Wooing the Schoolmarm

There was a definite glint of pride in the pastor’s eyes. It seemed the competitive spirit ran in the Calvert family. “You’re right, they are.” She turned to look at Joshua, smiled and shook her head. “I’ve no doubt I will have my hands full at recess time tomorrow. Joshua declares he will beat Billy the next time they race, and I hear the ring of a challenge in those words.”

“Do you want me to speak with him about it?”

The pastor’s voice was controlled, but there was an underlying reluctance in it. She glanced his way. “No, I do not, Reverend Calvert. I am accustomed to handling the exuberance of young children. And I believe a few challenges, given and taken with his new schoolmates, is exactly what Joshua needs—under the circumstances.”

She bent and picked up the plate she had left on the porch after her earlier, impromptu picnic with Joshua and Sally.

“I believe today proved that to be true, Miss Wright. This is the first time since Robert and Judith’s deaths that Joshua has really played as a youngster should. I think he’s going to be all right. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. But I’m concerned about Sally.”

There was a heaviness in his voice. She turned. He was looking at the children, his face drawn with sorrow. She drew in her breath, told herself to keep quiet and leave. But she couldn’t turn away from a hurting child. “I don’t mean to pry, Reverend Calvert, but it’s very difficult to engage Sally’s interest in playing with the others. She is very quiet and withdrawn for a young child. And, though she tries very hard to hide them, I have seen tears in her eyes. I thought it was her shyness, but perhaps it is grief?”

“She misses her mother terribly. And it’s hard for me to understand about girl things. Joshua is easier—I know about boys.” He scrubbed his hand over his neck, turned and looked at her. “It’s difficult dealing with their grief. It’s only been six weeks since my brother and his wife died in the carriage accident. It was such a shock that I am still trying to handle my own grief. But I have talked to the children, tried to explain about God’s mercy, and that they will see their mother and father again…” He took another breath and looked away.

She drew breath into her own lungs, forced them to expand against the tightness in her chest. “Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude on your privacy.” She started down the path to the wood walkway.

“Wait! Please.”

She paused, squared her shoulders and turned.

His lips lifted in a wry smile. “Once again I must appeal to you for help, Miss Wright. I am a pastor, not a cook, and the children and I are getting tired of eating eggs for every meal. I need a housekeeper, but it must be someone who understands children and will be careful of their grief. I thought, perhaps, as you are familiar with everyone in the village, you could suggest someone I could interview?”

She drew her gaze from the sadness in his eyes and gathered her thoughts. Who was available who would also understand the special needs of the Calvert children? “I believe Bertha Franklin might suit. She’s a lovely, kind woman, an excellent cook…and no stranger to sorrow. And she definitely understands children. She has raised eight of her own. If you wish, I can stop and ask her to come by and see you tomorrow. Her home is on my way.”

“I would appreciate that, Miss Wright.” His gaze captured hers. “And thank you again for watching the children this afternoon. And for helping Joshua remember how to play.”

His soft words brought tears to her eyes. She nodded, spun about and hurried down the wood walkway toward town.

* * *

Willa dipped her fingers in the small crock, rubbed them together, then spread the cream on her face and neck. A faint fragrance of honeysuckle hovered. She replaced the lid, tied the ribbons at the neck of her cotton nightgown and reached up to free her hair from its confining roll. The chestnut-colored mass tumbled onto her shoulders and down her back. She brushed it free of snarls, gathered it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon and stepped back from the mirror.

The touch of her bare feet against the plank floor sent a shiver prickling along her flesh. She hopped back onto the small, rag rug in front of the commode stand and rubbed her upper arms. The nights were turning colder, the air taking on the bite that announced winter was on its way. Thank goodness the company loggers kept her mother well supplied with firewood. And the parents of her students provided wood for the stove at school. There was already a large pile outside the back door.

She sighed, stepped off the rug and hurried to the window to push the curtain hems against the crack along the sill to block the cold air seeping in around the frame. Tomorrow morning she would start her winter schedule. She would rise early and go to school and light a fire in the stove to chase away the night chill. And then she would make a list of boys to help her keep the woodbox full throughout the winter.

She stepped to her nightstand, cupped her hand around the chimney globe, blew out the flame then climbed into bed. Two boys working together in weeklong rotations should be sufficient. Joshua and Billy would be the first team. She gave a soft laugh, tugged the covers close and snuggled down against her pillow. Those two boys would probably race to see who could carry in the most wood in the shortest time.

An image of Joshua’s happy, lopsided grin formed against the darkness. He certainly looked like his uncle. And so did Sally, in a small, feminine way. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Those poor children, losing both of their parents so unexpectedly. She had been devastated when her father left, and she’d had her mother to comfort her. Of course, Joshua and Sally had their uncle. He had looked concerned for the children when he talked with her. But that didn’t mean his concern was real. Her father had seemed concerned for her before he turned his back and walked away never to return. But why would Matthew Calvert bother to put on an act for her? The children were not her concern.

Once again I must appeal to you for help, Miss Wright.

Oh, of course. Her facial muscles drew taut. She was a teacher. The pastor must have reasoned that she cared about children and played on her emotions to enlist her aid. And it had worked. She had been so gullible. Because of the children? Or because she wanted to believe there was truth behind Matthew Calvert’s quiet strength and disarming grin?

She jerked onto her side, opened the small wood box on the nightstand with her free hand and fingered through the familiar contents, felt paper and withdrew the note Thomas had left on her desk the day he deserted her. There was no need to light the lamp and read it, the words were seared into her mind. Willa, I’m sorry I haven’t time to wait and talk to you, but I must hasten to meet Jack. He sent word he has funds for us to head west, and I am going after my dream. Wish me well, dearest Willa.

Her chest tightened, restricted her breath. Three days before their wedding and Thomas had forsaken her without so much as a word of apology or regret. A man’s concern for others was conditional on his own needs.

She clenched her hand around the small, folded piece of paper, drew a long, slow breath and closed her eyes. When her father abandoned her he’d left behind nothing but a painful memory and a void in her heart. Thomas had left her tangible proof of a man’s perfidy. She had only to look at the note to remind herself a man was not to be trusted. Not even a man of the cloth with a stomach-fluttering grin.

Chapter Four

“Thank you for coming by, Reverend Calvert.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Karcher.” Matthew inclined his head in a small, polite bow. “I find making personal calls is the best way to get acquainted with my parishioners. And it is beneficial to do so as quickly as possible.” He included the Karcher daughter, who’d had the misfortune of inheriting her father’s long-jawed, hawk-nosed looks, in his goodbye smile.

“Well, Agnes and I are honored to be your first call.” A look of smug satisfaction settled on the woman’s face, one of her plump elbows dug into her daughter’s side. “Aren’t we, Agnes?”

“Yes, Ma.” Agnes tittered and looked up at him, her avid expression bringing an uneasy twinge to his stomach. “I’m pleased you liked my berry pie, Reverend Calvert. I’ll make an apple pie the next time you come.” Her bony elbow returned her mother’s nudge.

The next time? The expectation in Agnes’s tone set warning bells clanging in his head. “Indeed?” A lame reply, but there was no good answer he could make to her presumption. He looked down at his hat and brushed a bit of lint from the felt brim, then stepped closer to the door. Perhaps he could get away before—

“Agnes’s pies are the best of any young woman in Pinewood. And she’s a wonderful cook.”

—and perhaps he couldn’t. He braced himself for what he sensed was coming.

“Mayhap you can come for dinner Saturday night, Reverend? I’m thinking those wards of yours would be thankful for some of Agnes’s good cooking.”

And there went his chance for an uneventful leave-taking. Mrs. Karcher’s invitation could not be ignored. He looked up, noted the eager, hopeful gleam in both women’s eyes and held back the frown that tugged at his own features. Both mother and daughter seemed to have forgotten his visit included Mr. Karcher and decided he had come because of Agnes. He cleared his throat and set himself to the task of disabusing them of that notion without hurting their feelings and damaging the pastor-and-congregant relationship. “I appreciate your kind invitation, Mrs. Karcher, but I’m afraid I must decline. My Saturdays are spent in prayer and preparation for Sunday. As for the children, I have hired Mrs. Franklin as housekeeper and cook. She feeds us well.”

Surprise flitted across their faces. They had apparently not yet heard that piece of news. He hurried on before Mrs. Karcher recovered and extended another, amended, invitation. “Please convey my regards to Mr. Karcher. I regret that I had so little time to spend visiting with him. I shall make another call on him when he is less busy at the grist mill.”

His slight emphasis on the word him dulled the hopeful gleam in the women’s eyes. They had understood. He dipped his head in farewell, stepped outside and blew the air from his lungs in a long, low whistle. He was accustomed to the fact that young ladies and their mothers found bachelor pastors attractive as potential husband material, but he’d never before been subjected to anything quite so…blatant.

He ran his fingers through his hair, slapped on his hat and trotted to his carriage. Thunder grumbled in the distance. He glanced up and frowned at the sight of black clouds roiling across the sky. They were coming fast. The other visit he’d planned for this afternoon would have to wait.

“Time to head for home, girl.” He patted his bay mare on her shoulder, climbed to the seat and picked up the reins. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. The mare jerked, danced in the traces. “Whoa, Clover. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

The bay tossed her head and turned her ears toward his voice, calmed. “Good girl. Let’s go now.” He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, glancing up as lightning glinted along the edge of the tumbling clouds. The black, foaming mass was almost overhead now. He would never make it back to town before the storm hit, and the children…

His chest tightened. Joshua would be all right. But Sally— “Lord, please be with Sally. Please comfort her, Lord, until I can get home.” He reined the mare onto the Butternut Hill Road, stole another look at the sky and eased his grip on the lines to let her stretch her stride as he headed back toward the village.

* * *

“The…hen…is on the…b-box.”

Willa smiled and nodded encouragement as Micah Lester shot her a questioning look. “Box is correct. Continue, please.”

The boy lowered his gaze to the English Reader book in his hands and took a deep breath. “The rat ran…fr-from…the box.”

She nodded as he again glanced her way. “And the last sentence, please.”

“C-can the…hen…run?”

“Very good, Micah. You may take your seat.” She stepped to his side and held out her hand for the book. Thunder grumbled. Her students straightened on their benches and looked up at her. She placed the book on her desk and went to the window. Black clouds were rolling across the sky out of the west. She turned back, looked at the expectant expressions on the children’s faces and laughed. “Yes, school is over for today. A storm is coming, but if you hurry, there is time for you to reach home before it arrives. Gather your things. And remember…you’re to go straight home.”

She moved to the door, stepped out onto the small porch and held the door open against a rising wind. The children scurried past her and ran down the stairs still donning their coats and hats, calling out their goodbyes as they scattered in every direction. “Hurry home now, or you’ll be caught out in the open and get a good drenching!”

She glanced up at the dark sky. Lightning glinted against the black storm clouds. Thunder crashed. She stared at the gray curtain falling to earth from beneath the approaching clouds and frowned. She was in for a soaking. By the time she snuffed the oil lamp, adjusted the drafts on the heating stove and gathered her things it would be impossible for her to reach home before the storm hit. Those clouds were moving fast. Should she wait it out? No. If she waited it could get worse. There was no promise of clearing behind that black wall of froth. She sighed, stepped inside and closed the door.

“C’mon, Sally. We got to get home. Miss Wright said so!”

Joshua. She turned and peered through the dim light in the direction of the boy’s voice. He was tugging at his sister who was huddled into a ball in the corner. “Joshua, what’s wrong with Sally?” Her skirt hems skimmed her shoe tops and swirled around her ankles as she hurried toward them.

The boy jerked to his feet and spun around to look up at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Wright. I know we’re supposed to go home, but Sally’s scared. She won’t get up.”

His face was pale, his voice teetered on the edge of tears. “It’s all right, Joshua.” She gave him a reassuring touch on the shoulder, then knelt down. “Sally—”

White light flickered through the dark room. Thunder cracked. The little girl screamed and launched herself upright and straight into her arms with such force that she almost tumbled backward. She caught her balance and wrapped her arms around Sally’s small, trembling body.

Rain pelted the roof. Lightning streaked against the darkness outside the window and lit the room with a sulfurous yellow glow. Thunder crashed and rumbled. Sally sobbed and burrowed her face hard into the curve of her neck. She placed her hand on top of the little girl’s soft, blond curls and looked up at Joshua. The boy’s eyes were watery with held-back tears, his lips trembling.

“Joshua, what is—” The door jerked open. She started and glanced up.

Matthew Calvert stepped into the schoolroom and swiveled his head left and right, peering into the dim interior. “Josh? Sally?”

“Uncle Matt!” Joshua lunged at his uncle. Sally slipped out of her arms and ran after him.

She rose, shook out her skirts then lifted her hands to smooth her hair.

Matthew Calvert dropped to his knees and drew the children close. “I was out on a call. I came as quickly as I could.” The pastor tipped his head and kissed Sally’s cheek, loosed his hold on Joshua and reached up to tousle the boy’s hair. “You all right, Josh?”

Joshua straightened his small, narrow shoulders and nodded. “Yes, sir. But Sally’s scared.”

“I know. Thanks for taking care of her for me.”

She noted Joshua’s brave pose and the adoration in his eyes as he looked at his uncle, Sally clinging so trustingly, and turned away from the sight before she gave in to the impulse to tear the children out of his arms. She well remembered how loved and safe she had felt when her father had held her—and how devastating it had been to learn that the love and security had been a lie.

She swallowed to ease a sudden tightness in her throat and stepped to the open door. Those children have no one else. Please don’t let Joshua or Sally be hurt by their uncle. Her face tightened. Who was she talking to? Certainly not God. He didn’t care about such things.

Lightning crackled and snapped, turned the room brilliant with its brief flash of light. Thunder growled. A gust of wind spattered the rain sluicing off the porch roof against her and banged the door against the porch railing. She shivered, grabbed the door and tugged it shut. Murky darkness descended, too deep for the single overhead oil lamp she had lit.

“Forgive me, Miss Wright, I forgot about the door.”

She turned and met Matthew Calvert’s gaze, found something compelling there and looked away. “It’s of no matter.” She rubbed the drops of moisture from her hands and moved toward the heating stove, then paused. She would have to walk by him to reach it, and she did not want to get close to Matthew Calvert. Something about him stirred emotions from the past she wanted dead and buried. She busied herself brushing at the small, wet blotches on her sleeves.

“Joshua, get your coat and hat on. Sally, you must get yours on, too. It’s time to go home.”

She watched from under her lowered lashes as he gently loosed Sally’s arms from around his neck and urged the little girl after her brother.

“Miss Wright…”

His deep voice was quiet, warm against the drumming of the rain on the roof. She lifted her head and again met his gaze. It was as quiet and warm as his voice. And dangerous. It made her want to believe him—as she had believed her father and Thomas. She clenched her hands. “Yes?”

“I need to speak with you…alone.” His gaze flicked toward Joshua and Sally, then came back to rest on hers. “Would you please stop at the parsonage on your way home? I need to explain—” Another sizzling streak of lightning and sharp crack of thunder brought Sally flying back to him. Joshua was close behind her.

She swallowed back the refusal that was on her lips. She wanted no part of Matthew Calvert. The man had already used her once to free himself from his responsibility to the children so he could spend time with Ellen at the church dinner. But she was a teacher, and his wards were her students. She needed to learn whatever she could that might help the sad, frightened children. Especially if their uncle continued that sort of behavior. She well knew the pain a man’s selfishness could bring others. She gave a stiff little nod and went to adjust the drafts on the stove.

* * *

“Thank you for coming, Miss Wright. Let me help you out of that wet cloak.” Matthew stepped behind her, waited until she had pushed back the hood and unfastened the buttons, then lifted the garment from her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She took a quick step forward, squared her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her.

He stifled an unreasonable sense of disappointment. Willa Wright’s expression, her pose, every inch of her proclaimed she was a schoolmarm here on business. Well, what had he expected? No…hoped. That she would come as a friend?

He hung her damp cloak on one of the pegs beside the door and gestured to the doorway on his left. “Please come into the sitting room. We can talk freely there. Sally has calmed, now that the lightning and thunder have stopped, and she and Josh are playing checkers in his room.” He urged her forward, led her to the pair of padded chairs that flanked the fireplace. “We’ll sit here by the fire. The rain has brought a decided chill to the air.”

“Yes, and it shows no sign of abating.” She cast a sidelong glance up at him. “You had best be prepared for cold weather, Mr. Calvert. It will soon be snowstorms coming our way.”

Would they be colder than her voice or frostier than her demeanor? Clearly, she was perturbed over his asking her to come. “I’m no stranger to winter cold, Miss Wright. We have snowstorms in Albany.” He offered her a smile of placation. Perhaps he could soothe away some of her starchiness. “In truth, I enjoy them. There’s nothing as invigorating as a toboggan run down a steep hill with your friends, or as enjoyable as a ride on a moonlit night with the sleigh bells jingling and the snow falling.”

“A sleigh ride with…friends?”

“Yes, with friends.”

She nodded, smoothed her skirts and took a seat. “A very romantic view of winter in the city, Mr. Calvert. I’m afraid there are harsher realities to snowstorms here in the country.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him. “You wanted to speak with me. I assume it is about the children?”

He looked down at her, so prim and proper and…and disapproving. He glanced at the rain coursing down the window panes. Small wonder the woman was irritated with him. He turned and pushed a length of firewood closer to another log with the toe of his boot. What did it matter if she was upset with him? This was not about him or his confusing feelings for the aloof teacher. “Yes, it’s about the children.”

He looked into the entrance hall, toward the stairs that climbed to their bedrooms, then sat on the edge of the chair opposite her. “Miss Wright, as I have previously explained, I had parenthood thrust upon me a little over seven weeks ago under extremely stressful circumstances, and I—well, I’m at a loss. As I mentioned, there is much I don’t understand. Especially with Sally. However, I did not go into detail.”

He stole another look toward the stairs and leaned forward. “I asked to speak with you because I believe you are due an explanation of Sally’s behavior during a storm. You see, the day my brother and his wife died—” The pain of loss he carried swelled, constricted his throat. He looked down at the floor, gripped his hands and waited for the wave of grief to ease.

The fire crackled and hissed in the silence. The rain tapped on the windows—just as it had that day. He lifted his head. The firelight played across Willa Wright’s face, outlined each lovely feature. He looked into her eyes, no longer cool, but warm with sympathy, and let the memories pour out. “I was teaching Joshua to play chess, and that day Robert and Judith brought him to spend the afternoon with me while they went to visit friends. Sally went with them.”

He pushed to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets and stood in front of the fire. “When it grew close to the time when Robert said they would return for Josh, a severe thunderstorm, much like the one today, blew in. We were finishing our game when a bolt of lightning struck so close to the house that it rattled the windows and vibrated my chest. A horse squealed in panic out front. I jumped to my feet and hurried to the window. Josh followed me.”

He stared down at the flames, but saw only the carnage of a memory he prayed to forget. “There were two overturned, broken carriages in the street. One of them was Robert’s. His horse was down and thrashing, caught in the tangled harness. I told Josh to stay in the house and ran outside, but there was nothing I could do. Robert and Judith were…gone.”

He hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and cleared the lump from his throat. “Sally was standing beside her mother, tugging on her hand and begging her to get up. She was scraped and bleeding, but, thankfully, not seriously injured.” His ragged breath filled the silence. That, and the sound of Sally’s sobs and Joshua’s running feet and sharp cry that lived in his head.

“I’m so sorry for you and the children, Reverend Calvert. I can’t imagine suffering through such a terrible occurrence. And for Sally to—” there was a sharply indrawn breath “—it’s no wonder she is terrified of thunderstorms.”

The warm, compassionate understanding in Willa Wright’s voice flowed like balm over his hurt and concern. The pressure in his chest eased. “Yes.”

“And it’s why Josh tries so hard to protect her and take care of her, even though he hates thunderstorms, too.” He looked down into her tear-filmed eyes. “He recognized his father’s rig and followed me outside. He…saw…his mother and father.” He shook off the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when he thought of the children standing there in the storm looking shocked and lost and made his voice matter-of-fact. “I thought you should know—so you could understand their behavior. I’m sure you have rules about such things.”