“Rhett, slow down,” Wyatt said. “Hannah can’t walk that fast.”
Pulling her attention back to the two boys walking with her, she said, “I will one day soon,” she said. “I think I’ll challenge you both to a footrace after this baby is born.”
Rhett, who had listened to his older brother and slowed down, laughed. “Mothers don’t have footraces.”
“They don’t?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to see about that.” Winking at Wyatt, she added, “Right after I beat you in one.”
While Rhett laughed again, Wyatt changed the subject. “Are you really going to draw a picture of all of us?” he asked.
“If it’s all right with Miss Burnett,” she answered. The idea had come to her last night. If Abigail wanted an etching of all the children, that’s what she would receive. Despite how the other woman might feel toward her, Hannah was not going to promote hatred in any way. She’d left Wisconsin to get away from it. Forever.
She’d thought about that late into the night, and while unable to sleep had remembered something Brett’s mother had said to her. Whenever hatred is allowed to thrive, bad things follow. But where there is love, there’s goodness and grace.
At the time, she’d taken that as a simple statement of truth, but last night, she’d begun to look upon it as a piece of advice, as well as Fiona’s idea of looking at things from a different perspective. It might prove hard, but her first thought had been that Abigail was Teddy’s sister, and Teddy was very easy to like. He was also at the core of her thinking. She couldn’t help but wonder how or why the woman he’d been engaged to had married someone else.
“Hannah came to school with us!”
Rhett’s shout pulled her attention back to the task at hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Olsen,” Miss Burnett said as they arrived at the school building. “I hope you enjoyed the recital yesterday.”
“Oh, I did. Very much,” Hannah answered. “So much I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is that?”
“I’m hoping to spend some time in the classroom today. I didn’t think to bring a piece of paper with me yesterday, and I’d like to draw a picture of the children during their performance.”
“Whatever for?”
“The newspaper,” Hannah answered. “I promise it won’t take long. But I will need everyone to stand at the front of the room like they were yesterday. Just long enough for me to get an outline, then I’ll sit in the back, drawing some of their features.” For the etching, she only needed a prominent feature for each child, so they’d be somewhat recognizable, mainly to their families.
“The newspaper? The children would love that,” Miss Burnett said. “Of course, come in.”
* * *
“Is this everything?” Teddy asked, holding the newspapers in one hand and Abigail’s arm in the other. The newspapers had come from Wisconsin and Minnesota. He hadn’t read them, but believed Abigail’s claim that they held articles of Eric’s accident.
“Yes,” she growled.
She was furious. So was he, and he wouldn’t allow Hannah to be hurt, not in the harmful, hateful way Abigail had been plotting. He ripped the newspapers in half, then again.
“She’s going to destroy you, just like Becky did.” Abigail stomped a foot. “I don’t care what Brett says, that woman came here to find a husband. To find a father for her baby.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“She’ll never love you, no more than Becky did.”
“I’m not marrying Hannah.” As he said the words, his heart lurched and he glanced toward the window Hannah had walked past a short time ago.
“Does she know that?”
“Yes,” he said. “She wouldn’t marry me if I asked, and do you want to know why? Because of you.”
“Me!”
Releasing her arm, he tossed the torn papers into the box beneath the desk. “When I do decide to get married, you will have no say in it because I don’t care what you think. But, in the meantime, if you do anything to Hannah, you will answer to me, and I won’t be as kind as I have been in the past.”
“She’s lying. I haven’t done—”
“You wield that pencil behind your ear like a sword, and though it makes me sick to admit it, I’ve let the fact our parents died when you were young be your shield.” Grabbing his jacket, he shook his head. “I’m done doing that.”
“You’ll be sorry,” she shouted.
Opening the door, he said, “No more than I already am.”
The street was empty, and assuming Hannah had walked Rhett and Wyatt to school, he started in that direction. He had no idea what he might say to her, but if he could prevent her from having her heart crimpled again, he had to do it.
Upon approaching the school, his ears picked up the teacher telling the students to listen to Hannah. It was warm, even for November, and the door was open, so he quietly snuck just over the threshold, to where he could peek around the corner of the storage closet. All the children stood at the front of the room, along with their teacher, while Hannah sat in a chair near the front row of desks.
“Thank you, Miss Burnett,” Hannah said. “Children, I asked you all to stand this way for so long because, as Miss Burnett said, I’m drawing a picture. What she didn’t tell you is that the picture is for Miss White.”
“What for?” one of the children asked.
“Because she’s writing an article for the newspaper about what a wonderful performance you gave yesterday and she wants a picture to print along with the article.”
“So we’ll be in the newspaper?” someone asked.
“Yes,” Hannah said, “but, I think we should all keep that a secret. Think how surprised your parents will be when they see the paper next week with you in it, and read about what a wonderful job you all did in reciting Lincoln’s Proclamation.”
Teddy grinned at the squeals of delight and mumbles of agreement.
“Can you do that?” Hannah asked. “Keep it a secret?”
Shouts of yes echoed off the walls.
“Wonderful,” Hannah said. “I’m going to be here for a while longer drawing, and if I ask you to smile at me, it’s because I’m drawing your face and want to get it right.”
Teddy eased out of the door. There was no one else like her on this earth. No one. As he started down the steps, he paused at a sinking sensation. Now he was going to have to make sure Abigail published the etching.
His life may have just gone from bad to worse.
Chapter Seven
Hannah’s hands hurt, and her eyes ached, but as she gently brushed the etching clean, satisfaction spread throughout her. Smiling, she carefully touched several of the tiny faces. This may very well be her best work. Maybe it was just her, but she could recognize each child.
“Can I see it now?” Fiona asked as she poured hot water into the teapot on the counter.
Sitting at the table, Hannah covered the block of wood with a piece of paper. “I wish you could, but that wouldn’t be fair to Rhett and Wyatt.”
“I know what it is,” Fiona said.
“I’m sure you do,” Hannah answered. “But you’ll act as surprised as every other parent in town when the paper arrives.”
“I’ll have Brett take it to the Gazette in the morning,” Fiona said.
“No, I don’t want him to see it, either. I’ll walk it over there myself. I just hope they haven’t printed the paper yet.”
“Teddy doesn’t print it until Saturday.”
“But he lays it all out on Friday.” Which is why she’d worked on the etching nonstop all day.
“I’m sure he won’t mind redoing a page or two in order to include that,” Fiona said. “Now, it’s late, everyone else has been asleep
for hours. I have tea and biscuits ready to take upstairs. You barely stopped working long enough to eat supper.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry for not being any help to you today.”
“Nonsense. I enjoyed seeing you so engrossed in something. You really enjoyed doing that.”
“I did. I’ve never etched people before.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” With a nod toward the paper-covered etching, Fiona said, “Gather your things. I’ll follow you up the stairs.”
* * *
The following morning, as soon as the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, Hannah set half of a pumpkin pie in the bottom of a basket, covered it with a plate, and then put in the etching and corresponding drawing, as well as a smaller etching and drawing. On top, she stacked the drawings the children had made. After covering the basket with a cloth, she retrieved her coat and left the house.
Everyone from Brett down to Rhett had offered to accompany her to the Gazette office, but she’d declined, stating she’d be back shortly. Although her baby was calm and quiet as she walked toward town, nerves had her stomach churning. Offering this olive branch, which is how she chose to think of her actions, was scary, but she wanted better things for her child than what she’d known, and she had to do something to make that happen. It wasn’t easy, but few things worth doing were easy.
The space between the house and the Gazette office had to have shrunk because before she was fully prepared, she’d arrived.
Abigail was on the other side of the glass window, staring at her, and so was Teddy. Hannah willed her courage to remain, and even managed to produce a smile as Teddy pulled open the door.
“H—Mrs. Olsen, what are you doing here? Is everything all right at Brett’s place?”
The genuine concern in his eyes made her heart swell. “Everything is fine,” she said. “Brett and Fiona say hello.” Holding up the basket, she said, “I have something for Ab—Miss White.”
“What?” Abigail asked.
Ignoring Abigail’s tone and glare, Hannah held her smile in place. “May I?” she asked, gesturing toward the counter.
“Of course,” Teddy said. “Allow me.” He took the basket and set it on the counter.
While removing the cloth, Hannah said, “I made an etching of the children’s recital for you to include with your article.”
“Teddy has already completed the typeset for this week’s edition,” Abigail said, stepping up behind the counter. “We won’t be able to use it.”
Refusing to allow her disappointment to show, and seeing how Teddy was preparing to protest, Hannah said, “I understand. I told the children I may not have it completed in time.” Taking the children’s drawings out of the basket, she handed them to Abigail. “They asked me to give you these either way.”
She’d purposefully put Wyatt’s letter on the top of the pile. Frowning, Abigail started flipping through the pieces of paper.
“Some of the children are too young to write, so they drew pictures,” Hannah explained.
Teddy leaned across the counter and picked up Wyatt’s letter. “‘Dear Miss White. I haven’t read the article yet, but thank you for writing about our recital. It was fun and my ma and pa are going to like seeing my picture in the paper. Sincerely, your friend, Wyatt Blackwell.’”
Hannah smiled at how well Teddy had deciphered some of the misspelled words.
He picked up another one that said Abigail was a very good reporter, and another one that said having their picture in the paper was very exciting. That usually only outlaws got their pictures in newspapers.
Laughing at that one, Teddy picked up the one that Rhett had drawn. It was of several small stick people and one large one with “thank you” written at the bottom. “These are adorable.” Transferring his smiling eyes toward his sister, he said, “Aren’t they, Abigail?”
Abigail didn’t respond, but did seem to be concentrating on a longer letter written by one of the older children. Hannah knew the letter. It was from Patty Owens and claimed she’d like to become a reporter someday.
“May I see the etching?” Teddy asked.
“Of course,” Hannah replied, taking it and the corresponding drawing out of the basket. “I listed all of the children on the drawing,” she said. “In case you were able to print it and wanted to include their names.”
“Wow,” he said, examining the block of wood. “I recognize each one of the children. We have to print it.” Handing it to his sister, he said, “Don’t we?”
Abigail didn’t reply, but took the etching.
“I’m afraid it’s larger than any others I’ve done, but I had to make it that big to fit everyone in.”
“It’s perfect,” Teddy said. “Perfect.”
Hannah’s stomach was still churning and she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath—that was due to standing so close to Teddy. She had thought long and hard about the list he’d given back to her, and how she couldn’t marry any of those men. She’d told herself she’d created the etchings because of Abigail, but in truth, she’d made them because of Teddy. He was so kind and generous and deserved that in return.
Pulling her trailing thoughts back to the task at hand, she reached into the basket. “I made another etching, Abigail.” The other woman’s name hadn’t rolled off her tongue easily and she hoped no one had noticed that. Handing Abigail the small etching, Hannah said, “I made this one of you, in case you’d like to use it.”
Abigail took the block of wood, and Hannah’s stomach completely flip-flopped. Drawing Abigail from memory had been easy. The hard part had been softening her features to make her look as attractive as possible. While drawing, she’d focused on the feature Teddy and Abigail shared—their eyes. So rather than squinting, she’d drawn Abigail’s eyes as round and prominent as Teddy’s were. She’d also changed Abigail’s hair a smidgen. Rather than having it pulled back so tightly, she’d loosened it and drawn a few stray curls near her temples, but had made sure the pencil behind one ear was still visible.
Nervous beyond compare, Hannah said, “My thought had been that you might like to use it if you wanted to print one of the thank-you notes from the children. If there was room in the newspaper, of course.”
Abigail glanced up from the etching, and for the first time ever, there wasn’t loathing in her eyes.
Swallowing a hiccup, Hannah handed Abigail the final piece of paper out of the basket. “Here’s the corresponding drawing.” It was much larger than the etching.
Abigail placed a hand over her mouth as she took the paper with her other hand and stared at it.
Not sure what to do next, Hannah lifted the pie out of the basket. “I brought this, too,” she said to Teddy. “You left before having any dessert on Thanksgiving.”
* * *
Teddy had never seen such a genuine act of kindness in his life, and may never witness one that would compare to this if he lived to be a hundred and one. He wanted to force Abigail to respond, to say something positive, but had accepted Abigail was her own person and needed to accept her own responsibilities.
So did he. “Thank you,” he said. “I was sorry to have missed tasting your pumpkin pie. I believe I’ll have a piece even before I start pulling type.”
“No.”
Teddy balled his hands into fists at Abigail’s voice, and at Hannah’s dejected look. To her credit, she never faltered in putting the cloth back into the basket.
“I’ll pull type, Teddy,” Abigail said. “While you escort Hannah home before Brett and Fiona start to worry about her.”
“That’s not necessary,” Hannah said.
As Abigail stacked the letters from the children into a pile, she said, “It’s the least we can do.”
Teddy was surprised, but agreed. “It is the least we can do.”
“These,” Abigail said, while picking up both etchings, “are amazing, and we will print them in this edition. Thank you for making them. And thank you for bringing them over this morning.”
Relief washed over Teddy, especially as Hannah’s face took on a glow as she placed a hand on her stomach.
“You’re very welcome,” Hannah said. “The children were so excited about the prospect.”
“We’ll print extra copies,” Teddy said, “so they each get their very own copy.”
“They’ll like that,” Hannah answered.
“Teddy,” Abigail said, “shouldn’t you get your coat so you can walk Hannah home?”
“Really, that’s not—”
“Yes, it is,” Teddy said, almost afraid to leave the two women alone. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried around the counter and then through a doorway into the back of the building to grab his coat. Rushing back toward the office, he heard Abigail speak again.
“This was very thoughtful of you,” she said. “Very thoughtful.”
He entered the room as Hannah lifted the basket off the counter.
“I—I sincerely appreciate you providing me with the opportunity to make etchings for the newspaper,” she said. “It’s helped me and my situation considerably. More than you know.”
“It has helped us considerably,” Teddy said. He wasn’t totally sure if Abigail was being sincere, or just acting. It was hard to tell at times, but either way, he was glad she’d behaved. Shrugging into his coat, he rounded the counter and told her, “I won’t be gone long.”
“Take your time,” Abigail said. “I’ll just be pulling type.”
“I can do that when I get back.”
“No,” she replied, looking at the picture of herself. “I can do it. I want to make some changes to the story, too.”
The likeness was very good. It reminded him of her when she was younger.
“I’m sorry to have caused more work for both of you,” Hannah said as he took the basket from her.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “We’re used to last-minute changes. It’s part of the publishing businesses. Isn’t it, Abigail?”
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