by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
Once the floodgates opened, she talked without touching her soup. Lewis not only listened but also asked intelligent questions. When she slowed down enough to finish her bowl, she scooted her chair to the corner of the table near his chair and laid the notebook with her rough plans for the school—classrooms, dormers, library, the works. She sighed. “I don’t know how many changes to ask for. If I ask too much, he might decide not to let me lease the house at all.”
Lewis pushed the bowl away from him and leaned back, an amused gleam in his eye. “I doubt that. If you ask me, Mr. Daniel is interested in you.”
Heat she couldn’t blame on the now-cooling stove flooded her cheeks. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree. Why should you settle for half a man? Why, even at your age, with your inheritance, you should be able to attract the finest that Vermont has to offer.”
“Why, you …” Anger pounded into her temples. “I do not intend on ‘settling’ for any man. And if I was interested, Daniel Tuttle is more of a man than I could ever hope to attract if I was eighteen and beautiful and not …” Anger fled her, tears taking its place.
“Oh, sis.” Lewis put his arms around her in an awkward hug. “I spoke without thinking. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ll find somebody. I know you will.”
Clara sniffled, but she blamed it on the lingering cold. “That’s all right. I have every intention of becoming Maple Notch’s resident spinster, famous countrywide for her school. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Liar, her traitorous heart whispered.
Chapter 8
Clara took extra time with her toilette in the morning. She decided to break from wearing mourning, for the sake of the children. That’s what she told herself. Nothing spelled gloom quite so loudly as funeral attire, and she wanted her pupils to enjoy their day at school. Lewis’s words about Daniel last night had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
She chose a spruce-green and beige gingham that she’d been told highlighted her eyes, with only a black armband to indicate her continued mourning. But the children didn’t explain why she fiddled with her hair. She even pinned hair rats, made from strands she pulled from her brush, under the hair on either side of her head, to give her face a softer, rounder shape. If only she didn’t need glasses to see. The thin frames emphasized her straight, pointed nose and hid the depths of her eyes. She slipped a reddish-brown hairnet into her satchel, in case her hair fell down, alongside sheet music of her favorite songs. Music and story were her preferred methods to teach America’s history, not dull dates and names. She’d let Miss Stone drill that information into them when she returned, if she felt it was important.
She left biscuits and bacon in the warmer oven for Lewis when he woke up. When she had informed him of her morning appointment—with enough blushes to paint the sky pink with sunrise—he pretended not to notice and only said he didn’t need to report to work until nine.
She took Misty. Lewis had insisted on it, expressing concern for her safety while traveling in the dark. Had the robbery brought them to this, fearful of their neighbors and jumping at every shadow in the trees? She hoped the hysteria would soon pass.
Violence of any kind made a community uneasy. Maybe that’s why she didn’t enjoy studying the minutiae of war. Even so, she agreed that freedom—from Britain’s tyranny and for the slaves—was something worth fighting for.
What stories would Daniel tell? Would he mention realities best left unshared with children? The older boys, who hoped the current conflict wouldn’t end before they could enlist, needed to hear the truth. But not in the schoolroom. Daniel had an ear for a good story. He might stretch the truth upon occasion, but his audience would remember the story all the better for it.
She knew she’d remember every detail. His eyes burned with truth and passion, burrowing his way into her heart, no matter how much she denied it to Lewis.
Even though she arrived at the café early, Daniel was already there to help her down from the saddle. After she tethered the horse to the hitching rail, he turned so she could tuck her left arm in the crook of his right elbow, and they entered the establishment like any couple might. She turned her face aside so that he wouldn’t see her telltale blush, but she sneaked glances to take in his appearance. He, too, had taken pains with dressing. His white shirt had been pressed, the left sleeve neatly pinned under his elbow; his breeches looked clean; and his hair, combed and slicked back. He looked better than fine—he almost looked like a man come courting. She shooed that thought away.
“How lovely to see you here today, Captain Tuttle! And Miss Farley, it’s been far too long.” Fannie, the hostess, seated them near the window, where all comers could see her prize patrons. “How may I serve you today?”
Daniel smiled at being given the place of honor. “I’ll have your Lumberjack’s Special.”
“Two of everything, and I’ll heat the syrup for you.” Fannie turned to Clara as she poured coffee for Daniel—not the dark sludge he made for himself, she noted. “And for you?”
Clara had avoided breakfast at home so she would have an appetite, but the butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t welcome greasy fare. “A bowl of oatmeal, with some tea, please.” The ham sandwich and apple she had packed for lunch would have to hold her over until supper.
“That’s not a very big breakfast.” Daniel smiled at her and sipped the coffee. Sighing, he pushed it away. “That wouldn’t keep a mosquito awake long enough to suck my blood.”
Clara pushed the creamer and sugar at him. “Try these. They cover a multitude of sins, Papa used to say.”
“If you call café au lait coffee.” But he smiled and stirred in a little of both. “It does improve the taste, even if it doesn’t keep me awake.” He studied her over the cup, which looked as delicate as a chickadee in his hand. “You look nice today, Miss Farley.” The hesitation in his voice belied the warmth in his eyes, as if he couldn’t help saying the words.
The compliment left her so flustered she said the first thought that came into her mind.
“I thought you might wear your uniform.”
What warmth she had spied in his eyes fled, replaced by granite. “The last uniform I was wearing wasn’t fit to come home in.”
She blanched. His last uniform was the one he wore when a cannonball shattered his arm. In a small voice, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I survived. Many less fortunate didn’t. I tell myself at least I still have both my legs.”
The arrival of their food saved them any further discussion on the subject. He had withdrawn into some angry, lonely place. How could she cheer him? Talk about the robbery, since that was one reason for meeting that day? No, she decided. Not yet. In his present mood, he might take it as an accusation for his lack of progress in the investigation. Nothing she could think of would bring back that spark.
A thought occurred to her and made her smile. If she couldn’t cheer him up, she’d give him a different target for his anger. “What do you think would happen if I showed up at the town hall on election day to cast my vote?”
He laid down the fork he was bringing to his mouth. “What did you say?”
“I asked what you would do if I came to the town hall to vote on election day. The election is only two weeks away, after all.” She looked down at her plate, but she had finished the oatmeal, and her appetite had returned. She gestured Fannie over and asked for more tea and a soft-boiled egg.
When she met Daniel’s eyes, she didn’t encounter anger, but rather, amusement.
“I do believe you’re serious.” He smiled.
She tossed her head and felt some of the pins she had used to tuck her hair into place fall out. “If I teach the class tomorrow, I plan on holding a mock election—and let the girls cast their votes as well as the boys.”
His mouth opened and shut again, without a single word passing his lips.
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin to
hide her amusement. “The day will come when women will vote, you know. I hope it’s in my lifetime. If not, certainly in my daughter’s.”
She realized she had spoken of a daughter she had no prospect of bearing. Clara could see the girl, a lovely, auburn-haired beauty with fiery hazel eyes that lit up like the sun. Heat scorched her cheeks.
Fannie returned with the requested food, and Daniel took advantage of the time Clara spent cutting the top of her egg off to drink his coffee.
Within seconds, Fannie arrived to refill his cup then went off to serve other patrons. He frowned at the pale-brown surface. Too much coffee in the cup to make café au lait. Instead, he drank from his glass of water. “I suppose you plan on teaching these radical ideas in that school of yours.” His smile stretched wider.
Clara look so stricken, so worried, that he hastened to put her mind at rest. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you. In fact, people might pay good money to see you give a speech on the subject.”
“It’s not a laughing matter.” She lifted her chin in that way that said she wouldn’t listen to any arguments.
“Who’s laughing? I think I’m on to something here. Make Maple Notch the greatest learning center in all of Vermont. All of New England, for that matter. Why limit our horizons to those young ladies you hope to bring here? Why not enlighten young men as well?”
When he saw the thoughtful look cross Clara’s face, he regretted the words he’d uttered in jest. She sat straight in her chair, spoon poised over her eggcup, eyes alight with some inner thought process. When she came to life again, she shook her head and took a bite.
“What you propose is an intriguing idea. Someday, perhaps, but for now, I am happy to further educational opportunities for young ladies.” She put down her spoon and looked at him.
“I apologize for my earlier question about your uniform.”
He stiffened, and she must have noticed. She hastened to add, “I was thoughtlessly thinking of the classroom like a stage, and what props an actor might bring. That’s not quite what I mean. I hope you understand.” She dropped her gaze again.
He took her hand in his. “Look at me.” In the depths of her eyes, he saw a mirror of the anguish he allowed himself to feel on his worst days. “I know you didn’t mean to offend.”
She sipped her water then moistened her lips with her tongue. “You don’t have to discuss your own experiences in the war unless you want to. I have no desire to bring back unpleasant memories.”
He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Don’t worry. There are some good memories. I can mention friends and training and campfires and belief in God.” He could fill hours in the classroom without mentioning the smells of decay, the frigid cold and the stifling heat, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the horror of the surgeon’s knife…. He trembled.
Now she held his hand. “It might be best not to mention your part in the current conflict at all. Some of the students are … overeager, shall we say. I’m afraid they would pester you with questions.”
He regained his equanimity. “Then all the more reason I should tell them something. They all know I fought in the war, and if I don’t mention it, they may ask me questions I don’t care to answer.”
He had been there from the beginning with the Army of the Potomac, from its first skirmish during the Peninsula campaign back in ‘62 through the horror that was Gettysburg, when General Sedgwick issued his famous order, “Put the Vermonters ahead and keep the column well closed up.” When they covered the draft riots in New York, Daniel began to think he might survive the war unscathed. Then his regiment joined in General Grant’s overland campaign, and half their number died or were wounded. Only five months had passed since then. As soon as the surgeons determined Daniel would survive the infection that set in after they amputated his arm, they sent him home. The town rewarded its hero with the position as constable. His mouth twisted. No one had foreseen bank robbery or the Confederate invasion of Vermont.
Clara’s hand, a lifeline that kept him from sinking beneath the morass of his memories, withdrew from his grasp, and she reached for her reticule. Then he felt a sheet of paper slip beneath his fingers. He looked down and saw a sketch of the second floor of the Bailey Mansion.
Her lips straightened, eyes bright behind her glasses; she had moved on from discussion of the war. Her businesslike demeanor reminded him of how wrong he was to think of Miss Farley in any terms except that of friendship.
“The second floor would be our dormer floor. I would like to divide the master bedroom into two separate compartments.”
Divide up his grandparents’ bedroom? I promised I would consider the changes she wanted. Maybe he expected suggestions along the lines of extra shelves or furnishings, not structural adaptations. He studied the drawing, but it made about as much sense to him as the maps their captains used to draw up before a battle. He saw things better in person than on paper. “I’ll study it and get back to you.”
“Very well.” If she was disappointed, she hid it well. “It’s time for me to get to class. I’ll expect you in about half an hour, then, after I’ve called roll?”
Overriding his protests, she paid her bill and left, taking all the morning brightness with her. He shivered in her absence and set about making his plans for the rest of the day. After he finished at the school, he would go to Stowe to see if any of their stores sold a hair tonic like the one the robbers used. So far, Dixon hadn’t been able to identify it.
As much as he might like to spend the day with Miss Farley, he had work to do.
Clara looked at the second hand creeping around the clock. She had never called a class to order so quickly. Five minutes remained until she had asked Daniel to arrive. Nicholas Whitson’s father had declined the invitation. What could they do to fill in the time? They had already read scripture and recited the Lord’s Prayer.
An idea jumped to her mind. “While we are waiting for our special guest, I’m going to give you a quote. Raise your hand if you think you know who said it.”
What had she done? Did she know them well enough herself? Of course she did. She had excelled in oratory at school and loved stirring patriotic speeches the best of all. Marshalling her thoughts, she pronounced, “ ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’ ”
Little Libby Whitson raised her hand first. “It’s from—”
“Wait until I call on you, Libby.” Clara hated to douse her enthusiasm, but rules had to be followed for the contest to be fair. “You raised your hand first, Libby. You may answer. But if you are incorrect, I will ask someone else for the answer.” She nodded for Libby to speak.
“That’s from the Declaration of Independence. By Thomas Jefferson.”
That girl deserved a gold star. “That’s right, Libby. How about, ‘I regret that I have but one life to give for my country’?” Clara was pleased to see that young Phineas Tuttle—Daniel’s nephew—raised his hand a fraction of a second before Libby.
“Yes, Phineas?”
“Nathan Hale, ma’am, when them Brits were about to execute him.”
“Exactly right. Well done.” She beamed. She heard a creak at the back of the room and saw Daniel slip in. He motioned for her to continue.
“How about, ‘We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.’ ”
“That’s easy.” Libby frowned. “That’s from the—”
“Libby—” Clara warned her.
“The preamble to the Constitution!” Phineas finished.
Would those two young ones compete with each other all the way through school the wa
y she and Daniel had? She wanted her seminary because of girls like Libby with bright, inquiring minds, who deserved a broader education than the public school provided. “You are correct. Remember to raise your hands. Who wrote the preamble?”
Libby’s hand shot up first, and Clara nodded for her to speak. “It was written by Gouverneur Morris.”
“And the year?” Clara noticed Phineas squirming in his seat.
Libby frowned. “17 … uh … 98?” A note of uncertainty crept into her voice. Clara had noticed she sometimes reversed her letters.
Phineas shot to his feet. “It was 1789, Miss Farley.”
“You’re both right. I have one last quote for you. Every one of you should know this one. Who said, ‘In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress!’ ”
No one raised their hands for a moment. Phineas’s hand started to go up, but he pulled it down.
“I know the answer to that one.” Daniel moved forward from the back door, where he had waited. “Ethan Allen, leader of our own Green Mountain Boys during our War for Independence, right before he captured Fort Ticonderoga.”
The class groaned.
“With Miss Farley’s permission, I’d like to give you one last quote.” She nodded.
He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart. “ ‘Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that “all men are created equal.” ’ ”
Clara knew, but no one in the class raised their hands. “Let’s think about it, class. A score means the same thing as twenty. If we make it into a math problem”—she took chalk in her hand and went to the blackboard—”we’d have to say—”
Young Tommy Tooms’s hand went up. “Four twenties. Eighty.”
“Plus?”
“Seven,” Daniel prompted.
“Eighty-seven,” Tommy said. “And he said eighty-seven years ago, so we’d have to subtract the number, right?”