As the sun’s rays flowed through the window and warmed her, she glanced at the clock and realized there was still another hour before school started for the day. She dipped her pen into the inkwell, took a deep breath, and tried once more.
By now you must realize, she wrote and let the air escape her lungs in a long sigh. She crossed out the words and started again. Please don’t be angry with me.
“This isn’t the way to tell them, Kate,” she murmured aloud. “Be strong. Be decisive. Be brave, for heaven’s sake. What’s the worst that could happen?”
But she knew what could happen. General Galen O’Rourke could send the U.S. Cavalry after her. Worse, he could embark on the long trip across country and bring her home himself. Kathryne shuddered at the possibility.
She looked out the bay window above her desk, and gazed at the little town she’d begun to call home. In the short time she’d been here, she’d met almost every one and, for the most part, liked them immensely.
She rose from the desk and wandered to the kitchen, her mind full of jumbled words she needed to put into order.
She unwrapped the paper from a long loaf of bread she’d bought yesterday from Stagmaier’s Bakery and sliced off the heel. The crisp, flaky crust and soft, white center made her mouth water. She smeared butter on it, poured herself a cup of coffee, added some canned milk and sugar then wandered back into the parlor.
She made herself comfortable at the desk, and studied the children beginning to gather in the small yard beside the school. She loved teaching, loved these children. From the youngest, Walter, to the oldest, Joe Rawlins, each and every one of them were precious in her eyes and hungry for knowledge. A smile crossed her lips as she took a bite of bread, a sip of bitter coffee, the only kind she knew how to make, and began the letter to her parents once more. The words flowed easier this time and within thirty minutes, she signed her name with a flourish at the end.
For good or bad, the general would know where to find her. More importantly, she hoped he would realize how happy she’d been over the past few weeks and wouldn’t send the cavalry after her.
Kathryne opened the door, the letter in her hand. A brisk nip in the air made her shiver almost as much as the thought of her father reading the missive. The leaves had yet to change colors, but the coolness of the morning marked the passage of summer to autumn. She grabbed the shawl from a peg near the door and wrapped it around her shoulders against the chill as she left the cottage and strode across the wooden bridge spanning the mountain stream.
Children played in the yard in front of the schoolhouse, pushing each other on the swings or bouncing up and down on the teeter-totter. Several boys were in the middle of a spirited game of tag. Two girls sat off by themselves, their heads close together as they shared secrets. Kathryne grinned. She and Emeline had sat in that exact position many times over the years.
Emy.
The grin disappeared. Three weeks had come and gone since they’d cleaned the teacherage, since the woman she’d known all her life had been so cruel to Chase. Although Emeline had apologized and begged for forgiveness, something had changed, something Kathryne couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her sister’s attitude toward the subject of Chase Hunter seemed cold and uncharacteristic for Emeline’s tender heart. Kathryne couldn’t help but wonder why.
She hadn’t seen Chase since that day and she missed their chance encounters, missed the thrill that coursed through her each time they met. He seemed to have disappeared although Kathryne knew she had him to thank for fixing the hole in the roof.
She stopped in the middle of the bridge, concentrated on putting the whole incident behind her, and enjoyed the sight before her. Kathryne couldn’t help the grin that parted her lips as she spotted some of the older boys hovering around a small table where the children ate their lunch if the weather was nice. She suspected one of them of having a crush on her. Small bouquets of flowers, apples, peppermint sticks or lemon drops were left on her desk each morning, though no one admitted to putting the gifts there. Other things appeared around her home, too, such as fresh cut firewood piled at the end of her front porch, again with no note so she could thank the person.
“Miss O’Rourke! Miss O’Rourke!” One of her favorite students, Mary, an inquisitive girl of ten, rushed toward her, long blonde pigtails bouncing over her shoulders. She held a book in her hand, the cover and binding unmarred. “Look what Papa gave me!”
There was no denying the excitement in the girl’s voice, nor the happiness sparkling in her light brown eyes.
“Good morning, Mary.”
“Will you read it to the class today? Please?”
Kathryne glanced at the title. She loved Charles Dickens and read all his works, but The Adventures of Oliver Twist remained her favorite.
“Perhaps later this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Miss O’Rourke!” The girl ran to join her friends gathered around one of swings hanging from a sturdy tree branch, the book held close to her chest.
Kathryne opened the door to the schoolhouse, stepped into the small cloakroom and hung her shawl on one of the pegs then bent to straighten a rag-rug on the floor. The bright spot of color, one of several covering the hardwood, always seemed to be out of place in the morning, no matter that she straightened it at the end of each school day. Perhaps some of the boys snuck into the schoolhouse under cover of darkness, but for what purpose? Perhaps it wasn’t the boys. Perhaps it was someone else, but again, she didn’t know the purpose. Nothing was ever taken. All the books lined neatly on the shelf were in place. Pencils, paper, and small chalkboards were in their assigned spots.
Kathryne shrugged and wandered into the main room. On her first day of teaching, she had taken the rows of desks and moved them into smaller groupings in accordance with the different ages of the children she taught, which made the most sense to her. A six or seven year old shouldn’t have to learn the same lessons as a ten year old or a sixteen year old.
Her smile widened as she moved closer to her desk at the front of the room and saw the big, shiny apple left for her. She looked for a note, but her mysterious benefactor had once again failed to leave one.
She grabbed the big bell from the desktop, walked toward the door and rang it. The children rushed inside, roses in their cheeks from the chill in the air, their laughter a contagious entity that filled her heart as they hung up their sweaters and took their seats.
“Good morning, children.”
“Good morning, Miss O’Rourke.” Oh, how she loved the sound of that greeting and the bright faces smiling at her.
Time flew by, which never ceased to amaze her. As always, the children seemed to absorb knowledge like sponges, which thrilled Kathryne and before she realized it, the school day was over. “Sarah, would you please collect the books and put them on the shelf? Children, please bring your papers to my desk.”
As Walter approached her desk, paper in hand, she asked, “Would you mind if I walked home with you today?”
The boy shook his head, an impish grin on his lips, though his face flamed to match the color of his bright red hair. He waited with her while she collected her reticule and the letter to her father. She slung her shawl over her arm and closed the door behind her.
“Are you enjoying your lessons?” she asked as they walked side by side, Walter swinging his lunch pail in time with each step he took.
“Most of ‘em,” he admitted as he kicked at a rock in the dirt road and sent it skittering. “I don’t like arithmetic, but I really liked the story you started reading to us.”
“I’m glad. The Adventures of Oliver Twist is one of my favorites. I hope it’ll become one of yours.”
They cut through the town square, walking along the crushed stone path past the bandstand. The smell of pine scented the clean mountain air.
“Mama!” The boy shouted as soon as he let himself into the enclosed porch behind the kitchen of the home he shared with his mother. He passed through the door into
the tidy kitchen and dropped his lunch pail on the table with a clang. “Mama!”
Kathryne entered the kitchen as well and laid her reticule on the table beside Walter’s lunch pail. The smell of simmering beef stew made her mouth water. Aside from the piece of bread she’d had for breakfast and the apple someone had left for her, she hadn’t eaten.
Laurel rushed into the kitchen through a door that separated the living quarters from the small postal office at the front of the house.
“Kate! How wonderful to see you!” She bent low to receive a kiss from her son then rushed toward her, a wide smile on her lips to wrap her in a warm hug. As Laurel had predicted not too long ago, they had become fast friends. “What brings you to my door?” She fixed the boy’s shirt collar and gave permission for him to go fishing, doing two things at once as was her habit.
Kathryne pulled the letter from her reticule. “I’d like to mail this.”
Laurel read the address on the envelope. “So, you’ve finally taken my advice and written to your folks.”
“You were right, Laurel. They deserve to know where I am. They deserve to know I’m safe and happy.”
“But you’re still afraid.”
“You don’t know my father.” Kathryne frowned as a shiver raced down her back. She loved her father, but sometimes, he just didn’t understand. Raising girls had been difficult for him and he often treated her and Emy as if they were his troops, expecting blind obedience. “If you see the cavalry riding into town, you know he’s come to bring me back to Washington.”
“I doubt that will happen, but…” she grinned, making her eyes sparkle, “I wouldn’t mind seeing a man in uniform. My James always looked so dashing when he wore his union blue.”
“Your husband was in the military?”
“Oh, yes.” She tapped the letter against the palm of her hand and her grin widened with the memory. “That’s how we met. At a military ball in Austin. The first time we danced, I knew he was the one for me. I was sixteen and fell in love—” She snapped her fingers. “Like that. I daresay he felt the same.”
Kathryne pulled a chair away from the table and made herself comfortable. “Did he fight in the Civil War?”
Laurel shook her head and some of the light in her eyes died as sadness overcame her. “He wasn’t able to. He broke his leg just before the war was declared. It never healed right, leaving one leg shorter than the other by two inches or so. We had special shoes made for him so he wouldn’t limp.” She sighed as she filled a kettle with water from the pump and placed it on the stove. “I’m glad he didn’t serve, although I would have been proud of him if he had. My James was a good man.”
Another sigh escaped her. “I thought when we married, we’d grow old together but…I have Walter to remind me of him. Walter has James’s red hair and the same impish grin.”
Kathryne watched her friend, saw “what could have been” flash across her face, and felt guilty for bringing up the subject. Though Laurel had never said how James died, Emy had told her he’d been found several miles from Crystal Springs with a bullet in his back. Eight months later, no one knew why he’d been found where he had or who killed him. According to Emy, neither Sheriff Townsend nor his deputies had shown one wit of concern and didn’t investigate the murder.
A little bell jingled from the front of the house, letting them know someone needed service. Laurel wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Excuse me a moment.”
Laurel passed through the door. Kathryne listened to the voices though she didn’t recognize the patron. Whoever it was who came in to pick up his mail wanted to talk. Non-stop. Kathryne heard, though she didn’t want to know, all about the troubles the man had been having with his milk cows. A smile crossed her lips as Laurel responded with sympathy, but Kathryne could tell she wanted the conversation to end.
The kettle whistled. She prepared the tea in a small china teapot then waited while it steeped before she poured the tea into her cup. Steam rose to scent the air as she studied the comfortable, cozy kitchen and listened to Laurel deflect another invitation to dinner then gracefully excuse herself from her would-be dinner companion.
“I’m sorry,” Laurel entered the kitchen with an apology. “That was Mr. Davis. I suppose you heard. That man just can’t take no for an answer. This is the third time this week he’s invited me to dinner.”
“He’s sweet on you, Laurel. Perhaps you should go.”
“But I’m not sweet on him.” She poured herself a cup of tea and slid into the chair opposite Kathryne.
“Would you marry again?”
She tapped her finger on the brightly colored tablecloth then traced one of the design patterns with her fingernail. “If the right man came along, though no one could ever compare to my James.” Her lovely eyes were shiny.
“I loved my husband. I believe he loved me. I realize things are different here, not like New York, Washington or even Austin. Men and women marry for convenience. Or to keep from being lonely. Or like Mr. Davis, who wants a mother for his children and help with his milk cows. I want what I had with James and I won’t settle for less.”
“What about Mr. Jacobs?”
A flush settled over Laurel’s face. “Ephraim and I are friends. Just friends, although he’d like to be more. He’s a good man, but I don’t love him. He deserves a woman who does.” Laurel took a sip of tea, added a small bit of sugar and stirred the contents of the cup. “What about you? Tell me about the man you were going to marry.”
Kathryne stiffened beneath the woman’s direct stare. She had forgotten the lie that had fallen from her lips when she interviewed with the Ladies’ Society. “I’d rather not talk about him. It all seems so long ago.” She smoothed a pleat in her skirt and wouldn’t look at her companion. “I should go. You’re busy and I have papers to grade.”
“Nonsense. Do you have plans for dinner?”
Kathryne grinned. “I heard the Wagon Wheel is having Yankee pot roast as their special today. My mother makes a pot roast that makes your mouth water, but Edna makes the best biscuits I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh, no. Please. Have dinner with us. We have plenty. Walter and I will never be able to finish all this.” She gestured to the pot on top of the stove and muttered something about still cooking for three. “Let’s sit outside and finish our tea. I want to keep an eye on Walter. He loves to fish, even if he never catches anything.”
They moved outside to a table and chairs set beneath the framework of wooden slats where Laurel grew grapes. The setting offered a beautiful view of the river just south of the house. They watched a group of boys jostle and joke with each other, their fishing poles angled into the water. Kate recognized each one.
“Walter, be careful.”
“I will, Mama,” the boy answered as he baited the hook with a wriggling worm and dropped it into the water.
They talked about mundane things and a few tidbits of gossip until Laurel sat up straighter, the teacup halfway to her mouth, which spread into a grin. “Will you look at that?”
Kathryne turned in her seat and sucked in her breath. Chase. In an instant, her heart picked up its pace to pound in her chest like thunder. Butterflies danced in her stomach.
She hadn’t seen him since he pulled a dead squirrel from the attic. In her opinion, he remained the handsomest man she’d ever met. Even Richard and Andrew, both handsome men, couldn’t compare to Mr. Hunter. And his kindness drew her, for despite what the town thought of him, he showed remarkable tolerance and consideration toward everyone. The children didn’t seem to mind his reputation as they gathered around him, eager to learn, perhaps grateful an adult would spend time with them.
A smile crossed her lips as she watched him instruct the boys, and Walter in particular, on the fine art of casting a fishing line into the water. The casual grace of his movements mesmerized her, as did his gentle strength. He bent low, returned the fishing pole to Walter then stood behind the boy and helped him put the instructions to good use. O
n the third try, Walter caught his very first fish. His squeal of delight filled the air.
“Mama! Look!”
“Well done, Walter!” Laurel rose from her seat and clapped.
Chase looked up. Their gazes met and held, and the butterflies in Kathryne’s stomach took flight. His smile would have melted even the coldest heart. His fingers brushed the rim of his hat in greeting before he said a few words to the boys, climbed into Champion’s saddle and rode off, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Look, Mama! Look at my fish!” The boy could hardly contain his excitement as he ran through the gate at the back of the yard, the fish dangling from his hands. Laurel inspected the fish and gushed praise for her son.
“Can we have him for dinner? Can we? Please?”
“Of course, but we’ll have to clean it first. Do you know how?”
Walter shook his head and flashed an impish grin, his eyes shining with pride. “Don’t you, Mama?”
The color drained from Laurel’s face and her hand flew to her throat. “I’ve never cleaned a fish in my life. Just the thought…” She glanced at her son’s face and took a deep breath. She turned to Kathryne. “Do you, by chance, know how to clean a fish?”
Kathryne shook her head and resisted the urge to giggle. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, Walter.”
“Perhaps Mr. Jacobs can show you how.” Laurel ruffled her son’s red hair. “Remember to invite him to dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Walter responded then took to his heels, the fish dangling from the end of the line. With all the excitement of catching his first fish, he ran up the path behind the house toward the blacksmith shop, his voice carrying in the slight breeze as he called Mr. Jacob’s name.
Kathryne glanced at Laurel, ready to share in Walter’s achievement and noticed how stiffly she held herself. The woman’s eyes narrowed and the smile on her lips faded as she stared at the river. “What’s wrong?”
A Good Man for Katie Page 7