Gabe slid his hand away. “Yes, well, you’ve made quite an impression on Christopher Vestal. He sang your praises every time someone mentioned anything related to school. Says his children enjoy learning from you and that you open your mouth in wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on your tongue.”
Olivia ignored Mr. Vestal’s use of scripture in describing her. She didn’t deserve to be compared to the woman portrayed in the Thirty-first Chapter of Proverbs. “When Mr. Vestal said he would recommend my school to the elders, I didn’t know it would be accompanied by such flattering words.”
Gabe crossed his arms over his chest. “Does he stay indoors while you teach his children?”
“No. Why?”
“He seemed to know a lot about your teaching methods and manner. It sounded like he was right there with you while you give his children lessons.”
“So?”
“I would think a man busy with an orchard and livestock wouldn’t give up a day each week to listen to school lessons.”
“He doesn’t. He works very hard for his family.”
Gabe took her hand with both of his. “Just as I will work very hard for mine.”
“Of course.” She searched his face, wondering where this strange mood had come from. Was he jealous that Mr. Vestal was able to convince the elders to build the schoolhouse when he hadn’t been able to? Maybe it had nothing to do with Mr. Vestal. Maybe the new project was too much to add to his full workload. She pointed at the notebook on the table. “Are you certain you want to work on the school before you finish your house? I have waited this long, and I can wait longer.”
A quick grin replaced his solemn expression. “The house can wait.”
“You deserve to finish it before you start another project.”
He leaned close and kept his voice quiet. “Something tells me I would never have a peaceful nights’ sleep if I didn’t build what you want first. Besides, I’m not just building that house for myself.”
She returned his cool grin. They weren’t talking about construction any longer. Her words formed on a mindless breath. “For us?”
“Yes… us.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her so gently she first wondered if he’d touched her at all. Maybe she’d imagined it.
He paused with his mouth a whisper from hers. He had mint on his breath and a tremble in his fingers. As she inhaled the air he was finished with, he kissed her again. His lips pressed firmly against hers, leaving no doubt this time.
Her heartbeat rang in her ears as she fought the urges that rose within her. When his hand cradled her neck, she traced his jaw with her fingertips. Their lips mingled in warmth and want and the awe of a first that would only happen once in a lifetime.
This must be the passion so scorned in sermons, but so necessary in bonding two people. She would gladly accept a lifetime of it. A slight moan escaped her throat and Gabe pulled away.
His gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth. “I had no idea you would be so… affectionate.”
She touched her lips, astounded. “Nor did I.”
Footsteps creaked across the floor upstairs. Olivia immediately moved away from him. He picked up his pencil and tapped it against the table, still watching her, as her siblings came down for breakfast.
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia unwrapped her lunch as she descended the Cotters’ porch and walked the path from their house to the road. Faint echoes of pounding hammers floated from the village on the cold air. The structure for the schoolhouse would soon be raised and this going house to house business would be over.
As she walked out of the wooded area at the edge of the Cotter property, movement caught her eye. Christopher Vestal was meandering along the roadside nearby, picking up sticks as he went. He tipped the brim of his straw hat politely when he saw her.
She shielded her eyes from the mid-day sun. “Good afternoon, Mr. Vestal.”
He met her where the path from the Cotter house intersected the road. His arm cradled a bundle of sticks. “I was just heading home from the village and thought I’d gather some twigs on my way. After our voyage, I swore I’d never pass up a good piece of kindling again.”
“Very prudent indeed.”
“And it keeps the road cleared for pretty young schoolteachers who are forced to walk it daily.”
She smiled at him. “Not for much longer, thanks to your recommendation to the elders.”
“Think nothing of it.” He raised his chin at the Cotter house behind her. “How was your morning?”
“It was, um…” She vocalized a pause to stall while she thought of a graceful response. She couldn’t tell the whole truth: her days at the Cotter house were always frustrating at best. Mr. Cotter kept Judah and Conrad working outside instead of letting them have school lessons, Peggy slept the morning away, Frances, Editha, and Eveline worked noisily in the kitchen, and if Olivia looked at them for even a moment, Mrs. Cotter scolded her for not minding her own business. What could be so private about baking? The awkward morning was now over, and as soon as the schoolhouse was complete, she wouldn’t have to step into their home ever again. She shrugged as she pinched off a bite of her sandwich. “Same as usual, I guess.”
Christopher tilted his head. “Weeds?”
“Pardon?”
“There will always be weeds in our fields… problems in our work, no matter the profession.”
“There are also blossoms.”
He chuckled softly and joy lit his eyes. “Then tell me about the blossoms.”
“Well, little Jane is a delightful pupil. She is the silver lining of my Monday mornings.” She stepped onto the road, ready to move on, but gave the Cotter house one last glance over her shoulder. Peggy and Mrs. Cotter were standing at the window, watching her and Mr. Vestal. She suddenly felt caught in wrongdoing but didn’t know why.
Mr. Vestal tipped his hat toward the Cotter house in greeting, also having noticed the ladies at the window. Then he switched his kindling to the other arm and started down the road beside Olivia. “Doris is beside herself with excitement today.”
“Oh? What for?”
“To see you, of course. It warms my heart after what my children have been through… are going through.” He pressed his lips together. “Doris especially is longing for the schoolhouse to be completed… maybe as much as you are. She is aching to have lessons every day. It’s all she talks about.”
Once near the Vestal house, Doris ran past the orchard to meet them. Olivia finished her sandwich, but still had a cookie wrapped in her satchel. She gave it to the little girl.
Doris hummed as she chewed, crumbs clinging to her lips. “Mm, tastes like heaven. It’s been so long since I’ve had a cookie. Want a bite, Father?”
Christopher shook his head. “Finish it out here before the twins see you and want one of their own.”
Olivia hadn’t thought of the other children when she had given Doris the cookie. She glanced at Christopher. “Sorry.”
He put his hand to her back. “Don’t be. You made her favorite day of the week even happier.”
Doris stuffed the last of the cookie into her mouth. “I wish we had milk.”
“Mind your manners, Kitten,” Christopher said.
Doris swallowed her food then took Olivia’s hand as they walked into the house. “Our cow didn’t have any milk again today.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“Father says we will have milk tomorrow if we make the dog sleep outside. We will, won’t we?”
Olivia raised an eyebrow at Christopher, awaiting his response to Doris.
He shucked off his boots and left them in the mudroom. As he stepped up the two creaky stairs into the kitchen, he said to Doris, “Go and get your lesson books ready. Miss Owens will be right in.” After Doris ran into the parlor, Christopher gazed at Olivia solemnly. “For a while I thought maybe a calf was getting to our milk cow at night, but now I know who is at fault.”
“Whose calf it is get
ting to your cow, you mean?” Olivia asked, knowing what he meant but needing him to confirm it before she could say any more.
“No. The person or persons stealing our milk.” He stepped closer and kept his voice down. “I don’t want to accuse anyone, but I think I know what is going on.”
“Can you say?”
“I shouldn’t.” He looked down at his socks. “Have you noticed anything odd while you’re teaching? At someone’s house?”
“Someone? Who?”
“A family with an abundance of milk, perhaps?”
If he wanted her to name the Cotters first, she wouldn’t do it. Sure, she suspected Mrs. Cotter was coercing her children—probably the older girls—to steal, but she shouldn’t say it. “I was told long ago not to mention my observations from one house to the next.” She lowered her satchel onto a kitchen chair and began to dig for her pencils. “I wanted to tell everyone about your late wife’s condition, but I didn’t. I must give other families the same respect.”
Christopher wiped both hands over his face. “You’re right. Forgive me. And thank you for keeping our situation private. It was Susanna’s request. She believed she would get better and she didn’t want to be thought of as the woman who had been sick. She said we could trust you. At least she was right about that.”
The mention of Susanna’s final weeks of life brought a lump into Olivia’s throat. She struggled to focus on the Vestals’ current predicament and cleared her voice. “If someone is stealing from you, and you have a strong suspicion of who it is, maybe I could help you.”
He held up a palm. “No, I was out of line to ask you. Don’t tell me something you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t mean to tell you anything.” After a quick glance into the parlor, she stepped toward him. “What if we could catch the thief or thieves in the act?”
“How do you mean?”
“When someone was stealing milk from us, I wanted to stay by the window at night and watch to see who it was, but I didn’t think my word alone would do much good, especially when everyone was upset that I had interrupted an elder meeting. I suspect they stole a hen from us too. And now we have milk again, but you don’t. If you and I witness the theft together, the thief or thieves would know they had been caught. And if they didn’t confess and stop, we would have the testimony of two before the elders.”
He angled his head. “This is about more than milk, isn’t it?”
“I believe a young man’s future is at stake.”
“How so?”
“My mother and I recently mentioned our disappearing food to a certain woman while at church. That woman said she believes Benjamin Foster is the thief and if anyone else mentions something missing, she is going to accuse him before the elders.” She reached a hand to Christopher’s arm to emphasize her concern. “Benjamin is not the thief. I believe that with all my heart. He has been accused of so much since we left America, and it tears him down a little more each time.”
Christopher wagged a finger. “And Benjamin Foster did not set fire to the lumber by the church that morning either.”
“Wait… what?”
He raised his shoulders. “It was too early in the morning to start a fire with a magnifying glass. He never told his father what happened, but I agree with you, Benjamin has taken more than his share of the blame.”
“And I believe that certain woman will accuse him of this too.”
He was quiet for a moment and picked at his cuticles. “Do you think one of the Cotters is the thief?”
“I should not say.”
“I don’t believe Teddy Cotter knows what is going on. He’s a good man. And Judah Cotter wouldn’t steal, but I don’t have the same confidence in Frances, Editha, or Eveline.”
Hearing him voice her suspicions gave her a sense of comradeship. It felt exciting and wrong all at once. Christopher was an elder and her students’ father. Though she liked him and he was kind to her, he was not her peer. She withdrew her hand from his arm and motioned with it as she spoke. “It could be anyone. We are all capable of sin, Mr. Vestal.”
“Call me Christopher, please. And yes, you’re right. I should keep my speculations to myself. It’s easy to talk to you, but I’ve said too much.” He stepped back down into the mudroom and reached for his boots. “I like your idea. We shall watch outside tonight and, if we see the thieves, confront them and let them know this must end.”
“We?”
“Yes, wasn’t that your suggestion?”
“I suppose, but I hadn’t really thought it through. What about your children?”
His eyes shifted and then he grinned. “How are you with mending?”
“Pardon?”
“Hannah has been putting off our mending, but if she had someone to sit and do it with, she might enjoy it more. Maybe you could stay for dinner and help her with the sewing after the younger children are in bed. I would compensate you for your time. How about apples for the rest of your life? As soon as the trees mature, of course. What do you say?”
“I will help with the mending, but it’s not necessary to pay me.”
“Please allow me. You have done so much for me and my children.”
“And you more than repaid me by getting the elders to approve the schoolhouse.” She opened her satchel and took out her lesson plan and books. “But if you insist.”
“I do.” He smiled. “I’ll send David to tell your mother you will be helping us this evening so they don’t worry.”
“Very well,” she replied as she carried her books into the parlor and began Doris and Wade’s lessons.
* * *
That evening after dinner, Doris stayed close to Olivia, wanting to help clear the table and wash dishes. While Hannah got the twins ready for bed, David and Wade disappeared upstairs, and Mr. Vestal checked the livestock in the barn. Moments later, he returned with his yellow dog.
Hannah carried a bundle of clothes that needed mending into the kitchen. She plopped them onto the tabletop. “Doris, it’s time for bed.”
“But I want to stay up and learn to mend from Miss Owens.”
Hannah began sorting the mending pile. “You already know how.”
“I need practice.”
“I’ll remember that next time you rip a seam. Olivia is just going to help me get caught up.” She pointed at the stairs. “Change into your nightshirt and lie still in bed so the twins will go to sleep.”
Doris frowned, the threat of a pout surfacing then receding before she could be scolded. “Goodnight, Miss Owens.” She gave Olivia a tight hug then went to her father.
He kissed Doris on the forehead. “Goodnight, Kitten. Say your prayers.”
“I will.” She yawned and traipsed bleary-eyed up the stairs.
Christopher closed the curtains over the front windows. He stepped down to the mudroom and tacked a tea towel over the window by the back door. Once the windows were covered, he sat in an armchair by the fireplace. He opened his Bible and splayed it in the palm of his hand while the dog rested at his feet.
Hannah fetched an extra lamp from the parlor. She placed it on the table near Olivia, and they sat together in the warm kitchen, mending clothes. After a long silence, Hannah’s needle briefly stilled. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Her young voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you like to read stories?”
“Very much.” She glanced up but continued sewing as not to stifle Hannah’s comfort. “Do you like to read?”
Hannah kept her eyes on the fabric in her hands. “I do. We don’t have many books though—not the kind I want anyway. I like adventures and love stories. We only have the children’s storybooks, which I memorized long ago.”
“Me too,” she interrupted without meaning to. “I have a few books you might like to borrow.”
“That would be lovely. I don’t often get time to read. When it is quiet in the house, I’d rather…” Hannah’s gaze flicked across the room toward her
father. She lowered her chin. “I rather write my own stories.”
“I didn’t know you were a writer. That’s wonderful.”
The straight line of Hannah’s lips curved faintly, the spark of youth momentarily visible beneath her fatigue. “Well, it’s really just one long story that I have so far… or maybe it should be several shorter stories. I’m not sure exactly. It’s not finished. I mean, I thought it was finished and wrote The End, but now I don’t feel like it’s complete. I don’t think I’ll ever know unless someone else reads it, but…” Her lips straightened again. “Oh, never mind.”
Olivia waited a beat, hoping the offer would come, but it didn’t. “Would you like me to read it sometime?”
“Maybe.” Hannah looked up. Her long lashes seemed darker in the lamplight. “Maybe you could tell me if there are parts that need more work and help me with my grammar and such.”
“I could.”
“So long as you wouldn’t tell anyone. I don’t want people to know I write stories. They might think me foolish. It’s a foolish pursuit, really. Isn’t it?”
“Not at all. Jesus told stories. We all learn from stories.” Olivia pointed at her satchel. “If people didn’t take the time to write stories, it would be difficult for me to entice children to learn to read, wouldn’t it?”
Hannah nodded then focused again on her sewing. After a moment she mumbled, “I never thought of it like that.”
The house fell silent, save for the occasional crackle of the log on the fire and the clip of scissors on thread. Olivia waited for Hannah to talk more, but she didn’t. Not for shyness, but natural reserve and relief to finally have peace at the end of the day. The quiet togetherness suited Olivia too. She could easily imagine being lifelong friends with Hannah.
The dog raised its head, and its ears moved as if it heard something outside. Olivia and Christopher exchanged a brief look, but he resumed his Bible reading, and she returned her eyes to the frayed seam in a shirt she assumed was his.
As the evening slipped into night, the pile of clothes to be mended dwindled, and Hannah yawned more frequently. Olivia studied her tired young face in the light of the lamp’s globe. “I can finish that last shirt. You should go to bed.”
Above Rubies (Uncharted Beginnings Book 2) Page 15