Wooing the Schoolmarm. Dorothy Clark

good to know.” He stroked the bay’s neck, got a soft nicker and head bump in return. “What do I owe you?”

      “Fourteen cents will take care of it.”

      He counted out the coins, smiled and handed them over. “Thank you again, Mr. Dibble. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll look forward to seeing you in church Sunday.”

      The man’s gray eyes clouded, his hard, callused hand dropped the coins in the pocket of the leather apron that protected him. “I don’t go to church, Reverend. I figure all that praying and such is a waste of time. God’s never done anything for—” The livery owner’s straight, dark brown brows pulled down into a frown. “I’ll leave it there. Details don’t matter.”

      “They do to the Lord. But He already knows them.”

      “He don’t pay them no mind.”

      “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood, Mr. Dibble.” He smiled to take any challenge from his words, stroked his mare’s neck and framed a careful reply to the man’s acrimony. “God doesn’t always answer our prayers as we hope or expect He will. Or perhaps God hasn’t had time—”

      “I understand all right. There ain’t no way to not understand. And He’s had time aplenty.” David Dibble gave a curt nod and strode off toward his livery stables.

      He watched him disappear into the shadowed interior. “I don’t know what is causing Mr. Dibble’s anger and bitterness, Lord, but I pray You will answer his prayers according to Your will. And that You will save his soul. Amen.” He took a firm grip on Clover’s halter and started for the road.

      A buggy swept into the graveled yard, rumbled to a halt beside him. He glanced up, tugged on the halter and stopped his horse. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hall.” He lifted his free hand and removed his hat, dipped his head in the passenger’s direction. “Miss Hall.”

      “Good afternoon, Reverend Calvert.” Ellen Hall’s full, red lips curved upward. “How fortunate that we have chanced to meet. Isn’t it, Father?”

      The words were almost purred. Ellen Hall looked straight into his eyes, then swept her long, dark lashes down, tipped her head and fussed with a button on her glove. A practiced maneuver if he’d ever seen one—and he’d seen plenty back in Albany. He ignored her flirting and shifted his gaze back to Conrad Hall.

      “Fortuitous indeed.” The man’s blue eyes peered at him from beneath dark, bushy brows. “Mrs. Hall and I would like to extend you a dinner invitation, Reverend. Tomorrow night. Our home is the second house on Oak Street, opposite the village park. We eat promptly at six o’clock.”

      The man’s tone left no room for refusal. And it was certainly impolitic to turn down an invitation to dine with one of the founders of the church, but he had no choice. He chose his words carefully. “That’s very kind of you and Mrs. Hall, sir, but I’m afraid I must decline. I’m not yet fully settled in and my children—”

      “Will be welcome, Reverend. We shall see you at six tomorrow night.” The man glanced at his daughter, then flicked the reins and drove off.

      Ellen gave him a sidelong look from beneath her lashes, lifted her gloved hand in a small wave and smiled. He dipped his head in response, then replaced his hat and tugged the bay into motion.

      “Did you see that, Clover?” His growled words were punctuated by the thud of the bay’s hooves as he led her across the wood walk into the road. “If I ever see you flirting with a stallion like that, I’ll trade you to Mr. Totten and you can spend the rest of your days pulling his trolley.”

      The horse snorted and tossed her head as he turned her toward home.

      * * *

      “What are you doing in here, Willa? The children are gone. And I’ve been waiting…” Ellen closed the door and swept down the aisle between the bench desks.

      Willa snuffed the flame of the last lamp, raised the chandelier and turned to face her friend. “I was finishing a letter to Callie. I want to post it on my way home. You wanted something?”

      “I have news.”

      She looked at Ellen’s smug expression and shook her head. “Obviously, it pleases you.”

      “Oh, it does.”

      She nodded and stepped to the stove and twisted the handles to close the drafts for a slow burn that would preserve the fire for morning.

      “Don’t you want to hear my news?”

      “Of course.” She turned and grinned up at her friend. “And you will tell me as soon as you have your little dramatic moment.” She stepped to her desk and picked up her basket.

      “Oh, very well.” Ellen hurried up beside her and gripped her forearm. “Reverend Calvert is coming for dinner tomorrow night!”

      It took her aback. There was no denying it. And there was absolutely no reason why it should. She nodded and smiled. “That’s quite a ‘coup,’ Ellen. Every young woman in the village has been hoping to have the reverend for dinner.” She started for the door. “Was the dinner your father’s idea, or—”

      “He thinks it was.” Ellen laughed and tugged the velvet collar on her coat higher as they went out the door. “I planned it, of course—with Mother’s help.”

      Of course. “I’m surprised he accepted.” Really? “I know he’s turned down other invitations because of the children.” But those young women don’t possess Ellen’s beauty. She stifled a spurt of disgust and hurried down the porch steps and turned toward town.

      “Yes, I’d heard, so I planned for that. I had father tell him the children were welcome.”

      She stopped and stared up at Ellen. The smug look on her friend’s face made her want to shake her. “And are they welcome?”

      “Of course, as long as they don’t get in the way. And they won’t. I’ve made certain of that. They will have their own meal in the breakfast room. And Isobel has been instructed to keep them there until my performance is finished.” Ellen smiled and patted her curls with a gloved hand. “I’m going to recite a Psalm. I want the reverend to see my spiritual side.”

      “I’m certain he will be duly impressed.”

      “He will be when he sees my new gown.” Ellen laughed and moved ahead. “Bye, Willa.” She waved a gloved hand and turned onto the stone walkway to her house.

      Willa released the white-knuckled grip she had on the basket handle and marched down the sidewalk. Her disgust carried her all the way to Brody’s meat market. She took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face and went inside to buy pork chops for their supper. A supper that would have included children at the table—if she had had any.