The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Book 1)

by Tess Thompson

  My stomach fluttered.

  “You’re an unusual man.” A rich white man who cared about the plight of the less fortunate was most unusual. At least as far as my world was concerned. No one had cared about my family. It was up to me to save us.

  “I’m going to take unusual to mean uniquely wonderful.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a gentle smile.

  “I think that’s a proper assessment.”

  “Then you’ll do it? You’ll teach the men?”

  “Under one condition.” I smiled back at him. “I’d like women to be welcomed as well.”

  “Without question,” he said as if it were nothing. “You must be exhausted. We’ll work out the rest of the details tomorrow.”

  We said our good nights, and I followed Jasper up the gleaming mahogany stairs to the third floor. At the end of the dark hallway, he opened the door to a bedroom. I walked past him into a room with a large poster bed, dresser, and secretary desk. A cozy fire roared in the stone hearth. A girl dressed in a black smock with a white apron was finishing up making the bed.

  “This is Merry,” Jasper said. “Anything you need, simply ask.”

  I opened my mouth to let him know a maid was unnecessary but thought better of it. Discouraging what was obviously a household tradition would be rude. I’d talk with Lord Barnes in the morning and make sure he knew a maid was not necessary.

  The air seemed lighter the moment Jasper left the room. He made me nervous with his piercing gaze and all that British formality. My suitcase had been opened and all of my items hung in a wardrobe. A washcloth and towel were waiting on the dresser. My flannel nightgown was strewn over the bed, like a friend waiting for a midnight chat.

  “Miss, may I help you undress?” Merry wore her butterscotch-hued hair in a braid twisted around the top of her head. Shy hazel eyes peered at me from an oval face.

  “No, thank you,” I said, smiling in what I hoped conveyed a relationship of equality between us. “I’ve been undressing myself since I was three.”

  Merry’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile. “I’ve drawn you a bath.” She pointed toward a closed door. “The bathroom is between this room and the nursery. It’s the same bath the children use, but they’re all fast asleep by now, so take your time.”

  “A warm bath?”

  “We have hot water in this house,” she said.

  “Have I come to heaven?”

  This time she smiled. “Lord Barnes had this house built with only the finest things. You’ll be happy here, I hope.”

  “I shall be.” Even if I was homesick for my mother and sister. A bath made up for a lot. “The train ride was horrific. I haven’t had a proper scrubbing since I left home.”

  “I came from Chicago two years ago,” she said. “On the train from Denver, I thought the whole thing was going to fall off those rickety tracks and I’d be killed and my mother would never know what happened to me.”

  I laughed. “I thought the same thing.”

  We shared a smile before she bustled over to the fire and adjusted the grate. “I’ve just put a few logs on the fire, so it should keep you until you fall asleep. There’s a feather comforter on the bed. It’ll keep the heat in.”

  The logs flamed high from behind the iron grate. Suddenly, I was so tired I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I doubted I’d be awake long enough to see the fire die. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t sleep like the dead out there in the snow.”

  A look of alarm crossed over her features so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d truly seen it. “Is there anything else I can do before I go?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Merry gave a little curtsy and left the room.

  The moment she was gone, I wished she’d return.

  A lantern on the bedside table and the fire shed a dim light. Still, the corners of the room were dark, and I was in an unfamiliar place all alone. I’d never slept in a house where my sister or mother was not near. I sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath into my aching chest. Homesickness really did make one feel ill. It was a terrible emptiness that couldn’t be filled with anything or anyone but the people I loved. What were my sister and mother doing now? Had they already gone to bed? Had the bitter Boston weather crept into Mother’s bones and made her tired body hurt in addition to her breathing problems? Was Annabelle keeping up with her schoolwork without me there to nudge her in the right direction?

  I willed myself over to the dresser and looked into the mirror. There were no ghosts here. Nothing could harm me. I stared at myself. My hair was askew and the smudges under my eyes were dark as coal. What Lord Barnes had thought of me, I could only guess.

  My hat. I’d forgotten my hat in the sleigh. It would most likely be ruined, and what would I wear into town and to work?

  I put that thought aside to figure out tomorrow. There was a bath waiting. I opened the door with trepidation, half expecting one of the children to be in there despite Merry’s assurances. To my relief, the room was empty, and a deep, claw-foot tub held more steaming water than I’d ever seen in my life. I undressed, peeling my dress off my tired body and then loosening my corset and tossing it onto a shelf. The bathroom was mostly white, with round tiles on the floor. I looked at my bare torso in the mirror above the sink. If anything, I was skinnier than before I left. My collarbones stuck out, and my face was more skin on bone than flesh. Lizzie was right. I needed fattening up. I had a feeling she was the one to do it.

  I lowered into the tub and let out a little sigh of pleasure. The temperature was just right. On a small table next to the tub, bottles of various soaps were lined up in a row. With a washing cloth Merry had left and a brown slab of soap, I lathered up my skin.

  When my skin had pinkened from scrubbing, I let my hair down from its stack. The golden strands reached the middle of my back and tickled my sensitive skin. With my fingertips, I touched the bump on my head. The egg had not gone down in size but hadn’t grown, either. I used the liquid soap from a glass bottle labeled “shampoo” that smelled of lavender and washed my hair and scalp, then rinsed in the water.

  Only exhaustion and yearning for a bed kept me from staying longer in the bath. After I lifted the plug to let the water run out, I used a towel to dry myself as best I could. Then I sprinted back into the bedroom, locking the bathroom door behind me. Shivering, I slipped my flannel nightgown over my head and pulled on the wool socks my sister had knitted as a gift before I left home.

  Merry had set my brush on the dresser. I combed my hair, gently at first to untangle the inevitable knots and avoiding the bump. While I did my one hundred strokes, I blinked at myself in the mirror. I was no worse for wear, really. A little old bump on the head wouldn’t keep me down for long. My father always said I was born tough. Small but mighty.

  Bluster aside, I didn’t feel particularly mighty just then. In fact, the opposite might be a better description.

  The fire was dying down. A chill as sharp as a knife sliced through me. Clamping my teeth shut to keep them from chattering, I turned slowly around the room. Besides the bed, dresser, and wardrobe, there was also a small desk between two windows. The two windows reflected the firelight, giving no hint of the dark night. Was it still snowing? I grabbed the lantern and crept to the window. Holding the light near the glass, I watched the flakes of snow tumble from the sky. The vastness of this strange place might swallow me whole.

  I tiptoed across the hardwood floor to the edge of the rug, then, careful not to trip, set the lantern on the bedside table. Throwing back the thick down comforter, I inspected the sheets. There were no spiders. For some reason, I thought Colorado might have a lot of spiders. Didn’t a lot of trees mean a lot of spiders? I’d ask Merry about that in the morning.

  I blew out the lantern and hurled myself into bed. The sheets were cold on my bare calves. I rolled onto my side and brought my knees up to my chest. With the comforter tucked under my chin, I stared into the dying embers.

  Without the soothing so
unds of my sister’s breathing next to me, the darkness crept closer. We’d slept together in our small bed in the closet of a room, and I missed her warmth. I missed her. Annabelle with her flaming red hair and petulant mouth and dancing eyes. My sister could make me laugh harder than anyone in the world. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for strength.

  Chapter 4

  Alexander

  After Miss Cooper left for bed, I remained in the library, strangely comforted by the movements of my new houseguest in the room above me. It would be a lie to say the unexpected visitor had not lifted my spirits. Since my wife’s death, life had been easier for me and the children. The days and months were predictable without the ups and downs of Ida’s mental illness.

  In the three years since her death, I hadn’t contemplated having a woman in my life ever again. For some, perhaps, one terrible marriage was enough. The nightmare of living with Ida in the last five years of our marriage had made me cautious. Women were not always what they appeared to be. There was darkness hidden in some. Darkness that no amount of love could squelch. I’d tried.

  Lately, though, I’d thought more and more about finding someone with whom to grow old and gray. However, the idea of a woman was a concept not born from reality. No one had piqued my interest. Alas, there were no women to choose from here in Emerson Pass. Most single women were the kind who charged for their attention and probably carried various diseases. Not exactly the sort I’d bring home to my children. Some men paid for brides to make the journey west, promising marriage in exchange for a warm home and enough to eat. These women were desperate, having lost husbands or fathers who could support them. Much like Miss Cooper, I supposed. Hiring a teacher, however, was different from ordering a bride. How could a man be sure of what he was getting, having corresponded only through letters? For that matter, I’d thought Miss Cooper was an old maid. When she appeared, young and beautiful, I was quite taken aback.

  Was I mistaken that there was a spark between us? Or was I simply a lonely man taken in by her beauty? Anyway, she probably would think me too old for her and that I had way too many children.

  “May I have a word with you?” Jasper asked from the doorway. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, so absorbed with thoughts of Miss Cooper.

  “Yes, yes. Have a seat. Pour yourself a drink.”

  “No, thank you, lord.”

  For fifteen years, Jasper had been a steady force in my life and home. Through all the heartbreak with Ida, he’d never faltered or wavered in his devotion to me or the children. That said, he would never consider loosening his grasp on the ways of our old world. A world in which a butler would never have a drink with his employer.

  When I’d given up everything to my brother and we’d come to America, Jasper had refused to call me anything other than Lord. He’d called me that since we were small. I figured it didn’t matter much. In America, no one cared that I would not be called that if we were still at home. Keeping with some of our old traditions gave Jasper a sense of security.

  Lately, though, Jasper changed. Subtly, of course. His movements seemed heavier, more labored. It was as if something had snatched the joy from him, leaving him flat and stiff. Something troubled him. I was certain of that. The reasons for his sadness, I couldn’t fathom.

  “Jasper, are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I searched his placid, unreadable features for hints. “Has something happened?”

  “Yes, sir. It appears that Nanny Foster has given her notice.”

  “Notice?”

  “She’s going back home to live with her sister. Something about frigid winters, spoiled children, and tea.”

  “Tea?”

  “I’m sorry, lord. She didn’t elaborate.” He cleared his throat. “She’s leaving in the morning.”

  “But she’s only been here six months.” I said this knowing Jasper was quite aware of how long this latest nanny had been employed. We should have known better than to hire her in the summer when the skies were a brilliant blue and birds sang from trees and everything smelled of pine needles and wildflowers.

  “I’ll contact the agency back east to see if we can find someone suitable,” Jasper said.

  “Yes. I suppose that’s our only option.” I rubbed my forehead, hoping this wasn’t a foreshadowing of what would happen with Miss Cooper. Would she be able to withstand the winter and such a difficult assignment? Would she miss city life in Boston? I had already seen the sadness on her face when she talked of her family.

  “Lizzie and Merry have both offered to help with the children,” Jasper said. “But with a new houseguest, they’ll be stretched a little thin.”

  “It’s kind of them, but I agree. Are you sure there’s no one in town who would be qualified?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I smiled at his horrified expression. Jasper was alternately appalled and fascinated by the lives of the women of ill repute and the rough men who closed down the saloon every night. He wanted me to round them all up and send them away. I’d tried many times to explain to Jasper that I was not allowed to dictate the lives of others, regardless of how much money I had.

  “Jasper, do you think the children are spoiled? Is this the problem with the nannies?”

  Jasper’s brows lifted. “Absolutely not. They’re precious children. Nanny Foster doesn’t seem to understand that children have a need for exercise and games, not just sitting still for hours looking pretty.”

  “All right then.” Jasper’s quick defense and loyalty to my children never ceased to both amaze and warm me. “I worry. Since Ida…” I trailed off, unable to explain and knowing Jasper understood anyway.

  “The children will be fine,” Jasper said. “They’ll be going to school now that Miss Cooper’s come. All but Fiona, who can keep Lizzie company in the kitchen.”

  “Speaking of Miss Cooper. She’s agreed to teaching a night school several evenings a week.”

  Jasper frowned. “May I speak frankly, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  Jasper coughed before speaking. “Given her appearance, I’m worried about this idea. Will she be safe?”

  “I share your concern. One of us or Harley will have to accompany her.”

  He nodded, obviously satisfied by my answer. “Will you need anything else, sir? I’ve prepared your room.”

  “No, thank you. That’ll be all for the night.”

  “Good night, my lord.”

  It was nearly nine. Time for my nightly habit of checking on my offspring. I’m not sure what it was, but I liked to see them snuggled into their beds. I took a lantern and walked up the stairs. As was my routine, I checked on the girls first, setting the lantern on the table by the door so I could get a good look at them. They slept in twin beds lined up in a row. Cymbeline slept on her stomach with her arms flung out to the sides. She’d managed to kick off her quilt. I tucked that around her as best I could without waking her. If she woke, it might be hours before she fell back to sleep. My tempestuous, sassy Cymbeline, as turbulent and untamed as the mountains that rose above us. She was as tough as any boy and her competitiveness unparalleled, other than in her brother Flynn. They could make a game out of any situation and then try as hard as they could to win. Like Flynn, she seemed made of this place.

  Fiona, with her dark lashes splayed against her full cheeks, slept on her back with her arms around Teddy. My baby. The only child of mine who had not known her mother. Ironically, given what had almost happened, she was the only one undamaged by Ida simply because she never knew her.

  I kissed Fiona’s forehead and stayed for a moment, begging my memory to remember her exactly this way. What I knew about fatherhood could be boiled down to two things. My heart was forever changed the moment I first held baby Josephine in my arms, and their childhoods went way too fast. The passage of time for a bachelor sifted through fingers like sand. Shoes and clothes outgrown, fat baby cheeks that turned into cheekbones, first words tha
t became sentences and then paragraphs, made the constant movement of time impossible to ignore.

  Next, I knelt by Josephine’s bed. She was asleep with a book open on her chest. I took it from her, ever so gently, but my eldest had a sixth sense when anyone tried to pry her away from a book. Her eyes fluttered open. “Hi, Papa.”

  “Hello there. I’m sorry to wake you,” I whispered, conscious of the other two.

  “It’s all right.” Her green eyes stared at me with her usual intensity. “Has Miss Cooper gone?”

  “No, I’ve invited her to stay. I didn’t think the boardinghouse was the best place for her. She’s in the guest room on the other side of the bathroom.”

  “Will she live here all the time?” Josephine asked.

  “For the winter, most likely,” I said. “Until she can find a suitable place. A young lady isn’t safe on her own.”

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she, Papa?”

  “I hadn’t noticed, really.”

  She looked up at me with widened eyes and a hint of a smile. “It seemed you did—the way you couldn’t stop looking at her.”

  My daughter had sensed my attraction to Miss Cooper. Well, I’ve never been accused of being a subtle man. “I wasn’t staring at her, you little goose.” I tweaked her nose, knowing full well she was onto me.

  “It would be all right if you liked her,” Josephine said. “We’d like to have a mother.”

  “You would?” This struck me in the middle of my throat, as if someone had punched me. They’d never once said anything about a new mother.

  She nodded. “We all discussed it. I don’t really need one, but the others do.”

  I smiled despite the pang in my chest. My sweet Josephine needed a mother most of all the children. I’d spent the last several years watching her try to step in as a mother to the little ones when she should have been enjoying her own childhood.

  “Is it true that Nanny Foster is leaving?” Josephine asked.