Copyright
ISBN 978-1-61626-875-6
Copyright © 2012 by Frances Devine. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
one
Georgia 1881
Abigail James gripped the side of the wagon seat with one hand and clutched her small, feather-tipped hat with the other. Determined to have something colorful to brighten up her drab traveling suit, she’d purchased the emerald green confection at Madame Genevieve’s boutique before she left Washington, DC. She’d be snookered if she’d see its tiny, bright feathers splattered in the muddy ruts of a Georgia back road.
“Sorry about this here bumpy wagon, Miss James.” The stocky, dark-skinned driver, who’d introduced himself as Albert, reached under the brim of his hat and scratched his grizzled head. “Sure wish the axle hadn’t broke on the carriage at the last minute.”
Impatience tugged at the edge of Abigail’s emotions. This was the fourth time the man had apologized since they’d left the train station. She dabbed her lace handkerchief on her forehead.
“It’s all right. I’m not that fragile.” To be truthful, she feared she might bounce right off the wagon any minute and land in the middle of the road in an unladylike pile of skirts. She darted a nervous glance at the red clay mud that splattered against the wagon wheels as they slushed through the ruts in the road.
“You must have had a great deal of rain lately.”
“Yes, ma’am. Gully washer after gully washer for the past week.” He reached up and scratched his head again. “Don’t know when I’ve seen so much rain in the summertime. And here it be the first week in June. We shore did need it though. We been sufferin’ a awful long dry spell.”
So why hadn’t the rain cooled things off a little bit? Back home the temperature was still nice and springlike. If she didn’t get out of this heat soon, she might faint. And she’d never fainted in her life.
“How much farther is it to the school?” The constant bouncing of her backside against the hard seat was becoming quite painful. Perhaps she was a little more fragile than she’d thought.
“Just about a quarter mile or so. I know you’re going to be a welcome sight to Mr. Charles and Miss Helen. They haven’t talked of much else since they heard you was coming to help out.”
Abigail knew the other two teachers, Charles Waverly and Helen Edwards, had taught at the school for nearly a year with no help since the school’s other teacher had married and moved away. She smiled. The bride’s wedded bliss was Abigail’s good fortune. She’d yearned for a teaching position of her own ever since she’d finished her courses. When she’d received the acceptance letter from the director of the school, Joshua Carter, she’d been almost giddy with joy.
“When will I meet the director?”
“Mr. Carter gone to Mobile, Alabama, on business. Don’t rightly know when he’ll be back.”
“Oh.” Disappointment tightened her chest. She’d hoped to be able to discuss techniques before she began teaching. In the letter the director had sent her, he had outlined the methods of teaching she was expected to know. Sign language wasn’t mentioned. Excitement coursed through her. They must not have anyone qualified to teach it. Professor Roberts—her mentor, family friend, and instructor—had taught her sign language for two years until she was proficient in it, and she hoped to begin utilizing this method of communication right away. Did she dare go ahead without permission from the director? She chewed her bottom lip in thought. Probably not.
Albert guided the horses around a bend and turned onto another road. Even narrower than the other, it was barely wide enough for the wagon to pass. Honeysuckle sprawled across a weathered fence, its fragrance delighting Abigail’s nose. Wildflowers of every color and shape dotted the fields. Albert pulled up in front of a wooden gate that barred their way. While he got out to open it, Abigail read the sign hanging to one side. Cecilia Quincy School for the Deaf. A shiver ran down her spine as reality hit her. Could she do this? With resolve, she lifted her chin and straightened her back. Professor Roberts said she was ready. He believed in her, and she wouldn’t let him down.
Albert climbed back up on the seat and drove through then went to shut the gate.
When he was once more in the wagon, he flicked the reins and guided the horses down the long, tree-lined avenue.
“What are these trees?” She waved a gloved hand at the thick, sturdy trees, some gnarled with age, that lined the road.
“Them there’s live oak. They been standin’ there for hunnerds of years, I reckon.” He squinted and frowned. “Ain’t you ever seen no live oak?”
“Live oak? I’ve seen oak.”
Albert leaned his head back and squinted before he nodded. “Well now. They’s oaks and then they’s live oaks. Live oaks stay green year round.”
“Really? That’s strange.” She couldn’t help but be intrigued, but the spidery wisps hanging from the trees intrigued her more. “What’s that hanging from the branches?”
Albert chuckled. “Guess you ain’t never seen no Spanish moss neither. It’s mighty pretty, ain’t it? The school’s right around the next bend.”
They passed a magnolia tree covered with large white flowers and rounded the curve. Abigail drew her breath in sharply.
The white-frame, three-story house stood regally against a backdrop of thick woods. Balconies surrounded the upper floors, and a wide porch stretched across the lower, its pillars tall and stately. A grove of peach trees, pink and white blossoms still clinging to the branches, graced the area to her left. More blooming magnolia trees stood on both sides of the lush green lawn.
“Used to be a plantation house, belonged to a man named George Quincy. After he died, his widow freed all the slaves and give ’em all cabins and land. Said she figgered they’d earned it. And that was ten years before the war. She turned the big house over to her son, Thomas Quincy, to open this school.”
“What a wonderful thing for her to do. I wonder why?”
“Heard tell she had a little girl who was deaf. The chile died when she was young from some disease she’d had since birth. The school was named after her.”
“One of the names on my application was Quincy.”
“Yes’m. That be Dr. Trent Quincy. He inherited the school and all the Quincy property a few years ago from his father, Thomas.”
“Oh. Does he live at the school?”
“No’m, Doc Trent live in the house Mr. Thomas built. It not as big as the school, but it be mighty fine.”
He drove around the circular drive and stopped the wagon in front. Before Abigail could move, the front screen door flew open and a thin, elderly, black woman stepped out, her eyes smiling and her lips curved.
“And here you are, Miss Abigail.” Her voice was soft and low. She stepped forward as Albert helped Abigail from the wagon. “You come right on in the house, now, out of this heat. I’m Virgie, the housekeeper.” She turned a frown on Albert. “Why’d you bring Miss Abigail in that old wagon? You were supposed to fetch her in the carriage.” Without waiting for an answer the tiny woman turned and opened one of the double screen d
oors.
Abigail stepped past her and into the house, breathing a sigh of relief at the welcome coolness of the room-sized foyer.
“Miz Virgie, Miz Virgie. Is she here yet?”
A small girl, maybe five or six years old, descended the wide, curving staircase. Abigail watched with awe as the child held on to the rail and took one careful step down at a time. Her glistening brown eyes darted this way and that.
“She sure is, Lily Ann girl. She’s standing right here be-side me.”
Abigail stood frozen. She must go to the child. The precious angel stepped forward with eager steps, hands searching the air. Abigail forced herself forward, every fiber of her being wanting to grab the little one’s hands. But somehow instinct kicked in. She mustn’t frighten the child.
She stooped down and extended one hand in front of her. “Here I am, Lily Ann.”
The child took one more step and found her. “There you are. You’re Miss Abigail. May I look at you, please?”
Confused, Abigail darted a questioning glance at Virgie, who ran both her hands across her own face.
“Of course you may look at me, Lily Ann. It’s only fair since I’m looking at you.”
Lily Ann giggled and nodded, her brown braids bobbing up and down. “That’s right.” Her small hand was gentle as it smoothed and probed Abigail’s face.
“You’re very pretty, Miss Abigail.” She dropped her hand.
“Thank you. So are you. Very pretty indeed.” She stood, but let her hand rest on the little girl’s shoulder.
At the sound of the door opening, she turned. The man who stood there was tall with broad shoulders. He held her wobbling trunk on his shoulder, and his white shirt stretched tight over bulging muscles. One coal-black curl fell across his forehead, and the blue of his eyes deepened as he stared at her with a startled look on his face.
“Dr. Trent, Dr. Trent, my new teacher is here.” Lily Ann jumped up and down, a grin on her face.
Abigail’s breath caught in her throat, and her stomach lurched. She sent a questioning look to Virgie, who smiled and nodded.
But this was a school for the deaf. They expected her to teach a blind child?
❧
Trent Quincy grabbed at the swaying trunk and set it on the floor, hoping to gather his wits about him before he had to face the beautiful wide-eyed young woman who stood in the middle of the foyer.
“Careful, Dr. Trent.”
Virgie’s voice bought him back to his senses and he straightened, clearing his throat. “I know, Virgie. I wouldn’t dare drop a trunk on your shining floor.”
He glanced at the stranger. Soft auburn curls fell below the atrocious feathered hat that perched atop her head, looking for all the world like a big, green bird. The warm brown eyes below the brim searched his face, which, from the way it burned, must be flaming bright red.
“Doctor, this is the new teacher, Miss Abigail James.” Virgie gave him a fond smile. “Miss Abigail, this clumsy man is our doctor and the owner of the school, Dr. Quincy.”
Miss James thrust her small gloved hand toward him, and he took it, hardly knowing whether to kiss it or shake it. He bowed slightly, pressing her hand gently before releasing it.
“Welcome to Quincy School, Miss James. We’re like a family here, and I trust you will feel at home among us soon.”
Her lips turned up slightly at the corners. “Thank you, Dr. Quincy. I’m sure I shall.”
Virgie took Miss James’s arm and began to walk her toward the staircase. “My lands, Miss Abigail. Here we stand making small talk when you must be wore out from traveling and probably thirsty, too.”
Trent’s gaze followed them as they made their way up the stairs.
“Here, Dr. Trent.” Albert grabbed the trunk by its straps. “I best get this here trunk up to Miss Abigail’s room before Virgie be hollerin’ down the stairs.”
Trent grabbed the strap on one end. “I don’t know what she’s got in this contraption, but it’s heavy. Let’s share the load.”
By the time they reached the room assigned to Miss James, both men were panting.
They set it down beside the bed.
“I’m sorry it’s so heavy.” Concern clouded her eyes, and she glanced from Albert to Trent. “I brought a number of books with me.”
Trent nodded. “That’s quite all right, Miss James.” He smiled. “I’d better attend to my duties. See you at supper.”
He headed downstairs and found Lily Ann waiting for him. He’d discovered long ago that she could recognize him by his footsteps.
“Dr. Trent. Do you like my new teacher? She’s pretty isn’t she?” Her smile lit up her face like sunshine.
Trent dropped to one knee and placed his arm around the child. “I like her very much, and there’s no denying she’s pretty.”
“What color is her hair?” She frowned. “Miz Virgie took her away before I could ask. And her eyes, what color are they?”
“Hmmm, I’d say her hair is auburn. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded. “Of course I do. Sort of red and sort of brown. At least that’s how Mr. Charles taught it to me.”
“And Mr. Charles was absolutely correct. Reddish brown.” He pursed his lips. “Or maybe brownish red would be more accurate in Miss James’s case.”
“And her eyes? Are they green? ’Cause Billy told me redheaded people usually have green eyes.”
“Well, some do. But Miss James’s eyes are a very lovely shade of brown. With a glint of amber deep inside.”
“Oh.” She stuck her finger in her mouth then pulled it out almost immediately.
Trent smiled. When she’d first come to the school, four fingers were in her mouth most of the time.
“But I don’t know what amber is.”
His heart constricted. Lily Ann had lost her sight two years ago. She remembered most of her colors. Amber must be new to her.
“Honey, the amber I’m speaking of is sort of orange and gold all mixed together.”
She tilted her head. “Oh. Okay. I think I can picture that, sort of. Are they pretty?”
“Yes, but not as pretty as yours.”
“Mine are brown, too.”
“Yes, but yours are like chocolate cake.”
She giggled. “Don’t you try to eat my eyes.”
“I’ll do my best to resist, but you know how I like chocolate.”
“Lily Ann.” Virgie came down the stairs. “Mr. Charles is waiting for you.”
Lily Ann’s rosebud lips formed a pout, and her forehead scrunched up. “But I thought Miss Abigail was going to be my teacher now.”
“Miss Abigail is gon’ to read to you and teach you spelling. But she just arrived and needs to rest. You got to go to Mr. Charles’s class now.”
“Oh. All right.” She started up the stairs, one tiny hand sliding up the rail. Suddenly she stopped and turned her head. “Good-bye, Dr. Trent. See you at supper.”
“Good-bye, Miss Lily Ann. Maybe we’ll have us some chocolate.”
Her laughter trilled downward. “Not my eyes.”
He glanced at Virgie. “Miss James is settled in? I hope she found her room satisfactory.”
“Yes, but something else isn’t so satisfactory. I think we’ve got ourselves a problem.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Carter didn’t say one word in his letter about her teaching a blind child. She scared to death at the thought.”
Trent groaned. “Do you think perhaps she overlooked it?”
“No, sir. She showed me the letter.” She shook her head. “That man left it out on purpose because he needed a teacher and wasn’t sure she’d come if she knew about Lily Ann. At least that’s how I’ve got it figured.”
“Why would you say such a thing, Virgie?”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that, Dr. Trent. Don’t pay any mind to me. Now I need to go see what’s keeping Sally May. I sent her to bring clothes off the line an hour ago.”
Trent looked after her as she headed for the back door. The longtime housekeeper seldom found fault with anyone. If she had a concern about the school’s director, it was probably worth looking into.
He went to the infirmary to check on Donald Atwood, one of the students who’d shown possible influenza symptoms yesterday. As a precaution, Trent had had him moved to the infirmary so others wouldn’t be exposed.
A memory of the new teacher teased his mind. What he’d said to Lily Ann about her being pretty was true. The first sight of her had nearly knocked him for a loop. But the important thing was that they needed her. His main reason for hiring another teacher was for Lily Ann. The other teachers were too busy to give the child the personal attention she needed. There was a school in Alabama that would be more suited to her, but Lily Ann’s parents refused to allow her to go so far way. He didn’t really blame them for not wanting to be away from their child. So he’d arranged for Lily Ann to board through the week and go home on weekends. He only hoped the task of teaching a blind child wouldn’t scare Miss Abigail James away.
two
Abigail’s trunk stood open beside the bed. Virgie offered to send someone up to unpack, but Abigail insisted she preferred to take care of her own things. As tired as she was, this was only partly true. But from what she’d observed, the school was shorthanded, not only in teachers but also household staff.
Supper would be served in the dining room at six. That gave her two hours to put away her things and perhaps rest awhile before freshening up for the evening meal. Virgie had told her the children normally ate at five and the staff at seven, but in honor of the new arrival and because the children were so excited to meet her, they’d changed the schedule for today.
Her thoughts whirled with the new turn of events con-cerning her duties, and her heart raced as it used to when she would run across the fields trying to keep up with her brother, Nat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath then another, letting the air out slowly. Her heart began to slow down.
She could do this. She knew strides had been made in teaching the blind. She’d attended a lecture only a few months ago. A Frenchman had given a very interesting address about a method of teaching created by one of his countrymen that involved some sort of raised dots. If only she’d listened more closely. She snapped her fingers. Braille! It was called Braille. Was it possible her new school was utilizing this method or something similar? Well, if not, she would write immediately to Professor Roberts and ask him how to obtain materials for learning and teaching Braille.
Whispers of the Wind Page 1