“When I saw Josh lying there—” Grant’s voice broke. His chin dropped to his chest, and his shoulders rose and fell as if he hadn’t taken a breath in hours and was only just now remembering how. He whispered, “I thought he was dead. I thought my son was—” Grant’s gloved hand came up and covered his eyes.
Hannah didn’t know what to say. She wanted to hold him, comfort him. But it was completely improper. His shoulders trembled.
Her arms went around him. “I’m so glad he’s going to be okay.”
The touch must have helped because he lifted his head and glanced down at her. They were too close. The silent night, the bank of endless stars, the gentle cold breeze, her warm arms, their eyes. . .
She jerked away. Faced forward. “We’d better get home. I’ve got school tomorrow.” Because something had stirred in her, in a deep place, a place she didn’t know she had, she spoke brusquely, “And your children had better be there. No excuses.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grant give his head a shake and scrub his face with his hands. “They’ll be there, Hannah.”
Hoping to regain the distance she wanted between them, Hannah did her best to annoy him. “It’s Miss Cartwright.”
There was an extended silence. Hannah refused to look sideways to see what Grant was waiting for. She was afraid she knew.
At last he sighed so deeply the air might have come all the way from his toes. “Fine!” With a slap of leather, he set the team trotting. They started the ascent up the mountain at a pace far faster than the last time.
The snow was melted mostly away so possibly this was a normal speed for the horses, but Hannah suspected it had a lot more to do with getting rid of her. For the next few minutes, Hannah had her hands full keeping her seat.
They came down the other side, and as they leveled off, Grant said in a voice that sounded like he had to drag the words out of his throat, “As to your none-too-sneaky hint that I might have given the boy a beating, I didn’t. I was gone because I spent the afternoon hunting for answers. Josh isn’t a boy to go falling off a mountain. He’s agile and quick. The trail was one that’d make a mountain goat think twice, but Josh scaled it all the time. What happened to him was no accident.”
“You mean someone attacked him?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“But who?” Hannah’s breath came in shallow pants as she remembered so many experiences with violence in her past.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find the truth. But I should have stayed with the children. You’re right. They needed me.”
Grant sighed as the wagon pulled into Sour Springs. “Please don’t repeat what I’ve said. For now, until we can figure out what happened, we want everyone to believe Joshua fell by accident.”
As Grant stopped the horses in back of the diner, a swish of skirts drew Hannah’s eye. The seamstress who had been in Stroben’s Mercantile that first night came out of her shop and headed for them like she was a magnet and Grant was true north. Grant saw the woman—Prudence, Hannah remembered—and jerked as if he’d been bee stung. The woman must mean something to him.
His shoulders slumped, and he swung himself down off the high seat. He made a move to round the back of the wagon, but the tall, slender woman cut him off. A trained cow pony couldn’t have done it better.
“Grant, I saw you coming into town. I wondered if you’d like to come over tonight. Last time the weather stopped you.”
“Uh. . .hi there. . .uh. . .”
There’d been a last time? They must be seeing each other. That moment on the drive, when their eyes caught, flared to vivid life—if he was seeing Prudence, he shouldn’t be looking at Hannah that way. Heat crawled up her neck, and she was thankful for the dark that covered her blush. Of course someone as handsome as Grant would be thinking of finding a wife. But where in heaven’s name did the man intend to put her in that tiny house?
Prudence rested her hand on Grant’s arm in a way that Hannah found far too familiar for a public street. Of course there was no public, only Hannah, and she quite obviously didn’t count.
All Hannah’s haranguing about having no mother for his children now echoed like pure foolishness in her ears. But why hadn’t he told her? Why had he let her go on and on if he was already thinking to take a wife? And a tall wife, graceful and beautifully dressed, too. Nothing like Hannah in her rags.
Hannah realized she was staring. She also realized she’d expected Grant to help her down off the wagon. He had last night. Well, she’d fall down before she’d stare at the couple a second longer.
She heard the murmur of voices, which she studiously ignored. She reached the ground with just enough clumsiness to feel even more foolish than she already did. Her skirt snagged on a step and she pulled it quickly free. But there was no reason to be embarrassed; the couple never glanced her way.
She took a quick peek and saw Prudence snuggled up against Grant. Hannah hoped he didn’t behave like this in front of his children.
Hannah’s temper rose. She squashed it. And she wasn’t going to just run away. She lifted her voice so Grant could hear her over the sweet nothings he was no doubt whispering to Prudence. “I’ll expect your children at school tomorrow, Grant. If they’re not there, I’m coming out to get them.”
Grant lifted his head and took a step toward her, dragging Prudence along as if she’d forgotten to take her claws out of him. Prudence was enough of a drag to stop him, and he didn’t seem inclined to fight her off. “I’m planning on them being there.”
Hannah jerked her chin up and down—which he might not have even seen in the darkness, especially with Prudence as a distraction. Then Prudence closed any gap that there was between her and Grant.
Hannah turned and rushed inside—which was completely different than running away.
Feeling pure envy, Grant watched that pest Hannah run away.
Sure, she was running from him, but she had the extra treat of getting far away from Shirt Lady. Grant wanted to run himself. If he could only dislodge the woman’s fingernails. He gave a second of thanks to God that he was wearing a coat or she’d leave scars.
Her grip reminded him of last Saturday when he’d had to practically fight her off to get Charlie and Libby. It also reminded him of his bucket of eggs and the impression he’d had of someone lurking around his wagon that night. His chickens were doing well, and he’d planned to do some trading in the general store. He didn’t think much about the eggs. But the bucket hadn’t turned up along the trail, so they hadn’t fallen out of his wagon. Right now he’d rather be talking with an egg thief than dealing with this woman and her fingernails.
He endured Shirt Lady’s brainless chatter for as long as he could, worrying about getting home to Josh and thinking about what a nuisance Hannah was and how nice it was that she’d brought her little nuisance self out to watch his children today. Now the young’uns were home alone while Grant stood here trying to be polite to a woman whose name he’d made a deliberate effort to not learn. All he knew was the lady was always and forever talking about making him a new shirt.
Grant glanced down, remembering he’d torn to shreds his best shirt to make bandages for Josh. That now-destroyed shirt was little better than a rag before he’d taken it straight off his back but a lot better than the one he now wore.
The woman finally took a breath, and Grant near to knocked her over taking possession of his arm. He thought she might have left scratch marks, even through his buckskin coat.
“I’ve left the young’uns alone too long.” He vaulted onto the wagon seat. It occurred to him that Shirt Lady hadn’t come out to check on things today. Half the folks in town had come. They’d offered food, their strength, their support, their prayers. Shirt Lady hadn’t so much as asked after Josh, even now. No possible way she could have missed what happened with all the effort Ian and Will had made to put the word out Josh had amnesia. Any decent person would now ask which boy was hurt and inquired aft
er his health. She just hadn’t cared.
He saw that same sour expression on her face that had been there before when he’d talked about his children. She looked up at him on the high seat. “But Grant, what about coming over?”
“I’ve got to get home.” Why would she even want to pass a moment of her time with him if she didn’t like children? It just didn’t stand to reason. It was on Grant’s tongue to say something mannerly about “another time,” but he feared if he started talking something rude might come out. The best he could manage was, “Evenin’, Miss. . . .” He jerked on the brim of his Stetson and slapped the reins on his horses’ backs so hard he owed the poor critters an apology. Well, too bad. They weren’t gettin’ one. Helping him escape was part of their job.
He saw Shirt Lady jump back. She dodged the wagon. Good, if he’d run over her toes he’d’ve had to stop and take her to the doctor.
Grant promptly dismissed What’s Her Name from his thoughts and quarreled inside his head with Hannah all the ride home.
SIXTEEN
You may close your books, children. Class dismissed for recess.” The children dashed out the door.
Hannah waited until the last one left, then buried her face in her hands and wept. She did her best to muffle the sound, but she couldn’t control the shuddering of her shoulders and the quiet, choking sobs. She gave herself up to it completely, knowing these tears would just have to run their course. She’d be fully recovered by the time her students came back.
A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jerked her head up, mortified. Marilyn looked down at her with a kind smile.
Hannah had a split second to wonder if this particular student was older than she. Then she took another split second to wonder just how old either of them was. Chances were no one really knew.
“Don’t cry, Miss Cartwright. You should be happy. You’re a wonderful teacher.”
Hannah really needed to cry for just a few minutes, but with Marilyn watching, she got a grip on herself. Her shoulders stopped quivering. She sniffed and blew her nose with the handkerchief she clutched in her hands. She wiped her eyes and struggled with the last few tears. Her lower lip trembled. “You should be outside playing.”
With a smile, Marilyn said, “I’ll leave in just a minute.”
The stern look Hannah tried to muster was ruined by the hiccups. At last she managed a weak smile. “It’s really going well, isn’t it?”
“You know pride is a sin, Miss Cartwright.” Marilyn straightened and showed no sign of leaving.
Since she was caught anyway, Hannah decided she was glad for the company to interrupt her foolish tears of joy. She dabbed at her eyes. “And why do you mention pride?”
“Because you’re so proud of yourself for the way things went this morning.” Marilyn’s smiled broadened, her blue eyes flashing with pleasure as she gently teased. “I don’t think it’s a sin for me to be proud of you, though.”
“Are you proud of me?” Hannah leaned forward. “Did it go as well as I think?”
Marilyn nodded. “I’ve just come to live with Grant recently. Before that, well, there was never much time for schooling, but I did manage to do some learning. I think you have a rare gift for working with children. I’d say you’ve done it before a lot, haven’t you.”
“I’ve never taught a school before. This is my first time.”
“There are other ways to work with children, other ways to teach besides in front of a classroom.” Marilyn sighed. “I’ve done some teaching myself in the orphanage where I lived before I ran off.”
Needing to get on with preparing for the rest of the morning classes, Hannah said, “You’d better go on out. Charlie isn’t one to let anyone push him around. Maybe you can keep the peace.”
“I’ll go. I just thought you looked a little wobbly, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I am now. I’ll come out and watch recess in just a minute.”
“No hurry.” Marilyn pulled a sandwich wrapped in a square of fabric out of her coat pocket. “Pa sent way too much food with us today. He must have packed it thinking Joshua was still going to school. Sadie and I pack the lunches, but he came in after chores and threw a few more things in. I can’t possibly eat three sandwiches, two apples, and six cookies. I don’t want Pa to feel bad if I don’t finish it though.” Marilyn laid the sandwich on Hannah’s desk.
Hannah felt her stomach growl. She’d had no breakfast. She wouldn’t have money to eat until her first pay came. It frightened her when she dared to think of it, because that might be a month away. The only food she’d had since she arrived at Sour Springs had come from eating at Grant’s. But Hannah would never take food out of a child’s mouth. And Marilyn was thin already. “Uh. . .I don’t think I should.”
“It’d help me out if you took it.”
Hannah realized that part of the reason she’d broken into tears was because she felt so shaky from hunger. Marilyn set the food on her desk, holding Hannah’s gaze. Hannah didn’t look at the sandwich because she was sure Marilyn would see hunger. Marilyn no doubt had plenty of experience with the feeling.
“Take it. There’s plenty more for me. I wouldn’t lie to you, Miss Cartwright.”
“Thank you.” Hannah noticed the faint trembling of her hand as she reached for the sandwich. “That’s really generous of you.”
“I can handle whatever trouble comes up outside. You should eat your lunch early. You’ll need the energy for class. You look like you skipped breakfast this morning.”
Hannah couldn’t even control her hunger long enough to let Marilyn leave the classroom. She bit into the hearty roast beef sandwich and chewed slowly to make it last. She didn’t know where her next meal might come from.
As soon as her hunger eased, Hannah reflected on the morning. She had worried that Grant’s children might be well behind others their ages, but all of them were quite well educated. The older girls, Marilyn and Sadie, stepped in so willingly and helped with the younger ones—all of them, not just their own brothers and sisters—Hannah nearly had two other teachers in the room.
Sadie had a voice that would stop a naughty little boy in his tracks. She must have had considerable practice making little brothers and sisters mind. Hannah was distracted by envy every time Sadie verbally cracked the whip.
Marilyn had a comforting touch that made children turn to her like flowers turning toward the sun. If anyone cried, whether from hurt feelings or a scratch, Marilyn went to the child before Hannah could so much as move.
She had thirty-two students; many had to sit three to a desk so everybody would fit. But they shared with good spirits, listened when she taught, and studied quietly when she worked with others. She’d spent the morning quickly dividing them into classes and starting their lessons.
Learning was the important thing. If only she could educate them so they’d never be forced into mill work or, because of illiteracy, have no prospects of any jobs. She believed giving them an education could be the difference between life and death for some of them. It might be the difference between keeping their own children or sending them off to orphanages. With a kind of desperate urgency, Hannah taught them words and numbers to put them one step further from the awful fate that could await the uneducated.
The morning had gone wonderfully. Once her sandwich was finished, she went out and observed the playground. There was lots of running and shouting, but everything looked peaceful.
Emory Harrison, a first-grader in the same class as Benny, sidled over to Sadie and, wide-eyed with curiosity, asked, “Why do you have black skin?”
Hannah froze, afraid that this could bloom into trouble.
Sadie pointed to a big, dark freckle on Emory’s arm. “I’ve got that kinda skin all over.”
The boy stared at his arm a moment then nodded and went back to playing.
Hannah found an apple on her desk when she came in from watching the children during the noon recess. She found two cookies after the
afternoon recess. She knew Marilyn had left them, except once she caught a gleam in Sadie’s eyes that made her wonder about the apple. And Libby grinned at her impishly when Hannah asked about the cookies. No one would admit to leaving the food. Not knowing what to do, Hannah slipped the treats into her desk drawer for later.
The rest of the day went well, and Hannah went back to her cold room. There’d be no supper, but her stomach wasn’t painfully empty as she’d expected.
The sun set early in the Texas January, and with no time wasted preparing an evening meal, and no light from a lantern because she had no oil, she looked out the single narrow window overlooking Sour Springs. She saw again the window in the living quarters of Prudence’s sewing shop. And again she saw a second figure, just as she had on the night of the blizzard. Of course it wasn’t late. Anyone could have dropped by for a visit. Anyone. . .including Grant.
Even after such a brief acquaintance, Hannah had a hard time believing Grant would go out on a date the day after Joshua was so badly hurt.
The curtains were drawn, but they weren’t heavy enough to block out the pair of silhouettes. Hannah turned her back on the sight and on her roiling emotions.
SEVENTEEN
Hannah got to school early the next morning. She had a complex arithmetic problem she needed to explain to her older students and she wanted to review.
Hannah was distracted from her studying when four ladies and two men, looking grim, stormed into the schoolhouse.
“Can I help you?” Hannah smiled, rising from behind her desk, but her stomach sank as she studied the somber crowd. She recognized Quincy Harrison from the interview for her job. The others were familiar faces from around town, but she didn’t know them by name.
The six people approached her desk and stood without speaking for a moment, until one particularly sour-faced woman poked the man beside her. “Get on with it, Quincy.”
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