Oh, dear.
“Thank you for coming by,” Annie said. “The day went well, I believe. We got to know each other, and I began to measure the levels of each child in mathematics and reading.”
“After I heard you singing, I couldn’t help but wonder—do you play the piano or organ?”
Annie looked around the schoolroom, in case she’d missed such an instrument in her post-accident fog, but there was none. “I play the piano and have played the organ, but I don’t read music. If someone sings the melody for me, I can play anything.”
“A most talented young woman. I’m sure Reverend Thompson would like to talk to you. We’re in need of an organist at church.”
At church? Annie playing the organ in a church? Oh, no. She didn’t think so. She shouldn’t even be inside a church let alone to help in the service. No, she wasn’t fit for that.
“I don’t think I should. Thank you, but I’d need to practice and wouldn’t like to take time away from the children or from preparing their lessons.”
“We have both a piano and a fine organ in our house. You may practice there. Perhaps you could even teach Elizabeth a few tunes. Of course, the church pays only a pittance. It may not be worth your time.”
She glanced up at John. She wanted to tell him that money was not the problem, but she could hardly explain the real reason for her reluctance. “It’s not the money at all. I just thought—the children. I’m so new, and I do have responsibilities here.”
“I don’t mean to push you, but you’ll be at church every Sunday. And if you’re there already…”
He smiled. The expression softened his features and distracted her. Might have even attracted her…if she were a different woman with a different past.
“You have no idea how much we need a musician.” He shook his head.
“Well, yes, of course.” She gave in. “I’ll discuss this with Reverend Thompson on Sunday, but my arm—”
“Aah, yes. Perhaps not immediately.”
After she’d completed cleaning the schoolhouse, Annie heated a can of vegetables and added jerky and cubed potatoes. With a slice of bread, it made a delicious meal. After she washed the dishes and wiped the small table, she took the lamp into the schoolroom and began her work.
How clever, she reflected as she studied the readers, for the publisher of the first level to have a letter next to a picture of something that starts with that letter “A, apple,” she read, tracing the letters in the word as she said it. “B, bug.” Soon she knew the entire alphabet and had practiced all her letters and many of the short words. Although the round letters she wrote slanted to the left and were a little oddly shaped, an unaccustomed pride filled her because she’d accomplished so much in one night.
Then exhaustion hit her. Tired and chilled but exhilarated at all she had learned, she carried the lamp into her bedroom, washed and got ready for bed.
If she worked all weekend, perhaps she could learn to read an easy story. Of course, putting the letters together into words was difficult. Would it be possible to have the older girls read a story? She could listen and learn, too.
Yes, tomorrow she’d have Martha do just that, Annie decided as she slipped into bed. She wrapped herself in the blanket and fell asleep, feeling warm and safe—and proud to be doing something important.
John sat up in his bed, unable to sleep. He threw the covers off, stood and moved to the window. Often the sight of the land that had belonged to his family for eighty years soothed him and he could fall asleep again. As he watched, poplar trees swayed, their branches teased by a gentle breeze while the light of the rising moon bathed their leaves in silver.
To his surprise, he could see a light coming from the schoolhouse. It had to be long after midnight—why would Matilda still have the lamp on? What could she being doing up so late? Working? She’d told him she wanted to prepare well.
But even knowing that she spent extra time in preparation didn’t calm his concern about her. Several times over the past few days she’d seemed puzzled and uncertain when he talked to her. Had she been injured more seriously than he’d thought? Was she sick? Or had the people who’d written her references exaggerated her competency?
She’d blamed her confusion on the accident. What a terrible ordeal she’d gone through. After the death of her only relative, she’d set off to an unknown future only to suffer an awful accident and watch another person die. In addition, he’d seen the bump and bruises on her forehead, the cuts on her hands and the blood on her clothes from the wounds.
Yes, a most unfortunate incident, but that changed nothing. He was still responsible for the education of the Trail’s End children. That was the Sullivan way. Whether her actions were due to the accident or mistakes or illness made no difference—if she wasn’t teaching well, he’d have to take action. He’d keep an eye on her to assure himself that his daughter and the other children received a proper education.
Keeping an eye on her would not be a burden, given how pretty she was.
As he watched, the light in the schoolhouse moved from the schoolroom toward the room in the back. Then it was extinguished.
With a yawn, he returned to his bed and pulled the covers up. This time, he slept.
Saturday morning, after surviving three days as a teacher, Annie woke up early. She stretched and discovered she had fewer aches. She checked the wound on her arm and found it was healing quite well.
She felt much better. Although she’d slept only a few hours, she was ready to get up and get back to work, to start learning more. At least until she looked out the window.
The sun had barely begun to rise. The morning appeared only as a fiery glow across the horizon, just beginning to sketch pink rays across the dark sky. This was too beautiful a morning to spend at her desk. For a few hours, she’d reward herself for all the time she’d spent at work. She’d take a walk and enjoy the birds and the sun and whatever else she found. After washing and dressing quickly, she forced her feet into her shoes and raced to the door and outside.
Which way should she go? Straight ahead lay the Sullivan ranch, and she didn’t feel comfortable heading that way. She might look as if she assumed a friendship that didn’t exist, and she certainly didn’t want to trespass on their privacy. Behind her lay the road and, on the other side, another ranch. To her left and right lay land that probably belonged to the Sullivans but surely they wouldn’t mind if she explored a bit on the acres farther from their home. She’d walk toward the sun and enjoy the marvels revealed in its expanding light.
As more birds joined the morning chorus, she was surrounded by music. She followed a faint path—barely a trace, really—with tall prairie grass on each side. What might be hiding in there? Mice? Possibly snakes, but this morning she didn’t care. She merely wanted to revel in the daylight, to feel the cool air on her face and the sun on her cheeks, to experience the solid crunch of the ground beneath her feet.
She moved through a thicket, dodging the branches that attempted to snag her skirt, touching the rough bark of the trees and noting the bare branches. She knew the sunlight would color her face, but that didn’t matter. Real ladies would protect their complexions by wearing bonnets or never coming outside in the sunshine, but she’d always loved her walks, even as a sad child and, later, as a woman escaping the heat and terror of the brothel for a few minutes. She held out her arms to feel the joy around her, to draw it in and allow it to warm those cold places inside.
Once through the grove, she found a very inviting tree stump, seemingly placed there just for her. She sat on it and breathed in the beauty surrounding her.
Within moments, she heard hoofbeats coming hard and fast. Her first reaction was to leap to her feet and hide in the trees, but the rider came into view before she could move.