Belonging (13 page)

“She looks more like a … a princess. That’s what I’ll call her. Princess.”

Colin loved his daughter more than he could express with
words, but she often puzzled him. Charity liked to ride horses and climb trees and go fishing and play baseball. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty and could hold her own with most of the boys at school. But she also liked to dress up and put ribbons in her hair … and pretend a horse looked like a princess.

“Hello, girl. Hello, Princess.” Charity held out her hand, palm up, and began moving toward the mare. “Aren’t you a pretty girl. You’re mine now. Did you know that? We’re gonna have the best times together. Just you wait and see if we don’t.”

Colin grinned. His daughter was fearless around horses. She’d been that way even as a toddler. He used to put her in the saddle in front of him and take her for long rides. He’d planned to buy a pony for her third birthday, but then her mother got sick, and ponies and most everything else had been forgotten. Many other things had been forgotten too in the months, and years, that followed Margaret’s death.

He watched Charity stroke the mare’s head and neck.
I shouldn’t have waited so long to get her a horse of her own.

He’d become overly protective of his daughter after her mother died. He’d tried to control where she was and what she was doing every minute of the day. He’d tried to make certain she was never in any danger, that there was no chance of her getting hurt. If she so much as sneezed, he’d put her to bed and sent for the doctor.

But a year or so ago, Ellen had taken him aside and told him he had to stop, that he had to allow Charity to be herself, to be a child, to play and fall and skin her knees. Ellen had been right, of course. He’d known that, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it immediately. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d begun to change after that. He’d started to loosen his tight grip on his daughter.

Not that there weren’t times when he fell back into those old habits. But for the most part, he’d succeeded. Now if only he could
succeed in making Charity a better student so she didn’t grow up to be like him.

George and Helen Summerville, Kathleen’s in-laws, owned the largest house in Frenchman’s Bluff, and it was apparent to Felicia from the moment she stepped through the front door that they were likely the wealthiest citizens in town as well. It was apparent in the elegant draperies at the windows and the upholstered furniture that filled each room and the ornate rugs that covered the floors and the oil paintings that hung on the walls. Even the small statues, framed portraits, and varied knickknacks that filled nearly every flat surface—the mantelpiece, the piano, the side tables—spoke of money and influence.

Felicia was not the only guest invited to dine with the Summervilles that Sunday afternoon. Walter Swanson was there, along with Reverend Benjamin Hightower and his wife, Nancy.

It was a pleasant company, and the conversation around the dining room table was lively and enjoyable. All the same, Felicia felt uncomfortable. She had the distinct feeling her hostess didn’t care for her. Helen Summerville’s gaze, when turned upon her, seemed cool and condescending, which resulted in Felicia saying little and thus avoiding the woman’s attention.

As the party rose from the dining room table at the end of the meal and retired to the parlor, Kathleen’s oldest daughter tugged on Felicia’s hand. “Miss K?”

“Yes, Suzanne.”

“Did you know today’s Charity’s birthday?”

“Yes. I knew.”

“Now we’re the same age. Nine.”

“Nine is a good age to be.”

“Grandmother asked Charity and her father to come to dinner today, but they already were planning to go eat with the Franklins. So then she asked you.”

“Suzanne!” Helen Summerville spoke in a whisper, but the note of displeasure could not be missed.

The girl glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother, then turned and went to stand before her. Felicia moved on with the others but still heard Helen telling Suzanne to please remember it was no one else’s business who had been invited to dine with them.

No one’s business, or just not mine?

Kathleen slipped her hand in the crook of Felicia’s arm and drew her toward the parlor sofa. “I’m so glad you joined us today, Felicia.”

“I appreciated the invitation.”

Kathleen lowered her voice. “Mother Summerville always waits until Sunday morning to invite friends and neighbors to dinner. She says she wants the Spirit to move her.” She smiled briefly. “I don’t believe anyone has ever turned down her invitation until Colin … until Mr. Murphy did so today. That’s why she’s out of sorts.”

“Did you hear that, Miss Kristoffersen?” Walter Swanson interrupted.

As she sat on the sofa beside Kathleen, Felicia turned her attention toward him. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

Walter looked at Nancy Hightower. “Go on. Tell Miss Kristoffersen.”

The reverend’s wife seemed happy to oblige. “I was just telling Mr. Swanson that you’ll have some new students in your classroom this week. Lewis and Jane Carpenter have brought home two orphan boys from New York. They arrived in Boise City yesterday by train.”

For an instant, Felicia recalled her brother and sister and nearly
two dozen other children as they sat in a railcar, dust and smoke blowing in the open windows as the train sped westward from Chicago. She felt again the fear of the unknown and the grief over her mother’s death.

“My heart breaks for the Carpenters. They’ve buried five infant sons over the years. I suppose this is their only way of having a family now.”

“Dear,” Benjamin Hightower said softly, “we mustn’t gossip.”

His wife’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t gossiping, Ben. I was merely explaining to Miss Kristoffersen why Jane and Lewis have taken these boys into their home.”

As if it were yesterday, Felicia remembered when the Kristoffersens had taken her home from the grange hall in Laramie. She no longer believed they’d wanted a daughter so much as they’d needed a housekeeper. It might have been worse, she supposed. They might have beaten her or abused her. In some ways, she almost wished they had. If they’d been cruel, she might have tried to leave. She might have run away. Instead, she’d lived in a house where emotions were never expressed, where love and anger and joy and sorrow didn’t exist.

Please, God. Let the Carpenters be kind to those boys. Let them love them. She drew in a breath. And if I can be of help, show me how.

Colin couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen a brighter smile on his daughter’s face as the one she wore during their ride home that Sunday, Colin mounted on his buckskin gelding, Charity riding Princess, the dun mare. Most of the journey passed in silence, broken only by Charity’s occasional questions: “Isn’t she the prettiest horse ever?” “Do you think she likes carrots?” “Can I ride her to school tomorrow?”

The latter question caused him to laugh. “Ride her to school? We’re hardly more than a stone’s throw away.”

“I know, Papa. But I want to show her to my friends.”

“Maybe you’d better bring your friends home after school and let them see her in the stable.”

“But Papa—”

“Charity.”

His single word of warning caused her to swallow the rest of her protest, and he was glad. The day was ending too perfectly to spoil it now with a reprimand.

When they crested a rise in the road and Frenchman’s Bluff came into view, he said, “Shall we canter the rest of the way home?”

“Yes.” She kicked Princess’s sides, and the mare jumped forward. Charity’s laughter sailed back to him on the breeze.

He grinned. “Let’s go, boy.” The buckskin responded to the nudge of his boots, and in moments, they’d caught up with Charity and the dun. “Not too fast,” he called to her.

What his daughter wanted was to let her horse break into an all-out gallop. He could tell that by the set of her mouth and the madcap look in her eyes. But she wisely chose to obey him, keeping the mare at a canter until they arrived at the edge of Frenchman’s Bluff, where, in unison, they drew their horses to a walk.

“That was fun, Papa.”

He grinned.

“I bet Princess could’ve beat Drifter if you didn’t make us slow down.”

“Not likely.”

“She’s small but she’s fast. Faster than you think, I bet.”

“Hmm.”

“Can we go for another ride tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

They rode up to the small barn behind the mercantile living quarters and reined in. Colin dismounted first and looped the reins around the hitching post. Charity followed suit a moment later.

“I’ll get a couple of brushes,” she said and rushed into the stable.

Colin released a chuckle as he loosened the cinch. It had been a good day.

“Hi, Miss K! Come see what Papa gave me for my birthday. My own horse!”

He straightened and looked over the gelding’s back. Felicia Kristoffersen seemed to have been about to enter the cottage, her hand holding the screen door partway open. But at Charity’s invitation, she let it swing closed.

She wore the same dress he’d seen her in that morning at church, and he suspected she was only now returning from the Summerville home. Helen Summerville’s Sunday dinners were elaborate and lengthy affairs, at least by the standards of most Sunday dinners in Frenchman’s Bluff.

Charity ran to meet her teacher halfway, then took her by the hand and dragged her over to where her father stood with the two horses.

“Look! Isn’t she pretty? I named her Princess. Doesn’t she look like a princess to you? Her mane and tail are so long. That’s why I think she looks like a princess. Papa thought I should call her Alice. Like in the book
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
That’s what Mrs. Franklin gave me for my birthday. That book. Papa says I’m to read two pages of it every day. Do you think I can? It looks kinda hard to me, but Mrs. Franklin says it’s her favorite book of all.”

Felicia’s gaze met with Colin’s across the gelding’s back, and a moment later, she smiled. As if to say,
Yes, she’s a chatterbox, but I enjoy listening to her.
Colin couldn’t help but return the smile.

“I don’t think
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
will be too hard for you,” Felicia said to Charity. “But if it is, we’ll work on it in school. All right?”

“I guess. Would you like to ride Princess sometime, Miss K? Do you know how to ride a horse? If you don’t, I could teach you.”

“I
do
know how to ride. I lived on a farm from the time I was ten until I came here. When I was not much older than you, I rode a big gray horse to and from school. I called him Soot.”

“Soot. I like that. It’s a good name for a horse. What kind of farm was it? Did you have milk cows, like the Franklins?”

“No. The Kristoffersens mostly raised wheat and barley.”

The Kristoffersens. An odd way to refer to her parents, Colin thought, and it made him wonder about her family. There were many things he didn’t know about the new schoolteacher, things he hadn’t cared to know when he was still convinced she’d come to their town only to find a husband, like the teachers before her. He wasn’t at all sure about that now.

Charity interrupted his musings. “I’ve gotta get Princess unsaddled and give her a good brushing. She’s my responsibility to take care of. Isn’t she, Papa?”

“Yes, she’s your responsibility,” he answered without looking away from Felicia.

“I’m sure you’ll take very good care of your horse, Charity,” Felicia said.

“I sure will.” Grinning, the girl headed inside the barn.

Felicia looked up. “A horse is a wonderful gift, Mr. Murphy. She’s a lucky girl.”

Something strange blossomed inside of him in that instant. A feeling that had lain dormant for so long he couldn’t put a name to it at first—attraction. And then when he could—attraction?—he had to reject the notion. Impossible! He wasn’t attracted to this
woman. He couldn’t be. Given his primary reason for not wanting the school board to hire her, allowing attraction to grow between them was the last thing he wanted.

“I had better go inside,” she said, her relaxed demeanor telling him she was unaware of where his thoughts had taken him.