“Sure you can. I heard Phoebe’s grandmother say you’re awful thin and could use some meat on your bones.”
As she took the plate from Charity’s hands, Felicia laughed, certain that Helen Summerville hadn’t meant for that particular comment to reach her ears. “Thank you, Charity. I’ll try to eat every bite.”
The girl nodded before dashing off to fill a plate for herself before her favorites were gone. Then others settled onto blankets and chairs around Felicia and soon they began to ask questions. Where did she grow up? Did she have any brothers or sisters? What were her favorite subjects when she was a student? How long had she been at the normal school in Laramie? Did she like Frenchman’s Bluff? Wasn’t the food good?
“For pity’s sake!”
Felicia glanced up to find Kathleen standing nearby, her hands on her hips as she frowned good-naturedly at the inquisitors.
“Can’t you let the poor woman take a few bites? Give her a chance to eat before you ask anything else.”
“I don’t mind,” Felicia answered.
Kathleen smiled. “But I do.” She joined Felicia on the blanket, then lowered her voice to say, “Mrs. Dowd’s fried chicken is the best. You should take the time to enjoy it.”
Apparently, the others nearby decided to heed Kathleen’s orders and began talking among themselves. And as soon as Felicia had a chance to bite into the fried chicken, she was glad for her new friend’s aid. “Oh my. This is good.”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
Felicia nodded.
“You’re going to do wonderfully, Felicia. I can tell. I was watching you with the children, and you had such a look of excitement on your face.” Kathleen’s gaze turned toward a small group of people seated in the shade of another tree. “I told Colin … Mr. Murphy … that he needed to give you a chance before being so sure you wouldn’t be a good teacher. Everyone has to begin somewhere.”
Felicia’s throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, the food suddenly tasteless.
“All I know is that I’m glad the board didn’t hire a schoolmaster. I think a man in that position might frighten Phoebe half to death, no matter how kind he was. She can be timid around men. I suppose because she lives in a house full of women, excepting her grandfather, and he spends most of the time at the bank. But you don’t frighten her. She likes you already.”
“I’m glad,” Felicia answered softly. “I like her too.”
She took another bite of the food on her plate, but the pleasure had gone out of the day with the knowledge that Colin Murphy believed she wouldn’t be a good teacher. That somehow seemed even worse than when she thought he simply didn’t like her.
Kathleen felt awful. Why had she allowed Mother Summerville to convince her to say anything to Felicia about Colin’s opposition?
“Miss Kristoffersen deserves to know. She mustn’t think she has unanimous support. It might make her feel so secure that she will disregard the wishes of the board in school matters.”
It shamed Kathleen, knowing there’d been a small part of her that wanted Felicia to be worried. Not for the reasons Mother Summerville stated—which Kathleen didn’t quite believe—but because she didn’t want Felicia setting her cap for Colin. He was, after all, one of the few eligible and acceptable men in Frenchman’s Bluff; her mother-in-law was right about that. And if Kathleen was ever to be free of Mother Summerville’s control, she needed to marry a man who could afford to take in a wife and two stepdaughters.
Her guilt increasing the longer she sat next to Felicia, Kathleen excused herself, rose, and went to check on her children. She found them seated with a number of friends on the shady side of the church. Giggles and laughter were carried to her on the soft, warm breeze. She adored the sound, yet it was one that should be shared … with the man she loved. Loneliness swept over her.
She’d thought her life would be so different from what it was. She’d expected to grow old with Harold, living in the same house year after year after year. She’d expected they would be together to watch their daughters get married and give them grandchildren. She’d thought they would live comfortably always, supporting each other, encouraging each other, caring for each other.
But life, she’d learned, was rarely what one expected.
“Good day, Miz Summerville.”
Recognizing the voice, Kathleen forced a small smile onto her lips as she turned toward Oscar Jacobson. “Hello, Mr. Jacobson. Are you enjoying the picnic?”
“Sure am. We don’t get grub like this on the Double G. Not all at one sittin’ anyway.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.”
The cowboy tipped his head in Felicia’s direction. “The new schoolmarm seems right nice.”
“She is.” Another twinge of guilt caused her to take a quick breath. “Very nice.”
“Pretty too.”
“Yes.” She wondered how long it would be before Oscar or one of his friends called on Felicia. After today, she wouldn’t expect it to be long.
“I guess Suzanne and Phoebe must be eager to get back to school.”
“Yes.”
“Wish I’d been able to go further with my schoolin’.” He moved a couple of steps closer. “The boys give me a hard time about it, but I’m right partial to poetry.”
“You are?”
He grinned. “Don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t, ma’am. I don’t suppose I look much like the poetry type nor sound like one either.”
No, he didn’t, but she’d already been careless with her words. She wouldn’t be so again. “Who do you like to read?”
“Whatever I can find. I like Shakespeare’s sonnets. Henry David Thoreau. John Milton. I memorized a couple of his poems this summer.”
“Can you say one for me? I love poetry too.”
“Reckon I could give it a try.” His grin widened. “I might get a bit nervous. Never quoted a poem to a lady before.” His cheeks became flushed, something else she wouldn’t have expected from him.
“Would it help if I didn’t look at you?” she offered.
“I imagine it would help some.”
She turned away from him, once more looking toward the group of children eating their picnic lunch in the shade of the church. “All right. I’m listening.”
“It’s called ‘On His Blindness’.” Oscar cleared his throat. “When I consider how my light is spent / ‘Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide, / Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker, and present / My true account, lest He returning chide …” He paused to clear his throat a second time.
Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined to hear such words coming from a cowpoke who spent his days on horseback and was better acquainted with cows and rabbits, coyotes and ground squirrels. And that he was quoting the John Milton poem so well, here in this public place, amazed her even more.
Oscar continued, “‘Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?’ / I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent / That murmur, soon replies, ‘God doth not need / Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best / Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state / Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed, / And post o’er land and ocean without rest; / They also serve who only stand and wait.’”
Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Then she looked his way, and the crowd seemed to recede, leaving them alone in a small bubble of affinity.
“That was lovely, Mr. Jacobson.”
His grin returned, along with heightened color. “I’m right glad you liked it, Miz Summerville.”
She felt a sudden warmth in her own cheeks.
“Maybe sometime we could read poetry together.”
“I would like that,” she responded without hesitation, surprising herself.
Mother Summerville would never approve.
NINE
T
he first day of school began with an overcast sky and a noticeably cooler temperature. Hopefully it meant the children would be alert and eager to learn rather than lethargic due to the heat.
Felicia arrived at the schoolhouse more than an hour before time to ring the bell. Although she’d done a thorough cleaning the previous week, she quickly swept the floor and ran a cloth over the desktops to clean away more recent dust. Then she wrote her name on the blackboard in large letters. Ah, the satisfaction she felt at seeing it there. She’d waited too many years for this moment not to want to savor it.
“I told Colin … Mr. Murphy … that he needed to give you a chance before being so sure you wouldn’t be a good teacher.”
“I will be a good teacher,” she said aloud. “I am a good teacher. And I’ll make certain Mr. Murphy changes his tune.”
Felicia moved to a different section of the blackboard and wrote some math problems on it. This week, she would take the time to get to know her students better, to discover more of their strengths and weaknesses. If she understood them, it would help her impart to them a love of learning, a desire for knowledge. Perhaps she could help one of them become a great scientist or a revered physician or even a famous musician. Perhaps another would become a renowned theologian or a sought-after orator. Education was the open door to a life they’d never before imagined.
After writing the day’s arithmetic lesson, she wrote reading words on a third section of the blackboard, starting with the simplest for the young children and working her way to the most difficult words for the older students. She prayed Miss Lucas had been a good teacher. She hoped her students would remember what they’d learned in this classroom prior to today.
According to Walter Swanson, Frenchman’s Bluff would be the first school in Idaho to adopt a nine-month school term. Among the first in the nation too. One more thing for Felicia to worry about. Many people were skeptical about the change, especially farmers who needed their sons at home during planting and harvesting. Would the parents and school board blame her if the children didn’t do as well under the new term? Well, she simply wouldn’t give them the chance to blame her. She would make certain all of her students thrived in their studies.
She set the chalk in the tray and brushed her hands together to wipe away the lingering white dust. Turning to face the classroom, she drew in a deep breath, checked the watch pinned to her bodice, and headed outside to ring the bell. Many children were already in the yard; others were hurrying toward the schoolhouse, lunch pails and slates in hand.
With a smile on her face, Felicia rang the bell for several seconds. All conversations ceased as the children fell into two orderly lines, one for boys and one for girls. For the most part, they stood in order of age and size, shortest in the front, tallest in the back.
“Come in, girls,” Felicia said.
As the girls filed past her, they made their manners with small curtsies. Whatever else Miss Lucas might or might not have accomplished as schoolmarm, it was apparent she’d instilled the proper decorum upon her students.
The boys came next, each of them bowing slightly at the waist as they went by, and once all of their lunch pails were on the shelves in the cloakroom and all the students stood beside their desks, Felicia made her way to the front of the class.
“Good morning, boys and girls.”
“Good morning, Miss Kristoffersen.”
She heard several children, especially the younger ones, stumble over her name. Perhaps she would do well to shorten it for their sakes. The sooner the better.
Turning toward the flag in the front right corner of the classroom, she placed her hand over her heart, waited a second for her students to do the same, then began reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. It was immediately followed by the Lord’s Prayer, all heads bowed and eyes closed.
As the “Amen” echoed around the room, Felicia told the children to be seated and then sat in her own chair. A quick glance confirmed that only two of the desks were unoccupied. That meant all nineteen of the students on the roster were present. It felt like a personal victory of sorts.
Thank You, God, that they all came. Help me to teach them well.
When she had completed taking the roll, Felicia rose to her feet once again and stepped to the side of her desk. “First of all, children, you have my permission to address me as Teacher or as Miss K.” She smiled at the younger students. “Today I want to learn more about you, more about how you are faring with your studies. And because I’m new to Frenchman’s Bluff, I want you to have an opportunity to get to know me as well. Much of what we cover today may seem simple and repetitious, but I hope it will prove helpful for all of us throughout this new school year.” She turned toward the blackboard. “We’ll begin with reading.”
The Franklin dairy farm was located southwest of Frenchman’s Bluff, an easy half-hour ride on horseback. Marcus Franklin had come west in the late 1860s. Failing to make his fortune panning for gold in the mountains of Idaho, he’d returned to the plains, bought land near the new township of Frenchman’s Bluff, and started his farm with half a dozen cows and a field of spring wheat. Many years later, his son, Randall, inherited one of the largest dairy farms in the state.
When Colin arrived at the Franklin place that afternoon, he found Randall on the shady side of the barn, cutting a board set on a pair of sawhorses. The moment he recognized Colin, Randall set aside the saw and walked toward his guest, wiping his hands on his overalls.
“Come to see that little mare I told you about on Sunday?” he asked.
“Thought it wouldn’t hurt to look. Charity’s been wanting a horse of her own, and her birthday’s coming up.” Colin stepped down from the saddle and wrapped the buckskin’s reins around a nearby hitching post.
“She’d be perfect for your girl.” Randall motioned for Colin to join him. “She’s around this way.”
The two men walked around to the opposite side of the barn. In a corral by herself was a small dun-colored mare with a long-flowing black mane and tail. At their approach, the mare lifted her head to look at them, ears cocked forward.
“How old is she?” Colin slid the gate lock back and stepped into the corral.
Randall stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence. “Eight years.”
The dun stood just shy of fourteen hands high, a good size for his daughter now and in the years to come. Colin ran his hand over the mare’s withers and along the black stripe on her back. “How’d you come by her?”
“Took her in payment on a debt. But she’s too small for my boys, and my wife’s already got herself a good saddle horse. No point me keepin’ her. Figured I’d give you first look before I put her up for sale to all comers.”
“Appreciate it.” Colin walked around the back of the horse, eyeing the well-developed muscles of the mare’s hind quarters.
Randall stepped off the fence rail. “Let me get a halter, and you can see how she goes.”
“Thanks.” Colin moved to the mare’s head and stared into her dark eyes. She nickered softly as he stroked the bridge of her nose.
Charity would like her. There was no doubt about that. His daughter was partial to buckskins and duns, probably because he was. So unless he discovered something unexpected, he would buy the mare for Charity.
Half an hour later, Colin was the new owner of the dun. To seal the deal, the two friends settled onto a couple of chairs on the farmhouse’s front porch, with glasses of lemonade that Randall’s wife brought to them on a tray.
“So you’re taking the mare?” Ellen asked as she sat on a chair beside her husband.
Colin nodded. “Yep. She’s mine now. But I’m leaving her here until Charity’s birthday. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Perfect. She’ll be so excited.”
“That she will.”
“And we won’t mention to the boys that you came to look at the mare. We don’t want them spoiling the surprise by letting it slip at school.”
“Thanks.” He took a
sip of lemonade. It was the perfect blend of sweet and tart. Holding up the glass, he said, “This is good, Ellen.”
“Glad you like it.” She smiled, then took a deep breath and released it. “Oh my. I never can get used to how quiet it is around here when the boys are in school. I hope Miss Kristoffersen is managing well.”
Randall said, “It’s the last year for R. J. After this one”—he shrugged—“we’ve got a farm to run, and he’s old enough to learn what it means to run it. Not just help out.”
“You and R. J. think he’s ready to leave school.” The smile left Ellen’s face. “I’m not so sure. When Miss Kristoffersen visited us last week, she mentioned the possibility of college.”
Colin felt the friction between husband and wife. He suspected they’d argued more than once over this topic. Better be on his way, just in case they were about to argue again. He drained his glass with several big gulps and rose to his feet. “I’d best get back to the store instead of lollygagging around here. Thanks for the lemonade, Ellen. Randall, I’ll plan to bring Charity out after church on Sunday. I’ll tell her we’re coming for her birthday.”
“Why don’t you plan on Sunday dinner with us?” Ellen stood and took the empty glass from his hand. “I’ll bake a cake, and we’ll have a little celebration. I should have thought of it before.”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I wasn’t wrangling for an invitation.”
“I know you weren’t.” She laughed, the anger gone from her eyes. “Besides, you and Charity aren’t any trouble. You’re practically family. You know that.”
Yes, he knew that. Without Randall and Ellen, he didn’t know what would have happened to him and Charity after Margaret died. They were the rocks he’d leaned on throughout those dark days. They’d been his friends before. Afterward, they’d been so much more.
“Thanks, Ellen.” He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “We’ll plan on it, then.”
Felicia stood on the landing outside the school entrance and watched as her students scattered in all directions. Most of them left on foot, but some rode away on horseback. The latter were the boys and girls who lived farthest from town.
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