Читать книгу Prairie Cowboy - Linda Ford - Страница 9

He took Rae to school the next day. “Run and tell Miss White I need to speak to her, then go play with your friends.” He didn’t want Rae hearing this conversation.

Miss White paused to speak to one of the Schmidt boys as she crossed the yard to where he waited. She smiled at him as she drew closer. Her lips were pressed together. No flash of white teeth like he’d seen as she spoke to the children. Perhaps Rae had said something to warn her of his displeasure.

He held out his hand. “Here’s your hair ribbons.”

She refused to lift her hand and take them. “I gave them to Rachael. They’re hers.”

“She has no need of them. This is pioneer country. One has to be strong to survive.”

“And how, sir, does a ribbon in one’s hair make for weakness. Does it somehow suck life blood out the roots of one’s hair?” She faced him squarely, her eyes bold and challenging.

What happened to the apologetic distressed female he’d imagined? “It’s what it signifies.”

“You mean self-respect?”

She was one argumentative woman. “Useless things. Things for looks.”

“Beauty is not a useless thing. It’s a refreshing thing. Like a rainbow, a sunset or a blossom.”

Conor wondered what use a blossom was. “Do any of those put food on the table or hay in the barn?”

“‘Man shall not live by bread alone.’”

“Might surprise you to know that I recognize that as a Bible verse and I’m pretty sure it refers to needing God’s word. It has nothing to do with things just for lookee see.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward. He uncurled her fingers and pushed the ribbons into her fist. “Don’t have no need for hair ribbons.”

My how her eyes did flash, as full of fire as a winter stove. Faint color brushed her cheeks, making her look like some kind of fine china. But the way she stood, her fists clenched at her side and her jaw jutted out as if about to challenge him to defend himself, he knew she was a little scrapper. He liked that in a person.

His thoughts collided so harshly he reached for his forehead intending to grab it to stop the sudden headache, but then he thought better of it. No way would he let her guess she’d surprised him.

Yeah, she might fight for an ideal while surrounded by safety of the schoolyard, a town within walking distance and a home in one of the finest houses in the virgin settlement. But real life was vastly different. “Pretty little hair ribbons and righteous indignation are about as necessary and helpful as…” His thoughts stalled. “As dandelion fluff.”

She sniffed and tossed her head as if his words were meaningless. “Are you going to tell God His creation is useless?” She stomped away—daintily, of course—without a backward look.

Which left him no choice but to call to her back. “Me and Rae are survivors.”

Survivors! As if that provided excuse enough for the way he treated Rachael. Forcing her to grow up like a boy. Virnie paused inside the door where no one could see her and struggled to gain control of her emotions.

Miss Price had helped her get past the feelings deposited by her father.

She lifted her head. She would do the same for Rachael. There were things she could do in school and she intended to do them but she’d like to help the girl more.

Lord God, provide me an opportunity.

The next two days Conor brought Rachael to school and returned to wait for her when the day ended. He didn’t ride away until Virnie looked at him. And his look warned her not to interfere with the way he raised his daughter.

His silent insistence only increased her determination. She would find a way to help Rachael. She continued to pray for some kind of opening.

Friday afternoon, the children raced home, happy for the weekend. Except for Rachael who sat on a swing outside, waiting for her father.

Virnie, having no desire to see Conor again and relive all the emotions that insisted on surfacing each time she saw him, remained at her desk marking papers. Or at least she tried. Finally she put her pencil down, planted her elbows on the ink-stained surface and tipped her head into her palms. It was seven years since she last saw her father. She’d firmly put that part of her life behind her when she left with Miss Price. It was dead and gone as far as she was concerned. So why did it haunt her?

She sighed and returned to marking the papers. She knew Conor was the reason. Conor and Rachael. Their situation too clearly mirrored her early life and brought back unwanted memories.

The swing creaked. Virnie glanced out the window. Rachael still waited. Where was her father? She moved to the window and glanced down the road. No sign of dust indicating a rider. She slipped out to join the girl, sitting on the nearby swing so they could talk.

“Is your Pa coming for you?”

Rachael scuffed her shoes in the dust and studied the tracks she made. “Don’t think so.”

“How are you to get home?”

“Walk. Done it lots of times.”

Virnie waited, wondering why the child hadn’t already left but Rachael didn’t seem about to offer any answers. “Did you want something?” Perhaps this was the opening she’d prayed for. “Is your father at home?”

“He’s cutting the crop.”

“I see.” Only it didn’t answer her question as to whether or not he would be watching for her return. “Do you want to help me clean the chalkboard?”

“Sure.” She raced back to the school, Virnie on her heels. As they washed the board and cleaned the brushes, Virnie talked and silently prayed.

“I sure appreciate your help. You’re a good worker.”

“Pa says a person has to pull their weight in this country.”

Virnie supposed it was true about most places. She wanted to know how Rachael felt about being a girl. “Guess it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl, you can do your share.”

“Pa says women have to be strong in order to survive out here. Say there’s no room for weakness.”

He did, did he? Well, strength could be disguised under velvet just as much as it could be revealed in leather. And it was time Conor found that out. Except she didn’t plan to be the person to show him. He reminded her too much of her past and she didn’t welcome the reminder.

She washed the chalk dust off her hands. “The blackboard and brushes are nice and clean, ready for Monday morning.”

Rachael had no reason to linger and yet she did. Tiny bubbles of apprehension skittered along Virnie’s nerves and she shivered. Was there a reason Rachael did not want to go home? Was Conor hurting her physically and Rachael wanted to tell Virnie but didn’t know how? “Is there something wrong at home that you don’t want to go there?”

Rachael shot her a surprised look. “Not at home.”

Relief warmed Virnie’s veins. Somehow she found it difficult to contemplate an abusive Conor. “Then what’s wrong?”

Rachael hung her head and studied her toes.

Virnie caught the girl’s chin and forced her to face Virnie. She kept her voice soft even though tension made her feel brittle inside. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Rachael scrubbed her lips together as she considered Virnie. Finally, her dark brown eyes wide, she whispered, “I don’t want to walk home.”

“But why? Haven’t you done it lots of times before?”

Rachael shrugged and pulled away. “It’s nothing.”

“No. Something is bothering you. Tell me what it is and maybe I can help.”

“You can’t do nothing.”

She ignored the poor grammar. “Why don’t you let me decide that?”

Rachael shuddered. “It’s Faulks’ dog.” The child’s fear beat like something alive.

But Virnie wasn’t getting any closer to what bothered Rachael. “Who are the Faulks?”

“They live on my way home.”

“Ahh. So you pass their place and you’re afraid of the dog?”

Rachael shot her head up and gave Virnie a defiant look. “I’m not scared.” But her eyes said she was.

Virnie made up her mind to see if the fear was legitimate or not. But she sensed she would offend Rachael if she made her plan obvious. “Rachael, I’m planning to visit all of my students’ homes. This afternoon would be a good time for me to visit you. Would you mind if I walk home with you?”

Tension drained out of the child so quickly she swayed. “That would be nice.”

Virnie closed the windows and the door then followed Rachael outside. They walked along the dusty road. The day was warm with a breeze that kept it from being unbearable. The sky was so blue that if Virnie lifted her head she could feel like she walked into a vast flat lake. Birds lifted from the yellow blades of grass as they passed, calling out a warning as they flew away.

Rachael skipped along beside her, chattering about all sorts of things until they had gone a mile and she slowed drastically. A house stood on a rise of land a few hundred feet away.

Virnie made a few quick assumptions. “This must be where the Faulks live.”

“Shh. If we’re really quiet maybe the dog won’t hear us.” Rachael tiptoed at the far edge of the road.

Virnie abandoned the middle of the road in favor of the side as well, not sure what she faced but certain of Rachael’s fear. Surely, she consoled herself, no one would keep a dog that threatened a child. Surely, Rachael’s fears were unfounded.

A snarling black shape bowled toward them.

Virnie’s heart clamored up her throat. This was the dog Rachael feared and for good reason. He barreled toward them like a freight train. Virnie backed away, her mouth suddenly as dry as the dust at their feet.

Rachael grabbed Virnie’s skirt and pressed close to her back. “It’s him. He’s going to get us.”

Something fierce and hot surged through Virnie. “No, he’s not.” She faced the attacking dog, now within twenty feet of the road. “Stop,” she yelled with all the authority she could muster. “Stop.”

The dog didn’t slow down one iota.

“Don’t move,” she told Rachael though she wondered if either of them could force their limbs to run.

She lowered her voice to her deepest tones. “Stop.”

A distant voice called, “Tictoc, you get back here right now, hear.”

The dog slowed slightly.

Virnie tore her gaze from the approaching menace to the house. A plump woman stood on the step waving a broom.

“Tictoc, don’t you make me come after you.” The woman banged the broom against the wall.

The dog stopped, still growling, still considering whether he wanted to continue his attack or obey the cross mistress.

“Tictoc, I’m warning you. Get back here. Now.” Another solid whack with the broom.

The dog edged backward, clearly wanting to complete what he had started. But another whack of the broom made him turn and slink away. Virnie stared as he skittered past the house and disappeared under a nearby fence.

The danger was over but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten their job was to provide oxygen to her body. Her brain remained in shocked numbness.

“He’s gone,” Rachael whispered. “Let’s go.”

Virnie’s breath escaped in a loud whoosh and she leaned forward as she sucked in air. She must not let Rachael know how frightened she’d been. Sudden anger pushed her fear into distant corners. “Does that dog threaten you every time you walk by?”

“If he’s here. He belongs to Devin Faulk. He’s their son. He has a farm south of here and takes the dog with him. I like it when he’s not here.”

Virnie started to giggle. She knew it was a mixture of relief and anger. “Tictoc? What sort of name is that for a dog?” She tried to control her giggles but couldn’t.

Rachael stared at her and blinked, then her eyes sparkled. “Tictoc like a clock.” For some reason the little rhyme amused them both immensely and they giggled like mad.

They continued toward the Russell home.

“That’s my house,” Rachael said with obvious pride, pausing to let Virnie have a good look.

Virnie saw a low house of moderate size and felt an instant sense of relief. At least Rachael didn’t live in one of those tarpaper shacks some of the settlers had for a dwelling, nor in a sod shanty. The wood had not been painted but it looked a substantial enough place. To one side were pens for the animals and a sod-roofed building she took for the barn. A small pen housed chickens and another fenced area indicated what might have been a garden. Some buckets lay scattered along the garden fence. Rags were caught along another fence. Apart from the general air of untidiness, it seemed to promise a solid future. Virnie stood several minutes taking it all in, trying to confine her feelings to how this affected Rachael but she couldn’t stop a trickle of memories. She enjoyed hours with her brother, Miles, at a farm. One bigger and more developed than this one, but seeing the pens and the barn brought things to mind she’d purposely pushed away. Following Miles around, trying to imitate him, trying to earn his approval, hoping if she did, her father would voice his…what? She didn’t know what she’d expected then any more than she did now. Perhaps a word of praise, a sign that he didn’t regret having a daughter? She turned from studying the Russell farm. “Are you going to show me your house?”

Rachael grabbed her hand and ran. Virnie had no choice but to trot after her.

They ducked into the house. Virnie remembered her manners in time to stifle a gasp at the mess before her. They stood in a nice-sized room that served as living quarters for the residents—combining sitting area, dining area and kitchen. The room had potential to be bright and cheerful but it did not live up to its possibilities. Dirty dishes covered the table. The stove held an array of blackened pots and pans. Clothing of every description from a Rachael-sized shirt to a heavy winter coat lay scattered across every surface. Virnie had to wonder where they sat, how they managed to prepare a meal, how they kept clean. She deliberately shifted her gaze to the two doors opening into the room. Both stood open to reveal beds buried beneath clothing and assorted objects. How did they find room to sleep in those beds? And how did Rachael manage to find clean clothes to wear to school?

Mentally, Virnie began to roll up her sleeves. She could tackle the worst of this mess while she was here, perhaps show Rachael a few coping skills. She wondered how long she had until Conor returned because she didn’t have to be a genius to sense he would object to her interference.

“Rae.” The faint call came from outside, some distance away.

Rachael grabbed Virnie’s hand. “Don’t tell Pa about the dog.”

The child’s request drove all else from Virnie’s mind. She assumed it would be the first thing Rachael said. Such an encounter should be reported and dealt with. Why was Rachael afraid to tell Conor? “You need to let him know so he can do something.”

“No. Pa needs me to be strong.”

“Rachael, you need to be protected.”

Rachael swallowed so hard she grimaced. “I can take care of myself.”

Virnie knew she couldn’t. What if Mrs. Faulk hadn’t been there to call the dog off? Virnie shuddered to think of the child facing that dog alone. “You need to tell him.”

Rachael shook her head. “Promise you won’t tell.”

Virnie considered her responsibility to report the incident against the child’s obvious reluctance. “I won’t tell him but I want you to promise you will. He needs to know.”

“Okay, I will.” Her reluctance was obvious.

Conor burst into the house and Virnie could not pursue the subject. She had given her word. Now she must trust Rachael to keep hers.

“Where have you been? Why are you so late?” Conor demanded of Rachael and then he shifted his gaze to Virnie. “Why did you bring her home?”

“Pa, she is visiting all the families and I got to be first.”

Conor narrowed his eyes, still studying Virnie. “Is that a fact?”

Virnie’s struggle to deal with her reluctant promise about the dog ended suddenly at the challenge in his voice.

“Do you have any objections?” She meant both visiting in general and making Rachael her first visit.

He blinked before her directness. “Why is Rae so late?”

“She helped me clean the chalkboard and brushes so we could walk home together.” She darted a glance at Rachael, hoping to convey that now would be a good time to tell her father about the dog. But Rachael refused to meet her eyes.

“Do you expect me to serve you tea?”

She almost laughed but managed to confine her amusement to a grin. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” She let her gaze circle the room and knew a sense of victory when he looked uncomfortable.

“It’s harvest time. Don’t have time to spend cleaning up the house. It can wait. The crops can’t.”

She didn’t say it looked like the house had waited a very long time but knew her eyes must have flashed her disbelief when he scowled.

The sound of an approaching rider reached them.

“It’s Uncle Gabe,” Conor said.

Rachael screamed and raced outside calling, “Uncle Gabe. Uncle Gabe.”

Conor did not release Virnie from his look, rife with warning, but beneath that she read more—his latent worry about Rachael being late. Realizing his unspoken concern, something sharp and hot drove through her thoughts. This man cared about his daughter even though he treated her like a boy. Perhaps she could appeal to him on that basis, somehow make him see the harm he inadvertently inflicted on his child. She could explain—but pain twisted through her at the mere thought of telling someone how it felt.

The look in his blue, bottomless eyes shifted, seeking a response that had nothing to do with Rachael.

A noise outside made him jerk toward the door, freeing her from his stare and allowing her to think clearly. She didn’t intend to get involved with this man. Yes, he might care in a flawed way about his daughter but Virnie did not have any desire to relive her own experience in order to help him. She would pray for some other way to help Rachael.

“I’ve been expecting him,” Conor said.

“Your brother?” Virnie asked.

“No, just a good friend.”

“I’ll be on my way.” But before Virnie could make her way through the door, Rachael returned, pulling a man by his hand.

His eyes widened when he saw her and he whipped off his hat. “Didn’t know Conor had a lady friend visiting.” He grinned widely at Conor then shifted his attention back to Virnie. He didn’t say anything but the way his grin deepened, Virnie knew he thought she was worth a second look.

She took the liberty of giving him a good look, too. A man with fine features, blond hair, blue eyes and unrepentant amusement.

“’Bout time old Conor acknowledged there’s more to life than work.”

Conor grunted. “Miss White is the new schoolteacher.” He nodded toward Virnie. “You probably figured out this is my friend, Gabe. Gabe Winston.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. And might you have a Christian name?”

“Virnie.” She looked at Conor as she spoke, wondering if he would ever take the liberty of using her name. But he scowled like he had a pain somewhere. She pulled herself straighter. She knew that look. Had seen it often from her pa. And she understood she was the source of the pain. For Conor as well as her pa. “I’ll be on my way. Good day.”

Gabe made a protesting noise but stepped aside as she steamed out.

She hurried away with long, furious strides. Why did she let Conor’s attitude pull unwanted memories to her mind?

She stomped hard on the dusty surface of the road, raising dust to her knees. She’d have to polish her shoes and brush her skirt when she got home. The extra emphasis to each step did nothing to stop her from remembering.

Too bad you’re a girl.

After all this time, the words still twisted her heart into an agonized knot.

Lord God, the past is past. You provided Miss Price to give me a different life. Help me forget those days of pain and uncertainty.

Her thoughts slipped to Rachael. How similar their situations. If Miss Price were here she’d surely find a way to help. What would she do?

Virnie stopped at the school to get some papers and texts so she could prepare lessons then returned to Maxwell house where she boarded. She liked living with them. Their formal parlor and old-fashioned furniture reminded her of living with Miss Price. She found comfort in their routine and stiff mannerisms that also reminded her of Miss Price. She paused to greet Mrs. Maxwell then retired to her bedroom to pen a letter to Miss Price. In great detail she told about her first week, asking advice on how to teach the Schmidt boys English and how to challenge young George to apply as much interest to literature and penmanship as he did to arithmetic.

She closed with, “There is a child who reminds me of myself. She is motherless. Her father dresses her like a boy. He expects her to be tough. I would like to help her but find myself dealing with memories of my own past that I prefer to ignore. I must in all honesty say this child’s father doesn’t seem to be unkind toward her.”

Thinking of Conor filled her with confusion. Her first glimpse of him convinced her he cared about Rachael. Today she knew she’d seen worry in his eyes over Rachael’s tardiness in returning from school. She’d seen something in him that made her lonesome inside. But when had she become so maudlin? She had only to consider Rachael’s fear about the Faulks’ dog to know there was something wrong.

She turned back to her letter. “Please pray that I might have wisdom in this situation.” What if God wanted her to do more like Miss Price had done? “And the courage to do what needs to be done.”