identify but wasn’t hungry enough to try.
She’d eaten less than tomatoes for breakfast before, but at least she’d had a can opener then. Now she didn’t. Certainly no one expected her to go without food, although never having been a teacher before, she didn’t know. She thought Matilda would have brought food with her if that had been a requirement. Perhaps she could find Mr. Sullivan’s house and ask him.
She picked up the bucket by the door of her bedroom, carried it outside and filled it from the pump in the yard, moving carefully. She saw no firewood so went back inside, took off her clothing and washed in cold water. Nothing unusual there. When she finished scrubbing off the grime and carefully cleaning the wounds on her arm and head, she put her bloodstained clothing in the water to soak.
Then she turned toward the valise. She hadn’t had time the previous day to do more than pull a skirt and basque from the suitcase. Today she needed to see what else was inside. She took a deep breath. She did not look forward to exploring Matilda’s personal effects. Taking on the identity of a dead woman had been more difficult, complicated and emotional than she’d ever considered.
Inside were two dark skirts, simple and austere with a pleat down the back, like the one she wore. One was brown and the other black. She pulled out two matching basques, each with new white collars and worn but spotless cuffs, and hung them next to the skirts. Under them, Annie found a lovely white jersey with a short braided front and jet beads around the high neck. For special events, Annie decided as she stroked and savored the softness.
Then came a black shawl, a pair of knitted slippers, several pairs of black cotton stockings, five handkerchiefs, a few more hairpins, a sewing kit and a small box. Reluctantly, she opened the little package. Inside she found a silver watch to pin on the front of her basque. When Annie ran her finger over the engraved vines, tears began to slide down her cheeks. This must have been the teacher’s prized possession.
She set the watch down and forced herself to continue. In the bottom of the bag were two books, a notebook filled with writing and many little pictures and another letter. Annie was completely overwhelmed. She’d never had so many nice things. She’d never owned cotton stockings or a cashmere jersey or any jewelry.
Annie put on the black skirt, buttoned the basque up the front and then pulled on the slippers. With no mirror in the little room, she smoothed her hair back into a bun as best she could.
Then she wandered into the empty schoolroom. She didn’t want to be there—and yet she did, very much. She was curious and excited and more than a little afraid with absolutely no idea how she would teach twelve children what she herself did not know. But she felt safe here. She would soon have wood and coal and perhaps something to eat.
She touched the books on her desk and opened one. What did those black marks stand for? She ran her hand down the page as if she could absorb their meaning. The paper felt rough and cold. The circles and lines and odd curlicues printed there fascinated and confounded her. Here and there she recognized a J and an M.
A yearning filled Annie. She’d always wanted to go to school. She remembered her mother telling her she was smart when she was just a child.
But after her mother died, her father said educating a woman was a waste. After all, he’d said, what more does a woman need to know than how to clean and cook and sew? She didn’t need to be able to read to take care of a man.
That was about all Annie needed to know. As her father drank and gambled more, she’d had to work to support them. Only seven years old, she started cleaning houses. If she didn’t earn enough for his whiskey, he beat her until she learned to leave the money on the porch and sleep outside.
Then he’d killed a man in a drunken rage, was hanged and the house was sold to satisfy his debts. When no one would hire George MacAllister’s daughter, she realized she had two choices: starve to death or become a prostitute. She chose to work at Ruby’s, a brothel.
She brought her attention back to the book. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to learn? To read books about distant places and exciting people and thrilling adventures, to be able to read aloud to children or silently to herself, to write letters or a story?
Oh, it sounded more wonderful than any fantasy…but that was all it was. Soon, very soon, the school board would find out she couldn’t read or write and nothing would save her. From what she’d seen, she didn’t believe Mr. Sullivan would be kind or forgiving when he found out about her deception.
“Excuse me,” came a sweet voice from outside as the door opened.
“Yes?” Annie turned to look down on a tiny, fairy-like creature with a heavy basket. Behind the child stood a Mexican man. She straightened and walked toward the little girl.
Light hair curled from beneath the hood of the child’s green plaid coat. She looked up at Annie with enormous, intelligent blue eyes and a smile that sparkled with humor.
“Good morning, Miss Cunningham. I’m Elizabeth Sullivan. This is Ramon Ortiz.”
The child struggled across the threshold, carrying an enormous basket. Annie would have taken it from her, but Mr. Ortiz caught her eye and shook his head, smiling.
Elizabeth dropped her burden by the door to the kitchen. “My father sent us with some things for you. He thought you might be hungry. And we brought you a blanket because the nights are cold.”
Annie hadn’t noticed the cold the night before because she’d been exhausted. How lovely to have a blanket. “Thank you.”
Mr. Ortiz followed Elizabeth and placed a bundle on one of the narrow tables.
“How old are you, Elizabeth?” Annie settled on a bench so she and Elizabeth would be face-to-face.
“I’m almost eight, Miss Cunningham.”
“What do you like most about school?”
“Reading. I love to read. And to write.”
Of course the daughter of the man who hired her would love to do the things Annie couldn’t. “Do you like to do sums?”
Elizabeth grimaced. “No, ma’am, but I will try. My father says women should be able to add and subtract.”
“Of course we should.” That was one thing she could do, thanks to keeping track of how much the men who frequented the brothel owed. That and her piano playing had made her popular with the other women there.
The little girl marched into Annie’s bedroom to spread the blanket on her bed, tugging on it to make sure it hung squarely. She stopped to brush a little dust from the dresser and pushed the outside door more firmly shut. The child acted with such grace and helpfulness, as if she were an adult, that Annie smiled.
“I asked Ramon to place the food in your cupboard.” Elizabeth frowned as she looked around the tiny bedroom. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have curtains or a pretty quilt.”
“Thank you, but please don’t worry about it, Elizabeth. This is the nicest room I’ve ever had.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew round, but she was too polite to ask Annie how that could be. “My father and I hope you’ll enjoy Trail’s End. All the students are excited to meet you tomorrow. Most of us like school a great deal.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I look forward to meeting them.” Annie walked into the classroom. “Would you tell me something about each student?” She congratulated herself on sounding so much like a teacher—or at least like her concept of a teacher.
The child stopped to think a moment before she started counting off the students on her fingers. “There are the Sundholm twins, Bertha and Clara. They’re only six so just babies. This is their first year in school. Tommy Tripp and I are in the second grade. We can both read and are learning cursive. Do you have a nice hand, Miss Cunningham?”
Annie looked down at her fingers. They were long and thin but covered with calluses from hard work and cuts from the accident. Her palms were red and rough.