Читать книгу Second Chance Bride - Jane Myers Perrine - Страница 12

Nine faces turned toward Annie, smiles on their lips, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

She’d never felt so guilty before. Had she known her deception would rebound on the nine eager students before her, she wouldn’t have…Yes, she would have because she had to escape, to find a place to live. But she regretted the consequences and was sorry she didn’t have the ability to give these children what they expected and needed.

She glanced down at the silver watch she’d pinned to the front of her basque. It made her feel like a teacher. Seven-thirty. Time to begin.

“Hello, class. My name is Miss Cunningham. I’m your new teacher.” Annie stood on the platform and looked at each student. Every child’s face glowed with happiness and anticipation.

Hers was the only one in the room that didn’t. For a moment, she considered confessing her deficiencies and running from the schoolhouse. But where would she go?

The children kept their eyes on her, probably expecting her to do more than just stand on the platform in front of the classroom. Annie forced herself to say something. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

A slender girl with dark, tightly braided hair stood in the front row to Annie’s left. Like all the girls, she wore a long-waisted dress with a lace flounce and black boots. A few covered their dresses with Mother Hubbard aprons.

“I’m Martha Norton. I’m in the seventh grade.” Martha nodded at a plump young woman with her dark hair pulled into braids with far less perfection. “This is Ida Johnson. She’s in the seventh grade also. We help the younger children,” she added proudly with a lift of her chin.

“Thank you, Martha and Ida.” In her mind, Annie repeated the names as she smiled at both girls.

Two boys stood in the second row on Annie’s right. Boys on the right, girls on the left—they had arranged themselves that way as soon as they entered the classroom.

“I’m Frederick Meyer,” said a boy with short blond hair. He wore what seemed to be the boys’ uniform: a round-necked shirt in plaid or stripes with trousers that stopped just past the knees and boots. “This is Samuel Johnson,” he said, introducing the boy next to him. “And that’s Rose Tripp.” He pointed at the redheaded girl.

After the other children introduced themselves, Annie said, “We’re short three students this morning.”

“The Bryan Brothers,” Martha said. “You won’t see much of them, Miss Cunningham. They have to help on the farm. When they come, they’re usually late. Wilber misses a lot. He’s almost sixteen and his father doesn’t see any reason why—”

“Thank you for all that information, Martha. We’ll welcome them back when they are able to return.” She paused and looked around the class. “I need to tell you something else.” Annie pointed at her right arm. “Children, you may have heard I was in an accident on the way here.”

They all nodded.

“Because I hurt my arm, I’ll be unable to write for several days. I’ve been practicing with my left hand and am not very good, so you’ll all have to help me.”

They nodded again.

An hour later, Annie was enjoying listening to the buzz of activity in the classroom as the students worked together.

“A, B, C, D,” chanted the first and second graders while Martha and Ida held up slates with those letters written in strong, firm strokes.

Annie stood behind the group and studied the lesson with much more interest than any of the students, willing herself to pick up everything the older students taught the younger ones. She traced the letters on the palm of her hand, attaching sounds to the memory of the letters she’d practiced, hoping she would remember them that evening.

She looked over Martha’s shoulder as the girl gave math problems to the fourth graders and watched the students write the numbers, studying how they formed them on their slates. She’d practice them that evening, as well. By the time Lucia came to help with lunch at noon, Annie had learned a great deal.

The children had brought their lunches to school in pails, and they sat outside in the warm October sun to eat with their friends.

Lucia brought plates for both Elizabeth and Annie. “I’ll bring you lunch every day,” she said. “And I’ll wash your clothing as I have for all the teachers. I noticed when I put another blanket in your room that there is a dress soaking. Is that the one you were wearing when you were injured?”

Annie nodded.

“Then I’ll clean and launder it, as well.”

“Thank you.” Annie felt so spoiled. To show her appreciation, she’d buy Lucia something when she was paid. If she was still here. If she got paid at all.

After lunch, the boys kicked a ball around while the girls tossed hoops to each other, laughing and shouting. Fascinated by their energy and joyful abandon, Annie watched from a bench by the clearing.

When the children came back into school at one o’clock, she glanced at the watch and wondered what she would do with them for another ninety minutes. How would she fill the time? She’d already taught them everything she knew. Almost everything.

“Children, do you want to sing?”

The girls nodded; the boys shook their heads. Annie laughed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the songs her mother had taught her, deciding which ones the children would enjoy.

“White wings, they never grow weary,” she began. When she finished the chorus, she opened her eyes to see rapt expressions on the students’ faces—even the boys.

Elizabeth and Ida smiled and clapped, and Martha said, “Oh, Miss Cunningham, that was so beautiful. Please sing more.”

“I’ll sing again, but this time, you have to sing with me.”

Although the boys grumbled, they joined in. She taught them all to sing the chorus and had begun to teach some harmony on the verses when she looked up to see John Sullivan at the door. He wore an odd expression, a mixture of admiration and surprise.

“Miss Cunningham.” He nodded at her. “Children.” They nodded back at him.

“I came by to pick up Elizabeth and to ask how your first day of teaching went. When I approached the school, I heard your wonderful music.” He nodded. “I wasn’t aware singing was one of your talents.”

“Thank you. The children seemed to enjoy it.”

“You didn’t mention your musical ability in your letter of application.”

“I didn’t realize it would be of interest.” She smiled and turned toward the students. “Children, you may go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eight of the students grabbed their lunch pails and dashed from the building while Elizabeth ran to her father and held her arms out. He reached down to pick her up and envelop her in a hug, his expression softening.

Annie titled her head to watch the two, the love between the often stern banker and his daughter obvious.

“Miss Cunningham is a wonderful teacher. She’s really good at math,” Elizabeth said, and grimaced, her lips turned down.

“Not your favorite subject,” he said.

“No, but it was all right. And we helped her write because of her arm, you know.”

“Yes, sweetheart, we’re sorry about her arm.” John gently placed her back on the ground. “Would you please go read for a few minutes? I need to talk with Miss Cunningham.”

Oh, dear.

“Thank you for coming by,” Annie said. “The day went well, I believe. We got to know each other, and I began to measure the levels of each child in mathematics and reading.”

“After I heard you singing, I couldn’t help but wonder—do you play the piano or organ?”

Annie looked around the schoolroom, in case she’d missed such an instrument in her post-accident fog, but there was none. “I play the piano and have played the organ, but I don’t read music. If someone sings the melody for me, I can play anything.”

“A most talented young woman. I’m sure Reverend Thompson would like to talk to you. We’re in need of an organist at church.”

At church? Annie playing the organ in a church? Oh, no. She didn’t think so. She shouldn’t even be inside a church let alone to help in the service. No, she wasn’t fit for that.

“I don’t think I should. Thank you, but I’d need to practice and wouldn’t like to take time away from the children or from preparing their lessons.”

“We have both a piano and a fine organ in our house. You may practice there. Perhaps you could even teach Elizabeth a few tunes. Of course, the church pays only a pittance. It may not be worth your time.”

She glanced up at John. She wanted to tell him that money was not the problem, but she could hardly explain the real reason for her reluctance. “It’s not the money at all. I just thought—the children. I’m so new, and I do have responsibilities here.”

“I don’t mean to push you, but you’ll be at church every Sunday. And if you’re there already…”

He smiled. The expression softened his features and distracted her. Might have even attracted her…if she were a different woman with a different past.

“You have no idea how much we need a musician.” He shook his head.

“Well, yes, of course.” She gave in. “I’ll discuss this with Reverend Thompson on Sunday, but my arm—”

“Aah, yes. Perhaps not immediately.”

After she’d completed cleaning the schoolhouse, Annie heated a can of vegetables and added jerky and cubed potatoes. With a slice of bread, it made a delicious meal. After she washed the dishes and wiped the small table, she took the lamp into the schoolroom and began her work.

How clever, she reflected as she studied the readers, for the publisher of the first level to have a letter next to a picture of something that starts with that letter “A, apple,” she read, tracing the letters in the word as she said it. “B, bug.” Soon she knew the entire alphabet and had practiced all her letters and many of the short words. Although the round letters she wrote slanted to the left and were a little oddly shaped, an unaccustomed pride filled her because she’d accomplished so much in one night.

Then exhaustion hit her. Tired and chilled but exhilarated at all she had learned, she carried the lamp into her bedroom, washed and got ready for bed.

If she worked all weekend, perhaps she could learn to read an easy story. Of course, putting the letters together into words was difficult. Would it be possible to have the older girls read a story? She could listen and learn, too.

Yes, tomorrow she’d have Martha do just that, Annie decided as she slipped into bed. She wrapped herself in the blanket and fell asleep, feeling warm and safe—and proud to be doing something important.

John sat up in his bed, unable to sleep. He threw the covers off, stood and moved to the window. Often the sight of the land that had belonged to his family for eighty years soothed him and he could fall asleep again. As he watched, poplar trees swayed, their branches teased by a gentle breeze while the light of the rising moon bathed their leaves in silver.

To his surprise, he could see a light coming from the schoolhouse. It had to be long after midnight—why would Matilda still have the lamp on? What could she being doing up so late? Working? She’d told him she wanted to prepare well.

But even knowing that she spent extra time in preparation didn’t calm his concern about her. Several times over the past few days she’d seemed puzzled and uncertain when he talked to her. Had she been injured more seriously than he’d thought? Was she sick? Or had the people who’d written her references exaggerated her competency?

She’d blamed her confusion on the accident. What a terrible ordeal she’d gone through. After the death of her only relative, she’d set off to an unknown future only to suffer an awful accident and watch another person die. In addition, he’d seen the bump and bruises on her forehead, the cuts on her hands and the blood on her clothes from the wounds.

Yes, a most unfortunate incident, but that changed nothing. He was still responsible for the education of the Trail’s End children. That was the Sullivan way. Whether her actions were due to the accident or mistakes or illness made no difference—if she wasn’t teaching well, he’d have to take action. He’d keep an eye on her to assure himself that his daughter and the other children received a proper education.

Keeping an eye on her would not be a burden, given how pretty she was.

As he watched, the light in the schoolhouse moved from the schoolroom toward the room in the back. Then it was extinguished.

With a yawn, he returned to his bed and pulled the covers up. This time, he slept.

Saturday morning, after surviving three days as a teacher, Annie woke up early. She stretched and discovered she had fewer aches. She checked the wound on her arm and found it was healing quite well.

She felt much better. Although she’d slept only a few hours, she was ready to get up and get back to work, to start learning more. At least until she looked out the window.

The sun had barely begun to rise. The morning appeared only as a fiery glow across the horizon, just beginning to sketch pink rays across the dark sky. This was too beautiful a morning to spend at her desk. For a few hours, she’d reward herself for all the time she’d spent at work. She’d take a walk and enjoy the birds and the sun and whatever else she found. After washing and dressing quickly, she forced her feet into her shoes and raced to the door and outside.

Which way should she go? Straight ahead lay the Sullivan ranch, and she didn’t feel comfortable heading that way. She might look as if she assumed a friendship that didn’t exist, and she certainly didn’t want to trespass on their privacy. Behind her lay the road and, on the other side, another ranch. To her left and right lay land that probably belonged to the Sullivans but surely they wouldn’t mind if she explored a bit on the acres farther from their home. She’d walk toward the sun and enjoy the marvels revealed in its expanding light.

As more birds joined the morning chorus, she was surrounded by music. She followed a faint path—barely a trace, really—with tall prairie grass on each side. What might be hiding in there? Mice? Possibly snakes, but this morning she didn’t care. She merely wanted to revel in the daylight, to feel the cool air on her face and the sun on her cheeks, to experience the solid crunch of the ground beneath her feet.

She moved through a thicket, dodging the branches that attempted to snag her skirt, touching the rough bark of the trees and noting the bare branches. She knew the sunlight would color her face, but that didn’t matter. Real ladies would protect their complexions by wearing bonnets or never coming outside in the sunshine, but she’d always loved her walks, even as a sad child and, later, as a woman escaping the heat and terror of the brothel for a few minutes. She held out her arms to feel the joy around her, to draw it in and allow it to warm those cold places inside.

Once through the grove, she found a very inviting tree stump, seemingly placed there just for her. She sat on it and breathed in the beauty surrounding her.

Within moments, she heard hoofbeats coming hard and fast. Her first reaction was to leap to her feet and hide in the trees, but the rider came into view before she could move. He didn’t seem to notice her. He rode with such joy, such abandon, as if this were what he’d been created to do. He and the horse moved together, a picture of effortless perfection and absolute happiness.

The rider wore no hat, his short dark hair blowing a bit. She could hear the sound of deep laughter, and she almost laughed herself, enjoying the sight of this man and his horse, the pure splendor of the two together with the sunlight behind them. A shiver of delight filled her.

Her slight movement alerted the rider that he wasn’t alone. He turned the horse and pulled it to a stop, facing her from nearly fifty yards away. Who was he? Putting her hand above her eyes to fight the glare, she still couldn’t see his face. He snapped the reins and moved toward her.

Why was she sitting out here alone with an unknown man closing in? Immediately instinct took over. She leaped to her feet and ran toward the trees.

“Matilda?”

The voice belonged to John Sullivan. She stopped and turned, her heart pounding. He galloped up to her, and she realized that he looked like a completely different man out here at dawn, riding as if nothing else existed in the world.

“Hello. You’re up early this morning.” When he reached her, he dismounted with a fluid motion and smiled.

He wore denim trousers, scuffed boots and plaid shirt, which was quite a contrast to his usual attire. She sensed an ease she hadn’t noticed when he wore his proper suit and polished shoes. He was, without a doubt, the handsomest man she’d ever seen. But, of course, handsome men could be the meanest, the roughest and most demanding—

She stopped her train of thought. John was not a customer, and she was no longer in a brothel. She studied his face, his usually stern features softer somehow, more open.

“I like to walk in the morning. And I love to be outdoors,” she explained.

Holding the reins of his horse with one hand, he nodded his head. “I do, too. I don’t get out nearly as much as I’d like.”

“Why don’t you spend more time riding?”

“I’m the town banker. Telling my depositors that I’d rather be with Orion—” he rubbed the horse’s nose with one hand “—they’re not going to be happy with me.”

With a sliver of a smile that charmed Annie against her will, he added, “That’s why I get up early and ride for an hour. The pleasure lasts me all day.”

“It looks so easy for you. When did you start riding?”

“Since I could stay on a saddle. Anyone who lives on a ranch has to.” After a moment he said, “If I remember correctly, you ride also.”

Annie gulped and wished she could read the letters Matilda had written so she’d at least know what she should be able to do. “Oh, no. I hardly—”

“Surely you’re too modest. You listed some competitions you’d participated in.”

Before she could reply, the rising sun caught his eye, and he glanced up before turning away to put his foot in the stirrup. “Excuse me. It’s time for me to go home for breakfast with Elizabeth. She expects me to be on time.”

He mounted, then looked down at her. For a moment, his gaze met hers and stayed there. Again, that trace of a smile emerged and delighted her, making her want to smile back, although she could not interpret the meaning hidden in his expression.

After a few seconds, she realized who and where she was and lowered her eyes to break their connection.

“Matilda, if you will excuse me?” He nodded at her and turned his horse, riding back down into the valley.

As soon as he was gone, she felt a little cooler in the morning breeze. Well, if that wasn’t absolutely ridiculous. She shook her head and reminded herself she was the schoolteacher, not a foolish ninny. John was the banker, the member of the school board who supervised her, and the father of one of her students. If she were to let her barriers down, if she could truly believe that a man wouldn’t hurt her—if, if, if. That would never happen. She couldn’t allow it.

Nonetheless, she’d watched him ride toward his ranch until he’d disappeared into the trees. Still she stood there, long after he’d disappeared, stunned at how glorious the sight of him had been.