He didn’t know what to say to this. “You’re too pretty to be herding cattle” didn’t seem appropriate. And they were certainly well chaperoned with the silent boy, and Birdie chattering in word and sign, and Charlotte, as always, guarded and silent. All the words he wished to say to Miss Emma must be held back. And she probably didn’t want to hear them, anyway.
“That little girl back there didn’t like us,” Birdie said. “She wouldn’t talk to us.”
The boy on the other side of the cattle said nothing in explanation.
“Some girls and boys are shy with strangers...people they are just meeting,” Emma suggested.
But Mason doubted it.
Birdie considered this. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Is this a nice place to live?”
“Yes, it is. I’m the schoolteacher here,” Emma said.
Oh, Mason thought. Another indication that this lady’s situation had altered. Just like his had. His hopes about her dimmed further. A woman with a paying job would not need a husband.
Birdie’s eyes widened. “You’re the teacher? Charlotte and me were supposed to start school this year in Illinois.”
“Oh?” Emma’s voice sounded a bit uncertain.
And no wonder. Mason had been at a loss how Mrs. Hawkins thought his girls could attend school. After all, Charlotte wouldn’t be able to hear the teacher.
Again, Birdie’s fingers were busy talking to Charlotte.
Charlotte replied in kind and appeared to be scolding her friend.
“Oh, Charlotte still thinks she can’t go to school,” Birdie added.
Exactly, Mason commented mentally.
“Children need to go to school,” Emma said. “All children.”
Mason looked away. His little sister would only be the recipient of stares and unkind words. And he wouldn’t let that happen.
Only three-quarters of a mile separated the two homesteads, so very soon he glimpsed his place—the sturdy log barn and cabin. After all the years of war and then wandering, he had once again a home to return to and now he had his sister and Birdie, too. His heart twinged at the thought. He was glad, but when he cast a sideways glance at the lady near him, he was sad. He’d hoped to employ finesse over when to meet and get to know Emma. But Birdie had even blurted out the cause of Charlotte’s deafness. What might have been would probably never be.
Then he saw something that shocked him. Behind his cabin, a corn field was tall and green and golden, nearing harvest. “What?” He halted right there.
Emma stopped, too. “What is it?”
“I...how do I have a corn crop?”
She followed his gaze. “Oh, yes, Asa planted your fields, one of corn and one of hay.”
“He...” Mason couldn’t speak from the shock and the feeling of being humbled by a friend’s help.
“And ours got wrecked,” the silent boy suddenly spoke with plain disgust.
Mason swung to him. “Yours? You mean Asa’s crop? Wrecked? How?”
“Yeah, a bad man drove his horses through it, trampled it bad,” the boy said.
Mason shifted his attention back to Emma. “What happened?”
“Just what the boy said,” she replied, looking unhappy. “The culprit left the county, though the sheriff has a warrant out for his arrest.”
Mason couldn’t ask any more questions. The thought of Asa planting his crops while losing his own was too much to take in.
“Want me to drive the cows into the barn?” the boy asked.
“Yes, I’ll just put the cases inside and be out to help you. Thanks.” Mason turned to Emma, ready to let her go. She must be as uncomfortable in this situation as he was. “Thank you for your help.”
She paused, studying him. “I will sweep out your cabin before I leave.”
She must be offering to do this because of the girls. He couldn’t believe she was staying for his sake. “That’s not necessary—”
“I know it’s not, but you’ll have enough to do settling the cattle and getting firewood and water inside. Dusting and sweeping won’t take long.” She paused to touch first Birdie’s, then Charlotte’s shoulder. “The girls can help me.”
“We can help!” Birdie parroted with glee.
He again realized that Miss Emma was a very kind lady. Gratitude clogged his throat. Overhead the sun was sliding toward the western horizon. He needed to do the things she’d mentioned, get the house fit for occupation so he and the girls could settle in before night. Finally he regained his voice. “Thank you, Miss Jones.”
“Thank you, Miss Emma!” Birdie crowed.
Mason hurried ahead, unlocked the chain he’d secured the cabin door with and pushed it open. He set the baggage just inside and shed his traveling jacket on a peg on the wall by the door. Then he turned back to the barn. “I’ll go see to the cattle.”
* * *
“Fine,” Emma said, watching Mason go with both relief and a touch of regret. This man, whom she’d already come to respect, carried a heavy load, and she had volunteered to help in the small way she could. But she must not let sympathy lure her from her new, independent life. She brushed away these thoughts of Mason Chandler.
“Girls,” she announced briskly, “let’s go inside to see how much dust we need to clean away.” She strode through the open door and then paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer interior. The little girls, one on each side of her, peered in also.
Dust covered every surface of a sparsely furnished one-room cabin—a short counter attached to the wall with a dishpan on it, two benches, one on each side of a table, two handmade straight-back chairs by the central fireplace, and a bed in the corner. Emma surveyed the home that would have been hers if events had followed the course she’d expected.
She much preferred her cozy teacher’s quarters where she could do as she pleased. She took off her bonnet and hung it on a peg by the door. The girls shed theirs and she hung them up, too, since the hooks were too high for them to reach.
“It’s dusty,” Birdie commented.
“It is indeed.” Emma glimpsed a broom standing in the corner and several cloths hanging over the side of the dishpan. “I will sweep and the two of you can begin dusting.” She glanced down. “Do you know how to dust?”
“Yes, miss,” Birdie replied. “We dusted every week in Illinois.”
“Good.” She handed them each a cloth and claimed the broom.
“We sing while we dust,” Birdie informed her.
“What do you sing?” Emma asked, intrigued.
Birdie replied in song, “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ’roun’; Turn me ’roun’.”
Emma couldn’t like the ain’ts, but the song sounded cheerful, and she liked the sentiment. Nobody was going to turn her ’round, either. She had her new course as Pepin schoolteacher set, and she would follow it.
Soon she found herself sweeping up acorn tops and other evidence of squirrels. A thump against the side of the house startled her. Then she heard footsteps overhead. She looked up as if she could see through the ceiling.
The sound of scratching came down through the fireplace.
“What’s that, Miss Emma?” Birdie asked, also looking up.
“I think Mr. Chandler may be cleaning out debris