Belonging (18 page)

A breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby tree. As Felicia sat on her porch, that was the only sound she heard. The whole town of Frenchman’s Bluff seemed to be napping, humans and animals alike, on this warm Sunday afternoon.

She found the idea of a nap a tempting one, but she didn’t want to go inside. The day was too pleasant for that. Soon enough, it would turn cool. The leaves would change from green to red and orange, gold and yellow, and then they would fall to the ground to crunch beneath the shoes of passersby. Finally the snow would blow in from the west, blanketing her small corner of the world in white. There would be no sitting on her porch then. Better she enjoy it while she could.

Her thoughts drifted from the weather to the previous day when she’d sat beside the river on that rock—and to the moment when Colin Murphy had joined her there. Their brief exchange had been agreeable, but it troubled her spirit to remember the loneliness that had washed over her after he departed. Felicia liked her solitude. Often preferred it, in fact. And hadn’t she been enjoying the Lord’s presence only moments before Colin arrived? Those strange feelings of loneliness couldn’t be because she’d come to like Colin, like him as a woman likes a man. Could they?

No, of course not. Ridiculous. He was her landlord, even her employer. But nothing more.

She drew in a deep breath and turned her attention to the round table at her side. On it lay her writing materials. As disagreeable as she found the task, it was time she answered Gunnar’s letters. She picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink bottle.

Cousin Gunnar,

I am in receipt of your two letters.

Surely you must know that I have no desire whatsoever to return to Wyoming, not to marry Rolf nor for any other reason. While I am grateful for the home I was given with Britta and Lars, my obligations to them, to the farm, to any other members of the Kristoffersen family, were fulfilled long ago. I took nothing with me that was not mine. For you to suggest otherwise is spiteful and untrue.

Please do not trouble yourself in my regard again. I have no intention of leaving my position as teacher in Frenchman’s Bluff.

Sincerely,
Felicia

She laid aside the pen and read the letter one more time. It wasn’t a warm letter, to be sure, but no less so than Gunnar’s letters to her. For all the world, she couldn’t understand why he wanted her for a daughter-in-law. He didn’t like her the least little bit. And Rolf? If he felt anything for her, it was lust, and she couldn’t be sure of even that.

She shuddered as she always did when she imagined herself joined in marriage to Rolf Kristoffersen.

“I’m not lonely,” she whispered. “I’m not alone. The Lord is with me. I have my work, which satisfies me. I am educated and intelligent and able to take care of myself. If I am ever to marry, it will only be for love. Never for convenience or to satisfy convention. Never for that.”

Drawing a deep breath, she folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, which she quickly addressed and sealed. “Hi, Miss K!”

She looked in the direction of Charity Murphy’s voice and saw the girl and her father walking toward the rear entrance to their living quarters. But Charity promptly changed directions and ran
over to Felicia. A moment later, Colin did the same, though at a slower pace.

As if to taunt her, her words of moments before repeated in her mind:
If I am ever to marry, it will only be for love.

Her insides seemed to tumble, causing her to grip the arms of her chair.

Colin removed his hat. “Good afternoon.”

She hadn’t spoken to him at church that morning, although she’d seen him there, seated with his daughter several rows behind her. Now she was keenly aware of how handsome he looked in his dark Sunday suit. He was, without a doubt, one of the handsomest men of her acquaintance. Certainly more so than any of her Kristoffersen “cousins.”

Again that strange tumbling sensation.

“We ate Sunday dinner at the Summervilles,” Charity said.

“How nice.” Felicia smiled at the girl and prayed her face revealed none of her inner turmoil.

“The food’s always good,” Colin said.

Something in his tone told Felicia he hadn’t enjoyed the afternoon. Did Helen Summerville dislike him too? That was difficult to believe.

“Mr. Bryant said he should have promised me one of Goldie’s pups for my birthday.” Charity glanced over her shoulder at her father. “Maybe I could have one even though my birthday’s over?”

Colin’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “We can discuss that later. And we need to get inside and change out of our Sunday clothes. Besides, we’re intruding on Miss Kristoffersen’s letter writing.”

I don’t mind. I’m finished writing.
Although she didn’t speak the words aloud, she felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.
She could only pray that her eyes didn’t reveal her wish for the two of them to remain and talk to her a little longer.

Colin placed his right hand on Charity’s shoulder. “I’m sure your family will be glad to hear from you.” With a nod of his head, he turned, drawing his daughter with him, and the two of them strode toward their home.

“I’m sure your family will be glad to hear from you.”

She looked down at the envelope on the table. Gunnar wasn’t her family. Yes, she addressed him as “cousin,” but that was a designation of habit, not fact. He was no blood relation whatsoever.

But she did have a family. Somewhere.

Try again,
her heart seemed to say.
Don’t give up.

It had been sixteen years since she and Hugh and Diana had left Chicago, and seven or eight years since she’d last tried to discover the whereabouts of her brother and sister. What were the chances that anyone could help her find them after such a long time?

Try again. Don’t give up.

She reached for the pen and another sheet of stationery and began to write.

Dr. Cray’s Asylum for Little Wanderers
Chicago, Illinois

Dear Sir,

My name is Felicia Brennan Kristoffersen. In the summer of 1881, your organization placed me with a married couple who lived on a farm near Laramie, Wyoming. Their names were Lars and Britta Kristoffersen, and they called me Felicia Kristoffersen from that time forward. In fact, I believed they adopted me until it was revealed otherwise after their deaths earlier this year.

I have an older brother and a younger sister, Hugh and Diana Brennan, who were also placed with families in the summer of 1881, but I cannot say for sure where those families lived. I know only that my brother and sister left the train before Laramie.

It is my desire to locate my siblings. Can you help me?

Sincerely,

Felicia Brennan Kristoffersen
Frenchman’s Bluff, Idaho

As she folded the stationery, she whispered a prayer that this time God would send an answer. Still, she knew finding them would take a miracle.

SIXTEEN

The wall maps arrived at the mercantile on Tuesday afternoon, not long after school let out for the day. Colin knew Felicia would be eager to have them, so he left the store under Jimmy’s watchful eye and carried the maps to the school.

When he entered the classroom a short while later, he found Felicia seated at her desk, grading papers, while a boy of about ten—judging by his height alone, for Colin couldn’t see his face—cleaned the blackboards behind her.

Colin cleared his throat, and Felicia looked up.

“I have something for you,” he said.

Her face brightened. “Our maps.” She dropped the pencil on her desk and stood. “How wonderful!”

“Where do you want me to hang them? I brought a hammer and some nails with me.”

Felicia pointed to the east wall. “Right there, next to the window.”

Colin followed her to the designated spot.

“Keith,” Felicia called to the boy at the blackboards. “Come and see what Mr. Murphy brought for us.”

Keith? Colin couldn’t place the kid, and he knew every family within fifteen to twenty miles in any direction of Frenchman’s Bluff.

“Mr. Murphy, this is Keith Watkins, one of my new students. Keith and his brother live with the Carpenters.”

Oh, that’s why he didn’t recognize the boy. He was one of the orphan kids from back East.

“Keith,” Felicia continued, her hand on the boy’s shoulder, “these are the new maps of the world for us to use when we study history and geography.”

The boy’s expression said it all: Unimpressed. Bored speechless. He’d rather be anyplace else than where he was at that moment.

It was Felicia’s turn to clear her throat. “I think those blackboards are clean enough. You may go home now.”

“Thanks, Miss K.” Grinning, he darted for the exit.

“See you tomorrow,” she called after him. Then she faced Colin again. “I suppose it was asking a lot for him to be as excited as I am about a set of maps.”

“I reckon.”

But to be honest, her excitement was contagious. The way she twisted her hands and paced back and forth on the platform while Colin hung the black case holding the seven pull-down, oil-colored maps made him want to pace with anticipation too. It made no sense. They were just drawings of the world that made it look flat and showed one country pink and another yellow and another green. No more exciting than any other teaching tool in the schoolroom.

When the case was fastened to the wall, Colin stepped aside, motioning with his hand. “Be my guest, Miss K.”

The smile she sent in his direction did more than brighten her face. It seemed to brighten the entire room. Colin had to take another step backward and remind himself to breathe.

“It’s wonderful,” she said after revealing the first map. Then she spun around and hurried to the desk farthest away. She slid
onto the seat, folding her hands on the desktop. “Absolutely wonderful. The children will love it.”

To Colin, she looked more like a student than the teacher. Fresh, innocent, wide-eyed. Enthusiastic and untouched by the sorrows of life. What he wouldn’t give to feel the way she felt, to look at the world the way she saw it now.

Her smile faded, and the joy vanished from her eyes.

He swallowed, realizing the longing that had gripped him as he stared at her. Heaven help him.

Felicia tried to draw a deep breath but couldn’t. The air around her felt thick and uncomfortable. And that strange look in Colin Murphy’s eyes made her weak and a little afraid, although she couldn’t say why.

“I should get back to the store,” he said.

She rose from the desk. “It was thoughtless of me to keep you so long. I should have tried to hang them myself.”

“No.” He moved toward the exit. Toward her. “I wanted to help.”

She feared he must hear the rapid beating of her heart.

“I’ll send the bill for the maps to Walter.”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “To Mr. Swanson. He’ll be expecting it.”

He stopped a short distance from her, and for one thrillingly frightful moment, she thought he might reach out and touch her. Instead, he bent the brim of his hat—a gesture already so familiar to her—and said, “Good day, Miss Kristoffersen.”

“Good day.” She remained standing until he was out of sight. Then she dropped onto the seat, her knees unable to keep her upright any longer.

What just happened?

She forced herself to take a slow, deep breath.

I’m being ridiculous. Nothing happened. He was being neighborly. That’s all. He delivered the maps; he hung them for me—what any gentleman would do. What any good tradesman would do.

Not every tradesman, however, would look at her the way Colin had moments before—as if he could see into her mind and read her thoughts.

But he
couldn’t
read her thoughts. That was pure silliness on her part. Colin could no more see into her mind than she could see into his. And neither of them would want—

“Felicia?”

She started, surprised by the sound of Kathleen’s voice, and felt unprepared to face anyone. But what choice did she have? She could only hope she didn’t look as confused as she felt. Drawing another deep breath, she rose and turned.

Kathleen stood in the doorway, and right behind her was her mother-in-law.

Felicia forced a smile of greeting. “Kathleen. Mrs. Summerville. It’s good to see you.”

“We’re glad we found you still here,” Kathleen said.

“I … I’m usually here until four thirty.” Did she appear flustered or uncertain? She hoped not.

Helen Summerville looked as if she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Was that Mr. Murphy we saw leaving just now?” Her tone dripped with disapproval.

“Yes.” She motioned to the opposite side of the classroom. “He brought the new maps we ordered.”

“We?
” Helen said softly, then sniffed.

Kathleen moved forward. “As you know, Jane and Lewis Carpenter have taken in a couple of orphan children.”

“Yes. They’re fine boys.” When Daniel wasn’t misbehaving,
anyway. “I enjoy having them in my class.” True, despite Daniel’s resisting her authority.