"Are you insinuating that I'd consider myself too good to associate with these families?" Sarah asked with a gasp of indignation.
"I'm not making any judgments — at least, not until after we visit a few place around here. Just remember, right now you're not a New York City debutante. Instead, you're working for a salary that these people are paying you. Whether or not you need the money, it's still coming out of the pockets of the people who live here, and every penny is hard earned."
She started to tell him what she thought of his lecture, but Wyn changed the subject.
"Kyle get off all right? Seemed like you and he had a lot to talk about."
"We knew some of the same people back in New York," Sarah said without much thought to her words. Continuing to fume over what she considered Wyn's high-handed censure, when she only wanted to help the mountain people, she said, "I better get a head start on my lesson plans for next week, since I won't have the evenings to work on them."
She strode away without another word, not stopping until she reached her little cabin. Completely uncharacteristically, she slammed the door behind her. Then, instead of going to her desk and opening her lesson book, she sat down on the tiny settee and crossed her arms, patting her foot on the floor. When she became aware that her bottom lip was sticking out mutinously, she jumped to her feet and circled the room.
"Who on earth do you think you are, Wyn MacIntyre?" she grumbled. "I'm doing everything I can to help these children find a better life, and you tell me you're not making any judgments yet. What even gives you the right to make judgments about me?"
She stopped in front of one of the small cabin windows and stared outside. The sun shone beautifully in the clear air, making her wish she was out there enjoying it instead of in here with a pile of work facing her.
Well, why not? She didn't necessarily have to do her lesson plans right now. Maybe she would go over and talk to Mandy.
~~~~
The next afternoon, Sarah's respect for the mountain families grew with each minute of her trip to the first family on her list of parents. The parents of Carrie's friend Patty and her younger brother, Pete, were the only children who didn't ride to school on a mule, and she could only imagine how hard it was for them to make this trip twice a day on foot. But they both declined hers and Wyn's offer to ride with them and made just as good a time as the horses.
She shifted on the saddle now and then, glad none of her New York friends could see her actually riding astride. If she'd had any inkling the MacIntyre family didn't own a sidesaddle, she'd have added one of those to the lists she sent back to her attorney. And after lambasting Wyn's ears over the lack of an appropriate seat for her on that huge animal he'd led over to her house a while ago, she wasn't about to tell him that she actually thought this might be a more comfortable and safer way to ride.
It took them at least a half hour to reach Patty's small cabin, and the length of time the trip took reconfirmed Sarah's awe of the children who lived further away. How on earth did they make it to school without having some limbs frozen, given the shabby coats and footwear she saw hanging in the cloakroom? But they came — came every day the school was open. Perhaps the parent's dreams for their children kept them coming.
She scanned the cabin they were approaching right now and revised her opinion of that premise. Perhaps it was Patty's mother, not both her parents, who kept those children in school. The man on the porch wore a pair of faded overhauls, stretched tight over his huge stomach. He lounged in a broken down chair with stuffing falling out of the armrests, thumbs cocked into his shoulder straps. He didn't appear like the sort who cared about anything except not moving any more than necessary.
If he had, he would have cleaned up a few of the things in the yard and done some repairs. He surely didn't need to spend any time mowing down grass in that muddy expanse. A broken-down wagon with only three wheels sat off to one side. There were several rusty barrels here and there, as well as what looked like three separate burning piles with tin cans in them. On the right was what was evidently a chicken coop, since several hens and a rooster pecked around it. But the fence was useless for keeping the chickens penned up, and one entire coop wall lay in splintered boards on the ground.
Two washtubs lay over by the porch, and one pole holding up the clothesline had broken off and been propped against the cabin wall. There was only one window in the front of the place, made from eight smaller panes of glass. Four of those had rags stuffed in them rather than having the broken glass panes replaced.
A mangy brown and white hound crawled out from under the porch, but it must have taken its cue from its owner, since it didn't bother to bark at the strangers. Instead, it sat down and lifted a leg to scratch its ear.
Patty and Pete ran on ahead and both of them disappeared inside the cabin without saying anything to the man on the porch. Pete must have gone straight through the house and out the back door, because a couple seconds later, Sarah saw him racing up the mountain side behind the cabin, with a rifle in his hand
The man on the porch spit a browns stream over the side of the flooring, then called, "Afternoon, Wyn. Hey, Nettie! Get out h'yar! Teacher's come to call!"
The skinniest woman Sarah had ever seen came out the door, wiping her hands on a rag — except she wasn't skinny in her stomach. Having recently seen Sissy prior to the birth of Baby Sarah, Sarah imagined the woman in front of her was also on the verge of giving birth. And no wonder Patty never smelled very clean and had matted hair. Nettie looked like she hadn't had a bath all winter, so how could she expect her children to learn cleanliness?
Making a mental note to start focusing on the effects of being unsanitary to her class, Sarah pulled her horse to a stop and then debated how she was supposed to dismount. Fortunately, Wyn swung down and came over to her. He took her reins from her hands and looped them on his forearm, then held his arms up to her.
"Swing your right leg over the back, and I'll help you down," he said.
Surprisingly to Sarah, it worked well. He caught her waist and lifted her to the ground as though she weighed no more than Baby Sarah. She turned and smiled straight into his face, forgetting immediately what she'd been going to say. His blue eyes were only a couple inches from her own gaze, and her lips so close she could feel his breath feather over her face — only for a split second, though. He jerked as though someone had shot him and released her so quickly she bumped back against the horse.
The horse snorted and sidled away, and when she staggered, she felt her foot slip on something. She got her balance, then lifted her skirt aside to examine her shoe. The ripe odor told her immediately that she'd stepped in some animal's waste — probably that flea-bitten hound over there.
Gritting her teeth, she glanced at Wyn to see a warning in the set of his face. She briefly closed her eyes, then, holding her skirt up far enough to avoid the mess on her shoe, she hobbled toward the steps.
"Hello," she said, as nonchalantly as she could while using the porch step to clean her shoe.
"Howdy," Nettie replied. "Come on in and set a spell, an' we kin wipe you off."
"Thank you," Sarah said in relief. Now that Nettie had spoken of the mess, surely it would be all right for Sarah to say something. "I really would appreciate that."
She came on up the steps and stopped beside the chair where Nettie's husband set, but he didn't rise.
"This here's Clem," Nettie said.
Sarah politely extended her hand, but Clem only gave her a rotten-toothed smile, never removing his thumbs from his shoulder straps. "Been tellin' that ole hound he oughta do his bizness somewheres else, but he don't lissen none. Jist like this h'yar pack of young'uns."
Biting back the retort she really wanted to give, Sarah dropped her hand to her side and said, "Patty and Pete are both doing very well in school. Pete got a hundred on his arithmetic test the other day."
"Good." Clem spat over the side of the porch again, then continued, "He kin make sure ole Dan ai
n't a mis-chargin' me on my store bill, he keeps that up."
Sarah flashed Wyn a look, but he appeared to be ignoring Clem's comment. "I'll wait out here for you," he said. "Take as long as you want, but remember we have to get back down that trail home tonight, and it's easier with some daylight left."
Nodding, Sarah followed Nettie inside. In this, the woman of the family's domain, she found some neatness, although the smell didn't bear this out. In a private moment on the way here, Wyn had told her they could avoid eating with this family, since they were close enough to get back to their own places for a late supper. But at the other homes, she would be expected to share a meal before the longer return trip.
The grimy pot hanging in the fireplace made her very grateful for Wyn's advice, and the smell of boiling cabbage wafting to her nose heightened her gratitude.
The dimness inside the cabin was so deep she missed seeing the other occupant, only noticing when she heard a clatter in the corner. She glanced over at another child, this one probably half of Pete's age of ten. A little girl, she stood up and Sarah saw another child behind her.
"That there's Minnie," Hettie said. "Say howdy, Minnie."
"Howdy," the child said. She took the other child by the hand and pulled her forward a step. "This here's Janie, but she cain't talk yit."
"Well, hello to both of you," Sarah managed. The second child still wore diapers, and the one she had on sagged as though it desperately needed changing. Probably that was where some of the smell came from, but again, it could have been from Sarah's shoe.
"Sure hope this'uns a boy," Nettie said in an aside. Mebbe I kin rest in between it an' the next one." She gave a tired sigh. "Let's git you cleaned up."
After her shoe was clean, Nettie waved Sarah to the rickety table and placed a chipped cup in front of her. It looked clean, as far as she could tell in the light coming in through the open rear door. After Nettie poured them both a cup of thick coffee, they discussed Patty and Pete's schoolwork for a few minutes, then the wake and Kyle's sermon at church.
Sarah was running out of polite conversation by the time Pete returned. He raced in the back door and threw three dead squirrels on the table, then headed on over to the fireplace and put his rifle on the pegs overhead. One squirrel slid across the table at Sarah, landing with its dead eyes staring up at her. Sarah's gorge rose, but she managed to keep the coffee down, although she did leap to her feet.
Pete came back over to the table, pulling a penknife from his trouser pocket.
"Are you leaving, Teacher?" he asked. "Well, you jist give me a jiffy shake and I'll fix these here squirrels for you to take back with you. Ain't nothin' better'n fried squirrels and biscuit gravy. Iffen you don't know how to fry 'em, why, me and Patty kin stay over tomorrow evenin' long 'nuf to do that for you."
Something told Sarah not to refuse the boy's offer, and she managed a thank you. "I've been taking most of my meals with Mandy Tuttle, though, Pete. I'll give her the squirrels to fix for both of us."
"That'll work," Pete said. He picked up one of the squirrels and made a cut across its back. When he worked a finger inside the skin and started tearing one portion of the fur toward the squirrel's head, the other one toward the rear of it, Sarah's eyes flew to Nettie, begging for help.
Although she stifled a chuckle, Nettie seemed to understand, and rose from her chair. "You wash them squirrels off a'fore you wrap them up for Miss Channing," she told her son. "And bring 'em on outside when you get done. We'll wait out there."
On the porch, Sarah took a deep breath of air. Clem wasn't in his chair, and she saw him and Wyn over by the broken down wagon, both leaning on it and discussing something. Wyn had tied their horses to the wagon. As Sarah watched, Clem picked up a clay jug from the wagon bed and swung it into the crook of his elbow. He took a long swallow, then offered it to Wyn, who shook his head.
Over by the dilapidated chicken coop, Patty was throwing feed to the chickens, and Sarah noticed a young man she'd seen at the dance and church following her around.
"That there's Sam Carter," Nettie said to Sarah. "Cabbage Carter's boy. I ain't sure he's who I'd pick out for Patty, but Clem ain't run him off, so I cain't say nothin'."
Sarah only nodded, staring out over the junk-filled yard. Beyond the cabin, the mountains stretched out in a heart-stopping vista, their beauty making a sharp contrast to the tiny piece of earth where the cabin sat. She thought of her own existence back in New York and the household budget she was given before her father died. Why, she allowed the cook more funds for a week than Patty's family probably had for a year.
On past the wagon, she noticed a plot of weed-choked land, where someone had started digging up new earth. A few days ago, she'd seen Wyn out with one of the horses plowing up a piece of ground on the opposite side of the store from the schoolhouse. Mairi had told her that as soon as the moon was right, they'd begin planting their garden in that spot.
She'd asked Mairi why they planted at night during the moon, and the child had broken into peals of laughter. At last she'd managed to tell Sarah the planting was actually done in the daytime, but the determination of what it was time to plant was made by whatever phase the moon was in the previous night.
"I see your husband is getting your garden ready," she said to Nettie when she realized the silence was stretching out to the point of rudeness.
"Naw," Nettie denied. "Me and the little 'uns are doin' that when we kin, a little at a time."
Shocked, Sarah looked at Nettie's protruding stomach before she could stop herself. Nettie laid a grubby hand on the bulge.
"My babe ain't due for 'nother month yit. I figger we kin leastwise git our 'maters set out and the corn planted a'fore then."
To Sarah's utter relief, Pete came out. Despite knowing that there were three bodies that probably looked like naked rats inside the brown paper he handed her, Sarah took it from him gratefully.
"Wyn said he wanted to get back before dark," she said hurriedly. "I don't want to upset him by overstaying. You know how men can be."
Nettie rubbed her upper arm. "Yeah, I do know that," she mused, then seemed to catch herself. "Thankee for comin', Miss Channing. And you come back any time, you hear?"
"Thank you for the coffee," Sarah said in response. She walked down the porch steps and carefully picked her way across the muddy yard. She handed the brown-paper wrapped bundle of squirrels to Wyn, telling him what it was, and he placed it in the saddlebag on his horse. Then with Wyn's help, she mounted her own horse and said good-bye to Clem.
Chapter 13
It was a silent ride back to Sawback Mountain. As he had on the way there, Wyn led the way. Sarah's horse needed little guidance, plodding along with its nose close to the tail of the horse Wyn rode. Patty and Pete had chattered on the previous trip, and they hadn't seen any animals, although birds filled the trees. On the return trip, she spotted a deer watching them at one point, and a red fox ran across the trail at another. The birds were still singing, but now she heard an owl hoot a few times.
After about fifteen minutes, Wyn stopped his horse and silently pointed up the side of the mountain. Quite a ways above them, she could see a cave. A tiny dark shape flew out of the cave mouth, then several more. Suddenly an huge cloud of black shapes poured out of the cave, rising into the sky and scattering much like smoke.
"Bats," she said in an apprehensive voice.
"They won't bother you," Wyn assured her. "They're only after bugs and mosquitoes."
He urged his horse forward again, and she followed. Her scalp prickled and she glanced behind her a couple times. However, the cloud of bats had dispersed into the air.
Though the days were lengthening, the horses threw long shadows against the setting sun by the time they passed the stone chimney left from a previous cabin. Sarah recognized that as a landmark from the trip up the mountain. Just past the chimney, the trail widened a little, and Sarah urged her horse up beside Wyn's.
"Are all the places like that one?
" she asked.
He didn't appear to need further explanation that she was talking about Patty and Pete's home.
"No, that's really one of the worst," he said. "Except for Cabbage Carter's place. Although there are a few just as bad. Clem's none too ambitious, and if it wasn't for Nettie working herself all the time and Pete's ability with that gun, those young'uns would starve."
"Why does she stay with him?" Sarah asked in disgust.
Wyn turned to stare at her for a moment before he answered. "What else would she do? She's usually carrying a babe. She's got the four of them, but she's lost at least that many more. And she never got to school a day in her own life. Guess that's why she's so adamant about her young'uns getting as much education as they can. She had hopes for Patty, but I saw Sam Carter hanging around. Sam will never amount to any more than his old man."
"Well, there should be an option for her!" Sarah thinned her lips. "Good heavens, she could at least insist that man leave her alone so she doesn't have a babe every year."
Wyn swung his horse across the trail, blocking her way. On past him, she could barely see the buildings of Sawback Mountain. Beyond them was a sky filled with the violent but stunning colors left behind from the sun, which had already gone below the mountain peaks. Wyn stood out against that background like a satyr from Greek mythology.
"I'll throw your own words right back at you," he halfway snarled. "What right do you have to make any judgment about Nettie? And Clem, for that matter? Maybe they're doing the best they can. For one thing, Clem could just up and say that the young'uns couldn't go to school at all any more, and Nettie would have to abide by that. But he always manages to come up with his share of the teacher's salary every fall. And as far as her having a baby each year, maybe she gets as much pleasure out of making those babies as Clem does!"
"Ohhhh!" Sarah felt her cheeks burn. "How . . . how dare you talk about that in front of me!"
"About what? Lovemaking? Let me tell you what, Sarah. You were getting a hell of a lot of enjoyment out of just the preliminaries to actual lovemaking with me the other night. I'll bet you'd be a writhing ball of flames during the actual act."
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