"Ross?"
"Hmm?" he answered, still holding her hand.
"Are you getting cold?"
"No. Are you?" He turned to look at her.
She rolled her head against the ice. "No."
"I suppose we'd better get up," he said, not moving.
"Mmm. I wonder what people would say . . ."
"If they saw us?" he asked, then went on without waiting for her answer. "I guess they would be wagging their heads, not to mention their tongues, about us being out here this time of night. Alone. They'd probably drop in a dead faint if they had seen us a minute ago. Especially Mrs. Wilson." He rolled on his side toward her. "Does that bother you?"
She considered his words for a moment, knowing that she needed to be truthful, with him and with herself. "Well, I do have to consider my teaching position. I like teaching. Very much. It isn't just a job for me. It gives me a sense of . . ." She searched her mind for the right word. "Fulfillment." Looking away from him, she said, "Now I really sound like an old-maid school teacher."
Using his teeth, he removed the glove from his hand and touched her chin with his bare finger. "I'd hardly call you an old maid, Irene Barrett."
She couldn't make a reply; her breath had become lodged in her throat.
Leaning down, he kissed her lightly. "And if anyone says you are, they're lying." He kissed the tip of her cold nose, then pushed himself up and off the ice. "I guess we should be going in before we turn into icicles," he said, standing.
He helped her to her feet and brushed the bits of crushed ice from her damp skirts. Skating hand in hand, they found the log along the bank and removed their skates.
"Thank you for asking me to come," Irene said. "But I'm sorry I knocked you down."
Grinning at her, he replied, "I'm not."
Now that the magical evening was almost over, she was a little embarrassed at his reference to the kisses they'd shared. She wondered how she'd feel in the bright light of the morning.
He extended his hand and she took it; together they walked along the canal and across the bridge. His thoughts weren't far from the same vein as hers, wondering how it would be if they could spend nearly all of their time together. Only hers also wondered what others would think. Especially Clara and the superintendent.
At her back door, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms. After gazing long into her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her one last time, then backed away.
"Good night," he said.
"Good night," she replied, then turned to go.
Inside, she leaned against the door, holding the leftover warmth from being in his arms close to her heart for a little while longer. This night had been a moment in time she'd never forget, even if he left town.
And he very well could. Clara had warned her that men like Ross weren't the staying kind. And somewhere in her heart, she knew that was what she feared. What if he did go? Well, she certainly had no hold on him, just as she had no hold on Jonathan and Lydia. All she really had was her teaching and this town.
On another street, standing in an upstairs bedroom without benefit of lamp or candle and looking out the window through the bare trees was Clara Wilson. There was no mistaking the dark figure of a man leaving Irene's back door. Without a lamp burning in the whole Barrett house, what was a woman to think?
Chapter Seventeen
Clara Wilson whisked the simple black hat from her head and placed it on the peg inside the classroom door; beside it she hung her coat. Leaving the door to the hallway open, she briskly walked to the platform at the front of the room, intending not to miss the first opportunity of seeing Irene enter the building.
Today had not come soon enough.
She fiddled with her pen and ink bottle, always with one eye toward the hall, then organized her already neat desk.
With this new year she'd had hopes of a new beginning for Irene, but after what she'd seen a few nights earlier she just couldn't be sure of that now. Tapping a finger restlessly, she thought about that awful Ross Hollister, who was obviously trying to ruin Irene's life. On top of that, he seemed intent on flaunting in Clara's face the fact that she'd been misinformed about the incident concerning the bordello by continuing on with business as usual. It had been difficult to hold her eyes steady whenever she'd confronted any of the women from the meetings, but somehow she'd managed. Even so, there was no denying they had lost the battle, and the bitterness of that defeat lay like gall on her tongue.
Clara had purposely waited until today, being the first day of school, to present her advice, having decided against going to the younger woman's home. What she had to say was best said on the premises of Irene's vocation; perhaps then the warning would take better root. She certainly hoped so.
Out in the hall, the heavy entrance door opened, then clicked shut. Clara narrowed her gaze as she stared across her room to the dimly lit hallway, where the voices of Irene's charges echoed in the nearly empty building.
And that was another problem. The children. Couldn't Irene see that a woman of her position in the community and the school had an example to set? Granted, Caring for an orphaned boy and girl was a commendable deed, but it was hardly up to Irene to carry that burden alone if there were any family members living. And she couldn't help wondering just how much effort had been made to locate that family.
"Irene!" she called, bustling to the doorway. "Irene!"
With her hand on her own classroom door, Irene stopped, a feeling Of dread washing over her. Had Clara heard about Christmas dinner? Had Emma told her that too?
Speaking to Lydia, she said, "You may get the slates ready to pass around, I'll be right back."
Before even taking off her outer garments, she crossed the hall to Clara's room, trying to prepare herself for whatever advice was to come her way.
"Good morning, Clara," she said stiffly, meeting the older woman's gaze.
Clara motioned her inside, ignoring her standoffish demeanor, and closed the door behind her. "You know I don't hold much with beating around the bush, and time is limited anyway. So I'll just be plain-spoken."
Irene found herself bracing her back, much the way a cat does when it readies itself for a fight. Anticipating an attack on her dinner guest, she formulated her defense in her mind. After all, if she chose to invite whomever she wanted, that should be her business and hers alone. Whether the guest was an orphan or a store owner or even a saloon owner, that should be of no interest to anyone but herself. With her back sufficiently stiffened, she felt ready to do battle.
"I guess I'm at a loss as to how to begin," Clara said, clasping her hands together. "Except to say I'm disappointed in you, Irene. I never expected such behavior out of a lady like yourself."
"Disappointed?" she returned, bristling at Clara's choice of words at having Ross over for dinner. "I hardly think you should concern yourself with the company I choose to eat with."
Puzzled, Clara frowned at her. "I'm talking about two nights ago when I saw Mr. Hollister leave your back door." She paused for effect. "After midnight."
Completely taken by surprise, Irene stepped away from Clara.
"What?" Irene asked. Then she knew. Somehow Clara had seen Ross leave her back door after they'd been skating. Had she been spying on her? Well, she had no right! Nobody did!
"I couldn't believe you'd do such a thing," Clara went on. "I . . . I still can't believe it."
Finally finding her tongue, Irene asked, "And just what did you see that you can't believe?"
Shocked, Clara replied, "Must you force me to say it?"
Irene silently stood her ground.
Wishing that Irene had somehow brought forth a logical explanation for Mr. Hollister's presence, Clara let out a sigh of regret before going on, "If I saw you, then it's likely that others have seen you. What if this should get back to Mr. Walker?"
''Perhaps I should tell him to mind his own business! Really, Clara, what are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggest
ing anything. I only know what I saw, and it looks as though you have put yourself in a very compromising position," Clara finished with her chin jutting stubbornly.
"Apparently, you and the people of this town have little faith in me." Irene had begun to see their attitudes in a new light. It wasn't her good name they were interested in; evidently they considered her to be of a weak character, unable to make sane, stable decisions.
"Faith has nothing to do with it when you're dealing with a man like Ross Hollister. He's the one who can't be trusted. And your future is at stake, not only as a teacher, but as a woman. People will talk and rumors will spread until Mr. Walker is certain to hear them."
If that happened, she would undoubtedly lose her position. Clara or Polly or a number of other women would gladly do their duty by informing the superintendent of her wayward ways.
"He isn't worth it, Irene. No man involved with drink is." In desperation, she added, "I know what can happen. It happened to me."
Irene had heard the gossip about Clara's first husband. It was no secret she'd been married twice, first to a canal man who had hauled her in and out of every canal town along the river. He died young and left her with a bitter heart, so they said. Then she'd married Thaddeus Wilson, and she'd seen to it that he was no imbiber. After his death, she went back to teaching, then made it her personal crusade to stop men, young or old, from drinking.
"I suppose you know about my Thaddeus. He was a kind man, but a drinking one. I chose not to see his only downfall, and it killed him. He drank quietly when I wasn't around, thinking I wouldn't know, but I did." She wrung her hands absently. "If I had stood up to his drinking, maybe I could have helped him and he would be alive today." She looked up at Irene. "I only want to save you from that kind of torment. A man who lives by drink can live no other way."
Something inside Irene agreed with her. But was Ross like that? She couldn't believe he was. Saloon keeping wasn't the only thing he'd done in his life; it was a new thing. Would he be willing to give it up? And did she have the right to expect him to?
"I think you have the wrong impression, Clara. Mr. Hollister and I have never spoken of commitment. But even so, I have to say in his defense that he isn't a bad person. I think you as well as the others have misjudged him." Whether anyone approved or not, she had opinions of her own and she intended to voice them.
"I'm sorry you feel that way. I had hoped to turn you from a path similar to the one I trod, but I see that isn't possible, so let me give you something else to consider. If you allow yourself to become . . . entangled . . . with this man, you will be setting yourself up for a fall when he decides to be on his way again. And mark my words, when the spring thaw comes, he will be on his way. That kind always are." With that, she turned away from Irene, dismissing her.
Feeling more subdued than she'd anticipated when the confrontation began, Irene returned to her classroom. Clara's words settled in her heart, pricking her conscience. There was truth in what she'd said, but did it apply to Ross? Then she thought about his leaving in the spring, and she felt sure he would go. Without a doubt he had other ventures that would need tending to, and she could hardly expect to be more than a diversion to him while he was here.
As her day progressed, Irene considered more of Clara's warnings than she wanted to. There was no doubting that Ross had no roots or that he would likely be moving on. For the first time in her life, she was glad spring was a long time away.
Ross sat opposite Howard in the small room that served as the mercantile office. Obviously, it lacked the organization of a woman's touch.
"So you want me to sell you the cabin?" Howard leaned forward in his chair. "May I ask what prompted this idea?" he asked, grinning.
"Well, I'm not sure myself except that's where I spent the best years of my childhood," Ross answered with a shrug. "But I didn't exactly want to buy it."
Howard raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I'm supposed to give it to you?"
Laughing, Ross shook his head. "No, I didn't mean that either. I'd like to trade the Broken Keg."
With mild surprise on his face, Howard replied, "Emma would divorce me with Clara's blessings." Relaxing back in his chair, he replied, "Sorry, Ross."
"Well, I thought maybe you could abolish the saloon and get on the good side of every woman in town, then expand your mercantile or use it for storage." With a wicked half smile, he added, "I'm sure you'd be Clara's hero then."
"Becoming Clara Wilson's hero isn't the quest of my life. But staying out of her path is." He tapped a finger on a pile of papers. "Let me think about it. I could use the storage space and being right on the canal couldn't hurt anything." Then, considering the other side of the deal, he said, "You realize that the cabin and the barn are in pretty bad shape, don't you?"
Nodding his head, Ross answered, "Yep, but not beyond repair."
"Somehow, I feel as though I'd be getting the best part of the bargain," Howard said.
"Just what I like, a man who thinks he's taking advantage of a friend." He smiled.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. There is a lot of land that goes with the cabin. Of course, I know it hasn't been farmed in years and the woods have taken over most of it."
"Sounds to me like it could be an even-up trade," Ross said.
Howard nodded, "Could be."
"I'm sure one of the other saloons would be glad to buy the suppliesthat is, what's left of them."
Leveling Ross a hard look, Howard said, "How would you live? I mean, you need food and a place to stay, and that cabin sure isn't livable."
"I've got that partner in Black Hawk who's itching to buy me out. So I thought come spring I'd head on back to settle up. In the meantime, I've got enough set by to tide me over. And I thought maybe you'd let me continue living over the saloon. I'd be glad to trade some work for the cost of rent."
Howard eyed him thoughtfully. "Sounds to me as though you've been thinking about this for some time. Any reason in particular?" he prodded.
"Not any I care to discuss," he answered with a grin, tipping his hat back on his head.
"Okay, okay. Just thought I'd ask." Then, considering another tactic, he said, "You know, Emma has a pretty lively imagination. She'll be doing some wondering on her own and probably come to a few conclusions, too." He raised a hand in a helpless gesture. "Hard to say how far it could get around town."
"Well, if you're worried about it," Ross replied, "don't tell her until the deal is done."
Smiling and nodding, Howard said, "Okay, okay. I guess you'll tell when you're ready."
Ross simply smiled in return.
Later that evening in his room over the saloon, Ross stretched out on the bed. Listening to the crackling fire in the nearby stove, he considered what moves he'd have to make to settle up with Jeff concerning the mine. He didn't see how he could make this transaction over the distance of so many miles. No, he decided, this would mean a trip west, but that could wait until spring, alter the crops were in. In the meantime, he'd write to Jeff and let him know what he intended to do.
A round of laughter from below interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He was sure Howard would take him up on the deal and that gave him a satisfied feeling. Being in the saloon business wasn't for him, any more than mining had been. Those years in prison had taught him lessons about enjoying life and appreciating even the simplest thingsespecially freedom.
The freedom to choose what time you got up and what time you went to bed, to choose to go outdoors or to come in, and to choose to live life to the fullest. It was that very thing he most wanted Irene to understand. Her prison had been built by her friends and family, but she had the right to choose to unlock that door and free herself.
For Ross, freedom was beginning to take shape in the form of Tilly's small farm. There he could spend all of his time doing exactly what he wanted to do, with plenty of fresh air and sunshine and enough hard work to make a man tired to the bone. But all of it would be satisfyin
g. Very satisfying.
First he would have the job of clearing the land and fixing the barn for animals. It would be a grueling task, but he looked forward to it. He'd need some horses and a wagon to begin with, then some supplies for rebuilding the barn. The cabin would need a little restoring before he could move in, but that would be temporary since he intended to build a big white farmhouse with a big front porch.
Downstairs, the sounds of the revelers subsided and finally quieted as the last of the customers wound up the night and headed for home. He heard the door shut for the last time as Ben closed up. Outside his only window, layers of large flakes of snow built up along the wooden edges of the panes suggesting that a new, heavy wet snow would blanket the old by morning.
Ross threw a couple of chunks of wood into the stove then undressed for bed. It felt good to be putting down roots, real roots, and making plans for a future. No, he told himself, it felt more than good, it felt great.
With her eyes closed, Irene relived once more that magical night on the ice. How wonderfully free she'd felt! Free to be herself without the imposed restrictions of her mother, her neighbors, and even the old pain of Andrew's betrayal.
Andrew, who had held her in reserve while he pursued at least one other woman, who would never have lain on the ice with her or kissed her with such honest abandon. No, the Andrew she knew would have clicked his tongue at her unbecoming behavior while his own he kept hidden.
But Ross encouraged her with his humor, his unexpected arrivals andshe warmed at the thoughthis touch. He more than encouraged her, he filled her with hope. She enjoyed his unabashed approach to life that seemed so daring and exciting in contrast to her own.
Only during the night, when she was alone in her room like this, did she dare review these events, taking them out one by one, examining each and testing her feelings about them. She knew she must be honest with herself before she could be honest with anyone else. And to do that, she had to think and re-think not only with her mind but also with these wonderful new emotions.
Abiding Love Page 21