After the Storm (16 page)

“So you're planning on her going to school here?” Samuel could not keep from asking.

“I won't have fare for all of us by the time she's ready for school.” Cailin's smile wavered as she helped Lottie onto the bench.

He sat next to her, although there was little space for his legs. He wondered how she managed to sit as primly as a lady overseeing a tea tray when she must be cramped, too. As he stretched his arm along the back of the bench, because he had nowhere else to put it, he heard a rustle of whispers behind him. Cailin's shoulders stiffened, so he knew she had heard it as well.

Noah sat behind them just as Reverend Faulkner walked up to where Alice Underhill usually stood when she was teaching. A man Samuel had never seen before walked behind the minister.

He stared at the stranger, just as the others had at Cailin. The man was shorter than most of the men in the room, although he was a head taller than the minister. His light brown hair was brushed back from his forehead, and his clothing clearly had been made by an excellent tailor of expensive material. Beneath his wool trousers, the toes of his boots had a sheen that suggested he had never worn them before.

“Who is that?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Lord Thanington,” Noah replied.

“Excuse me?”
Lord
Thanington? He turned in his seat, wondering how he could have heard Noah so wrong.

Noah frowned. “Lord Thanington. He bought what was left of the River's Haven property last week.”

“An English lord here in Haven?”

“Apparently he wants to get out from under his father's thumb. His brother will inherit the baron's title, so Lord Thanington decided to come here.”

Before he could ask another question, Cailin said, “Then he isn't a lord.”

“Excuse me?” he asked again.

Her gaze was focused on the man beside Reverend Faulkner. “Mr. Sawyer—”

“Noah,” his friend corrected.

“Noah mentioned his father and older brother. His father is the holder of the title, and his brother might have a courtesy title as the heir. This man would not.” She smiled tightly. “Save for one he gave himself to impress you.”

Samuel glanced from her to Lord Thanington, who was holding court among the others crowding the front of the room. “He seems to believe he's
Lord
Thanington.”

“He can't be.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

She met his eyes steadily. “I am. You Americans may have forgotten the intricacies of the British peerage, but in Ireland we're well-acquainted with them. As a baron's second son, he can't claim the title of lord.”

Samuel said nothing, but stood and walked toward the self-styled Lord Thanington. That the man had come to this meeting might mean something more than just a chance to get to know his new neighbors. If so, Samuel wanted to know what.

He listened while others gushed over Thanington. People who should have known better were almost falling over each other and their own feet to ingratiate themselves with the man. Thanington offered a cool hauteur that suggested this was his due, but Samuel noted how his eyes glittered with pleasure.

Standing back, Samuel did not have to wait long for Thanington to take note of him. The man proved he was no fool, because he immediately tried to appraise Samuel, as if he could not comprehend why Samuel was not joining in with the fawning.

The minister motioned for Samuel to come closer. “Samuel, I know you'll want to meet your new neighbor. This is Lord Thanington.” He glanced at Thanington. “Milo Thanington, correct?”

“Yes, that's correct, Vicar,” the Englishman said with a cultured accent. His smile was exactly the right warmth when he added, “Forgive me. Vicar isn't an American term. I should have said, Reverend Faulkner.”

“Lord Thanington,” the minister gushed, as if he had invented the whole situation, “this is Samuel Jennings, who owns the farm on Nanny Goat Hill Road right on the border of your land.”

“The farm between my land and the river?” Thanington asked, still looking at the minister.

“Yes.” A bit of Reverend Faulkner's smile faded.

That and Thanington's curt question were all the warning Samuel needed. This man who had given himself a title had his eye on Samuel's land. Samuel could tell Thanington right now not to contemplate an offer for the farm. He was not leaving Haven. But if Cailin left with the children, would he want to remain in the empty, too silent house?

“Welcome to Haven, Thanington,” he said, with smile he had not worn since the last time he had appeared in front of a judge. “It'll be good to have someone using what's left of River's Haven's property.”

“Ah, so you are Mr. Jennings.” Thanington did not hold out his hand. “You are the one who has been behind this little project.”

“I'm one of several residents who believe a library would be a great asset to Haven.” He would not let Thanington's condescending tone irritate him. In Cincinnati, he had learned such a ploy put one on the defensive, a poor position to take while sizing up someone else.

“I see.” He smiled. “That must be your little family in the front row. Three children and such a lovely wife? You're a lucky man, Jennings.”

Three children? He looked back. Cailin sat with Lottie on her lap and her arm around Megan. When Brendan sat where Samuel had, the boy leaned toward his mother. Protecting her? From what? Those were questions he might be better off leaving unanswered, along with why the older children were not outside with their friends.

Hearing a rumble of thunder, he chuckled under his breath. At least one question was easily answered.

Meeting Thanington's eyes squarely, he suspected the Englishman knew the exact situation at Samuel's farm. Thanington wanted to get Samuel off balance by having to explain that Cailin was not his wife even though she lived under his roof. Not sure what the man's ploy was, for everyone in Haven must know of Cailin's arrival by now, Samuel silenced his next chuckle. If Thanington thought he would embarrass Samuel, the man had a lot to learn about him, and about Haven.

“I
am
a lucky man,” he said. Looking past Thanington with an expression that dismissed the Englishman as no longer of interest, he asked, “Reverend Faulkner, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Yes … yes, of course.” The minister excused himself, backing away with as much deference as if Thanington had abruptly ascended to the British throne.

Cailin hushed her children as Samuel and the minister went to talk by a desk set at one side of the platform that was raised about four inches from the floor. She was interested in hearing how Miss Underhill listened to recitations at her desk, but she was more intrigued by what Samuel was saying to the minister. From where she was sitting, she had been privy to every word said when Samuel and the so-called Lord Thanington were introduced.

“Madam,” murmured a voice in front of her.

She stared at the Englishman, who had come to stand on the other side of the desk while she had been watching Samuel. “Sir?”

“I was just speaking with Mr. Jennings and congratulating him on his fine family, so I thought I'd come over and introduce myself.” He plucked her hand from around Lottie and bowed over it. “Milo Thanington, Mrs.—”

“Cailin,” she interrupted before he addressed her as “Mrs. Jennings.” The children would react to that, and Samuel must have some reason why he had not told this man the truth. “We're quite informal in Haven, sir.”

“Irish, I hear from your accent.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrowed when she did not call him “my lord.” He opened his mouth to reply, but Lottie slid off Cailin's lap and chirped, “Dahi! I—”

“Shh,” Cailin cautioned. Before she could remind Lottie that this was not the time to interrupt, Reverend Faulkner hit a ruler on the desk to get everyone's attention.

Mr. Thanington went to sit by the opposite wall, near enough to the platform that no one could mistake his importance to this meeting.

“Who is
that
?” asked Brendan. “Is
he
the high-and-mighty fancy lord everyone was talking about?”

“Where did you get such words?”

“Grandpa used to use them when he was talking about British lords.”

Cailin smiled. “Grandpa wasn't fond of anything British, but we're in America now. You must be respectful to all your elders.”

“He wasn't too respectful to Samuel,” Megan muttered.

“I'll survive, Half-pint,” Samuel said, sitting on the bench again. As the little girl grinned at him, he added, “Cailin, I know you heard what he said about—”

“Maybe it would be better to speak of that later.”

He smiled and nodded.

She doubted Samuel would be so grateful if he realized why she wanted to avoid the subject. Too many eyes had watched her while she sat here. She should have guessed what would happen when Samuel invited her to come to this meeting tonight.

When Lottie shifted on her lap and she heard a thread snap on her dress, she tightened her hold around the little girl. Maybe she should have accepted the green fabric to make a dress. But how could she, when every kindness put her more in his debt? A debt she would repay only with grief at the moment she left with the children.

Nine

“Thank you for coming this evening,” Reverend Faulkner began the meeting in a booming voice better suited for his church than this cramped schoolhouse. “There have been some concerns raised about the cost of establishing a public library in Haven, and the members of the library committee will be glad to answer them.”

Hands rose, and the minister called on a man whose belly was barely contained by his suspenders. When the man spoke of other needs for the money, including a new pier down at the river to replace one damaged in a fire the past summer, heads nodded in agreement. A woman, so soft-spoken Cailin had to struggle to hear her, suggested that the money would be better spent on trees for the streets. Two other men suggested building a bigger school or a new train station.

The minister listened to each, giving them a chance to express their opinions, but glanced at Samuel with a clear order to speak up. Samuel said nothing, startling her because she had seen how eager he was to have a library built in the village.

Another man and two more women spoke. One of the women suggested the money be split—half for the library and the other half for trees—an idea that elicited grumbles around the room.

“Mrs. Anderson always tries to be the peacemaker,” Samuel said quietly. “She should know better than to try to make both sides of this argument happy.”

Not sure if he was talking to himself or to her, Cailin listened to thunder rattle in the distance. She hoped the storm would hold off until they got back to the farm. Then the rains could come and wash away this muggy heat.

When two more hands went up at the back of the room, Reverend Faulkner gave Samuel a desperate look before he called on the men. Neither gave a convincing argument for or against the library, because they both wanted to complain about raising taxes for anything.

“Samuel Jennings, you're next,” the minister said with a motion for Samuel to come to the platform. “I think it's time to hear from the chairman of our library committee.”

Cailin reached over and squeezed his arm gently. He glanced at her, and a smile sifted across his taut face. Standing, he walked up to the platform to stand next to the minister, then turned to face the room. She could not help but admire his easy command of everyone's attention.

“That's Samuel!” Lottie chirped into the silence filling the schoolhouse as everyone waited for Samuel to speak. “He's the chair's pin.”

Laughter eased the tension as Cailin hushed her youngest. When Samuel glanced at Lottie and winked, she giggled. His gaze lingered a moment, holding Cailin's, and she smiled. He was glad she was here with the children, and she was, too.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, and looked down at the youngsters edging the room, “we aren't speaking of something that will benefit us like a new pier or a reduction in taxes. We are speaking of something that will benefit the next generation. Shady trees would do that, too, but a tree won't open a young mind and offer it the knowledge these children will need when they are our age.” He walked to the edge of the platform. The sincerity in his voice could not be disputed as he continued. “The world is changing so swiftly, it's difficult to imagine what our children will face. Our country just celebrated its centennial. How it has changed since that day one hundred years ago when a small group of men read their declaration of the rights of Americans! Could George Washington have imagined a train like the ones that rumble into Haven? Could John Adams have envisioned our great cities that stretch from Boston to California? That would have been beyond their imaginations, just as the world our children will know is beyond ours.

“There is one thing we can be certain of,” he said as he walked back and sat on the edge of the desk. “Our children will need to be able to compete in the new world ahead of them. To do that, they need knowledge. Not just the lessons they learn here in school, but knowledge that can be found in books the school doesn't have room for. A library is the gateway to that knowledge for them.” He folded his arms in front of him. “We can either open that gate or close it. What we decide will have repercussions we can't see in the mists of the future, but we know they're there. It behooves us to think cautiously and decide if our children's futures are more important than trees or a new pier.” He stood. “Thank you.”

As he walked back to sit beside her, Cailin heard applause—at first scattered, then enthusiastic. She smiled at him as she clapped her hands and Lottie's together. Brendan jumped to his feet, cheering. Cailin did not tell him to sit down, although he was louder than anyone else in the schoolroom.