by Jodi Thomas
Hannah moved past him, running toward the side door of the barn. “I’ve looked everywhere inside.” She had on the nightshirt and robe he’d given her. The breeze caught her hem.
He thought of ordering her nightclothes tomorrow, but he kind of liked her wearing his. She certainly looked different in them. With the wind pulling at the cotton, he saw the outline of her long, slender body beneath the layers of clothing.
“Did you search the room I slept in?” Ford shouted, trying to clear his mind of the way she looked.
“Yes,” she answered as she fought with the heavy door. “Once before I took my bath and again a few minutes ago. He’s gone.”
They walked every foot of the barn and found nothing but two milk cows, a dozen chickens, four horses, and countless doves along the top rafters. Next they searched the open space between the barn and the house, then the land between the house and the canyon. Nothing.
As they strolled back to the house, Ford tried to sound reassuring. “Don’t worry. He’ll come home. We’ll leave the kitchen window open enough for him to climb in. You know what they say, no one owns a cat. They just decide to live with you.” He could tell Hannah was near tears.
“Sneeze is all I have. He’s been with me since my mother died when I was twelve. He thinks he has to go everywhere I go.”
Ford wished he could reach out and hold her, but she’d set the rules. No touching in private.
He held the door for her as they entered. When he turned, deciding after this morning he’d be wise to lock his house, Hannah let out a cry of joy.
Glancing over his shoulder, Ford saw the cat spread out on a blanket by the rocker. Hannah ran over and knelt in front of the animal, hugging him wildly.
Sneeze looked disinterested in the exchange, but Ford’s hand was shaking for the first time in his life as he threw the bolt across the door. He’d lived twenty-five years and no one had ever been so glad to see him.
Hannah left the cat to his nap and smiled as she stood. “Thanks for helping me look.”
Ford’s knuckles whitened on the doorknob as he fought to keep from moving toward her. “I’m just glad you’re finally talking to me.”
Hannah looked down at her hands. “I know how you see me, and nothing can change the way you feel. But there’s no reason we can’t at least speak to one another when we’re alone.”
Ford had no idea what she was talking about, and decided if he asked he’d only be bringing whatever made her mad to the surface again. “I wouldn’t mind having someone to sit down to dinner with at night, if that’s not breaking the agreement too much.”
“All right.”
“And you don’t have to work so hard around the place. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to hard work.”
He thought of saying that he didn’t think thieving would be all that hard of a job, but he didn’t think she’d take to teasing.
“Well, I’ll turn in now,” he moved toward his bedroom door. He wasn’t the least bit tired, but he couldn’t just stand in the middle of the room staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. “Tomorrow morning I’ll take you up to the school.”
“I’m not sure I’ll sleep tonight, worrying about what to teach in the morning. I only went to school for a short while. We moved around a great deal, and after Mother died there was no time.”
Ford knew he was fishing for something to delay bedtime, but he didn’t want to go into his room alone and lie awake thinking about the way she’d looked in the wind with her hair blowing around her and the nightshirt and robe pulled tight against her. “Why don’t you start with a story. I had a teacher who used to read us stories, and I think that was my favorite time in school.”
Hannah opened her palms. “I have no books.”
“But I do.” Ford smiled. “I’ve been collecting books all my life.” He crossed to the windows to two long chests. Lifting the lid on the first one, he smiled. “I’ve got everything from Edgar Allan Poe to fairy tales around here somewhere.” He shoved several books out of the way. “I’m guessing you don’t want Keats or Shelley. Ah, here we are, the brothers Grimm fairy tales. My mother used to read the tales in German, but I ordered this rather questionable translation last year. I also have a rather fine collection of Hans Christian Andersen stories.”
“Would you read me one?”
Ford’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He’d spent many a winter night reading aloud to himself just to hear the sound of a voice, but to read to someone else? “Which one?”
Hannah didn’t want to admit that she’d never heard any of the stories by Andersen, so she said, “Any one. How about your favorite.”
Ford thumbed through the book. “Well, I like ‘Little Claus and Big Claus,’ but the children will probably like ‘The Ugly Duckling’ the best.”
Hannah curled up in a corner of the couch, listening, while Ford folded into his rocker by the fire. His voice was strong and the words he read seemed to tumble out before them, building a story.
When he finished the story, he looked up at Hannah and closed the book.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “No one has ever read me a story like that before.”
“I’ll read you one every night, if you like.” Ford shifted in his chair.
“I’d like that very much.” Hannah stood and gathered Sneeze in her arms. She was at her door before she turned. “One more thing.”
Ford held the book tightly in his hands as he forced himself not to move from the chair.
“When I’m dead next month, would you mind greatly if I was buried in that quilt your sister is making us?”
Ford’s rich laughter filled the space between them. “Of course not. I’ll tell Gavrila you loved the quilt so much you couldn’t bear to be separated from it. She’ll be happy and I’ll be rid of the thing.”
Hannah disappeared behind her door without another word.
Ford rocked back in his chair, picturing how proud Gavrila would be that her quilt was used to line the casket. She’d never know it would be the only thing in the coffin.
The smile left his face when he heard Hannah push the bolt across her door. She didn’t have to lock herself in. He would never bother her. There were a hundred invisible locked doors keeping them apart. The little bolt across her door would do no good if Ford thought she wanted him. But she didn’t, just like every other woman he’d ever met in his life. The ugly duckling might turn into a swan, but a hundred years could pass and Ford Colston still wouldn’t be handsome.
Chapter 8
THE AIR WAS crisp and newborn as Ford and Hannah crossed the distance between Canyon’s Rim and town. Except for a few sturdy mesquite bushes and yucca plants, the terrain was so flat and endless Hannah thought she could see the earth curve far in the distance. Low clouds banked to the north, looking like a blue mountain range, with the sky watery gray above and earth almost colorless beneath. There was a loneliness about this land, a loneliness that must seep into the very hearts of the people who lived here.
Ford hadn’t said more than a few words to her since dawn, but Hannah didn’t mind. Her thoughts were focused on how she could act the part of a schoolteacher for a month. She knew she couldn’t read the stories as smoothly as Ford had, and her writing needed work. When Hannah was a child, her mother had always been content to let her draw on any paper they found and never encouraged her to practice reading or writing.
“Don’t be nervous.” Ford broke the silence as they saw the outline of town. “My guess is, after having Gavrila for a few weeks, the students would love anyone.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged.
“No,” he quickly added, “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. You’ll do fine. After all, there are only about twelve or thirteen students, best as I remember. How much trouble could a dozen children be?”
Hannah didn’t even want to guess. She’d said she was the schoolteacher to get a ride, she’d never thought she’d have to
prove the lie true.
“Fellow tried to open a saloon in Saints Roost a while back.” Ford seemed to be talking to help her relax. “The whole town got upset and ran him off. We’ve been using the little building he built behind White and Rosenfield’s store for the schoolhouse ever since.”
“Wonder if he left a few bottles. I could use a drink about now.” Hannah was kidding, but the look on Ford’s face told her he believed her request.
Something snapped inside her. If he was going to believe the worst about her, she might as well prove him correct. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink?”
“No.” Ford seemed to be forcing his voice to be conversational. “Do you?”
“I’ve been known to down a few,” she lied. The truth was, she’d cleaned up after so many drunks in the café that even the smell of whiskey made her ill. “Sleeping all day and drinking all night, now that’s the life.”
“You aren’t planning on drinking while you’re here, are you?” He glanced from the road to her. His dark blue-gray eyes were troubled but his jaw was rock hard, as though he’d face any problem head-on.
“What!” Hannah acted shocked. “Another rule? First I can’t steal and now you’re ending my drinking. Is there no fun in this town? Next thing you know, I won’t be allowed to gamble.”
“I’d think you could stay honest and sober for a month.” He relaxed his grip on the reins, guessing that she might be teasing. “As for gambling, you’d have to have a partner in that crime, and there would be none here. So no poker, Mrs. Colston. The gamble we took with this marriage was chance enough.”
Hannah raised her chin. “It’s a lot to ask, Brother Colston.”
He pulled the wagon behind White’s store. “I realize that, darlin’.”
Several people were milling around, doing their best to act as if they weren’t watching the newlyweds.
Ford jumped from the wagon and raised his arms to Hannah. As he lifted her to the ground, he brought her body close to his, so close her dress brushed against his wool jacket. When her feet touched the ground, he didn’t immediately release her. The feel of her so near brought an unexpected warmth to the chilly day. He couldn’t hide his smile.
“I’ll see you tonight, darlin’,” he said, loud enough for several people to hear.
Her gloved hand cupped the side of his face. It felt good to touch him, after spending the morning avoiding getting close. She could feel the warmth of him even through the glove. A warmth that was all man and not granite. Hannah knew she was being bold, but she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She felt his sudden intake of breath as her lips touched his skin.
“Don’t be late,” she said, louder than needed for his benefit. “I miss you already.”
For a moment she looked in his eyes and wished their words were true, but she was not the kind of woman he would choose to marry. He needed a woman who was dainty ribbons and proper lace, and Hannah knew all she’d ever be was unbleached cotton. She stepped away and moved into the one-room schoolhouse, thinking she could still smell the odor of whiskey in the wood.
The room was smaller than Ford’s bedroom back at Canyon’s Rim. It reminded Hannah of a double-wide railroad car. Wide desks made for two students lined each side, with an aisle in the center and smaller walking spaces beneath the windows on either side. A huge teacher’s desk stood in the front, with books piled a foot high on one corner. There was a chalkboard behind the desk, and two pictures were nailed above it—the first of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the other of Robert E. Lee. A Franklin stove sitting in a square sandbox burned in one corner. It was just enough to take the chill out of the air.
Hannah smiled. The room was perfect—except for one thing. Gavrila was standing behind the teacher’s desk with a ruler in one hand and a little boy’s palm in the other.
“I’m tired of telling you, Ulysses!” Gavrila screamed. “You can wipe your feet before you come in, or I’ll blister you every morning of your life!”
She raised the ruler, and the little boy of about nine who stood before her closed his eyes and tried to stretch as far away from the pain as he could.
“Wait!” Hannah startled everyone in the room with her yell. She forgot all about the impression she must be making and stormed down the center aisle.
Gavrila lowered the ruler and frowned at her sister-in-law, now only a desk-length away.
“Couldn’t we just have…Ulysses sweep up?” Hannah carefully lowered the book she’d brought and slowly pulled off the huge gloves Ford had loaned her this morning.
Gavrila pointed the ruler at Hannah. “I realize I may not have had the year of higher schooling you did to get this job, and I have no children of my own, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s good for them. I advise half the people in this town how to raise their brats.”
“I’m sure you do.” Hannah moved to the edge of the desk. “And I really want to thank you for having been willing to cut into your busy schedule and teach this class until Ford could go to Dallas and hire me.” She took the outstretched ruler from Gavrila’s hand. The woman hesitated as if debating a battle, but when Hannah’s grip tightened, she released her weapon.
Hannah turned to the other students who’d been filling the classroom. “I think we should all give Miss Gavrila a big hand for the fine job she did.”
Every student except Ulysses clapped, but the applause was pitiful. Gavrila pressed her lips together in a smile and took a little bow.
“Your new teacher is right.” She nodded toward Hannah, closing her eyes as if not wanting to even see the woman she was acknowledging. “I do have a million things I must be doing. But don’t worry, children. I’ll be back every few days to check on things around here. As the sister of one of the school-board members, it is the least I can do. I’ll be watching and advising Miss Hannah.”
Hannah didn’t miss the fact that she’d refused to introduce her by her married name, but Hannah didn’t mind. It seemed more natural to be called Miss Hannah.
Ulysses groaned from behind Gavrila. All the other children stood at attention, as if refusing to move until she left. Hannah almost felt sorry for her sister-in-law as she walked down the center aisle without a single student saying good-bye. At the back door she turned and yelled, “You’ll have to burn chips for the rest of the year! I used up all the allotment of coal already.”
When the door closed behind her, Hannah took a deep breath. “What are chips?”
All the children started giggling at once. The laughter rippled into great waves. For a moment Hannah thought they were going to become ill. Then Ulysses took her hand and tugged her toward the Franklin. “Cow chips, miss.” He pointed to the round, dried chips stacked beside the stove. “The cows are kind enough to leave them in the field for us. When they dry, Pa pulls a wagon through the pasture and all us kids run along tossing them in the wagon bed. Course you want to be real careful not to grab and pitch one that’s still warm and asteamin’.”
The very walls seemed to be shaking with the sound of the children’s laughter now. Hannah tried not to join them. “Thank you, Ulysses.”
“And another thing, miss. They burn real good, with a hot blue flame. They don’t jump sparks out near as bad as wood and don’t smell at all like…”
“Thank you, Ulysses.” Hannah pointed with her hand for him to sit down.
The boy looked like he wanted to add more, but decided not to push his luck. He took a seat next to another boy about the same age but with light, almost white, hair compared to Ulysses’s black curls. The two nine-year-olds immediately began pushing and poking as each claimed his own space on the bench.
Hannah walked in front of her new desk and stared out at all the students. Eighteen. More than Ford had said, and no more than any three of them looked the same age.
“I’m Mrs. Colston.” Hannah said her name slowly, letting her mouth adjust to the sound. “But you can call me Miss Hannah if you like. I thought we’d
start by letting each one of you tell me your names.”
They all talked at once.
She raised her hand. “One at a time, please.” She looked at the two boys on her left, who had finally declared a truce. “Since I already know Ulysses, let’s begin with him.”
Ulysses stood and said his name as he must have been taught, proud and loud.
The boy next to him was a little shy, but rose and told Hannah his name was Rip.
“After the famous Texas Ranger, Rip Ford?” she guessed.
“No,” he replied. “My ma seen ‘R.I.P.’ carved on a stone once and thought it a right pretty name.”
Fighting down a smile, she managed to say, “Next.”
The Smith children stood as if on silent command, all six of them. They looked very much alike, with reddish hair and button noses. The oldest was dressed in new clothes, but the garments of the others looked progressively more worn. The youngest didn’t even have shoes, but wore long wool socks that were folded back over her knees.
Hannah met the Burns brothers, whose every movement seemed to indicate that they’d rather be anywhere else but in school, and the Madison twins behind them looked much the same. A tiny child named Millie sat next to her older sister, Anna. Anna did all the talking for the little one, explaining that Millie didn’t like to say much. Her mother had told her when she turned five she could go to school, so last week, when Millie turned five in mid-January, her mother packed her off to be educated.
Lilly and Ruth were in front of Anna. Both were almost full grown and told Hannah that they had been acting as teacher’s helpers all year.
Hannah finished the introductions, then gave the fairy-tale book to Lilly. “If you’ll read the story, I’ll draw on the board.” The children quieted as Lilly read. They leaned forward in their desks and watched Hannah draw a sketch of the pond with a line of ducks floating in it. By the time the story was over, she’d won not only their attention, but their hearts as well.
With the older girls’ help, the rest of the morning moved by smoothly. They were happy to explain how the subjects rotated around the room, from easiest lesson to hardest, so that by the time the last was working he’d had a bit of review on every level. While younger ones worked at their desks, they could listen to the lessons of what was to come for them in the future, There seemed to be a circle to the learning that Hannah had never noticed as a child. The final lesson for the brightest was to teach the beginning to the youngest.