased with himself. “I reckon I’m in a heap of trouble, if the schoolmarm wants a word with me.”
“This is a familiar sensation for you, then, is it?”
“Ahhh, Sarah.” He caught her hand, oblivious to the eagerly watching families nearby. “Nothing could be newer or better. Only it nearly took me too long to realize it.”
She hardly dared to ask. To hope. “Realize it?”
Daniel gave her a solemn look. “I love you, Sarah. I love you with all my heart and all my soul. Every time I looked at you, every time I held you in my arms, every time I said your name…what I really meant was, I love you. I love you, Sarah, and I want never to be without you.”
“You…love me?”
“I’m pretty sure I just said so.” His smile flashed, endearing and wicked. “About half a dozen times. But just in case you didn’t hear me properly…”
Daniel flung both arms outward and bellowed in a happy voice. “I love you, Sarah!”
Laughter erupted. Her friends and neighbors nudged one another, the women whispering and smiling. A few dabbed their eyes. Nearby, Marcus offered Molly a handkerchief.
“There.” Daniel drew Sarah against him, then tilted her chin up. With ridiculous fondness, he regarded her. “I know it took me a while to realize it. I’m sorry for that. If it takes me till the end of my days,” he promised, “I swear I’ll make it up to you. You’ll have more happiness than any one woman has a right to, more flowers and more sweet words and more babies than any woman has ever—”
“Babies?” Sarah gawked. Her heart already felt overflowing with love, but the notion of having children with Daniel was more than she’d hoped for. “Babies?”
“A whole passel of them,” Daniel confirmed, his dark rascal’s eyes twinkling. “As many as you want. So long as you stay with me, Sarah, so long as you let me love you forever, I could not ask for more.”
“Oh, Daniel.” Sniffling, she swabbed tears from her eyes. No ladylike tears from Sarah, she noticed with considerable chagrin. She might have known she’d bawl like a slobbering idiot, with no pretense of delicacy. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”
He thumbed a tear from her cheek. Kissed it. “I know. ’Tis what I want, for all the rest of my life. I want you, Sarah. I love you.” A cocky look crossed his face. “L-o-v-e.”
“Silly man. I always knew you could spell it.”
He shook his head. “Only with you to show me.”
“See? You’re not the only one who can teach things.” Sarah smiled, nearly overcome with the joy she felt. “Although I’m fairly certain there are still a few lessons in store for us. We should probably start studying now.”
Daniel gave her a perplexed look. “Studying?”
“Like this.”
She lifted on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. Their kiss felt warm and wonderful and exactly right. Sarah could not imagine how she’d survived the past days without it.
“Ahh. Now I remember.” Daniel winked. “That is how I finally knew—sometimes love looks like friendship. Till the kissing starts.”
She laughed. “I do love you. So much.” She touched his jaw, ran her thumb over his cheek, savored the rugged features she’d missed so much. “Let’s never be apart again. With no one to kiss me, to befuddle me, to challenge my authority over vegetables, I scarcely knew what to do with myself.”
Daniel grinned. “Let me love you. That’s all you need to remember.”
He kissed her again, stirringly. The crowd cheered.
Horsefeathers! Sarah had forgotten their presence altogether. Feeling herself blush, she pulled away.
Deliberately, Daniel caught hold of her hand and kept her beside him. His gaze flicked to the milling, interested crowd.
“Do you have to stay here?” he asked in a quiet voice. “I’d just as soon take you home and ‘study’ a little harder.”
There was nothing she wanted more than a private reunion. Taking in his merry eyes and devilish grin, Sarah felt hard-pressed to admit the truth.
“I should stay until I learn if I’ve kept my schoolteaching position or not. Until the school board members come speak with me—”
“There’ll be no need for that,” the nearest official announced. He turned, obviously having overheard part of their conversation. “After examining your students, and your obvious dedication to them, we could only come to one conclusion. We would be foolish to lose so fine a teacher in Morrow Creek.”
“Then you won’t replace me?” Sarah asked.
“We might even consider that assistant schoolmarm your husband suggested,” the board member replied, sporting an uncharacteristic grin. “Provided, of course, that he promises never to attempt public spelling again.”
Dutifully, Daniel nodded. “O-K.”
“That’s my brother for you.” Lillian approached with Lyman at her heels and Eli close behind. She shook her head in mock disapproval, but could not hide her smile completely. “A scoundrelly example to the very end.”
“No,” Daniel declared. “I have been tamed.”
The women snorted with laughter, Sarah the loudest.
“Tamed by love,” he amended firmly, and Sarah felt moved to kiss him once more.
“That’s good.” Lillian shared a coconspirator’s glance with her husband, then with Eli. “Because we’ve decided to move to Morrow Creek. Lyman, Eli and I. I’d hate for your scandalous example to—”
She broke off, muffled by an enormous hug from her brother. Daniel seemed cheered mightily by the news—so much so
that he hugged Eli and even Lyman in turn. Sarah followed his example, while the spelling bee participants and their families talked and laughed all around them.
“Did we hear correctly?” Fiona Crabtree asked from behind Sarah. She bustled nearer, along with the other Crabtrees and the Copelands. “You’re staying in the territory?”
Lillian nodded, seeming exceedingly pleased. “It was an easy decision. After all, the city is filled with soot and grime and criminals. Or so I hear. Here there is plenty of…what was it? Fishing and snakes. Isn’t that right, Daniel?”
He nodded. Fiona looked confused.
“Just accept it, my dear,” Adam advised with his usual paternal head shake. “It’s easier that way.”
“Hmmph. Try telling that to Grace.” Molly pointed.
The eldest Crabtree daughter stood nearby, decidedly not gazing at Jack Murphy. Mostly.
“Or to a certain saloonkeeper,” Marcus added.
The Irishman lounged near the schoolhouse globe, decidedly not mooning over Grace Crabtree. Nearly.
Daniel heaved a sigh. “Crabtree women are never good at giving in.” He gave Sarah’s hand a squeeze. “Fortunately for some of us, that’s exactly what we need.”
“Well, that…” Sarah replied primly, “and a few good rutabagas.”
And although it took them hours to greet their curious neighbors, and still more time after that to walk home hand in hand, they knew in their hearts that all anyone truly needed was love. Without it, life felt as nonsensical as… well, as nonsensical as a single three-foot-long, green knitted stocking.
On Christmas Eve, Sarah held up that stocking. She puzzled over it, reminded of all the silly notions that had made her knit it. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to discard it.
As though sharing her thoughts, Daniel took the enormous yarn clump from her hand. He pinned it to the mantel, then regarded its droopy, lumpy shape with evident satisfaction.
“There.” He nodded. “That ought to be big enough to hold all your wishes.”
“Nonsense.” Sarah snuggled closer, happily examining the effect. It was a fitting place, she decided. And Daniel was a wonderful man, to know her so well. “All my wishes have already come true.”
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