“I adore my flutes,” Kate said. “But I want to master the bagpipes. These are part of my heritage.”
Ewan grimaced. “You have until Christmas, then, if you want to marry me. I can’t live with a noisemaker that roars so loud and makes my ears hurt.”
Kate laughed. “You must be joking.”
Ewan shuddered. “I’m not sure.”
Chapter 5
After he finished harvesting Reverend Cummings’s fields, Ewan moved across the countryside: cutting, threshing, stacking, and stowing other farmers’ crops into barns. Some days he teamed with Malcolm to tote loads to Clarkesville or Sterling for sale, other days he manned a pitchfork and spread straw. His strong arms grew more muscular and brown in the golden late summer. He slept well at night, exhausted from the labor.
Each morning, he woke before the sun to read the family Bible and play hymns on his fiddle. The Word of God fired his brain; the music of God lubricated his spirit. By the time he reached the worksites, Ewan felt cheerful and strong, ready to take on the day with gusto.
Sundays were spent as a Sabbath rest, playing his fiddle in church, visiting with Kate and usually the officious Josiah, eating a hardy meal with the MacDougalls. His money stash was growing, but not fast enough.
On Saturday nights, even though he hated to leave Josiah visiting Kate, Ewan took to riding far into the county and playing at local harvest dances. He didn’t get paid much, but every bit counted. Ewan even contemplated putting his savings into Josiah’s bank. Compounding interest would help, too.
Most of Fairhope had finished the harvest by the end of October, and on the final Saturday night, Ewan stayed in town. He’d be fiddling for the local dance, and while he was part of the entertainment and getting paid to play, he’d still get to see Kate in her finery. Maybe he could even find an old-timer to take the fiddle and he could steal a dance himself.
A big harvest moon shone down, and lanterns hung from the trees. A crackling fire sent friendly smoke into the air and provided coals to roast ears of corn. Ewan stepped up to the church porch. The dancing would take place in the open area in front of the church. He tuned his instrument and struck up the first dance, “Turkey in the Straw.”
Folks had traveled from the outlying areas and brought picnic suppers. The dozen school children ran among the trees playing hide-and-seek, but when the music began, they circled back to watch the first reel.
Kate wore a red dress with a matching bow in her hair. Josiah Finch bowed, a stiff bend because he’d buttoned his tight vest all the way up. Ewan fingered the strings and pushed his bow fast in irritation. Finch might get every dance.
A bevy of young women he hadn’t seen in months stood beside the porch, swaying with the music, tapping their toes, and laughing up at him. They smelled of sweet soap and flowers, a bouquet of happiness at his feet. Ewan smiled in return at their enthusiasm and hoped the young men lurking by the livery stable would get up the nerve to dance with them.
Malcolm stumbled up and reached for one woman’s hand. She tittered and followed him into the reel. Ewan picked up the pace. For such a large man, Malcolm danced with nimble feet. Ewan laughed. He knew Malcolm would soon drop his jacket and turn as red as his hair from the exertion. Malcolm swung the petite girls so fast, their feet left the ground.
Ewan played favorite tunes from “Skip to My Lou” to “Barbary Allen.” The dancers spun and sang as they moved across the grass. Children lined up, adults came and went, but always Kate danced before him. When he needed a break, he signaled to Mr. MacDougall, who called for refreshments.
Kate brought him a cup of lemonade. “That was so much fun. We haven’t had a dance since you left. If you’re here this winter, perhaps we can do this more often.”
Perspiration beaded her brow and her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders. She looked adorable.
“What do you mean if I’m here?”
In the lamplight, he saw Kate blush. “Of course you’ll be here. When the cold weather sets in, we can dance at the schoolhouse.”
Ewan shook his head. “The grammar schoolhouse would be large enough if you pushed back the desks, but it’s a ways out of town. Would people go so far when they can meet here at the church?”
“We’ll ask Reverend Cummings if dancing is allowed. Are you tired?”
He grinned. “I’d fiddle for hours to watch you dance.”
Josiah loomed up, tall and lanky with a sniff above his waxed mustache. “Aren’t we paying you to play?”
Ewan nodded. “Back to work.”
Kate caught his arm. “Can I join you? I’ve brought a flute.”
He grinned. “You’re on. ‘Irish Washerwoman’?”
Dimples. “Fun!”
He began the complicated piece slowly, deliberately, as Kate found her key. She played a cane flute made from a thick reed cut that summer. The shrill sound always modulated under her breath, and he savored the string and reedy duet. After one round, he picked up the tempo. Kate kept pace, hitting all the notes cleanly and on time.
Faster.
The crowd stopped dancing to listen. Several clapped when they got to the end of the round and Kate kept up.
Faster. Faster. On the final round, she tossed back her head and laughed. “Ewan wins.”
The crowd cheered.
They played several other duets together, his fiddle calling to her flute. It felt so right to make music with her, and Ewan knew the audience appreciated them. When the moon shone full on his face, he turned to Kate and winked. Flustered, she lost her place and put her fist on her hip in mock anger.
Laughter from their audience and then a shout: “We want to dance, Ewan. Stop teasing the girl. Play another reel.”
Kate pretended to pout, but when Josiah stepped up and took her hand, she departed the steps for the dance area. She made a face at Ewan and then attended to her steps.
His heart swelled. It was enough.
“You’re making too much of the fiddler.” Josiah held her too tight and too close on the promenade.
“If you were musical, you’d understand.”
“You should not make a spectacle of yourself. Just because everyone knows you, doesn’t mean they approve of your behavior. He winked at you.”
“I would have winked back if I knew how.” Kate broke away.
“He flirts with all the girls. Look at him now.”
Sally Martin and Priscilla Trenton hovered by the porch. Ewan leaned his fiddle at them as he played and grinned.
“He’s friendly with everyone,” Kate said.
Mary Standish approached with a cup. When he finished the song, Ewan drank it in one gulp. He tapped her chin and grinned. The young woman scurried away, giggling.
Kate burned. Should he welcome and tease those girls if he loved her?
Josiah drew her into the shadow of a stand of trees. “He’s a country hick. All he knows how to do is fiddle. He can’t support you with catgut and wood. Why don’t you marry me and I’ll take you on the train to Lincoln to hear real music.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Your father thinks different. You’re young. You don’t know your own mind yet.”
“What does my father have to do with this? I do know my mind. I want,” she caught back Ewan’s name and modified her words, “to make music. You don’t even sing.”
He put his elbow on the tree trunk and leaned into her. “I sing at church, where it belongs. Music is for children. Adults don’t need panpipes and fiddles to make them happy.”
“You are misinformed,” she said coldly. “Music draws me closer to God. It makes me happy. I sing all the time and play my flute and bagpipes daily. Maybe if you made more music, you’d be happier, too.”
Josiah grabbed her wrist as she tried to spin away. “He has nothing. His dead parents were Indian lovers who lost their property. I can give you a future. He has nothing to give.”
Kate twisted out of his grip. “Ewan has what I desire: music in h
is soul and love for God.”
A shout went up, the dancing stopped, and excited jabbering filled the churchyard. Ewan tucked the fiddle under his arm and waited. Kate hurried to her mother. “What’s happened?”
Mama’s fingers went to her lips. “The schoolmarm ran off with a farmer from Dixon. She’s abandoned the school.”
“What will we do?”
Malcolm joined them. “Pa’s talking to Reverend Cummings and Mr. Finch right now. The school board will have to find a replacement. They should hire Ewan. He could teach the little students.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Kate said. “Let’s go tell them. You can demonstrate how much he’s taught you.”
“You think they’d hire Ewan because I can multiply?”
Papa thought Malcolm’s improving arithmetic skills were the miracle he’d been praying for. She knew Ewan helped the little Cummings girls with their arithmetic. It couldn’t hurt to ask.
She smiled at him across the churchyard and tried to wink. Surely that’s what being a helpmeet meant?
Chapter 6
Ewan cleared his throat. The eleven students regarded him with serious expressions. He already knew most of them, particularly the two Cummings girls who had walked him to school. Five boys and six girls ranging in ages from six to twelve were his class.
“I’m your new teacher. We’re going to have fun learning to read, write, and do arithmetic.”
Charity Cummings, six, raised her hand. “What do we call you?”
His lips twitched, but he swallowed the grin. “During the school day, I’m Mr. Murray.”
Miss Hall had worked for three weeks and obviously planned her elopement. She’d left notes about the students and thus Ewan knew their abilities. The job paid twenty dollars a month and, with his savings, would put him within range of the seventy he needed to claim Kate for his bride.
He must not think of Kate. He had a class to teach.
Still, his thoughts drifted to the cinnamon-scented bag she’d pressed into his hands this morning. Charity and Grace, the older Cummings sister, had giggled when Kate darted out of the MacDougall house carrying the sack, her glorious hair drifting in clouds and her delicate feet bare.
Ewan cleared his throat again to discipline his mind. He led the students in prayer, played a hymn on his fiddle to get their souls stirring, and then asked Grace to read the Bible story. She stumbled on the name Zaccheus. Ewan noted she read without expression and with rigid shoulders. He’d have to help her; reading should be fluid and engaging.
“Please open your McGuffey Reader to your lesson and I’ll take you in turn at the blackboard.” Ewan beckoned to the two youngest children.
Ninety minutes into the morning, he had to clench his fists to keep from fidgeting. He gazed out the east window toward the prattling creek, remembering how school days lasted an eternity during his childhood. He’d loved the lessons but had yearned to escape to recess.
As he took the older boys through the arithmetic lesson on the dusty blackboard, he noted the same hesitancy Malcolm had shown. Tommy and Jimmy were smart boys, but Ewan wondered if they had memorized the answer, rather than understood the concept. After three tries to solve the problem, he declared the lesson finished.
“Let’s run around outside for five minutes.”
Tommy’s mouth flew open. “Short recess?”
“Five minutes. When I call, each of you should go down to the creek and find ten small pebbles. Wash them and bring them back. I’ll help you, Charity.” He grasped her soft, tiny hand.
The settler who gave the land ten years before had ten children and lived on the eastern side of town. He’d been a cantankerous man and deliberately lived a fifteen-minute walk over a hill from MacDougall’s mercantile, the first building in Fairhope. By the time townspeople built a new schoolhouse closer to town, too many students had reached the upper grades and filled the new building. The younger children’s school remained out in the country.
Ewan nervously glanced to the rutted road leading past the schoolhouse into town. He knew the school board might not approve the surprise recess, but Ewan itched to get outside, and the pebbles would be part of the next lesson. Singing “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” under his breath told him when five minutes were up, and he called the students down to the creek. They clomped back to the wooden building ten minutes later to find Josiah Finch waiting for them.
“Good morning, students. My father asked me to stop by to see you on your first day with a new teacher.”
“Why are you still in Fairhope?” Ewan asked.
“I’m on my way to the train. I stopped in to see how you’re doing in your new job.”
He gestured to the students. “We’re about to work an arithmetic lesson. Gather around my desk.” He directed the giggling children to set their pebbles in straight rows.
Josiah snorted.
Charity and Silas, the six-year-olds, slowly counted their rows to make sure they had ten. Ewan directed them to take their pebbles and count them into two even piles. While they counted, he showed the remaining nine children how multiplication worked.
Two girls hesitated. They didn’t want to get their hands dirty, but the boys seized the idea. Tommy reminded Ewan of Malcolm, grabbing pebbles and putting them into the appropriate piles. Ewan finally stood back and let Tommy show the other students how it worked.
He glanced at Josiah, who returned a sneer. “You teach school by letting the children play with rocks?”
“Only to get the concepts down.”
He showed the youngest children how to add simple groups of pebbles.
When the wall clock showed noon, Ewan sent the students outside to eat dinner. He grabbed his sack and followed them with Josiah trailing behind.
Josiah clasped a hat onto his head and untied his horse. “I don’t give you much hope for success. My father said if they’re not ciphering by the end of the month, he’ll have you fired.” Josiah patted his pocket. “I’ve got his letter here, ready to be sent back east looking for another schoolmarm. Women do better with small children anyway.”
The proverb the class had read that morning and copied onto their slates flashed through Ewan’s mind: “A soft answer turneth away wrath.”
He took a deep breath and quickly counted to ten. “Why don’t you like me, Josiah?”
Josiah swung onto his horse and bent down to Ewan’s eye level. “Because you have ideas above your station, fiddler boy.” He kicked the horse onto the road to town. A cloud of dust remained behind.
Ewan shook his head and joined his students. He could hardly wait to devour Kate’s treat.
Malcolm had advanced to long division—he and Ewan worked together two nights a week on arithmetic. Papa watched with a mixture of pride and astonishment as they scratched on slates around the kitchen table. Kate embroidered a collar for her dress and talked with Ewan in between problems.
She basked in his happiness about teaching school, delighted to be a helpmeet to a young man so enthusiastic about his job. He loved all her suggestions, particularly having the students memorize poetry. “Musical words,” he called poetry, “perfect for making reading fluid.”
Once Malcolm finished his problems, Kate and Ewan retrieved their instruments and played music together. The evenings always ended on a merry note, even though Ewan refused to let her play the bagpipes in his presence. It was the only discord between them.
Other than Josiah, of course.
She could never explain about Josiah to Ewan, who grew stormy faced whenever Josiah appeared or was mentioned. Wasn’t it obvious she preferred Ewan? Didn’t he know she loved him alone?
Malcolm often slipped outside to give them private time, but Papa usually stormed in before they could exchange many intimacies.
“It’s for your own good,” Papa said one night after Ewan left. “Until the boy shows me his hard-earned cash, you’re not betrothed. I gave Josiah my word.”
Kate clenched her jaw. “I told Jos
iah no. I’m the one getting married, and I know who I love.”
“You can’t live on love, girl. He needs to be able to support you.”
“He works hard.”
Lines crossed Papa’s forehead. “I know. He’s using newfangled ways, though, to teach arithmetic, and Sam Finch doesn’t like it.”
“If it works, why does it matter?” Kate asked.
“He’s one-third of the school board. We’ll have to see how much the students learn.”
While chilly mornings were the norm and rain blew in frequently, surprising days of warm sunshine appeared in early November. Kate untied her apron one afternoon and excused herself from the mercantile. She and Malcolm were joining the grammar school students on an outing. Ewan needed their help.
Malcolm carried two sharp knives from the kitchen and a basket of Mama’s warm biscuits. As they walked down the hard-packed road lined with fields gone to straw now the harvest was done, he muttered division problems under his breath. “Do you know how easy it is to divide by ten?”
“You take away the zero or you move the decimal point.” Even as she said the words aloud, a memory tugged at her mind. Kate frowned. Had she seen a similar mistake somewhere? At the mercantile?
They heard the fiddle before they reached the school, and Malcolm chanted the times tables to the tune. They rapped on the door, and Grace Cummings let them in. Once the students and Malcolm reached “twelve times twelve is one hundred forty-four,” Ewan finished the song with a nimble run up and down the fiddle strings. “Time to visit the creek.”
Ewan led them around the schoolhouse and down to the water.
Tall willows sagged above the stream along with hickory, walnut, and fading wild plum trees. The hawthorn trees had lost their yellowed leaves and reached like spindles to the sky. The creek took a wide swing below the schoolhouse, and reeds grew thick. Ewan directed the children to remove their shoes.
“We’ve come to make reed flutes,” Kate explained. “My brother and I will do the cutting and whittling and then teach you how to blow. Find a reed about this long.” She held her hands eighteen inches apart.
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