The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Book 1)

by Tess Thompson

“You know about that?” Surprised, I inched backward to get a better look at her.

  “I heard her talking to Jasper. She was very rude to him, and she said horrible things about Cymbeline and Flynn. She called them wild animals.”

  “That was very rude,” I said. Damn that woman. Jasper’s assessment was correct. She had no idea of how to look after children. Yes, they were untamed, but only because they’d grown out of the earth. The forests and meadows had mothered them, taught them their ways. Fresh air and exercise had made them robust and strong.

  “We all hated her anyway,” Josephine said.

  “Darling, that’s not nice to say.” I felt something akin to hatred toward Nanny Foster, too, but kept that to myself.

  “Sorry, Papa.” Josephine pressed her lips together as if it were a great sacrifice to hold her tongue.

  “Good night, my love. No more reading.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  I kissed her on the forehead and unfolded my long legs to stand. At the doorway, I picked up the lantern to take one more look. Josephine had curled onto her side and closed her eyes. She looked young and vulnerable there in the flickering light, and I wished for the millionth time that she had less of a burden.

  The boys’ room was across the hallway. They slept in twin beds pushed just inches apart, preferring to mimic what it must have been like in the womb. Each morning, Nanny moved the beds farther apart. Somehow, they were back together by the time the boys fell asleep. Tonight, their hands touched. I had no idea if they started this way or if they naturally gravitated to each other in sleep. They were quite different in temperament and interests, yet their bond was more profound than any discrepancies of personality. This was another understanding that had come from fatherhood. Love was both immense and simple, mysterious yet clear.

  I pulled the covers up from where they had fallen to the twins’ mid-chest, then kissed them both on the forehead and crept silently from the room.

  I passed by Miss Cooper’s room. The space between the door and floor was dark. Hopefully she was warm and able to rest. I hesitated for a brief time, fighting the urge to stand guard at her door. Miss Cooper didn’t need my protection here in my home, yet I felt responsible for her.

  In my room, I undressed and put on my wool pajamas. The nights this time of year were frigid. Without my wife to warm my bed, I often woke cold, having thrashed about and knocked off my quilt.

  I blew out the lantern and lay on my back. The fire shed some light into the room, enough that I could make out objects. So many nights I lay awake, wishing for sleep that never came and watching the fire die down slowly until it was nothing but red embers.

  Tonight, I could sense the presence of another person in my home. It sounds odd, but I could almost hear Miss Cooper’s breathing. I turned on my side and fluffed my pillow under my cheek. Never mind that, I told myself. Miss Cooper was here to teach, not fall in love with me. I was too old for her. She would want a young man. One without five children. Surely, she’d want her own children—not all the work of someone else’s without the love. Even if I were younger and handsome, the burden of five children wouldn’t be appealing to a woman like Miss Cooper. The sooner I got that through my head, the better.

  I’d just drifted to sleep when a tap on the door followed by Jasper’s voice brought me fully awake.

  “My lord, I need you downstairs.”

  Alarmed by the high-pitched, panicked tone of his voice, I leapt from bed and grabbed my robe from the end of the bed.

  “What is it?” I whispered to Jasper as we sprinted down the hallway.

  “It’s Mrs. Cole. Something’s happened.”

  We reached the stairway. Rachel Cole, her dress covered in blood, stood inside my foyer. Her brown skin, which normally glowed from health, appeared sallow. She had her arms wrapped around her slim waist and was hunched over as if in pain. This was not the straight-backed, unflappable woman married to my neighbor and friend Samuel.

  I rushed down the stairs. “Are you hurt?” I asked, fearing the worst. In the light I could now see that the entire front of her dress was covered with blood.

  “It’s Samuel. He’s dead,” she said. “Someone shot him.”

  A chill started from the pit of my stomach and spread throughout my body. Gunshots close to their place had startled the horses.

  Rachel leaned against Jasper as if her legs wouldn’t hold her. “I tried to save him but there was just so much blood.”

  “How?” I asked. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He’d gone outside to bring in more firewood. I heard two shots near the house. I thought, no, it can’t be anything to do with us.” She choked as tears streamed from her eyes. “But it was. Someone shot him dead.”

  “Come sit.” I was numb and operating outside of my body, as if I were dreaming the scene instead of living it. Samuel Cole, larger than life, broad-chested and built like a lumberjack. He relied on no one but his own strength and intellect, hunting and trapping most of their food even though he was a wealthy man. I’d once seen him fell a twelve-inch trunk of a pine with three swings of his ax. It was impossible to imagine him as anything but fully, loudly alive.

  Jasper helped Rachel into the library and eased her into the chair closest to the fire. I added logs to the dying embers as he poured her a tumbler of whiskey and set it in her hands. “I went out to the woodshed. He was sprawled on the snow. Covered in blood. His chest ripped open.”

  Eight years ago, he’d gone to Chicago to conduct some business. His father had been one of the first men to find gold in these mountains. Gold had made him a rich man. Clever investments had made him richer. As the only heir, when his father died, everything went to Samuel. Thus, once or twice a year, he took a trip to the city to conduct business, returning months later. This time, he brought a woman with him. Rachel.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if his choice of a wife had gotten him killed.

  I remembered the summer day I first learned of Rachel as if it were yesterday. I’d been outside with the twins and Josephine, watching them run in our meadow of wildflowers, when I spotted Samuel traipsing across the meadow. He’d been in Chicago for a few months. I knew he’d have good stories of his antics: drunken brawls, women of the night, and various other scrapes. The fact that I’d never participate in such activities did not diminish my enjoyment of his tales of debauchery.

  Thus, I was not prepared for what he said next.

  “I’ve brought a wife home with me,” he said.

  “What’s this? I thought you were a sworn bachelor.”

  “I saw her, and I knew.” He grinned. “I’m a married man.”

  “I thought a rake like you would never succumb to a domestic life. Who will I live vicariously through now?”

  He laughed and tugged at his long beard. “It’s a damn shame, but love sure smacked me upside the head.”

  “You’ll have to bring her by,” I said. “Ida’s not well right now, but hopefully soon she’ll feel up to visitors.”

  “Sorry to hear,” he said.

  He knew nothing of Ida’s real problems. No one outside of my household knew of the weeks she could not get out of bed or the cycle of mania where she would be up for night after night. Samuel thought she was merely sickly.

  “There’s something you should know about Rachel.” He looked up at the sky, hesitating before he spoke. “Rachel’s the granddaughter of slaves.”

  I stared at him as the significance of what he said made its way into my mind. The granddaughter of slaves. My heart thudded between my ears. He’d brought home a black woman.

  “We can’t marry under the law. But I sure as hell will do what I want in my own home and on my own property. My father left me this land so I could live free, and you can bet your ass that’s what I’m going to do.”

  I took my hat off and slicked back my hair, buying time to formulate a response. There are few moments in life that are as perilous as the one I found myself in just then. My words woul
d shape our relationship for years to come.

  “Barnes, what say you?” he asked, softly.

  I’d never seen him vulnerable before, and it scared the bloody hell out of me. “You’re my friend. Nothing will ever change that. And you know I could care less about the color of anyone’s skin. I’m not sure about the rest of the town. Am I afraid for you? A little, yes.”

  He shoved me in the shoulder. “Nah. Nothing to be afraid of. You know folks are scared of me. The wild mountain man and all that. Most people aren’t even tough enough to get here, let alone mess with me. No one can hurt us here in Emerson Pass.”

  I’d last seen him a few weeks ago when he’d shown up unexpectedly at my door. Over a whiskey, he asked for a favor so unusual it left me speechless. “I need you to agree to handle the finances for Rachel if something should happen to me.”

  Rachel wouldn’t have the right to own property. Instead, he would have to leave all assets and money to me. “I trust you to keep it safe for her to use as she wants,” he’d said. “She knows everything about our finances. You’ll own it all in name only.” I’d agreed, somewhat reluctantly. It was a big responsibility. However, no one had ever seemed less likely to die than Samuel Cole.

  “You’re too much of a scalawag to die,” I said.

  Had he sensed his own death? I wished I’d asked him.

  And now, here I was, standing before his wife with his blood all over her. My friend gone. Someone from within this community I was so proud of had killed. Was it because of Rachel? Or was it something else? There had been hints of trouble over the years, but we’d always been able to quash it. Samuel, with his frightening presence, had only to look crossways at someone and they backed down. But this was a sneak attack after dark. Someone had lain in wait for him.

  “I dragged him into the barn,” Rachel said. “I didn’t want the children to see him.”

  The children. Oh God, the children. Two little sons and a daughter. All under eight.

  “Are they at home?” I asked.

  “Yes. With Susan.” Susan was their longtime housekeeper. She’d been with the Cole family for forty years. “They don’t know yet.” Rachel folded in half, weeping over the whiskey glass.

  Jasper and I exchanged glances. “Get Sheriff Lancaster out of bed,” I said to Jasper. “Bring him out to the house.”

  “The sheriff?” Fear replaced grief in Rachel’s eyes. “Is that necessary?”

  “Your husband’s been murdered,” I said. “The sheriff needs to know so he can find out who did this.”

  “We have to bury him.” Rachel’s tears had subsided, and now she sounded numb. “He wanted to be next to his parents.”

  I knew the spot. It was a small family burial ground with two white crosses. Now there would be three.

  “A hole will have to be dug, and the ground’s covered with snow.” Rachel stared blankly at the wall. “I have to tell the children, but I don’t want them to see his body. Not the way he looks. We have to bury him before morning.”

  “We’ll find a way,” I said. “We have to.”

  Chapter 5

  Quinn

  My first morning in Colorado, I woke to the sound of knocking. Bleary-eyed, I sat up, unsure for a moment where I was. Ah yes. I’d arrived in Colorado. I was now sleeping in this beautiful house in my own room in this tall, soft bed. In the light of day, I could see more clearly the gleaming floorboards and braided green-and-red rug. The furniture was a rich mahogany, thick and sturdy. Snow had accumulated outside the windows like a white frame to the world.

  “Miss, are you awake?” Merry’s voice came through from the other side of the door.

  “Yes, come in,” I said as I straightened the covers around my legs.

  She inched inside, seeming apologetic for her presence. “I’ve come to build your fire.”

  “Thank you. That’s so kind of you.” At home, I was the first up and always built the fire.

  Merry crossed over to the fireplace and quickly started a fire from a few pieces of kindling. When that was going, she tossed logs from the bin into the flames.

  “Are you feeling well?” Merry asked. “How is your head?”

  I felt my head. The bump had reduced considerably. “I’m completely recovered. Nothing to worry over.”

  “Breakfast is downstairs in the dining room,” Merry said. “Lord Barnes and the children always eat at eight. He asked that you join them.”

  “Thank you, Merry.” That’s right. It was Saturday. All days had merged together during my long trip.

  “My pleasure, miss.” She gestured toward the wardrobe. “May I take your dirty underclothes to wash?”

  Merry was washing my clothes? At home, my sister and I did all the wash on Saturday, using two tubs of water that took hours to heat on the stove, and then strung everything across the front room to dry.

  I went to the wardrobe and picked out my underclothes. Ashamed, I handed them to her. I’d worn the same ones for days. They probably smelled horrific. Merry seemed undaunted. “What about the dress?” she asked.

  “It’s exceedingly dirty,” I said, pulling my plain gingham dress from the wardrobe where I’d hung it the night before. Dirt and grime had soaked into the bottom, despite the ankle-length hem.

  “I’ll take care of it, Miss Cooper.” She smiled, seemingly pleased.

  After she left, I dressed by the fire in my Sunday best. My sister had sewn a dress in a light blue wool serge with a gray trim from a pattern she’d borrowed from a neighbor. Between that and my teacher uniform, we’d used the last of the money I’d set aside for my wardrobe. There had been none left for a new coat, but the dress was beautifully sewn. What I would do when the weather warmed, I was uncertain. I’d decide when the time came.

  I fixed my hair, enjoying how clean and shiny it felt as I wrapped it into a bun at the base of my neck. What a luxury to have fresh hair. I hadn’t felt as rested or good since the day before I left home. I still had no idea what I was going to do about a hat. Had Harley been able to rescue it from the accident?

  By this time, the clock said it was five minutes to eight. I examined myself in the mirror, not displeased with my reflection. The smudges beneath my eyes had lightened. My cheeks were pink from the chilly room and my eyes bright.

  As I came out of my room, Flynn came barreling out of his. “Last one downstairs is a rotten egg.” Theo followed shortly thereafter, holding a book against his chest.

  He smiled shyly at me. “Good morning, Miss Cooper. Flynn thinks everything’s a race.”

  “That’s quite all right,” I said. “Does anyone ever race him?”

  “Only Cymbeline,” Theo said. “But she never wins. One time she slipped and sprained her ankle.”

  “Dear me.”

  “Someday, when I’m a doctor, I’ll know how to fix an ankle and the bump on your head.”

  “You want to be a doctor?” I asked.

  “Yes, Miss Cooper. A good doctor that fixes people.” A shadow crossed over his face. “Even ones where the sickness is the kind you can’t see, like my mother had.”

  I practically had to put my hands around my own neck to keep from asking a follow-up question to this first hint about the late Lady Barnes.

  The girls tumbled from their room, wearing dark blue dresses with white pinafores. Fiona’s and Cymbeline’s dark curls were pinned back with a white bow. Josephine wore her long blond hair in a braid down her back.

  “Hello, Miss Cooper,” Cymbeline said, grinning. “Josephine helped us dress because Nanny Foster ran away.”

  “She did?” I asked Josephine, deferring to the oldest child.

  “She’s gone back to the east,” Josephine said, looking solemn. “She didn’t like us.”

  “We didn’t like her,” Cymbeline said.

  I hid a smile. I hadn’t liked her much either.

  “Who are you?” Fiona asked, her eyes wide.

  “That’s our teacher,” Josephine said. “Don’t you remember her fr
om last night?”

  “Oh, yes. The fainting lady,” Fiona said. “I forgot.”

  “Are you going to live here now?” Cymbeline asked.

  “For a while anyway,” I said. “Is that all right with you?”

  Cymbeline shrugged. “I guess so.”

  Falling into step with Josephine, we followed the little girls down the hallway. “Will you have a new nanny?” I asked.

  “We don’t need one,” Josephine said. “They have me.”

  “You did a wonderful job dressing them this morning,” I said.

  “Thank you, Miss Cooper,” Josephine said, beaming up at me. “I love church.”

  “Me too.” I held on to the railing as we headed down the stairs to the main floor.

  “Come on, Miss Cooper,” Cymbeline said. “I’ll show you where breakfast is.” She held out her hand and I took it.

  “I want to show her.” Fiona stomped her foot.

  I stretched my other hand out to her. “I have two hands.”

  Fiona lit up, then plopped her warm, chubby hand into mine. “Your hands are cold.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Isn’t it lucky I have yours to warm me up?”

  We entered through double doors to the dining room. Lord Barnes was already there, slumped over a cup of coffee and reading a book, with an untouched plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. He was dressed in an elegant suit, and his hair was damp and slicked back. He looked ready for church. However, there was a quality about him this morning that seemed completely different from the man I’d met the night before. I imagined a cloud hovered over him.

  Lord Barnes stood to greet us. His eyes were puffy, and there were several nicks on his chin from shaving. His complexion looked green, like Mr. Jones who lived down the street and often stayed out all night drinking. I’d often seen him stumbling home in the early morning when I was on my way to work at the bakery where I assisted Mrs. Caper with the morning batches of bread.

  I caught a whiff of his shaving soap. “Good morning, Miss Cooper. Girls.”

  “Morning, Papa,” the girls said, in perfect harmony.