what they were sayin’ to you?”
Emma felt the interest of the students. And the aroused sympathy.
“To teach Charlotte ’merican Sign Language, Mrs. Hawkins, who runs the orphans’ home, hired a lady who come all the way from Chicago.”
A few students ohhhhed when they heard “Chicago.”
“I told Mrs. Hawkins I wanta learn to talk with my hands, too. I wanta to be Charlotte’s friend ’cause we all need a friend.”
Again Emma felt the empathy for Birdie and Charlotte swell all around her. Every child here had come from somewhere else and had gone through the painful process of making a friend. “Excellent, Birdie. Now teach us how to greet Charlotte. We want her to know she is among friends here. Isn’t that right, students?”
Different but heartfelt words and sounds of approval flowed around Emma.
“This is how you say hello in sign.” Birdie demonstrated the hand motion in total and then part by part. Emma along with her students mimicked the sign.
“Y’all did good!” Birdie crowed. “Now, Charlotte, your turn.” Birdie signed to the little girl sitting beside Emma.
Hesitantly Charlotte rose and faced the classroom. Shyly she signed, “Hello.”
And everyone, including Emma, signed it in return. The children were beaming at this new knowledge.
Emma rose. “Thank you, Birdie. I think tomorrow you will teach us to sign ‘How are you?’ I think that would be the next thing we would say to Charlotte, don’t you, class?”
Affirmative replies sounded around the room and soon Emma moved the children to their first lesson. Matters had gone much better than she’d expected. Her schoolroom hummed with productive energy. Birdie was not only a sweetheart, but she understood people and how to charm them. Or perhaps Birdie was just being Birdie.
Emma realized something else, too. All through the daily routine of lessons she tried to figure out how to help Charlotte even more. She kept coming up with one answer—no matter how many times she tried to find a different solution. She didn’t want the obvious answer to be true because it involved her being with Mason.
And she did not want to give him or anyone else in town the idea that she might be interested in him as a suitor. She could only hope that with time, people’s expectations for their becoming a couple would dim. The one thing she was thankful for was that Mason never tried to sway her to look upon him with favor. And then she wondered why that was so.
* * *
Emma waited till the end of the school week, and then she walked through town toward her sister’s place. She had a standing invitation to supper there and she looked forward to family time with Judith, Asa and the children. But first she passed her sister’s clearing and proceeded to Mason’s. “Hello, the house!” she called when his neat cabin came into view.
Birdie with Charlotte’s hand in hers ran around the house toward Emma. “Teacher! Teacher come to see us!” Birdie called out, her face bursting with joy.
Emma would have had to be solid granite not to respond. She caught the girls as they cannonaded into her. “Girls, girls. You just saw me at school.”
“But you came to our house again,” Birdie said.
For the first time, Charlotte took Emma’s hand in both of hers.
For this one moment, Charlotte’s lost expression vanished. Emma’s heart sang.
“Miss Jones.”
At Mason’s subdued greeting, Emma looked beyond the girls. Mason had come around the side of his cabin. He had rolled up his sleeves and his sinewy, tanned arms drew her unwilling attention. “To what do we owe this kind visit?”
Switching focus, she contemplated his tone—something about it definitely sounded restrained. No doubt he must also feel the awkwardness over the demise of their plans to marry in March. And here once more there were only the girls as chaperones.
He moved a bit forward. “How may we help you, miss?” he prompted.
She tried not to study the way he stood so easy within himself yet with sadness lurking in his direct gaze. “Has Birdie told you that she is teaching the other schoolchildren a new sign every day?”
“Yes, she told me. It’s not easy to learn.”
“No, it isn’t.” She gripped her intention tightly and announced, “That’s why I’ve come. I think as the teacher, I should know more sign language than just what Birdie teaches the class daily. I was hoping that Birdie could give me private lessons.” Preferably after school—without you nearby to distract me, she thought to herself.
Before Mason could reply, Birdie squealed, “Then you can come to our house to the lessons I give our pa every night!”
Emma’s heart sank. Exactly what she didn’t want.
“Birdie,” Mason said with obvious patience, “maybe Miss Jones can’t come every evening. She’s a busy lady. Why don’t you girls run back and finish your chores while Miss Jones and I talk about this?”
The girls looked up at her and then ran, hand in hand, toward the rear of the cabin. A red cardinal flew overhead. Birdie pointed it out to Charlotte.
Emma walked forward and met Mason, trying to shed her response to the kind way he treated his girls. This seemed to be her Achilles’ heel when it came to this man. She could resist his good looks but his character drew her.
“I’m sorry that Birdie put you in an awkward position, miss. She doesn’t understand gossip and such. Tongues will wag if people find out you and I are seeing each other regularly—even doing something this innocent.”
As he said the words, she felt herself stiffen inside. “I am not one to pay attention to gossips.”
“You are in the minority, then.” He sent her a rueful smile.
The smile hit her directly around the heart, chipping at the ice there. She resisted this. Learning sign language was the right thing to do. And she was not a weak-willed woman, vulnerable to any handsome man. “Mr. Chandler, when does Birdie usually give you your signing instruction?”
He eyed her. “Usually after supper, but if you’re game, why not begin now?”
He had thrown down his gauntlet and she picked it up. She would not be swayed by fear of gossip. “I have time now. I’m expected at my sister’s for supper.”
Mason studied her for a moment and then called over his shoulder, “Birdie! Come inside! Miss Jones wants her first lesson now!”
Emma followed him inside, wondering at how she had ended up doing the exact opposite of what she’d planned. She didn’t think Mason Chandler was manipulative. He’d merely stated the truth about how people might misinterpret this, and that had goaded her. Well, let the gossips enjoy themselves. She had nothing to explain.
However, the ice around her heart had cracked the tiniest bit and that frightened her. I can be with him but not let down my guard. Love is a risk I cannot test again. And then her mind chided, Mason Chandler has not given you the slightest hint that he wants you to reconsider his original proposal, has he? But the words he’d whispered after his fall might hint otherwise. Or not?
Another Saturday morning had come, marking half of September had already passed. Emma dressed in one of her plainer frocks, a faded blue cambric. She wanted to blend in with the ladies coming for their day of sewing and knitting while the men did what was necessary to prepare the school for the coming hard winter. She looked forward to today’s community gathering and could not understand why she felt as if she were carrying some heavy weight. Today would be a