Holding her close, Irene enjoyed the heartfelt embrace. Gently, she patted Lydia's back and said, "It must be about two o'clock. Are we ready?"
Smiling, Lydia nodded and led the way.
Downstairs, Winnie sat near the stove knitting a pair of mittens for Jonathan. She'd muttered more than once that she figured he must be giving them away at the rate he lost them.
When all three tromped through the parlor apparently dressed for a blizzard, she laid down her needles. "Where are you going?"
"You don't want to know, Mother." Irene pulled on her warmest mittens, a pair Winnie had recently knitted, and with her back to her mother, glanced through the curtained window.
"Let's go," Irene said to Jonathan and Lydia as she held the front door open. Turning to her mother before following the children, she said, "We'll be back before dark."
After the door clicked behind them, Winnie dashed from her seat to the window. She watched as Ross Hollister waited at the front gate and held it open, then parceled out skates to everyone except Irene. But she didn't miss the two pairs on his shoulder.
Frowning, Winnie puckered her mouth in irritation. What was a mother to do with such a willful daughter? She had half a mind to tell the superintendent herself before Clara could.
And that was another problem.
She had hoped to talk some sense into that waspish woman and make her realize that it wasn't decent for any woman to go into a saloon for any reason. Instead, Clara had practically threatened her! Or at least, Irene's job had been threatened. Nevertheless, Winnie had given her a good what-for before she left, gaining a little satisfaction from that much.
Poking her nose between the curtains, Winnie surveyed the foursome crossing the bridge, with Irene walking beside that man, nearly flaunting her association with him for the whole town to see, including the superintendent.
A glorious sun dangled in a flawless blue sky, its radiance like that of a many-faceted gem, no matter that the cold air dispersed the warmth of it long before it reached them. Beneath their feet the bridge carried the vibrancy of other feet heading to and from the canal.
Cheerful sounds of friends hallooing to one another greeted the foursome as they neared the opposite bank of the Maumee. The swooshing and scraping of skate blades filled the air, bringing a measure of anticipation to all of them.
Ross led the way to a fallen log that had been dragged to the edge of the ice.
"All right, are we ready for this?" he asked to all in general, but he looked at Irene.
With more apprehension than she'd expected to feel, she took her seat on the log. She watched those already on skates slicing along, expertly cutting circles and figure eights or, even more daring, gliding backwards.
"Who's first?" Ross asked, smiling.
"Me!" Jonathan volunteered.
Ross helped him on with his skates and walked him to the rock-hard canal. Jonathan clung to Ross's coat while he made an awkward circle around him. Then, bravely, he set off on his own, both feet rigidly held close together. After a yard or two, he turned to smile and wave, promptly falling on his bottom.
Lydia let out a squeal of delight, clapping her hands over her mouth.
"Your turn," Ross said to her.
Giggling, Lydia shrugged and let Ross help with her skates, then lead her onto the ice. She waved her arms for balance, bending first front, then back, but managing to stay on her feet for a whole three minutes.
Irene bit her lip and watched with building anxiety. Yet she couldn't keep a smile off her face to save her soul.
Standing with his weight mostly on one foot, Ross turned to her. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and studied her expression. She squinted up at him through the brilliant sunshine.
"Well?" he asked, grinning.
"I don't know about this," she answered half-heartedly.
He knelt down in front of her and grasped her by the ankle. "I do," he said, then proceeded to put her skates on.
Irene forced herself not to blush at his touch.
When he'd finished with her blades, he dropped onto the log beside her and put on his own. Then he laid his hat on the end of the log. "It's been years since I've done this," he said.
"What?" Irene gaped at him in surprise. "I thought you must bewell, fairly good, since you suggested it." While still safely seated, she tested the slippery snow, running her blades back and forth. Immediately, her anxiety turned to dread.
As he stood, offering his hand, she stared at it, strong and squarish, with long fingers and callouses on the palm. It crossed her mind that some of the callouses were fresh, probably from splitting wood at the saloon.
"Well?" he asked, bending his fingers in a let's-go attitude.
Glancing up, she took in the way the sun danced on his blond-brown hair and even his mustache. He was a very handsome man, she decided. And she wondered why he'd never married.
Smiling, yet unsure of what she was letting herself in for, she placed her mittened hand in his bare one. When he grasped her by the elbow for added support, she tentatively moved her right foot.
"It's really been a long time," she said, laughing. "I'm not"
"Think positive," he admonished. "And don't look down at your feet. Sort of like dancing."
Dancing? She couldn't remember when she'd last done that either.
He guided her to the edge of the ice and stopped.
"Wait here while I test my legs," he said, turning her loose.
At his sudden absence, she groped the air, reaching for him.
Fearfully, she clutched his arm, thinking she had definitely made a mistake.
"What, no balance?" he teased. Then he steadied her and eased away from the bank alone and onto the canal. In a short time, he had executed a few turns and skated back to her.
Irene pierced him with a look. "How long did you say it's been?"
He shrugged innocently. "Guess my feet remember real good."
Just then Jonathan came whizzing by, neither foot in motion, but propelled from behind by a school friend.
"Hey, Miss Barrett! Look!" he called, his arms out-flung. "It's easy! Just let Ross push you around." Then he was gone from earshot.
Ross skated to her side, took her by the elbow and one mittened hand, and gently pulled her onto the ice. He heard her sharp intake of breath at the same time that he felt the stiffness of her body when her arm clamped his hand tightly against her side.
"You're less likely to fall if you relax," he said close to her ear.
"Not exactly like dancing," she responded drily.
He laughed, saying, "I guess you're right."
She attempted to move her feet, but nearly lost her balance and gave it up.
"Let me do all the work," he said. "I'll just lead you around until you get the feel of it."
Without venturing far from the log, they moved together across the ice, making wide turns at the ends of their imaginary circle. After a while she relaxed somewhat; then he changed direction and she had to gain her balance all over again.
"You're sure you wouldn't like me to push you like Jonathan's friend?" he asked, grinning.
"I'm sure." She smiled up at him. Perhaps it was the crisp air and sunshine, along with the mingling of carefree voices surrounding them, but she couldn't remember when she'd felt so light of heart.
After a few moments Ross spoke, tentatively asking, "Your mother doesn't like me very much, does she?"
With a small shrug of her shoulder, Irene replied, "There are times Mother doesn't like anybody very much."
Ross chuckled, his voice low, almost shy. "Well, I suppose I can understand." His expression sobered, and with a tinge of regret he said, "I guess she doesn't think I'm proper company for you and the children." And undoubtedly, if Irene knew his past, she would never consent to seeing him again.
Sensing a feeling of inadequacy that he hadn't shown before, Irene looked up at him and spoke softly. "I'm not my mother, Ross. And I think you're very good company.
" Irene's cheeks grew uncomfortably pink with her disclosure. For the first time, she admitted that she enjoyed his company for her own sake, not just the children's.
Surprised, he gazed at her. "Thank you. You don't know how much that means." With a devilish grin he added, "And it's about time you called me Ross."
Embarrassed, yet warmly pleased with his reply, Irene could only return his smile.
Skating nearby, Lydia proudly displayed the muff Irene had given her for all to see. Happiness glowed inside her until she felt sure she appeared as bright as the sun to everyone who saw her. She glanced at Miss Barrett clinging to Ross Hollister, and an added burst of gladness filled her. She liked Ross almost as much as she liked Miss Barrett. If only . . .
"Hey, Lydia, what are you thinking about?" Carrie whispered with a knowing smile. "I'll bet you're thinking about Miss Barrett and her beau."
"So what if I am?" Lydia didn't like Carrie's tone of voice.
"My mother says he's not a good choice for a schoolteacher." She shrugged. "Everybody says that."
"What do they know?" Lydia came to a halt, nearly falling over.
Carrie looked at her in surprise. "Well, don't get so mad. I'm only telling you what everyone thinks."
"You don't know what everyone thinks. Nobody does." She tried to skate away, out of earshot of Miss Barrett.
Carrie followed. "I'm sorry, Lydia, I didn't mean to make you mad." After a pause, she added. "I like your muff."
Turning, Lydia watched her closely. "You do?"
Carrie nodded. "Could I put my hands in it once?"
Lydia hesitated, hating to part with it even for a minute. "I suppose." Then she added, "Miss Barrett gave it to me."
Slipping one hand inside, Carrie smoothed the fur with the other. "It's beautiful."
"I know." Lydia glanced once more at Miss Barrett, who now skated alone with Ross close beside her.
Carrie reluctantly handed the muff back. "Well, I've got to go. I see my mother coming across the bridge to get me." She stared at Lydia, who was older by a year. "You really aren't mad at me?"
After a deliberate pause, Lydia answered, "No."
Smiling, Carrie said, "Good. I'll see you in school tomorrow." For good measure, she waved and called out, "'Bye, Miss Barrett!"
Irene lifted her hand, still maintaining her balance, and waved at Carrie. With Ross beside her, she skated to Where Lydia stood watching her friend remove her skates.
"You skate very well, Carrie," Irene complimented her.
"Thank you, ma'am."
Polly Anderson crossed the snow-covered towpath and kept a distance of about ten feet between herself and the canal. "Are you ready?" she asked Carrie, with only a narrow smile for Irene and none for Ross.
"Yes." Carrie gathered her skates together, waved goodbye at Lydia again, and followed her mother up the hill toward the bridge.
Irene knew it was a small thing, but it was such an obvious rebuff. She tried to keep Polly's unspoken words from settling on her mind, refusing to let them ruin an otherwise lovely afternoon. But she couldn't.
Sensing her injured feelings, Ross tugged her elbow. "How about another turn around the dance floor?"
She glanced up at him and forced a smile. "It's getting late."
Ross gazed into her hazel eyes. "Wasn't that Polly Anderson?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"It isn't much wonder she feels like she does. Her husband comes into the saloon so regularly that he has a reserved table, chair, and mug."
"I know. Everyone knows."
"But?" he prodded, realizing this was something they ought to talk about. At the same time he wasn't sure that they could. After all, their friendship was only beginning.
"I really should be getting the children home. It'll be time to start supper, and I don't like to leave everything for Mother to do."
He regretted that she hadn't offered him an invitation.
"Well, if you insist." He helped her up the hank and off with her skates. "I'll go round up Jonathan."
Lydia skated to the edge of the ice near Irene. "Are we leaving?"
"Yes, dear. We really should be getting back." Irene felt as much as saw the disappointment in her eyes. "But you can come back with Jonathan another time."
"What about you? Won't you come with us?"
Irene looked out over the heads of the skaters in search of Ross and Jonathan. "We'll see," she said absently to Lydia.
Walking back across the bridge, their faces ruddy from the winter air and their skates slung over their shoulders, the children chattered about the fun they'd had.
Irene cast a glance at Ross who carried her skates as well as his own, his slow stride matched to theirs. A small frown caused one eye to squint a little while a new tenseness appeared in the tightening of his jaw. She knew his thoughts were like her own. Ignoring the situation wouldn't make it go away for either of them.
The clank of blade occasionally hitting blade sounded like low, off-key chimes, a melancholy sound that echoed her own feelings.
Chapter Eight
Irene prepared for school as she always did, with her hair neatly pulled back and knotted, a dress of somber hue but well-cut, and an eagerness to meet the challenge of teaching fresh young minds.
With Lydia and Jonathan beside her bundled from nose to toes, she hurried to the schoolhouse through the stinging air. With silent agreement, nobody spoke since it was far too cold for unnecessary chatter.
Inside, the warmth of the classroom suffused their clothing and allowed their tense muscles to relax in the welcome heat. Once again Irene felt grateful to Mr. Atkinson from the livery, who'd been hired to get the fires going early. It was an added benefit of teaching in the new building over the one-room school she'd started in six years ago.
After the children arrived, taking the usual time to quiet them, she began with a lesson in arithmetic. She believed mornings to be the best time for this subject, since her students' attention wavered less than in the afternoons.
But on this day it was her mind that wandered.
More than once her head filled with daydreams, causing her eyes to search the vast, cloudless sky beyond the windows of her classroom. Each time her thoughts followed the same path to the same destination. Ross Hollister.
Several times during the times-table recitations, when the monotone voices blended into a litany, Irene found herself thinking of the gallant men in her romantic novels. And each time he wore a lopsided grin beneath his sandy brown mustache and a twinkle in his gray-blue eyes. With little or no effort, she would call up these visions throughout the day. Once he rowed a boat on a gentle stream while she trailed a finger in the clear water, causing v-shaped ripples to follow in their wake. With her eyes averted, she could feel him watching her. Then she'd turn and catch him staring, his eyes smiling.
She shook herself and blinked several times to erase the daydream from her mind. But as if it were drawn on a poor piece of slate, the image remained, leaving her to ponder her situation with mixed feelings of frustration and enchantment.
The day wore on until, finally, the bell tolled its end. The children departed amidst a flurry of coats, scarfs, and calls for lost mittens. When she'd collected her own coat and mittens, she glanced up to find not only Lydia waiting for her but Jonathan as well. Gladness warmed her. Usually he ran off before the last echo of the bell ended. But not today.
''Are we ready?" Irene asked, smiling down at Jonathan.
He slipped his hand in hers and nodded.
Her heart swelled at this first sign of acceptance. It had been a long time coming. She didn't question why now, but simply enjoyed the feel of his small hand seeking companionship in hers.
Walking home, Irene allowed the comfort of their presence to steal over her, and her attachment to the children became obvious. She hadn't meant for that to happen; she hadn't even realized there had been a gap in her life until now. Her only intention had been to provide them with food and shelter until
relatives could be located, but so far, there hadn't been a reply to any of her letters. And now she wasn't sure she wanted any replies, as unfair as she knew that was to the children.
Ahead, she watched the spiraling plume of smoke rise from the kitchen chimney. Supper would be ready, along with a dessert meant to heal any broken bonds between mother and daughter, not to mention making allies of the children. Irene stifled a smile with the shake of her head. Lately, her mother had broken so many of her own rules on the correct way to raise children. Then, as if to declare her rules proper and true, Jonathan had thrown up a very rich chocolate cake with chocolate fudge icing the night before.
"What do you suppose she cooked for us?" Lydia asked, casting a wary glance at the back door before climbing the steps.
"I'm not eating any more cake," Jonathan spoke testily. "I don't care how good it looks."
"Don't worry. Mother realizes that rich desserts aren't healthy." Then, under her breath, Irene said, "She was just a little desperate yesterday."
Inside, the smell of a hearty ham-and-potato soup greeted them, but not a sign of anything resembling dessert. Relieved, Jonathan hung up his coat.
"I made bread this morning," Winnie said, turning to the group huddled near the back entrance where the pegs for coats protruded from the wall. "Would anyone like a piece?"
"That's sounds good, Mother." Irene removed a cup and saucer from the cupboard for tea.
Jonathan plopped down on a chair. "Could I have some jelly with it?"
Winnie stood over him with one hand on her hip, considering. "Do you think you can keep it down?" she asked.
"Mother." Irene stopped pouring the tea in mid stream to stare at her.
"Well, I just thought I ought to ask after last night."
Irene continued staring. There was no doubt who was at fault for that. "There's a big difference between bread with jelly and chocolate cake, as you well know." She finished pouring the tea and sat at the table.
Ignoring her daughter's remark, Winnie cut four slices of bread and buttered them, adding elderberry jelly to Jonathan's.
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