Bustling about, she opened the schoolroom door. The warming wind wafted in the scent of pine. Then she set a coffee kettle sputtering and perking over the fire in her quarters, releasing its enticing fragrance. Yesterday before the children went home, she had directed them in moving the school benches into a large circle. Then they set up the long tables that would hold the food brought for the cold lunch all the workers would share. With a lift of satisfaction, she walked over the room, making sure everything was spit-shined and in place. Not a speck of dust.
She paused by her neatly organized desk that had been pushed back out of the way. There had been some talk of raising funds to purchase real school desks for the children, but that would be in the future. Emma then dragged out the chairs from her quarters for a few of the grandmothers who would have difficulty sitting on backless benches for hours. But all this busyness didn’t help her keep her mind off Mason Chandler. Of course he would come today. And what of it?
Foolish question. The man was a constant speck in her eye. The three sign language lessons this week had been times of testing. I should not feel this way. Going to his home and learning signs should not affect me. Truer words had never been spoken, but Mason had the power to stir her feelings and cause her to think thoughts she shouldn’t think about the breadth of his shoulders or his deep voice. She would just have to be stronger today. She could not care for a man again. Could not. Not would not.
She shoved away memories and marched around, pushing open the windows and letting more warm September breeze in. She caught a hint of cedar this time. Wagons began creaking into the school yard and families arriving on foot. Emma welcomed their cheery voices and distraction. Soon women crowded the schoolroom, all setting down sewing baskets and knitting bags. Outside the children began playing in the school yard, their happy squeals and shouts causing Emma to smile.
She would not be alone with Mason today. She could keep him at a distance. Though at this resolve a silent sigh eased through her. He hadn’t arrived yet, but she was already straining to hear Mason’s voice. Irritating but true.
Many mothers of her students paused to look at papers that had merited gold stars and which had been pinned to the back wall of the room. Then Sunny Whitmore, the preacher’s wife, entered with her friends, Nan and Ophelia. Everyone noticed but did not comment about the fact that Sunny had loosened her corset stays to their maximum and wore a loose jacket that sought to conceal her condition. The Whitmores were expecting their third child sometime this fall.
Then Charlotte and Birdie burst into the room, the soles of their shoes slapping on the wood floor. “We just wanted to say good morning, Miss Emma!” Birdie announced in her endearing way. Charlotte gifted Emma with one of her rare smiles. Then both girls signed, “Good morning. So glad to see you,” to her and she signed a similar greeting in return.
Everyone near her had paused to watch the exchange of sign language. Emma glanced over Birdie’s head and there was Mason standing squarely in the doorway, motioning for the girls to come out.
“Now, you girls go and play,” Emma said, nodding once toward Mason.
He returned her nod without a hint of a smile.
“Yes, Miss Emma,” Birdie said, and the two hurried out to join the children playing.
Emma turned away and caught many, many speculative glances shifting between her and the girls. She raised her chin and smiled as serenely as she could.
“We heard you were going to Mr. Chandler’s for special lessons,” Mrs. Stanley—the woman with the wobbly wart—said with thick innuendo.
Emma merely glanced at the woman she really tried to like—but couldn’t.
“Someone needs to teach those two little ones how to knit and such. Mr. Chandler can’t do that,” Mrs. Ashford said in a considering tone, and then she sent Emma a pointed glance.
Emma ignored it and was grateful when her sister, who had been unusually silent, said, “I’ve started teaching Lily. I’ll invite Mason’s girls over to join us.”
Emma smiled and moved next to her sister in the circle of women.
Lavina, the song leader each Sunday, said, “Ladies, let us start our workday with prayer.” Lavina prayed for the Lord to bless them as they toiled on the practical gifts and to ensure the items would be a blessing to those who received them.
After the “amen,” the ladies found places on the benches and began taking out yarn and needles or cloth and needle and thread. Several ladies had most of a quilt top done and sat close together, discussing the finer points of their quilt design.
Feeling the uprush of joy at being here with her sister, Emma sat beside Judith and began crocheting a scarf of red yarn. Judith was knitting a pair of matching mittens. Both of them were using pairs of their late mother’s wooden needles. Judith glanced at her and smiled. But something in Judith’s eyes looked worried. Was it just that she and Asa were facing a lean winter? Or something else? Emma regretted she and her sister had not had a moment alone to talk for days. It almost felt as if Judith were distancing herself from Emma. Surely not.
And above the ladies’ quiet chatter, still Emma could not stop herself from straining to hear Mason’s voice outside with the men. Near the open windows the men were talking about wood supply and about checking the chinking of the log building and the shake roof against the coming winter winds.
“How is Isaiah doing in the Northwoods?” Sunny asked Lavina as she knit a child’s navy-blue stocking.
“My son is courting a Chippewa woman there,” Lavina said, head down.
Silence greeted this.
“She is a strong believer and is well thought of,” Lavina continued, glancing up in a way that repelled dispute. “My husband and I may travel there to meet her as soon as the harvest is in and before snow flies.”
Emma drew in a breath. Many women were frowning, but evidently because of Noah’s recent sermon, none spoke of the prejudice against a mixed marriage.
“I’m sure she will be a help to Isaiah in his mission,” Emma said.
“Yes, but that’s not why he’s marrying her. He fell in love,” Lavina said with a sweet smile.
The way the woman said the words physically hurt Emma’s heart. Two young people in love. She bent over her knitting, hiding the tight “stitch” within her.
Then Mason’s voice floated through the window. The men were going to hoist someone up on the roof. Her fingers tightened in her yarn. Not Mason. Not Mason.
“No, not you, Mason,” Noah said with evident humor. “You’ve fallen off one roof this fall. That’s your limit.”
The men all laughed.
“I must agree,” Mason said without evident embarrassment.
“Can I go up on the roof?” The voice sounded young. Emma recognized it as belonging to Jacque Merriday, the sheriff’s son. “I know how to check the wooden shingles. My dad taught me.”
Rachel, his stepmother, looked up and shook her head. “That boy knows no fear, and he frightens me at times.”
“That’s the way boys are,” Mrs. Ashford said sagely, her knitting needles clicking.
The workday proceeded, and sitting beside her sister, more and more Judith’s near silence worried Emma. What was wrong?
At noon the men trooped inside. After the children had been helped through the line of generous sandwiches and cookies, the women waved the men to go first to fill their plates, saying that stacking wood gave a person more appetite than handwork. Emma gauged the distance she would maintain between her and Mason, glad for all the people in between.
However, her sister thwarted her by absently drawing Emma outside with her to sit by Asa, who of course had Mason at his side on a quilt under a blazing red maple. Enjoying the balmy fall day, everyone had settled either on the benches or on quilts outside.