of Trail’s End by evening?
Or would she have another day—perhaps another week—of food and warmth and safety?
Oh, please God. She offered up another prayer, still fairly sure it would make no difference. Please grant me at least a month, just long enough to get one check and find another place to live.
Chapter Three
Nine faces turned toward Annie, smiles on their lips, their eyes sparkling with excitement.
She’d never felt so guilty before. Had she known her deception would rebound on the nine eager students before her, she wouldn’t have…Yes, she would have because she had to escape, to find a place to live. But she regretted the consequences and was sorry she didn’t have the ability to give these children what they expected and needed.
She glanced down at the silver watch she’d pinned to the front of her basque. It made her feel like a teacher. Seven-thirty. Time to begin.
“Hello, class. My name is Miss Cunningham. I’m your new teacher.” Annie stood on the platform and looked at each student. Every child’s face glowed with happiness and anticipation.
Hers was the only one in the room that didn’t. For a moment, she considered confessing her deficiencies and running from the schoolhouse. But where would she go?
The children kept their eyes on her, probably expecting her to do more than just stand on the platform in front of the classroom. Annie forced herself to say something. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”
A slender girl with dark, tightly braided hair stood in the front row to Annie’s left. Like all the girls, she wore a long-waisted dress with a lace flounce and black boots. A few covered their dresses with Mother Hubbard aprons.
“I’m Martha Norton. I’m in the seventh grade.” Martha nodded at a plump young woman with her dark hair pulled into braids with far less perfection. “This is Ida Johnson. She’s in the seventh grade also. We help the younger children,” she added proudly with a lift of her chin.
“Thank you, Martha and Ida.” In her mind, Annie repeated the names as she smiled at both girls.
Two boys stood in the second row on Annie’s right. Boys on the right, girls on the left—they had arranged themselves that way as soon as they entered the classroom.
“I’m Frederick Meyer,” said a boy with short blond hair. He wore what seemed to be the boys’ uniform: a round-necked shirt in plaid or stripes with trousers that stopped just past the knees and boots. “This is Samuel Johnson,” he said, introducing the boy next to him. “And that’s Rose Tripp.” He pointed at the redheaded girl.
After the other children introduced themselves, Annie said, “We’re short three students this morning.”
“The Bryan Brothers,” Martha said. “You won’t see much of them, Miss Cunningham. They have to help on the farm. When they come, they’re usually late. Wilber misses a lot. He’s almost sixteen and his father doesn’t see any reason why—”
“Thank you for all that information, Martha. We’ll welcome them back when they are able to return.” She paused and looked around the class. “I need to tell you something else.” Annie pointed at her right arm. “Children, you may have heard I was in an accident on the way here.”
They all nodded.
“Because I hurt my arm, I’ll be unable to write for several days. I’ve been practicing with my left hand and am not very good, so you’ll all have to help me.”
They nodded again.
An hour later, Annie was enjoying listening to the buzz of activity in the classroom as the students worked together.
“A, B, C, D,” chanted the first and second graders while Martha and Ida held up slates with those letters written in strong, firm strokes.
Annie stood behind the group and studied the lesson with much more interest than any of the students, willing herself to pick up everything the older students taught the younger ones. She traced the letters on the palm of her hand, attaching sounds to the memory of the letters she’d practiced, hoping she would remember them that evening.
She looked over Martha’s shoulder as the girl gave math problems to the fourth graders and watched the students write the numbers, studying how they formed them on their slates. She’d practice them that evening, as well. By the time Lucia came to help with lunch at noon, Annie had learned a great deal.
The children had brought their lunches to school in pails, and they sat outside in the warm October sun to eat with their friends.
Lucia brought plates for both Elizabeth and Annie. “I’ll bring you lunch every day,” she said. “And I’ll wash your clothing as I have for all the teachers. I noticed when I put another blanket in your room that there is a dress soaking. Is that the one you were wearing when you were injured?”
Annie nodded.
“Then I’ll clean and launder it, as well.”
“Thank you.” Annie felt so spoiled. To show her appreciation, she’d buy Lucia something when she was paid. If she was still here. If she got paid at all.
After lunch, the boys kicked a ball around while the girls tossed hoops to each other, laughing and shouting. Fascinated by their energy and joyful abandon, Annie watched from a bench by the clearing.
When the children came back into school at one o’clock, she glanced at the watch and wondered what she would do with them for another ninety minutes. How would she fill the time? She’d already taught them everything she knew. Almost everything.
“Children, do you want to sing?”
The girls nodded; the boys shook their heads. Annie laughed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the songs her mother had taught her, deciding which ones the children would enjoy.
“White wings, they never grow weary,” she began. When she finished the chorus, she opened her eyes to see rapt expressions on the students’ faces—even the boys.
Elizabeth and Ida smiled and clapped, and Martha said, “Oh, Miss Cunningham, that was so beautiful. Please sing more.”
“I’ll sing again, but this time, you have to sing with me.”
Although the boys grumbled, they joined in. She taught them all to sing the chorus and had begun to teach some harmony on the verses when she looked up to see John Sullivan at the door. He wore an odd expression, a mixture of admiration and surprise.
“Miss Cunningham.” He nodded at her. “Children.” They nodded back at him.
“I came by to pick up Elizabeth and to ask how your first day of teaching went. When I approached the school, I heard your wonderful music.” He nodded. “I wasn’t aware singing was one of your talents.”
“Thank you. The children seemed to enjoy it.”
“You didn’t mention your musical ability in your letter of application.”
“I didn’t realize it would be of interest.” She smiled and turned toward the students. “Children, you may go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Eight of the students grabbed their lunch pails and dashed from the building while Elizabeth ran to her father and held her arms out. He reached down to pick her up and envelop her in a hug, his expression softening.
Annie titled her head to watch the two, the love between the often stern banker and his daughter obvious.
“Miss Cunningham is a wonderful teacher. She’s really good at math,” Elizabeth said, and grimaced, her lips turned down.
“Not your favorite subject,” he said.
“No, but it was all right. And we helped her write because of her arm, you know.”
“Yes,