Belonging (14 page)

Thank goodness for that.

She patted Princess on the neck. “Tell Charity happy birthday for me again.” Then she turned and walked toward her cottage, a delightful feminine sway in her hips.

Colin felt his mouth go dry and found it impossible to look away until she disappeared inside.

TWELVE

Kathleen stood in the front parlor, staring out the window at the beautiful morning. In two or three more months, the peaks of the Owyhee Mountains, a good sixty miles to the south, would be white with snow. But for now, the skies were a gorgeous blue, and the sun still blessed the earth with warmth.

Voices drifted to her from the back of the house. Mother Summerville was giving Mrs. Hasting, the cook, the menus for the week. It happened at this time every Monday morning. Her mother-in-law was a woman who believed in schedules and routines. She was also a woman who lacked tact when it came to dealing with the household staff.

Mrs. Hasting would be in a foul mood the rest of the day.

Kathleen sighed as she moved away from the window and settled onto the piano bench. She brushed the ivory keys with her fingertips, and in her memory, she heard Harold playing for her and singing at the top of his lungs, “
Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay!”
A smile came to her lips. Oh, how she’d loved those special times they’d shared.

His mother, however, had hated it whenever she heard him play such, as she put it, disgusting music. She hadn’t raised him to enjoy the tunes of the lower classes.

But I adored it, Harry. I wish I could hear you sing it one more time.

Mother Summerville’s crisp footsteps in the hallway gave Kathleen a brief warning before she appeared in the doorway. “Ah. There you are.” Her mother-in-law stopped, her hands folded beneath her ample bosom. There was a spark of annoyance in her eyes, left over from her encounter with Mrs. Hasting, no doubt.

“I’m sorry, Mother Summerville. I didn’t hear you call.”

“I didn’t call,” she snapped. “But I did need to speak with you.”

Kathleen rose from the bench. “You look upset.”

“I suppose I am.”

“With me?”

Her mother-in-law’s eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Kathleen said nothing, knowing she would learn the cause quickly enough.

“You’re getting much too friendly with Miss Kristoffersen. You know how I feel about her. You know I don’t believe she was the right choice for the position. We will be well rid of her when others realize their mistake, and I don’t think it wise for you to align yourself with her.”

You’re being unfair. You’re unkind and vengeful. I like Felicia.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that she’s both attractive and single? She could end your hopes of marrying Mr. Murphy.”

“My hopes,” Kathleen whispered, too softly for her mother-in-law to hear. Were they her hopes or did they belong to Mother Summerville alone?

“You must be aware that you aren’t a fresh-faced young debutante, Kathleen.”

She didn’t want the words to sting, but they did.

Mother Summerville pointed an index finger at her. “Mark my words. You’d best do something about this before it’s too late.”

Exactly what would you have me do?

As if she’d heard Kathleen’s silent question, Mother Summerville released an exasperated sigh. Then she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Kathleen sank onto the piano bench once again, tears welling in her eyes. Oh, how she wished she had a home of her own, a place for her and her daughters. How she wished she wasn’t beholden to Mother Summerville for every little thing. And how she wished she could fall in love again. Not just to marry and have a home of her own, but to fall in love.

She couldn’t help wishing for that most of all.

“Ā, as in
ate.
Â, as in
care
.”

Felicia softly read aloud with her younger students, who were seated on the recitation bench.

“Ä, as in
arm.
Å, as in
last
.”

She noticed that Charity’s eyes often went to the children to her right or left rather than staying focused on the book in her hands. It was easy to see that rather than reading the text, she was repeating a half second later what she heard her neighbors saying.

Felicia stepped off the platform and walked slowly down the narrow space behind the bench. When she reached Charity, she briefly touched her shoulder. The girl glanced up.

Read,
Felicia mouthed.

Charity dipped her head.

“Ē, as in
eve.
Ẽ, as in err.”

Felicia continued on, but her thoughts remained with Charity. The girl shouldn’t be struggling this hard with the table of vocals in her reader. The exercises should be old hat to her by now. Assuming, of course, that Miss Lucas made use of them, and she believed
she had. Otherwise, the other students wouldn’t be performing so well.

“ŌŌ, as in
fool.”

The children reached the end of the table of vocals at the same moment that Felicia arrived at the end of the bench. She turned and said, “Phoebe, please read to us the short sounds at the top of page eight.”

The girl stood and read the requested portion without making a single mistake.

“Very good, Phoebe. Thank you.”

As she walked slowly toward the head of the classroom, this time in front of the students on the recitation bench, Felicia called on the boy seated beside Phoebe to read the next part of the lesson. He did so with equal ease.

Four students later, it was Charity’s turn. The look on her face as she rose to her feet almost broke Felicia’s heart. She stumbled over the words in the first half of the table of substitutes. It was as if she’d never seen them before. And with each mistake she made, her face grew more flushed, her expression more downcast.

So unlike the confident, vivacious girl Felicia had come to know outside of school.

“Thank you, Charity.”

Charity resumed her seat.

Felicia stepped onto the platform and turned to face the class. Clapping her hands, she said, “Boys and girls, we’ll take our recess now. Please rise and file out in your usual order.”

Books closed. Papers rustled. Pencils clattered. But the children were quiet, except for a few whispers, until they reached the door of the school. Then the shouts began; it sounded as if the boys were choosing sides for a quick game of baseball.

Felicia sat at her desk, her thoughts churning as she stared
down at the exercises in the reader. What was she to do about Charity? Of all the students to be struggling, why did it have to be her?

“Miss Kristoffersen?”

She looked up.

A woman stood at the entrance to the classroom, two boys right behind her. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Jane Carpenter. We met at the church picnic.”

Felicia rose from her chair. “Of course I remember.”

“I apologize for not being here at the start of school.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Go along, boys.” She motioned for them to step in front of her, then the three of them approached Felicia. When they stopped, Jane Carpenter made the rest of her introductions. “This is Daniel and this is Keith. Daniel and Keith Watkins.”

“How do you do?” Felicia said, making eye contact with both of the boys. “My students call me Miss K.”

Neither of them responded.

Jane said, “The boys have come to live with me and my husband and will be attending your school from here on out.”

“I’m delighted to have you in my class.” Felicia looked at the taller of the two. “How old are you, Daniel?”

“Twelve.”

He reminded Felicia of her brother, Hugh. Dark eyes, wise beyond his years. A stubbornness in his chin and in his stance. Perhaps a touch of defiance as well. “And how old are you?” she asked Keith.

“Ten.”

Her heart went out to him. Ten. The same age she’d been when the Kristoffersens took her in. She wondered what tragedy had put these boys on a train in New York, sending them far from the life they’d known. Would Jane Carpenter love them as sons? Would

Lewis Carpenter be stern or gentle with them? Would other children in school tease them because they were orphans?

She gave her head a mental shake. “Daniel, why don’t you take a seat over there?” She pointed to a desk in the first row as she stepped off the platform. “And Keith, you can use this desk.” She touched the back of a nearby chair.

Jane waited until the boys had taken their assigned places. Then she asked, “What time will they be dismissed?”

“Four o’clock.”

“I’ll come for them then. They don’t know where my shop is yet. I apologize again for not having them here at the start of school. They’ll be on time in the morning. I promise you that.”

“It’s perfectly all right, Mrs. Carpenter.”

Jane glanced from one boy to the other, then back at Felicia. “I trust they’ll be well behaved.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Felicia smiled, hoping her confidence would ease the other woman’s fears.

The ploy seemed to work, for Jane returned the smile before turning and leaving the classroom.

“Well,”—she looked from one brother to the other—“can you tell me a little about yourself? Daniel, you first.”

“Not much to tell.”

“How about where you lived before you came to Idaho?”

“Me and my brother lived in an orphanage in New York, and that’s where they should’ve left us. We never asked to come here. We hate it.” Anger laced his words.

Felicia feared she would have trouble with this boy. Should she tell him she too had come west for placement? That she understood what it was like to be an orphan. No. At least not yet. His resentment was too fresh.

She turned toward the younger boy. “How about you, Keith? Can you share something with me?”

Tears glimmered in his eyes, and his chin trembled.

She gave him a gentle smile. “That’s all right. Perhaps another time.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “Recess is almost over anyway. We’ll become better acquainted as time goes by.”

Colin watched as Lewis Carpenter flipped through the catalog on the mercantile counter. Lewis was a strong man, tall and broad shouldered, his neck and arms thick, like a lumberjack. But his nature was gentle, his voice soft-spoken. Margaret had once said Lewis had the soul of a poet. Like Colin, he hadn’t gone far in school. Unlike Colin, he loved to read. Rarely did he come into the store that he didn’t peruse the selection of books available before buying more practical items.

Today he was in need of a couple of mattresses and a large bureau for the boys he and his wife had taken into their home. “Here’s what the missus wants.” He pointed at the catalog.

Colin made a mental note of the selection.

Lewis let the catalog fall closed as he straightened. “Should have done this sooner. The minute we learned they’d be bringing those kids as far as Idaho for placing out, I should have given you my order.” He drew a deep breath and released it, shoulders rising and falling. “I guess I was afraid it would end in disappointment, and I didn’t want Jane to get her hopes up. Or mine either.”

“I reckon you two’ve got a right not to want to get your hopes up, Lewis.”

The man shook his head. “I reckon not. The Good Book says, ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ I shoulda trusted He’d bring it about. After all, ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ “

That was another thing about Lewis Carpenter. He could quote the Scriptures better than most preachers. And he didn’t just quote them. He believed them. Lived them. Breathed them. Colin had to admire him for it, too. He couldn’t say the same for himself. His faith, never very strong, had been shaken by the loss of his wife. Lewis’s faith had seemed to grow stronger each time he’d buried an infant son.

“Jane was nervous as a cat near a rocking chair this morning.” A grin spread across Lewis’s face. “She wasn’t happy with what the boys had to wear to school, and it took her longer to get them fed and ready to go than she thought it would. Never saw her get so flustered. But in a good way. Know what I mean?”