Читать книгу Wooing the Schoolmarm - Dorothy Clark - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Willa spotted their gray-haired neighbor sweeping her walk next door and sighed. Mrs. Braynard was as plump as her mother was lean, and as cheerful as her mother was bitter. She was also kind and concerned and…nosy. She closed the door and walked down their short, plank walk to the leaf-strewn beaten path beside the street. “Good morning, Mrs. Braynard. How is Daniel today?”

“He’s doing better. He was able to move his arm a little when I was getting him up and around. The Lord bless you for caring.” Her neighbor cleared the leaves and dirt from the end of her walk, paused and looked at her over the broom handle. “I heard the new pastor brought his children to your school. His wife a pleasant woman, is she?”

Willa clenched her fingers on the handle of the small basket holding her lunch. She hated gossip. She’d been on the receiving end of too much of it. But Mrs. Braynard meant no harm. She was simply overcurious. Nonetheless, whatever she said would be all over town within an hour. She took a breath to hold her smile in place. “I haven’t met Mrs. Calvert. The pastor was alone when he brought the children. I’m looking forward to meeting her at the welcome dinner after church this Sunday.” She turned away, hoping…

“Are you getting on all right, Willa? I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Mrs. Braynard.” The sympathy in her neighbor’s voice grated on her nerves. She hated being the object of people’s pity—even if it was well-meant. She smiled and gave the same answer she’d been giving since Thomas had abruptly left town. “I’m fine. Now, I’m afraid I must hurry off to school. Tell Daniel I’m pleased to hear he is mending.”

“I’ll tell him. And I’ll keep praying for you, Willa.”

As if prayer would help. She pressed her lips together, lifted her hand in farewell and hurried down the path to the corner, a choked-back reply driving her steps. Mrs. Braynard, of all people, should know God had no interest in her or her plight. The woman had been praying for her mother and her ever since the day her father had said goodbye and walked out on them, and not one thing had changed. Not one. Except that now Thomas had deserted her, as well. So much for prayer!

She wheeled right onto Main Street and onto the bridge over Stony Creek, the heels of her shoes announcing her irritation by their quick, staccato beats on the wide, thick planks. She avoided a wagon pulling into the Dibble Smithy, passed the harness shop and livery and lowered her gaze to avoid eye contact with anyone heading across the street to the row of shops that formed the village center. She was in no mood for any more friendly, but prying, questions.

She crossed Church Street, then reined in her pace and her thoughts. Her students did not deserve a sour-faced teacher. She took a long breath and lifted her gaze. Oh, no! Her steps faltered, came to a halt. A clergyman was the last person she wanted to see.

On the walkway ahead, Reverent Calvert was squatted on his heels, his hands clasping Sally’s upper arms, while he talked to her. It seemed Sally was in disagreement with him if her stiff stance and bowed head was any indication. Joshua stood off to one side, the intent expression on his face a mirror of the pastor’s. The boy certainly looked like his father. He also looked unhappy.

Something was wrong. Had it to do with school? Her self-involvement dissolved in a spate of concern. Joshua must have felt her attention for he raised his gaze and caught her looking at them. His lips moved. The pastor glanced in her direction, then surged to his feet. She put on a polite smile and moved forward. “Good morning, Reverend Calvert. I see Joshua and Sally are ready for school.”

A look of chagrin flitted across the pastor’s face. “We were discussing that.”

So there was a problem. Joshua and Sally did not want to go to school. She glanced down at the little girl and her heart melted at the sight of her teary-eyed unhappiness. “Well, I hope you are through with your discussion and Joshua and Sally may come with me. I am running a bit late this morning and I…could use their help.” Something flickered in the pastor’s eyes. Puzzlement? Doubt? It was too quickly gone for her to judge.

“I’m certain they will be happy to help you, Miss Wright. What is it you want them to do?”

What indeed? The schoolroom had been set to rights last night before she left for home. She looked at the tears now flowing down Sally’s cheeks and scrambled for an idea. “Well…I am going to begin a story about a cat today. But the cat…has no name.”

Sally lifted her head and looked up at her. Joshua stepped closer. Ah, a spark of interest.

“I see. And how does that require the children’s help?”

She glanced up at the pastor. A look of understanding flashed between them. So he had guessed she was making this up and was trying to help her. Now what? How could she involve Joshua and Sally? “Well…each student will have a chance to suggest a name for the cat—” she felt her way, forming the idea as she spoke.

“Ah, a contest.” The proclamation bore the hint of a suggestion.

A contest. An excellent idea. “Yes. The class will choose which name they like best.” She shot the pastor a grateful look. He inclined his head slightly and she glanced down. Sally had inched closer, and there was a definite glint in Joshua’s eyes. So the boy liked to compete. “And the student who suggests the chosen name will…win a prize.” What prize? She stopped, completely out of inspiration. That still did not require the children’s help.

“And you need Joshua and Sally to help you with the prize?” Reverend Calvert’s deep voice was soft, encouraging.

“Yes…” Now what? She took a breath and shoved aside her dilemma. She would think of something by the time they reached the schoolhouse. She stared at the tree beside the reverend. Ah! A smile curved her lips, widened as the idea took hold. “The prize will be a basket of hickory nuts from the tree behind the school. And I need someone to gather the nuts for me.” She shot the reverend a triumphant look, then glanced from Joshua to Sally. “Will you collect the nuts for me?”

The little girl looked at her brother, followed his lead and nodded.

“It sounds like an interesting day for the children, Miss Wright.”

She glanced up. The reverend smiled and mouthed “Thank you.” Her stomach fluttered. He really did have a charming smile. She gave him a polite nod and held her free hand out to Sally. “Come along, then. We must hurry so you children can gather the nuts before the other children come. The prize must be a secret.” She halted, tipped her head to the side and gave them a solemn look. “You can keep a secret?”

They nodded again, their brown eyes serious, their blond curls bright in the sunlight.

“Lovely!” She smiled and moved forward, Sally’s small hand in hers, Joshua on her other side, and the Reverend Calvert’s gaze fastened on them. The awareness of it tingled between her shoulder blades until they turned the corner onto Oak Street. A frown wrinkled her brow. Twice now she had seen the pastor with his children. Where was their mother?

* * *

“It was a pleasure meeting you, gentlemen.” Matthew shook hands with the church elders and watched them file out through the small storage room at the back of the church. They seemed to be men of strong faith, eager to do all they could to make the church flourish. He was looking forward to working with them.

He scanned the interior of the small church, admired the craftsmanship in the paneled pew boxes and the white plastered walls. He moved to the pulpit, the strike of his bootheels against the wood floor echoing in the silence. The wood was satin-smooth beneath his hands. He brushed his fingers across the leather cover of the Bible that rested there, closed his eyes and quieted his thoughts. A sense of waiting, of expectation hovered in the stillness.

“Almighty God, be with me, I pray. Lead and guide me to green pastures by the paths of Your choosing that I might feed Your flock according to Thy will. Amen.”

He opened his eyes and pictured the church full of people. Would Miss Wright be one of them? He frowned and stepped out from behind the pulpit. He was becoming too concerned with Miss Wright; it was time to get acquainted with the village.

He stretched out his arms and touched the end of each pew as he walked down the center aisle, then crossed the small vestibule and stepped out onto the wide stoop. Warmth from the October sun chased the chill of the closed building from him. Did someone come early on Sunday morning to open the doors and let in the warmth?

Across the street stood an impressive, three-story building with the name Sheffield House carved into a sign attached to the fascia board of the porch roof. Passengers were alighting from a long, roofed wagon at the edge of the road that bore the legend Totten’s Trolley.

He exchanged a friendly nod with the driver, then jogged diagonally across the street and trotted up three steps to a wide, wooden walkway that ran in front of a block of stores standing shoulder to shoulder, like an army at attention.

He doffed his hat to a woman coming out of a millinery store, skirted around two men debating the virtues of a pair of boots in a shoemaker’s window next to Barley’s Grocery and entered the Cargrave Mercantile.

Smells mingled on the air and tantalized his nose, leather, coffee and molasses prominent among them. He stepped out of the doorway and blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim indoors. The hum of conversation stopped, resumed in lower tones. He glanced left, skimmed his gaze over the long wood counter adorned with various wood and tin boxes, a coffee mill and at the far end a scale and cashbox.

He gave a polite nod in answer to the frankly curious gazes of the proprietor and the customers, then swept his gaze across the wood stove and the displays of tools along the back wall. On the right side of the store was the dry goods section and the object of his search. A glass-fronted nest of pigeonhole mailboxes constituted the post office. He stepped to the narrow, waist-high opening in the center of the boxes. A stout, gray-haired man, suspenders forming an X across the back of his white shirt, sat on a stool sorting through a pile of mail on a high table with a safe beneath it.

“Excuse me—”

The man turned, squinted at him through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, then slid off his stool and came to stand in front of the small shelf on the other side of the window. “What can I do for you, stranger?”

Matthew smiled. “I’ve come to introduce myself, and see about getting a mailbox. I’m Matthew Calvert, pastor of Pinewood Church.” The conversations in the store stopped. There was a soft rustling sound as people turned to look at him.

The postmaster nodded. “Heard you’d arrived. Figured you’d be along. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Pastor Calvert.”

“And I, yours, Mr… .”

“Hubble. Zarius Hubble.” The man stretched out his hand and tapped the glass of one of the small cubicles. “This is the church mailbox. Lest you have an objection, I’ll put your mail in here. Save you having to rent a box.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hubble. That will be fine.”

The postmaster nodded, then fixed a stern gaze on him. “I can’t do that for others with you who will be getting mail, mind you. Your missus or such will need their own box.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Matthew turned and almost collided with a small group of people standing behind him. The short, thin man closest to him held out his hand.

“I’m Allan Cargrave. I own this establishment, along with my brother Henry. You met him this morning. I’ve been looking forward to your coming, Pastor Calvert. We all have.”

Matthew took his hand in a firm clasp. “Then our goal has been the same, Mr. Cargrave. I’m pleased to meet you.” He smiled and turned to the others.

* * *

Willa glanced at her lunch basket, now half-full of hickory nuts, going out the door in Trudy Hoffman’s hand and smiled. The impromptu contest had proved successful in a way she had not expected. Trudy and Sally Calvert had both suggested Puffy as a name for the cat in the story and friendship had budded between the girls when the name was chosen as the favorite by the class. The friendship was firmed when Sally told Trudy she could have the basket as they shared the prize.

Her smile faded. She was quite certain there was something more than shyness bothering Sally. She’d seen tears glistening in the little girl’s eyes that afternoon. She walked to the door to watch Joshua and Sally cross the town park to the parsonage. Another smile formed. If the squirrels didn’t get them, the park would soon be boasting a trail of hickory nut trees started by Sally’s half of the prize falling from Joshua’s pockets.

She pulled the door closed and watched the children. Why weren’t they running and laughing on their way home? She studied their slow steps, the slump of their small shoulders. Something was amiss. They looked…sad. Perhaps they missed their friends in Albany. It was hard for children to leave a familiar home and move to a strange town where they knew no one. She would make certain the village children included Joshua and Sally in their games at the welcome dinner Sunday. And she would speak with Mrs. Calvert about the children. Perhaps there was something more she could do to help them adjust to their new life in Pinewood. Meanwhile, she had a new lunch basket to buy. She hurried down the stairs and headed for the mercantile.

* * *

Matthew blotted his notes, closed his Bible and pushed back from his desk. Moonlight drew a lacy shadow of the denuded branches of the maple in the side yard on the ground, silvered the fallen leaves beneath it. An owl hooted. His lips slanted into a grin. Miss Wright was correct. Pinewood was very different from Albany.

His pulse sped at the memory of her walking toward them, neat and trim in her dark red gown with a soft smile warming her lovely face. She had, again, stolen his breath when their gazes met. And the way she had solved Sally’s rebellion against going to school today…

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. She had made up that business about a cat with no name and the contest with a prize right there on the spot.

It was obvious Miss Wright loved children. How did she feel about God?

He clenched his hands and set his jaw, shaken by a sudden awareness of the expectation in his heart of seeing her sitting in the congregation Sunday morning.