The Wind Harp

by BJ Hoff

  “I’ll finish up, Mum. You go on out in the front room with Da and Ray. It’ll be cooler in there.”

  Her mother shook her head. Kate MacAuley wasn’t one to leave her kitchen until the last spot had been wiped clean. “Ray was going over to Tim’s, and your da will be napping by now.”

  But obviously her father wasn’t napping at all, for just then he appeared in the doorway. “Maggie? Jonathan Stuart is here wanting to see you.”

  Maggie stared at him. “Mr. Stuart? To see me?”

  “Aye. Says he has something to discuss with you.”

  Maggie frowned. What in the world would Mr. Stuart want to talk with her about? She glanced down over herself and groaned. Her apron was stained with gravy. She felt damp to the bone from dishwater and perspiration. And she knew without looking that her hair was a disaster. “I can’t let Mr. Stuart see me like this! I’m a fright.”

  Her mother was already tugging at the strings of Maggie’s apron. “Oh, you’re fine now! You mustn’t make Mr. Stuart wait while you take time to primp. Go on and see what he wants.”

  “Mum! Look at me!” Maggie threw her apron off, scarcely missing the dirty dishwater.

  “If the schoolteacher has come to the door on a Sunday afternoon,” her da broke in, “then he has something important on his mind. Come along now.”

  For no explicable reason, Maggie suddenly felt like a child again. A child whose teacher had come to call and found her playing in the mud.

  “You and Da come too.”

  “I’ll be finishing this kitchen first,” said her mother. “Then I’ll come and say hello. Go on, Maggie.”

  “I’ve already said my hellos,” Da told her. “I’ll be helping your mother.”

  Still Maggie hesitated. She fumbled with her hair, tugged her sleeves down past her elbows, and ran a hand over her skirt, which, of course, was badly wrinkled.

  Shooting her parents one more uncertain look, she sighed and left the kitchen.

  She stopped short just inside the living room—the “front room” as her parents still called it—trying not to stare at Jonathan Stuart, who was sitting on the edge of her father’s overstuffed chair. In the few weeks since she had last seen him, he had grown a mustache. It was a neat and closely trimmed mustache, but a surprise all the same.

  He smiled and stood as soon as he saw her. “Maggie. I’m sorry if I’ve come at a bad time. Your father said it was all right—”

  “Oh no. I mean, it’s not a bad time at all, Mr. Stuart. Please, sit down.”

  He hesitated, clearly waiting for her to take a chair. Maggie plopped down on her mother’s rocking chair, still feeling absurdly childlike and at a loss. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find that her feet weren’t touching the floor but swinging above it, as they had when she was six years old.

  She couldn’t have looked worse, she was sure of it. Damp and disheveled, she probably smelled like fried chicken and gravy. A touch of her hand to her temple confirmed that the steamy heat of the kitchen had caused her hair to frizz about her face.

  Mr. Stuart was, of course, his usual natty self. Trust the man to look unwrinkled and totally unfazed by the sultry day. Not a fair hair out of place, as always, with his snowy white shirt starched and crisp, his pale blue tie perfectly knotted.

  The man had no wife, so how did he manage to always appear so impeccably groomed and spiffy?

  It occurred to Maggie that while her former teacher had always been a well-favored man—half the girls in school had had a terrible crush on him, herself included—he had grown even more handsome with age. What was he now? Thirty-five? No, he’d have to be older than that. She had been out of school for eight years. He must be nearing forty if not more. Not for the first time, she was struck by the reality of how young he’d actually been all those years ago. Because his illness at that time had taken such a dreadful toll on him, she hadn’t realized just how young.

  It occurred to her that she was being rude. He was just sitting there, watching her with an uncertain smile while she indulged in her bad habit of woolgathering.

  “If you’re busy, Maggie—”

  “No, not a bit. I mean, I was. But I’m not now.” She was actually stammering. “Isn’t it—hot?” she managed to say. Well, that would certainly convince him that she was the same clever girl she’d been under his tutelage.

  He nodded. “I’m quite ready for fall.”

  Come to think of it, Mr. Stuart didn’t seem to be all that comfortable himself. Perhaps he was embarrassed for her, given her appearance?

  “Maggie, let me get right to it. Ray told me you’re staying in Skingle Creek, that you’re not going back to Chicago.”

  Maggie nodded. What Ray couldn’t have told him, of course, was that she was already regretting the decision she’d made, already missing her friends and the children at Hull House in the worst way.

  “I was surprised, to say the least. I thought you were happy working for Miss Addams.”

  “Oh, I was. I loved it there. But it—well, it just seems that this isn’t a good time for me to leave again.”

  “You’re worried about your father.”

  Maggie glanced around to make sure her father was out of earshot. “I am, yes. But that’s not the only reason I decided to stay.”

  Although he had touched on an awkward subject, Maggie finally relaxed a little. This was Mr. Stuart, after all. The one adult she had trusted as much as her own parents when she was a child. She sensed he hadn’t changed. There was the same steady kindness in his dark eyes, the same concern he had always held for his students, the same low gentleness in his tone of voice.

  Clearly he was waiting for her to say more.

  “It seems to me that my mother needs me here.” Again Maggie glanced around before going on. “She didn’t ask me to stay. In fact, I’m afraid she felt bad that I insisted. But Da can’t do as much as he used to, and that puts more on Mum. She’s…in truth, Mr. Stuart, I don’t believe she’s all that strong anymore. All these years of working so hard every day—perhaps it’s catching up with her. She doesn’t keep up as well as she used to.”

  He gave a slow nod. “No doubt you’re right, although it’s difficult for me to think of your parents as being any different than they’ve always been. I can’t see that your mother has aged a bit over the years. And Matthew—” he smiled. “Well, he’s still a fortress of a man.”

  “I’m afraid the fortress has crumbled a bit,” Maggie said. “Da has a lot of pain, Mr. Stuart. Mum says it never quite goes away. And then there’s this…terrible tension between him and Ray.”

  She stopped, unwilling to breach the privacy her family held so sacred, even with Jonathan Stuart, although she knew nothing she said would ever be repeated outside of this room.

  But again he nodded, as if he already knew at least a little about the situation. “Ray thinks he needs to quit school and go to work in the mines.”

  “He told you?”

  “No—your father did.”

  Maggie shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew her da and Mr. Stuart had become good friends over the years. Still, it wasn’t like Matthew MacAuley to confide in anyone except Maggie’s mother… and sometimes not even her.

  “Then you probably know that Da hates the very thought of Ray going into the mines. And so do I. Ray’s bright—very bright—and he should get as much education as possible. Poor Mum! She’s caught in the middle. She wants the best for Ray, but she worries herself sick over Da having to work so hard, given the way his back and leg plague him.”

  Maggie felt a drop of perspiration trickle down the side of her face, and she reached to dab it. “I can’t leave. I’d not draw an easy breath if I did. So I’ll be staying. At least for now.”

  He studied her for a moment. “So—it wouldn’t do for me to try to convince you that you deserve to live your own life? You’re what now, Maggie? Twenty-two, twenty-three?”

  “Twenty-four. And no, I don’t suppose even you could cha
nge my mind, Mr. Stuart, although I value your opinion as I always have. I’ve already written to Miss Addams to tell her I’m not coming back.”

  He searched her face for another moment, and then got to his feet and went to stand with his back to the window, still watching her. “Well then, that’s that. I wanted to make sure your decision was final before I offered you a job.”

  Maggie stared at him. “A job?”

  “A teaching position.”

  “You mean…at the school?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I should think so.”

  “But I thought you already had a second teacher.”

  His expression sobered somewhat. “Carolyn Ross, you mean. Here’s the situation. Mrs. Ross originally hired on as school secretary, expecting to work only half-days. When she saw that I was getting farther and farther behind, what with trying to maintain the position as principal and being the only teacher, she agreed to work full-time, taking the youngest students in the morning and tending to her secretarial duties in the afternoon. We’ve reached the point, however, where we actually need another teacher so Carolyn—Mrs. Ross—can function as a full-time secretary.”

  Maggie hoped her excitement wasn’t too obvious, but this was more than she had hoped for. A teaching position—and one with Jonathan Stuart at that! “The town has grown that much?” she asked, forcing a note of calm into her voice.

  He nodded. “It may not look like it, but it has. I imagine the student enrollment is half again what it was when you were in elementary. There are a number of things I’d like to implement both as principal and teacher, but I can’t find time enough for everything. I can’t tell you how pleased I was when the board recently authorized the hiring of another teacher.”

  He stopped, lifted his head a little, and looked directly at her. “I’m hoping you might consider the position, Maggie. No doubt the money wouldn’t be what you’re used to, but I expect it would pay better than most anything else you’ll find in Skingle Creek—if you’re planning to work, that is.”

  “Of course I need to work,” Maggie said. “In fact, I’ve already been going about from place to place, looking for something. But so far the only offer I’ve had was from Mr. Ferguson at the company store. And that would be only a few hours a week.”

  “Well, naturally, I don’t need your answer today,” Mr. Stuart said, “but I hope you’ll give it serious consideration.”

  Maggie knew she probably should at least appear to be more professional, more mature. But then, this was Mr. Stuart, and if he remembered much about her at all, he already knew that a cool head had never been one of her strengths.

  “Oh, I don’t have to consider it, Mr. Stuart. I’ll take the job.”

  It gratified her no end to see his expression brighten. “Well, that’s wonderful! But are you quite sure you don’t want to think about it…perhaps talk with your parents?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No. In truth, I’ve been praying for days for a job—anything at all that would allow me to earn my keep and help my parents so Ray can stay out of the mines. This is far better than anything I hoped for. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your thinking of me.”

  “You’re the first person I thought of, Maggie. How often does a town the size of Skingle Creek manage to come across a teacher with your qualifications?” He paused. “When do you think you might start?”

  “As soon as you want me. Tomorrow’s Monday. What about tomorrow?”

  He laughed. “You always were decisive. I’d love for you to start tomorrow. But are you sure you don’t need more time?”

  “Wouldn’t it be good to start as soon as possible, before things get too far along?” Maggie asked. “School’s been in session, what—only a week?”

  “Exactly a week. And if you’re serious about starting tomorrow, I couldn’t be happier. It might be good if you could come early, perhaps an hour or so before class takes up, so I can help you get settled. Would that be possible?”

  By this point, Maggie could scarcely control her excitement. “Mr. Stuart, I’m so eager to get back to teaching again I’ll be there before the sun comes up if you want! I’ve been missing my children at Hull House terribly. I can’t wait to have a class again.”

  His gaze went over her face, and Maggie fervently wished she could have been freshly groomed—and more composed. And she probably should have at least pretended to be less eager.

  But when his smile came, she didn’t regret that she’d allowed her feelings to show. It was the same slow, fond smile that had always made her feel special.

  Not that his smile had ever been for her alone. In truth, Jonathan Stuart had a way about him that could make even the most timid and retiring child feel favored and important. All his students believed they were special to him. No doubt they still did. As his student, Maggie had thought Jonathan Stuart a great man, a man with whom she would have trusted her life. And now, more than a decade later, the depth of kindness reflected in his eyes, the strength engraved upon his good, lean face, told her the years hadn’t changed him.

  The thought of working each day under the supervision of this man, a man who had had such an incredible impact on her life, who had played such a significant part in her becoming a teacher to begin with, made her catch her breath.

  If her sisters had been here, no doubt they would have teased her about being “sweet” on the teacher. Well, perhaps she did still have a bit of a crush on Jonathan Stuart. He had once been her hero, after all, when she’d been an impressionable—and wounded—child. And he’d just made himself a hero in her eyes again by offering her a job that would certainly appear to be an answer to her prayers.

  Jonathan Stuart was entirely deserving of her admiration. Even so, she would make quite sure he never caught her acting like a smitten schoolgirl. She would be professionalism itself. She would be such a good teacher—an outstanding teacher—that he would soon realize his faith in her had in no way been misplaced. Indeed, she intended to waste no time in proving herself worthy of his admiration.

  Chapter Two

  Autumn Afternoon

  Dream not of noble service elsewhere wrought;

  The simple duty that awaits thy hand

  Is God’s voice uttering a divine command,

  Life’s common deeds build all that saints have thought.

  Minot F. Savage

  Jonathan Stuart knew this scene by heart. Every day for two weeks now he had stood at the schoolhouse window watching Maggie and the younger students at their afternoon recess. He never tired of the picture they made. Maggie, tall, slender, and as graceful as a young willow, could move as quickly as any one of her young charges. At the moment they had her surrounded under the old hickory tree, no doubt pestering her for yet another race across the school yard.

  She shook her head, laughing as she gathered little Iris Gundy into her arms and swung her around. Jonathan smiled with her as he watched. Maggie’s hair had escaped the clasp that usually secured it at her neck, and the late September sun glanced upon it, setting it ablaze in a flash of copper fire.

  Jonathan lost his smile, quickly turning his attention across the road where the early autumn sun had glazed the hills a brilliant crimson and gold. Despite the season’s beauty, something about this time of year, when the shadows grew longer and the days began to grow shorter, never failed to evoke an aching sense of melancholy in him. Old, all-but-forgotten dreams and nameless longings that lay buried throughout the other seasons parted the veils of memory and nagged at him again.

  The sound of the children’s laughter—and Maggie’s—drifted through the partly open window, and he made an effort to shake off the encroaching gloom to his spirit. The older students had congregated together near the pump, claiming their last drinks of cold water while they could. He should ring the bell soon to call them back inside, but he was reluctant to let go of the scene before him.

  “Jonathan? Do you have a moment for a question?”

  Jonathan
wheeled around to find Carolyn Ross standing just inside the room, watching him. He felt an unreasonable flush of embarrassment, as if he’d been caught eavesdropping.

  “A question? Of course.” He motioned that she should come in, then went to his desk. Her eyes never left his face as she walked the rest of the way into the room. He liked Carolyn, he really did, but at times she made him inexplicably uncomfortable.

  She had a way of scrutinizing him as if she were trying to see inside him, past a shuttered window. She was an attractive woman. Well, more than attractive if he were to be altogether honest. In her mid-thirties, she had the kind of creamy smooth skin that would age slowly if at all, and eyes so dark they seldom betrayed any hint of expression. Graced with a face and figure that a man couldn’t help but notice, she also possessed keen intelligence and a generous sense of humor. Moreover, she was efficient to a fault, a stickler for detail, and somehow made even the largest tasks seem ridiculously easy to tame. Jonathan sometimes wondered if she shouldn’t be principal instead of him.

  Carolyn Ross and her husband had moved to Skingle Creek about five years ago, when they bought the Dunbar family’s mill and surrounding property. Unfortunately David Ross died the same year. After selling the mill back to Milton Dunbar, Carolyn moved into town.

  At the time, Jonathan wondered why she’d stayed on. She had no family in the immediate vicinity, no children in school, no other ties to the community. He couldn’t help but admire the woman. Certainly he enjoyed working with her, even though at times he felt a prickle of annoyance at the way she seemed inclined to…hover over him. As if perhaps he couldn’t quite manage things on his own. She noticed the slightest lapse on his part: such as not wearing a muffler on a cold day or not always using his eyeglasses for close work. Sometimes she would chide him for the careless quality of his lunches, and for the next two or three days she might bring in an extra apple or a pastry and put it on his desk.