Wooing the Schoolmarm

“He’s doing better. He was able to move his arm a little when I was getting him up and around. The Lord bless you for caring.” Her neighbor cleared the leaves and dirt from the end of her walk, paused and looked at her over the broom handle. “I heard the new pastor brought his children to your school. His wife a pleasant woman, is she?”

Willa clenched her fingers on the handle of the small basket holding her lunch. She hated gossip. She’d been on the receiving end of too much of it. But Mrs. Braynard meant no harm. She was simply overcurious. Nonetheless, whatever she said would be all over town within an hour. She took a breath to hold her smile in place. “I haven’t met Mrs. Calvert. The pastor was alone when he brought the children. I’m looking forward to meeting her at the welcome dinner after church this Sunday.” She turned away, hoping…

“Are you getting on all right, Willa? I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Mrs. Braynard.” The sympathy in her neighbor’s voice grated on her nerves. She hated being the object of people’s pity—even if it was well-meant. She smiled and gave the same answer she’d been giving since Thomas had abruptly left town. “I’m fine. Now, I’m afraid I must hurry off to school. Tell Daniel I’m pleased to hear he is mending.”

“I’ll tell him. And I’ll keep praying for you, Willa.”

As if prayer would help. She pressed her lips together, lifted her hand in farewell and hurried down the path to the corner, a choked-back reply driving her steps. Mrs. Braynard, of all people, should know God had no interest in her or her plight. The woman had been praying for her mother and her ever since the day her father had said goodbye and walked out on them, and not one thing had changed. Not one. Except that now Thomas had deserted her, as well. So much for prayer!

She wheeled right onto Main Street and onto the bridge over Stony Creek, the heels of her shoes announcing her irritation by their quick, staccato beats on the wide, thick planks. She avoided a wagon pulling into the Dibble Smithy, passed the harness shop and livery and lowered her gaze to avoid eye contact with anyone heading across the street to the row of shops that formed the village center. She was in no mood for any more friendly, but prying, questions.

She crossed Church Street, then reined in her pace and her thoughts. Her students did not deserve a sour-faced teacher. She took a long breath and lifted her gaze. Oh, no! Her steps faltered, came to a halt. A clergyman was the last person she wanted to see.

On the walkway ahead, Reverent Calvert was squatted on his heels, his hands clasping Sally’s upper arms, while he talked to her. It seemed Sally was in disagreement with him if her stiff stance and bowed head was any indication. Joshua stood off to one side, the intent expression on his face a mirror of the pastor’s. The boy certainly looked like his father. He also looked unhappy.

Something was wrong. Had it to do with school? Her self-involvement dissolved in a spate of concern. Joshua must have felt her attention for he raised his gaze and caught her looking at them. His lips moved. The pastor glanced in her direction, then surged to his feet. She put on a polite smile and moved forward. “Good morning, Reverend Calvert. I see Joshua and Sally are ready for school.”

A look of chagrin flitted across the pastor’s face. “We were discussing that.”

So there was a problem. Joshua and Sally did not want to go to school. She glanced down at the little girl and her heart melted at the sight of her teary-eyed unhappiness. “Well, I hope you are through with your discussion and Joshua and Sally may come with me. I am running a bit late this morning and I…could use their help.” Something flickered in the pastor’s eyes. Puzzlement? Doubt? It was too quickly gone for her to judge.

“I’m certain they will be happy to help you, Miss Wright. What is it you want them to do?”

What indeed? The schoolroom had been set to rights last night before she left for home. She looked at the tears now flowing down Sally’s cheeks and scrambled for an idea. “Well…I am going to begin a story about a cat today. But the cat…has no name.”

Sally lifted her head and looked up at her. Joshua stepped closer. Ah, a spark of interest.

“I see. And how does that require the children’s help?”

She glanced up at the pastor. A look of understanding flashed between them. So he had guessed she was making this up and was trying to help her. Now what? How could she involve Joshua and Sally? “Well…each student will have a chance to suggest a name for the cat—” she felt her way, forming the idea as she spoke.

“Ah, a contest.” The proclamation bore the hint of a suggestion.

A contest. An excellent idea. “Yes. The class will choose which name they like best.” She shot the pastor a grateful look. He inclined his head slightly and she glanced down. Sally had inched closer, and there was a definite glint in Joshua’s eyes. So the boy liked to compete. “And the student who suggests the chosen name will…win a prize.” What prize? She stopped, completely out of inspiration. That still did not require the children’s help.

“And you need Joshua and Sally to help you with the prize?” Reverend Calvert’s deep voice was soft, encouraging.

“Yes…” Now what? She took a breath and shoved aside her dilemma. She would think of something by the time they reached the schoolhouse. She stared at the tree beside the reverend. Ah! A smile curved her lips, widened as the idea took hold. “The prize will be a basket of hickory nuts from the tree behind the school. And I need someone to gather the nuts for me.” She shot the reverend a triumphant look, then glanced from Joshua to Sally. “Will you collect the nuts for me?”

The little girl looked at her brother, followed his lead and nodded.

“It sounds like an interesting day for the children, Miss Wright.”

She glanced up. The reverend smiled and mouthed “Thank you.” Her stomach fluttered. He really did have a charming smile. She gave him a polite nod and held her free hand out to Sally. “Come along, then. We must hurry so you children can gather the nuts before the other children come. The prize must be a secret.” She halted, tipped her head to the side and gave them a solemn look. “You can keep a secret?”

They nodded again, their brown eyes serious, their blond curls bright in the sunlight.

“Lovely!” She smiled and moved forward, Sally’s small hand in hers, Joshua on her other side, and the Reverend Calvert’s gaze fastened on them. The awareness of it tingled between her shoulder blades until they turned the corner onto Oak Street. A frown wrinkled her brow. Twice now she had seen the pastor with his children. Where was their mother?

* * *

“It was a pleasure meeting you, gentlemen.” Matthew shook hands with the church elders and watched them file out through the small storage room at the back of the church. They seemed to be men of strong faith, eager to do all they could to make the church flourish. He was looking forward to working with them.

He scanned the interior of the small church, admired the craftsmanship in the paneled pew boxes and the white plastered walls. He moved to the pulpit, the strike of his bootheels against the wood floor echoing in the silence. The wood was satin-smooth beneath his hands. He brushed his fingers across the leather cover of the Bible that rested there, closed his eyes and quieted his thoughts. A sense of waiting, of expectation hovered in the stillness.

“Almighty God, be with me, I pray. Lead and guide me to green pastures by the paths of Your choosing that I might feed Your flock according to Thy will. Amen.”

He opened his eyes and pictured the church full of people. Would Miss Wright be one of them? He frowned and stepped out from behind the pulpit. He was becoming too concerned with Miss Wright; it was time to get acquainted with the village.

He stretched out his arms and touched the end of each pew as he walked down the center aisle, then crossed the small vestibule and stepped out onto the wide stoop. Warmth from the October sun chased the chill of the closed building from him. Did someone come early on Sunday morning to open the doors and let in the warmth?

Across the street stood an impressive, three-story building with the name Sheffield House carved into a sign attached to the fascia board of the porch roof. Passengers were alighting from a long, roofed wagon at the edge of the road that bore the legend Totten’s Trolley.

He exchanged a friendly nod with the driver, then jogged diagonally across the street and trotted up three steps to a wide, wooden walkway that ran in front of a block of stores standing shoulder to shoulder, like an army at attention.

He doffed his hat to a woman coming out of a millinery store, skirted around two men debating the virtues of a pair of boots in a shoemaker’s window next to Barley’s Grocery and entered the Cargrave Mercantile.

Smells mingled on the air and tantalized his nose, leather, coffee and molasses prominent among them. He stepped out of the doorway and blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim indoors. The hum of conversation stopped, resumed in lower tones. He glanced left, skimmed his gaze over the long wood counter adorned with various wood and tin boxes, a coffee mill and at the far end a scale and cashbox.

He gave a polite nod in answer to the frankly curious gazes of the proprietor and the customers, then swept his gaze across the wood stove and the displays of tools along the back wall. On the right side of the store was the dry goods section and the object of his search. A glass-fronted nest of pigeonhole mailboxes constituted the post office. He stepped to the narrow, waist-high opening in the center of the boxes. A stout, gray-haired man, suspenders forming an X across the back of his white shirt, sat on a stool sorting through a pile of mail on a high table with a safe beneath it.

“Excuse me—”

The man turned, squinted at him through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, then slid off his stool and came to stand in front of the small shelf on the other side of the window. “What can I do for you, stranger?”

Matthew smiled. “I’ve come to introduce myself, and see about getting a mailbox. I’m Matthew Calvert, pastor of Pinewood Church.” The conversations in the store stopped. There was a soft rustling sound as people turned to look at him.

The postmaster nodded. “Heard you’d arrived. Figured you’d be along. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Pastor Calvert.”

“And I, yours, Mr… .”

“Hubble. Zarius Hubble.” The man stretched out his hand and tapped the glass of one of the small cubicles. “This is the church mailbox. Lest you have an objection, I’ll put your mail in here. Save you having to rent a box.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hubble. That will be fine.”

The postmaster nodded, then fixed a stern gaze on him. “I can’t do that for others with you who will be getting mail, mind you. Your missus or such will need their own box.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Matthew turned and almost collided with a small group of people standing behind him. The short, thin man closest to him held out his hand.

“I’m Allan Cargrave. I own this establishment, along with my brother Henry. You met him this morning. I’ve been looking forward to your coming, Pastor Calvert. We all have.”

Matthew took his hand in a firm clasp. “Then our goal has been the same, Mr. Cargrave. I’m pleased to meet you.” He smiled and turned to the others.

* * *

Willa glanced at her lunch basket, now half-full of hickory nuts, going out the door in Trudy Hoffman’s hand and smiled. The impromptu contest had proved successful in a way she had not expected. Trudy and Sally Calvert had both suggested Puffy as a name for the cat in the story and friendship had budded between the girls when the name was chosen as the favorite by the class. The friendship was firmed when Sally told Trudy she could have the basket as they shared the prize.

Her smile faded. She was quite certain there was something more than shyness bothering Sally. She’d seen tears glistening in the little girl’s eyes that afternoon. She walked to the door to watch Joshua and Sally cross the town park to the parsonage. Another smile formed. If the squirrels didn’t get them, the park would soon be boasting a trail of hickory nut trees started by Sally’s half of the prize falling from Joshua’s pockets.

She pulled the door closed and watched the children. Why weren’t they running and laughing on their way home? She studied their slow steps, the slump of their small shoulders. Something was amiss. They looked…sad. Perhaps they missed their friends in Albany. It was hard for children to leave a familiar home and move to a strange town where they knew no one. She would make certain the village children included Joshua and Sally in their games at the welcome dinner Sunday. And she would speak with Mrs. Calvert about the children. Perhaps there was something more she could do to help them adjust to their new life in Pinewood. Meanwhile, she had a new lunch basket to buy. She hurried down the stairs and headed for the mercantile.

* * *

Matthew blotted his notes, closed his Bible and pushed back from his desk. Moonlight drew a lacy shadow of the denuded branches of the maple in the side yard on the ground, silvered the fallen leaves beneath it. An owl hooted. His lips slanted into a grin. Miss Wright was correct. Pinewood was very different from Albany.

His pulse sped at the memory of her walking toward them, neat and trim in her dark red gown with a soft smile warming her lovely face. She had, again, stolen his breath when their gazes met. And the way she had solved Sally’s rebellion against going to school today…

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. She had made up that business about a cat with no name and the contest with a prize right there on the spot.

It was obvious Miss Wright loved children. How did she feel about God?

He clenched his hands and set his jaw, shaken by a sudden awareness of the expectation in his heart of seeing her sitting in the congregation Sunday morning.

Chapter Three

“How could you be so wrong about those children? They are his wards.”

Willa placed her platter of meat tarts on the plank table and looked up at Ellen. “Pastor Calvert brought them to school, they look like him and their last name is the same. I assumed he was their father, not their uncle. It was an understandable mistake.” Tears stung her eyes. Those poor children. To lose both their mother and father at such a young age. No wonder they looked sad.

“Perhaps, but— Oh, look at this old gown.” Ellen batted at the ruffles on her bodice. “If I had known Pastor Calvert was a bachelor I would have had Mother hem my new gown. She says the color makes my eyes look larger and bluer.”

Willa squared her shoulders and gave Ellen a look permitted by their years of friendship. Her friend hadn’t given a thought to the children—other than to be thankful the pastor was not their father. “You look beautiful in that gown, and you know it, Ellen. Now stop pouting. It’s wasted on me. I’ve watched you looking in the mirror to practice protruding your lower lip, remember?”

The offending lip was pulled back into its normal position. “Very well. I suppose I understand your error. And I forgive you. But all the same, I am distressed. Had I known the truth of Matthew Calvert’s marital state, I could have thought of a plan to catch his attention. Look!”

The hissed words tickled her ear. She glanced in the direction Ellen indicated. Matthew Calvert was coming across the church grounds toward the tables, his progress hindered by every young, unmarried lady in his congregation and their mothers. “So that’s where all the women are. I wondered. Usually they are hovering over the food to— Billy Karcher, you put down those cookies! They’re for after the meal.”

The eight-year-old looked up from beneath the dark locks dangling on his forehead and gave her a gap-tooth grin. “I’m only makin’ thure I get thome.”

Willa fought back a smile at his lost-tooth lisp and gave him her teacher look. “Those cookies are to share. You put that handful back and I promise to save two of them for you.”

The boy heaved a sigh, dropped the cookies back onto the plate and ran off to join the children playing tag in the park. She searched the group. Where were Joshua and Sally?

“Selfish little beast.”

Willa jerked her gaze back to Ellen. “Billy is a child, not a beast.”

“They seem one and the same to me.” Ellen glanced toward the church and sucked in a breath. “Pastor Calvert is coming this way. And he seems quite purposeful in his destination. I guess I caught his attention when Father introduced us after all.” A smug smile curved Ellen’s lovely, rosy lips. She turned her back, raised her hands and pinched her cheeks. “Are my curls in place, Willa?”

She looked at the cluster of blond curls peeking from beneath the back of Ellen’s flower-bedecked hat and fought down a sudden, strong urge to yank one of them. “They’re fine.” She turned away from her friend’s smug smile. Ellen’s conceit had alienated most of their old friends, and it was putting a strain on their friendship. She sighed and moved the cookie plate to the back side of the table out of the reach of small, grasping hands. Ellen had been different before Callie Conner’s family had moved away. Their raven-haired friend’s astonishing beauty had kept Ellen’s vanity subdued. And Callie’s sweet nature—

“May I interrupt your work a moment, ladies?”

Matthew Calvert’s deep voice, as warm and smooth as the maple syrup the villagers made every spring, caused a shiver to run up her spine. She frowned, snatched the stem of a bright red leaf that had fallen on a bowl of boiled potatoes and tossed it to the ground. With a voice like that, it was no wonder the man was a preacher of some renown.

Good manners dictated that she turn and smile—indignation rooted her in place. Joshua and Sally were nowhere in sight, yet Matthew Calvert had come seeking out Ellen to satisfy his own…aims. Well, she wanted nothing to do with a man who neglected the care of his young wards to satisfy his own selfishness. She looked at the people spreading blankets on the ground in preparation for their picnic meal and silently urged them to hurry. Beside her, Ellen made a slow turn, smiled and looked up through her long lashes. Another ploy perfected before the mirror. One that made men stammer and stutter.

“May I help you, Reverend Calvert?”

Willa scowled at her friend’s dulcet tone and moved a small crock of pickles closer to the potatoes, focused her attention on the green vine pattern circling the rim of the large bowl. She had no desire to hear the pastor’s flirtatious response to Ellen’s coyness. She wanted to go home—away from them both.

“Thank you, Miss Hall, you’re most kind. But it’s Miss Wright I seek.”

Shock zinged all the way to her toes. What could Matthew Calvert possibly want with her? Ellen evidently thought the same if the hastily erased look of surprise on her friend’s face was any indication. She turned. “You wished to speak with me?”

Something flashed in the pastor’s eyes. Surprise? Puzzlement? Shock at her coolness? No doubt the handsome Matthew Calvert was unaccustomed to such treatment from women.

He dipped his head. “Yes. I’ve come to ask if you would be so kind as to keep watch on Joshua and Sally this afternoon, Miss Wright.” He glanced at the tables and a frown furrowed his forehead. “I see that you are busy, and I hate to impose, but I am at a loss as to what else to do.”

His gaze lifted to meet hers and she read apparent concern in his eyes. Guilt tugged at her. Had she been wrong about him neglecting his wards?

“As this welcome dinner is in my honor, I must visit with my parishioners, and Joshua and Sally are uncomfortable among so many new people. I thought, perhaps, as the children know you and are comfortable with you…” He stopped, gave a little shrug. “I would consider it a great favor if you could help them. But, of course, I will understand if you must stay here at the tables.”

So he wanted to be free of the children so he could get acquainted with his parishioners…like Ellen, no doubt. She forced a smile.

“Not at all. Ellen can help in my place.” She ignored her friend’s soft gasp. Let her flirt her way out of that! “Where are the children?”

“They’re sitting on the front steps at the parsonage. I didn’t want to force them to join us.”

Of course not. That would hamper his…getting acquainted. She nodded, reached under the table and drew a plate from her basket, placed three meat tarts and three boiled eggs on it, then lifted the cookie plate in her other hand and started across the intervening ground. The pastor fell in beside her.

“Let me carry those for you, Miss Wright.”

She halted, glanced up and shook her head. “I think it best if I go alone. You go and meet the people of Pinewood, Reverend Calvert.” From the corner of her eye she saw Ellen shake out the ruffles on her long skirt and glide across the leaf-strewn ground toward them. She hurried on toward the children, but could not resist looking over her shoulder. It did not seem to bother the pastor that Ellen had left the table of food unattended. They were laughing together as they walked toward the blanket Mrs. Hall had spread on the ground. It seemed Reverend Calvert would partake of his first church dinner in Pinewood with the prettiest girl in the village by his side.

* * *

Willa glanced toward the church. People were beginning to gather their things together. She moved to the top of the gazebo steps. “Children, the game is over. Come and get your cookies, then go join your parents. It’s time to go home.”

“First one to touch wood wins!” Tommy Burke shouted the challenge, then turned and sprinted toward the gazebo. Children came running from every direction. Joshua put on a burst of speed surprising in one so young.

Willa smiled and gripped the post beside her, secretly rooting for him to outrun the older boys. Joshua needed something fun and exciting to think about. So did Sally.

She glanced over her shoulder, her heart aching for the little girl curled up on the bench along the railing. It was easy to get Joshua involved in games because he was very competitive. But Sally was different. The little girl had said her stomach hurt and stayed there on the bench while the other children played. Was it shyness or grief over her parents’ deaths that made her so quiet and withdrawn?

She lifted the plate of cookies she’d saved from the bench and held them ready for the racing, laughing boys and girls. Billy Karcher stretched out his hand and touched the gazebo rail, Joshua right behind him.

“I win!” Billy tripped up the steps, snatched a cookie from the plate, grinned and took his promised second one. He lisped out, “Thee you tomorrow, Joth!” and jumped to the ground. Joshua waved at his new friend, turned and grabbed a cookie.

Willa resisted the temptation to smooth back the blond curls that had fallen over his brown eyes and contented herself with a smile. “A race well run, Joshua.”

He grinned, a slow, lopsided grin that lifted the left side of his mouth, and flopped down on the bench beside his sister. “I’ll beat him next time!”

He looked so different! So happy and carefree. The way a six-year-old should look. If only Sally would have joined in the games. She sighed and turned her attention back to the children grabbing cookies and saying goodbye.

* * *

“I find no words adequate to express my appreciation for your having come to my aid this afternoon, Miss Wright.” Matthew smiled at Joshua busy kicking maple leaves into a pile while Sally leaned against the tree trunk and watched. “Or for engaging Joshua in the games.”

“It was easy enough. Joshua is very competitive.”

His gaze veered back to fasten on her. “I suppose I should correct him for bragging about that race, but I’m too happy to see that smile on his face. And, truth be told, I feel like bragging about it myself. I saw those boys, some of them had to be two or three years older than Joshua.”