by Ali Olson
Then he walked out the door, leaving her alone in the empty room.
Alice took three deep breaths, trying to get the knots inside her stomach to untwist a little, trying not to picture his arms wrapped tight around her waist, his lips against hers, his hands moving across her body. This was certainly not good and incredibly inappropriate, even if they were nothing more than thoughts and emotions. These sorts of feelings were not an option for a woman in her profession, and here she was falling for this man like a green girl, picturing clandestine meetings between the two of them. Damn and double-damn.
She laughed, her voice echoing back to her. She could not imagine what the school board would do if they could read her thoughts. Between the swearing and the carnal images flashing so vividly through her mind, it would be a miracle if she made it out of town alive.
Occasional reminders from the school board that she needed to adhere to the rules, using the primers and rote memorization instead of rhyming games and what they called “playing” were nothing compared to what would happen if she performed any one of the activities running through her mind.
Alice stood up, resolved. She would take part in a quick chaperoned meal at the man’s house, figure out how to assist him and Joe, and then avoid the attractive Mr. Lancaster as much as possible. It was a simple enough plan.
A few hours later, Alice found herself in front of the large home which Joe had shared with his parents. His father, before he passed, had owned property in Shasta and rented out several gold-mining stakes to miners, and their house reflected their prosperity. It was outside of town, necessitating the use of a carriage, and sat alone, as stately as any of the biggest and oldest homes in the center of Shasta. It was large and white, like the others, but friendlier, somehow. She had always liked this home, found it beautiful and pleasant, but this time the sight was distressing rather than soothing.
Her stomach curled into itself as she alighted from the carriage and walked up the wide porch steps arm-in-arm with her chaperone, Mrs. Leach. The older woman was still quite spry enough to take the stairs on her own, but Alice appreciated the contact and attempted to take strength from the presence of this woman who was so much like a mother to her.
Alice attempted to feel her calm and collected demeanor throughout her body rather than just wearing it on her face, but it did no good. She had mastered the art of appearing proper long ago, but it seemed she had yet to absorb the lessons internally. She reminded herself of her plan to keep her infatuation at bay. One chaperoned dinner where she maintained her propriety, then avoidance of the situation in its entirety.
Her plan seemed far less simple now, though, when Mr. Lancaster opened the door, stunning in his formal attire. She told herself to keep breathing as she nodded to him in greeting.
How could anyone look that attractive? Some black pants and a vest, she tried to tell herself, but it did nothing to soften the effect he had on her. Her insides melted into a warm pool deep inside her.
He ushered the two women in, pressing Alice’s hand with his own for just long enough to send a thrill through her. “It is wonderful to see you again, Miss Crenshaw,” he said, his voice and eyes emphasizing the words so much that they felt like a universal truth rather than just a polite greeting.
She nodded, her mind blank, unable to create a response. His eyes lingered on hers a moment longer, sending smoky tendrils curling through her, and then he turned to Mrs. Leach, Alice’s benefactor and chaperone. “You must be Mrs. Leach. It is a pleasure to meet you. Was Mr. Leach unable to come?”
Mrs. Leach beamed at him, and Alice wanted to shake her head in exasperation. If he could charm everyone, what chance did she have to keep her heart safe? Not that Mrs. Leach was difficult to charm, as she had to be one of the most agreeable women Alice had ever met. Still, it did nothing to help Alice’s predicament.
Mrs. Leach took his hand in both of hers and said, “Mr. Lancaster, the pleasure is all mine. I had Mr. Leach stay with the children tonight. One of our boys has a touch of fever, and who knows what kind of mayhem would occur if we both left for the evening. I thought it best that I be the one to come with Alice. I have spent enough of my days around young boys and their temperaments that I may be of some service.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate any help you can give. Please, come in to the sitting room.”
The two women divested themselves of bonnets and shawls and followed their host to the sitting room, a large open expanse of a room, full of windows and rose-colored furniture and dark wood that was likely very expensive, but still managed to appear warm and welcoming. Joe’s mother had decorated the place with thought and care, and Thomas—Mr. Lancaster—had obviously seen no need to change it.
Alice tried to draw some kind of reassurance from the beautiful surroundings, but it was no use. She was feeling less and less comfortable about this evening and the events unfolding. This man was too impressive for her own good, that much was obvious.
Compared to his suave manner and gallantry, she felt almost clumsy and very inappropriately dressed. Silks and frippery were under no circumstances acceptable attire for a teacher, but anything else seemed out of place beside him. Her calico dress, which closed high at the throat and covered as much of her skin as possible, her tight bun high on her head, felt unbefitting.
She had admired the women who wore fashionable gowns, and often wished she could allow her hair to fall loose against her shoulders, but she had never before felt this type of pure regret for the restrictions that prevented her from partaking in the styles of the day. Any of those ornamented women would look better on his arm than she would in her plain frock.
Alice shook her head slightly, trying to remind herself that nothing could happen between her and the handsome man in front of her, so there was no purpose to her wearing a fancy dress in any case. It would be silly and absurd to imagine his eyes roving slowly over her body, taking in the sight of her in a beautiful dress. There was no reason to wish her dress left more for him to see. He would never look at her like that, let alone run his hands over silky material and exposed skin.
So why was she picturing it? Alice had always known that her imagination, her constantly whirring mind, was a hindrance, but this was really going too far. She would need to be very careful to stay in control of herself, and keep her distance as much as possible.
Thomas was nearly giddy. The intriguing Miss Crenshaw was in his house for the entire evening. He had felt the pull of attraction since he met her at a large supper party he attended with Joe’s parents several weeks ago when he first arrived in Shasta. He had been disappointed when there had not been much time or opportunity for him to get to know her better. She had constantly been engaged with others, and he was forced to follow proper etiquette as the new visitor in town and meet everyone, when all he wanted was to speak to this enchanting woman.
Her bottle-green eyes had caught his interest from the outset—they showed so much more emotion than her calm and pleasant outward demeanor ever displayed. It made him want to know what was happening behind the mask.
And there was more. Just looking at her sent fire through his veins. Something about the petite woman and her slender form, even the way she stood, as if she was constantly on display, called to him. Everything about her was interesting and made him yearn to find out who she was, and the more he had noticed her, the more hints he found that she might not be the person she appeared to be, or at least not only that.
Her tight bun and the plain dresses that hid as much as possible bespoke a no-nonsense schoolmarm, but the way her eyebrows arched, the slight edge in her voice, the curve of her lips, all hinted at a different woman underneath. He wanted to know who that other woman was. The real her. She was intelligent, certainly, and sweet enough. That shone through at all times. But she also seemed like she might perhaps be a little fiery, or possibly even whimsical. Or both. He had no idea, but he was going to work hard to find out.
And if she could assist
him with Joe, get the boy to talk to him, so much the better.
As he showed her and the matronly woman who escorted her to the sitting room, he pictured laughing with Joe, perhaps even—God help him—getting a hug from his nephew-now-adopted-son. Anything but this cold disregard and flashes of anger he had been subjected to since the death of the boy’s parents.
While they waited for supper to be served, Thomas sat in a chair in the corner of the room as Mrs. Leach, Joe, and Miss Crenshaw interacted. He watched Miss Crenshaw more closely than the others; she was a puzzle he couldn’t help but try to solve. She had seated herself on the couch in the corner of the room, with Mrs. Leach on the outside, essentially putting herself as far from him as she possibly could, and she kept her eyes on Mrs. Leach and Joe, avoiding his gaze.
The other times they had met, she stayed away from him, too, but he had assumed it was because there was nothing for them to talk about and she had no reason to give him her attention; this, however, was purposeful evasion. His mind whirred, curious.
It was clear he made her uncomfortable. He needed to figure out if it was a bad kind or a good kind of uncomfortable—like the good kind of uncomfortable he felt when he looked at her. He didn’t even attempt to lie to himself that it mattered little.
Joe was explaining his Erector set to the women, going through each part of the building he was in the process of creating in excruciating detail. It made Thomas’s heart shrivel slightly. He had gotten Joe the elaborate set when he first came to visit, brought it with him on the long journey from a special shop in St. Louis. An extravagant toy, but he was so happy to meet his sister’s son that it was worth the expense.
And at first Joe had spoken to Thomas the same way he was now speaking to the two women, showing him every detail in his enthusiasm. Since the accident, though, any time Thomas tried to coerce Joe into telling him about the impressive toy and the structures he built, he was ignored. The boy would even stop playing and leave the room if he pushed too hard. He had been worried for a time that he would one day find it tossed out, broken and unloved, because it was a present from him.
But here Joe was, chatting with the ladies about his creations without a care in the world. As if everything was perfectly normal.
Miss Crenshaw—the intriguing Alice—glanced at him for only the flash of a moment, her green eyes lighting on his with a spark of fire, then turned her attention back to Joe. Thomas could see that her mind was whirring, and he wondered what she was thinking. The fraction of a second when their eyes connected was enough to strike him dumb, but she seemed to continue as if nothing had happened.
To Joe, she said, “That is very impressive, dear. Have you shown it to your uncle? I imagine he never had such interesting toys when he was a child.”
The boy’s smile slid off his face and he looked at the ground, suddenly quiet. Thomas wanted to say something, but he was unsure what, so he sat and waited. After a few beats of silence, Miss Crenshaw spoke again, her voice soft and confidential, as if she and Joe were the only two in the room. “Why will you not show him?”
Joe mumbled something that Thomas could not catch, but the woman nodded slowly. “I know he isn’t your father, and that’s perfectly fine. Nobody will take your father’s place, you know. He was a good man. But that does not mean you should avoid becoming close to your uncle. He just wants you to be happy.”
Again, Joe mumbled something else and wiped at a few tears. Thomas wanted, more than anything, to get closer to the conversation, but he knew that it would be best to keep his distance and watch. He gripped the arm of the chair, his knuckles whitening with the pressure as he forced his body to stay seated and unmoving.
Miss Crenshaw put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s fine, Joe. You do not have to talk about it right now. But I want you to know I am here if you need to talk, and so is your uncle.”
Joe looked at her and then glared over at Thomas, waves of hatred shooting from his eyes. “I don’t want him to be here for me. I want him to go away!” he spat.
With that, he tore out of the room. His feet pounded up the stairs to the second floor, and they heard a distant door slam. Miss Crenshaw looked more than a little shocked as he stared at where the boy had been only moments before. Thomas sighed and rested his arms on his knees, leaning forward. How could he fix this, when he was unable to understand why the boy was so angry with him?
Mrs. Leach piped up, breaking the silence. “That boy has a bee in his bonnet about something, all right. I have more than my fair share of young ones at home, and I have never seen a case quite like this one.”
Thomas smiled a little at the woman’s comment, but his heart was still in shreds from Joe’s reaction. He shrugged. “I have no idea why he’s behaving in this manner. I have tried to be here for him through this difficult time, and all I get back is disregard. I don’t know what I did to make him so angry.”
Miss Crenshaw, her voice laced with empathy, said, “It is not your fault, I’m sure. He is going through a troubling time.”
“But there has to be something I did. Or something I can do to fix it. I don’t even know if I should punish him for his inappropriate behavior, or if that would only make things worse.”
He looked at the lovely teacher, hoping she would have some advice, but her expression was nearly as nonplussed as his. “Normally, I would expect a child to be disciplined for shouting at adults in such a manner, but with this situation… it’s complicated. I believe you should leave it be for the time being. If you don’t mind.”
He nodded, glad to have at least one decision off his shoulders. The weight of responsibility felt heavy on his shoulders. He had never been a father, and to suddenly have an adopted son who hated him—well, that left him in a puzzle which seemed to have no solution.
The housekeeper announced that supper was ready, and the solemn party of three moved to the adjoining dining room and sat at the large ornate table. They ate in silence, each considering the boy’s outburst and what could possibly prompt such behavior.
After a long while, Mrs. Leach broke the anxious quiet that had pervaded the room. With a shake of her head, she clapped her hands together, appearing to have come to a decision. “It seems like our work here will be left unfinished this evening; I highly doubt we shall get any further with him tonight. I hate to infringe on your hospitality, sir, but do you mind if we come back another time?”
Thomas glanced at the lovely young woman sitting beside Mrs. Leach for a moment. He could think of nothing he would like more. “Absolutely. Is tomorrow too soon? You can come over as early as you like and stay the entire evening if necessary. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Leach.”
Mrs. Leach looked at him, beaming, and nodded. He had paid little attention to her before, between his affection for the distracting Miss Crenshaw and his worry for Joe, but now that he truly looked at her, she seemed like quite a pleasant woman. Almost like his grandmother, who he could only vaguely remember from his childhood. She likely made delicious pies and always had an open heart for all children, which would explain why Miss Crenshaw boarded at her home.
Mrs. Leach nodded as she made the final decision. “Tomorrow will be perfect. And you can call me Esther, dear. Let’s not worry about Joe for the time being and try again then.”
Thomas looked at Miss Crenshaw to see her reaction to their newest plans. Her eyes flashed some emotion he could not fully comprehend, but her face remained impassive as ever. She nodded assent.
Chapter Two
Alice wanted nothing more than to slump into the carriage for the ride home, but she once again found herself in the sitting room, forced to maintain upright and proper for who knew how long. If only she could leave and get away from Mr. Lancaster’s overwhelming presence, but Mrs. Leach seemed intent on staying and conversing. Alice was exhausted. And she would be expected to do this all again on the morrow?
She knew coming back was the best thing to do, that she needed to assist this new family i
n solving their difficulties if she could. She wanted to help Mr. Lancaster. It was just too difficult keeping herself under such tight control for so long. After Joe had stormed out, she had wanted so badly to walk over to the man and hug him close—he had seemed so distraught about the whole thing. To do nothing as he sat there looking so disappointed and helpless had been a battle, and it left her nearly defeated.
There was no way she was going to act on any of these whims, however. She knew enough to never make that mistake again. Moreover, her employment would be in jeopardy if she attempted anything of the kind. Even if Esther was trustworthy enough to look the other direction if she exhibited behavior that would be considered inappropriate, the school board would find out somehow. The town was too small to keep anything quiet.
So now she was forced to continue to wage a war with herself, holding back the most foolish part of her nature from doing something as idiotic as creating romantic notions about a man she hardly knew. It was too similar to what had happened before. She had promised herself years ago that she would never do something so unwise again, and there was nothing that could make her break that promise now, no matter how enticing the incentive.
Alice tried to suppress the thoughts about the past that had come bubbling to the surface. Those would only make her feel ashamed, and she had enough conflicting emotions to manage for one evening.
Mrs. Leach’s voice broke through her reverie. “Sir, would you be willing to share some information about Joe’s parents? I know very little about them, though we have lived here for years, except that they were nice people and the father owned a fair bit of land. We just never ran in the same circles, I suppose. And perhaps somewhere in their story hides the key to solving your difficulties with little Joe.”
Alice perked up, listening carefully. Esther was quite canny; perhaps they could solve the puzzle, indeed.