by Rose Jenster
It was due to these circumstances that Vaughn Academy had become her real home. Four more years went by as she taught her classes and took on extra tutoring assignments as well. On the holidays from school, Verity took lodgings in the nearby town and taught drawing to daughters of local tradesmen for pocket money. She criticized herself for spending it on a frivolous hat or a cunning pair of shoes.
During the term, she spent little enough, with her board and dormitory quarters being included in her salary. So she took the occasional liberty on her holidays, treating herself to a fruit ice or a bunch of flowers from a cart on the street. Other than teaching her literature classes, those small indulgences were the only bright spot in her dutiful life. The deaths of her parents and brother sat inside her heart all the time and she turned to the Bible and Shakespeare for comfort.
Now, the classes she so enjoyed teaching had been given to someone else, a proper English miss who no doubt was better educated and better qualified. Someone who had never scalded her hands in water to scrub the stains from anyone's bed linens in order to save money for their school fees.
Verity bit down on her lip. She had known that she was in a way, a pretender. She wasn’t the daughter of a wealthy family who had been taught languages and needlepoint. In fact, she only had two dresses, had never set foot in Europe or even visited the museums in the city of New York. Verity was only a girl who had read all she could, to learn all she could.
But none of her books had put the right polish on her manners or given her the air of security and entitlement that her students seemed to be born with. She might read all she liked, but she would never really belong among the people of Vaughn Academy and her demotion proved it.
Blinking back tears, Verity opened her cousin’s letter.
Dear Cousin Verity,
I would counsel you to save your pennies instead of buying another new hat. You only have one head to wear it on, so you can only wear one at a time. You must know I am joking, of course. Only imagine me, with only the one straw bonnet and caring nothing for it, thinking of you in a millinery shop cooing over ribbons and feathers! I’m glad you are so happily settled at your school with your books and poems. I never had much patience for either—which is why I was better telling news stories.
The weather here is already turning warm. It is forever cold until you forget what it is to be warm enough. Then suddenly, spring appears with its birds and the fields going green and everything becomes busy again. I like it very much out West. I must tease you again now and say that if you find that teaching in New York State does not agree with you as you had thought, you ought to throw in your lot in the West.
The newest teacher here lasted only one term before marrying off. It wasn’t two weeks until she had suitors turning up at dismissal time offering to mend the roof or fix the creaky schoolhouse step or any other errand she would like to set them on. I have told you that young ladies are scarce and they cannot seem to keep a school teacher here because the men fix their sights on her as a potential bride almost instantly. So if you ever want to trade in your Eastern ways for a trip to the frontier, I feel sure you would be snapped up in a moment.
If you ever read popular stories like the serials in newspapers or magazines, I’m certain you would rush to get a train ticket. Here there are real cowboys and real adventures. It is challenging life out here, without some of the conveniences we grew up knew. Instead there is independence and true freedom from many of the constraints of Eastern life and the senseless conventions that pass for virtues there.
Here there are truly Christian people who help one another in the face of ferocious weather and wild animals, to survive in a harsh beautiful place. These are people who, unlike the New Yorkers we both know, care nothing for who your family was or where you were schooled. They care only that you are a kind, honest person who is willing to work hard. Of course, I know there are kind people everywhere, but I found many in Albany that looked down at me for my lack of sophistication.
It is a fine place and I would wish to have you join me here—but you had best know that if you ever took the notion even to come for a visit, you would have marriage proposals falling at your feet like leaves in the autumn, cousin. Do tell me what your class is reading this term and about the recitations. I liked compositions best in school myself, more than the reading I suppose.
Wishing you the best,
Your cousin Charlotte
Verity laughed to herself. Charlotte had always been such a vivid writer. She’d always thought of her cousin as very practical though, and her suggestion that Verity simply pack up and go west in search of a string of suitors was silly at best. She must be happy, Verity thought with satisfaction, to think of such a funny scheme. Of course it would never work.
Verity had never set out to marry. She had wanted to bring the pleasure of reading and learning to others. Growing up, she had never bothered about which boys were tall and handsome because she had do her schoolwork and keep up with the washing. Boys would have been a distraction and she would have fallen behind in her studies or her job. Now that she had a job of her own in a nice school and a place to live that went along with it, she had never considered trying to meet a man and begin courting.
For one thing, teachers were forbidden to have male visitors or to walk out with men who were not relatives. It was unseemly to become involved romantically when one was supposed to set a virtuous and chaste example for the students who were respectable girls of a tender age.
Even if the school were accepting of teachers having a young man to tea in the common dining hall, it would still be talked of and Verity hated gossip. She would never make a choice that might set herself up to be the talk of the school. Except, she thought miserably, she was already being whispered about by the others. By now the rest of the faculty would have heard about the new literature instructress all the way from England, and how Verity had been reassigned to only teach spelling and verb tense.
It occurred to her to wonder, what had happened to Miss Ivy, the former orthography instructress. If she had been assigned the classes Miss Ivy had taught, what had become of the previous teacher? Verity was ashamed for only having thought of herself and having no regard for Miss Ivy.
She hastily changed out of her nightdress and into a rather worn out work dress that she wore for cleaning chores and the like. She pulled on her boots and crept into the hall, where she knocked on the next door. Verity could see a thin line of light beneath the door, so the woman’s lamp was still burning.
“Miss Simms? Are you awake? It’s Miss Kemp,” she whispered, knocking softly.
She heard a rustle and footsteps. Verity stepped back as Miss Simms opened the door a fraction, putting her head out. Her hair was already done up in her nightcap and she clutched her wrapper around her ample frame.
“What is it, Miss Kemp?” She asked, not unkindly.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. It’s only that I’ve been reassigned to the introductory level classes and I was wondering if you knew what happened to Miss Ivy. She used to teach those classes. I was concerned. I should have asked Ms. Debenham at the time of our meeting but I didn’t think of it. I only thought of myself, really,” she said trying to conceal her fears.
“I can understand why. Come in, quickly. These rooms are cold enough without letting in the hallway draft.”
Miss Simms ushered her in and offered her the only seat, a straight backed wooden chair that sat before a small writing table. Verity sat down and folded her hands in her lap, waiting to hear what Miss Simms could tell her. She sat on the edge of her bed, poking some stray curls back up into her nightcap and giving a shiver.
“I’m sorry—did you get a chill? I’ve always been so happy that the classrooms and even our dormitories are well ventilated. The school I attended was rather dank and stuffy, I must admit.” Verity said. She regretted it immediately for babbling and revealing too much of her humble background.
“I see. So you didn’t go t
o a girls’ school?” Miss Simms looked at her with interest.
“I didn’t say that. I said the school I attended was not so well ventilated. There were fewer windows and the like. These modern school designs are a wonder,” she said, equivocating a little and hoping the woman didn’t press for personal information.
“Very well. Miss Ivy is getting married.”
“She is? Why—why Miss Ivy must be thirty years old!” Verity said in a whisper. “Only think what a miracle for her, as such an old maid, to get engaged.”
“I heard it was a sudden attachment,” Miss Simms said softly. “The headmistress was not happy when she found out about it. She said Miss Ivy had better have a husband and a home to go to since she surely wouldn’t have a post at Vaughn Academy after carrying on with a strange man in such a way.”
“In what way?” Verity asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
“She met him by letters, I heard. They wrote back and forth as he lives out west. He asked her to move out there and marry him. He is a widower with some children in Idaho Territory.” Miss Simms relaxed her guard a bit as she shared this information.
“Isn’t that terribly far away? I always thought the West would be so rough and wild….” Verity said, making a face that showed her distaste for the idea. “Although I have a cousin who lives out West and seems to like it well enough. She was always something of a tomboy though. In fact, she is now quite happy.”
“I never thought of quiet, meek Miss Ivy as a tomboy, but I hope she likes it out West. She must have been very unhappy here to try so desperate a hazard,” Miss Simms ventured.
“I suppose so. I can’t imagine just writing letters with a complete stranger and then deciding to marry him, sight unseen. What if he’s—not to one’s liking when they meet? What if he has coarse manners or if he spits in the street? I’ve heard of people doing that and it sounds horrible!” Verity said, aghast.
“I can’t imagine!” Miss Simms agreed. “Part of the reason I was so pleased to teach at a girls’ academy is that I knew everything would be quiet and polite and neat. No shouting or swearing or drunkenness—those are problems that seem to crop up where there are men,” she said with a nod.
“Oh, not all men, surely! My father was never a drunkard, nor did he swear.” Verity defended her father's memory with all her might.
“I didn’t mean all men, Miss Kemp, only that where there are groups of men, like in those towns out West, I imagine they behave very unrefined and rowdy. Nothing at all like life at Vaughn, where we take our tea with the girls at four sharp and never clank our spoons on our saucers,” Miss Simms said decidedly, pursing her lips.
“Did you ever read thrilling novels about cowboys and Indians as a girl?” Verity asked a bit mischievously, knowing she’d never read any such thing herself either.
“Certainly not! Indians are rough and the cowboys not much better—with their sleeping outdoors, having gunfights and seldom attending proper Sunday services. I should never throw in my lot with such ruffians!”
“When you put it that way,” Verity said, “it doesn’t sound very sensible at all. I do hope Miss Ivy fares better than all that.”
“We shall say a prayer for her,” Miss Simms said stoutly and patted Verity’s hand.
Verity rose and took her leave. In her own room, comfortable once again in her voluminous cambric nightgown with her hair tucked in its braid, she scolded herself for ever entertaining Cousin Charlotte’s foolish and no doubt joking suggestion that she herself should move out West. Certainly Charlotte was never serious to bring up such a notion!
To think of a girl like Verity Kemp, who had studied hard and worked even harder to bring herself up from her poor childhood of scrubbing other people’s dirty clothes to elevate herself into a life of genteel quiet, of books and learning. It was absurd that such a person with her carefully brushed woolen dress and her thrice-darned silk stockings would stoop to husband hunting. In fact, it was ridiculous!
It was well enough for other women, women who had always dreamed of marriage and a family life. As for herself, Verity always wanted to live somewhere nice where she was warm enough and had enough to eat and nice clothes to wear. She wanted someplace with books around her and people who liked talking about those books. In its way, Vaughn Academy was her version of paradise, orthography or not.
When she thought of the shivering cold bursts of icy wind that used to blow around the window, under the door at her parents’ home, it made her clench her teeth just to remember it. Being that cold wasn’t something she could ever forget.
She might not have adventure here, or to find love and have a family of her own. She might not even have Shakespeare any longer to share with others. But, she was comfortable and secure. Verity had a room of her own and blankets. In the morning she would have eggs and sausage at breakfast because it was Tuesday. That was what the kitchen served every Tuesday. It was a routine she could count on, reassuring in its sameness. Hot food and useful employment—what more could a girl wish for?
Chapter 2
Billings, Montana
Adam Rexing needed a horse. It was funny, he thought, that a man who spent hours each day shoeing horses didn’t have one to use. Of course, he lived in town and his forge was an easy walk from his house, so it made little sense to keep a horse of his own. Still, when he wanted to make the trip to Helena to visit his sister and her family, and he wanted to go on his own schedule, not the stagecoach’s, it meant a trip to the posting house.
It was a fair enough place and Henry Rogers, the innkeeper, was a faithful customer of long standing. But, in all honesty, Adam didn’t want to get a horse from him. He didn’t dislike Henry, far from it in fact. But Adam had something to hide and he knew he’d be hard-pressed not to confess it automatically in conversation with a man so scrupulously honest at Henry Rogers. Henry was very perceptive and had a piercing gaze.
Adam knew it was childish, but he planned his visit to the stables to coincide with the time he assumed Henry would be taking his lunch at the inn. If Adam could make his request and deal with a stable hand, it would be so much easier. He wouldn’t have to make conversation and could be reticent.
Adam had always been more comfortable with his hammer and anvil, using his hands to craft something of use rather than wasting too many words. He’d never saw much point in standing around talking. In his mind, it went along with drinking—it was what idle men did in saloons. It was what his father had done, and he had a mind to be a better man than that.
So, when Adam found Henry Rogers mending a bit of harness, he steeled himself for his friend’s well-intentioned curiosity about the trip to Helena.
“Good day, Henry,” Adam said with a nod to the stable master and innkeeper, “I’ll be needing a horse for a few days.”
“Ah, why’s that? I only ask so I know what sort of mount will serve you best.”
“Only to Helena and back, off to visit my sister.” Adam hoped this would be a quick discussion.
“How is Laura?”
“Same as ever, I reckon.”
“Any new additions to that family? I recall she and her husband were blessed with a son a few years back.” Henry enjoyed learning about those who knew that moved out of town.
“No,” Adam said, feeling bad for being so abrupt but not wanting to go into detail.
“Just lonesome for your family? I shouldn’t wonder,” Henry said. “I have a bay in the third stall would suit you for the trip. Do you aim to take a cart or ride horseback?”
“Horseback’s fine,” Adam said, practically grunting.
Henry appeared to hide a chuckle. “Not real talkative today, are you?”
“Guess not,” Adam replied, hoping to speed things along.
“When do you need the horse?”
“Tomorrow at sun up.”
“Call for him then. I’ll have him ready.”
“Much obliged, Henry.” Adam was relieved to finish up the interaction.
“I can tell. You’re so grateful and so eager to catch up with an old friend.” Henry chuckled. “You’ve never been much of a talker, but your lips seem almost glued. What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing.” Adam was reluctant to get into any depth with him.
“Two entire syllables. Tells me a great deal.” Henry teased. “Any chance I can ask a question, as a concerned friend, and get more than a grunt for an answer?”
“Depends on the question.” Adam braced himself with dread.
“Fair enough. Are you all right? I heard—I couldn’t help but hear—that Alice, well, she made other arrangements for herself,” Henry said.
“That’s right.”
“I’m real sorry that happened. I know you two had been promised since we were all children together. It was rotten of her and I’d never have believed it—“
“Enough,” Adam said, his voice rough, “I thank you for your concern, Henry, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d never like to hear that name again.”
“Right. Consider it done. Never again will I speak it to you.” Henry saw he hit a nerve and wanted to tread lightly.
“I appreciate that.”
Adam felt compelled to say that he didn’t have feelings for Alice any longer, not after the way she’d treated him, but that he found it unpleasant to think or talk of the matter. He didn’t want to discuss it any further, so he settled for allowing Henry to think he was probably brokenhearted. There were worse things to have people think about you, he reasoned. But the trip to Helena was a step toward putting the whole ugly matter behind him.
That night, he brushed and folded his church suit and placed it in the saddlebag he’d borrowed from Henry. The next morning he would be, God willing, beginning a new chapter of his life. He wasn’t leaving the forge behind, far from it in fact, but he hoped for something more as well.