Belonging (31 page)

Although she knew it wasn’t the same, Felicia felt a little like Hester Prynne in
The Scarlet Letter.
Not that Felicia had committed adultery. Not that she’d sinned in any way she could perceive. Still, she felt marked by Helen’s accusations of impropriety. Everything in her wanted to remain locked inside her cozy cottage, away from others.

Yet as the day progressed, hour by agonizing hour, she felt the walls close in on her until she could bear it no more. She had to go out, walk, breathe some fresh air, do anything that might take her mind off the children who were receiving instruction from Miss Todd rather than from her.

She put on a hat, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and headed out, not caring where her feet carried her. Perhaps she would buy a new bonnet. Or if not buy one—she couldn’t afford to be foolish with her money, after all—at least try on a few. That might raise her spirits. Not to mention a few eyebrows if she were seen doing so. That last thought almost made her laugh.

Almost, but not quite.

The trees that lined the east side of Idaho Street sported cloaks of red and gold, and leaves that had fallen onto the walkway crunched beneath her shoes. Autumn, her favorite season, was full upon them now. Beautifully so. Winter wouldn’t be far behind. Where would she be when the first snow fell? In Frenchman’s Bluff? In Boise City? Or somewhere far from Idaho?

It hurt to consider the different possibilities. She didn’t want to think about living anywhere else. The town and its children had taken hold of her heart in the short time she’d been here.

Especially Charity …

And her father.

No. She mustn’t think such things. They weren’t true. She had no favorite students, and Colin Murphy was no more or less to her than any other father in town. He was just Charity’s father. Only that wasn’t true. He was also a member of the school board … and her landlord …

And Kathleen’s fiancé.

She reached the millinery shop only to be met with disappointment. It was closed. A note in the window said Jane would return on Tuesday morning. For the best, Felicia supposed. Better not to be tempted. Only she wasn’t sure where to go next. Perhaps she would simply walk out on the bluff, walk as far as she could go before nightfall threatened.

She’d reached the corner of Shoshone and Main when she heard a familiar—and dreaded—voice. Helen Summerville was talking to Walter Swanson on the sidewalk outside his drugstore.

Not wanting to risk being seen, Felicia spun around and went into the post office, remembering only once she was inside that the wife of the postmaster was a member of the school board as well. And when Joe Reynolds’s gaze met hers, she was certain he knew
everything that had been said in the meeting the previous night. Even more than she knew.

She wished she could leave, but it was too late for that.

“Afternoon, Miss Kristoffersen.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Glad you stopped by. Got a letter for you.” He withdrew an envelope from a cubbyhole. “Here you go. From Chicago, I see.”

Chicago? Could it be news of her siblings? Perhaps that was God’s answer to the dilemma in which she found herself. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.” She took the envelope and pressed it to her chest as she turned to leave.

“Miss Kristoffersen. Wait.”

She stopped and looked back.

“Want you to know how very sorry my wife and I are. About what’s happened. Miranda … my wife … we both think it’s wrong, what the board’s done.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied softly.

“Just remember. It’s temporary. It’ll get sorted out. You can be sure of that.”

She nodded, unable to say anything more, afraid to hope for a better end.

Although she was eager to read the letter from Dr. Cray’s home, she made herself wait until she was back on the porch of her cottage before she tore open the envelope and removed the sheet of paper from inside.

Dr. Cray’s Asylum for Little Wanderers
Chicago, Illinois
September 30, 1897
Miss Felicia Brennan Kristoffersen
Frenchman’s Bluff, Idaho

Dear Miss Kristoffersen,

I have your letter at hand and have tried to verify the information you requested.

According to our records, your brother Hugh Brennan was placed out in the fall of 1881 with a family who lived near Omaha, Nebraska. However, upon further review, it appears that he left that family in the spring of 1882 at the age of 14. I am afraid the reason for his departure and the circumstances under which it took place were not recorded. I can only assume that he was not content with his placement and struck out on his own. Unfortunately, boys of his age sometimes choose to do that rather than request reassignment through our office.

As for your sister, Diana Brennan, she was placed with a prominent couple by the name of Dixon in Cheyenne, Wyoming, in the fall of 1881. The Dixons moved to southwest Montana in 1890. Mr. Dixon appears to have been affiliated with the railroad. Our records show no specific town of residence and no further follow-up after 1890. It does appear that Mr. and Mrs. Dixon inquired regarding the adoption of your sister while they were in Wyoming, but there is no record in our files that said adoption took place.

I hope this information is of some help to you.

Most sincerely,
Adam St. Charles
Secretary

Felicia read the letter two more times before folding it and sliding it back into its envelope. Hugh’s whereabouts unknown for fifteen years, and Diana with a prominent family somewhere in Montana, at least as far back as seven years ago. No help at all with finding her brother, and perhaps no help with Diana either,
although she knew a little more now than she had before. But to think, she and her little sister had lived for nine years within fifty miles or so of each other and never knew it. Oh, if only …

The sound of shouts and laughter carried to her, and she looked in the direction of the schoolhouse, watching as the children spilled forth like milk from a toppled bottle and spread out like tributaries on their way home. Before she could rise and go inside, she heard one voice above the others.

“Miss K!” Charity ran down the street as fast as her legs would carry her. “Miss K!”

Her heart broke a little more. How she treasured that sound.

Breathing hard, Charity arrived on the porch. “Why weren’t you at school?”

“Weren’t you told?”

The girl shrugged. “All Miss Todd said was she’s gonna be our teacher for a while. But Suzanne says her grandmother doesn’t like you, and that’s why you’re not teachin’ today.”

Felicia winced, and the desire to say she didn’t like Helen Summerville either warred with the desire to do and say what was right. Thankfully, the latter won. “That may be true, Charity, but it’s just speculation on your friend’s part and shouldn’t be repeated. Do you know what
speculation
means?”

Charity shook her head.

“To have an opinion or a theory about a subject without firm evidence or facts. It’s better not to speculate, Charity.” That was, after all, what had brought about her suspension. Mere speculation. “It’s most often the same as gossip, and you know what the Bible says about gossip.”

Another shake of the head.

“It can separate the best of friends. You don’t want to say bad things about Mrs. Summerville because it’s unkind and it might cause you and Suzanne and Phoebe to no longer be friends.”

“Well … okay. But I still don’t like having Miss Todd for a teacher instead of you. Nobody does.”

Felicia couldn’t hold back a sad smile as she ran her hand over Charity’s hair. “Thank you. It’s kind of you to say that. But I’m sure Miss Todd is very nice and a good teacher. You need to give her the same chance you gave me.” Her throat began to tighten, making it hard to speak. “Now, you’d best get on home to your father. He’ll be wondering what’s kept you.”

“Okay,” the girl said again, adding as she descended the porch steps, “but you’re still gonna help me with my reading, right?”

She wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t. She knew so little about what the next days would be like. “That’s something you must ask your father.”

“I’m gonna go ask him right now.” And with that, Charity disappeared around the corner of the house.

After a second sleepless night, Felicia made up her mind. She would leave Frenchman’s Bluff of her own accord. She wouldn’t wait to see if Mrs. Summerville won in the end. It wouldn’t be right for Felicia to stay, not feeling the way she did about Colin. She cared for him too much. Even more than she’d realized.

She loved him—and she couldn’t have him.

What if he had kissed her that night outside her cottage? What might have happened next between them? Would she want to hurt a woman who had befriended her from the start? No, better she leave and begin again somewhere else.

She turned up the oil lamp beside the bed and reached for the letter from Dr. Cray’s. A couple named Dixon. The husband worked for the railroad. Moved to southwest Montana.

It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. How many small
towns were there near the railroad tracks of Montana? And even if she didn’t find Diana, how much worse off would she be there than she was here? In fact, she might be better off. There would be no whiff of scandal to follow her to Montana. Not yet anyway.

She tossed aside the covers on her bed and sat up, lowering her feet to the floor and sliding them into her slippers. Her bedroom had grown cold during the night, and after putting on a robe, she went to add more wood to the stove. Then she began packing her things in the same trunk she’d brought with her from Wyoming, all the while tears rolling down her cheeks.

THIRTY-ONE

Ellen Franklin reached across the counter and touched the back of Colin’s hand. “I’ll get straight to work organizing the parents. You can count on me. We’ll stop this injustice.” She took a step back. “And Colin, I think there’s another reason you can’t afford to let Miss Kristoffersen lose her position.” She pointed at him—as if he should know what she meant—then turned and left the mercantile.

What
did
she mean? He wanted to let the children of the town keep a wonderful teacher. He wanted Felicia’s reputation protected. Even his own reputation protected. He wanted right to be done and Mrs. Summerville to be stopped.

But he didn’t think Ellen meant any of that.

Without a word to Jimmy, he walked out of the store into his living quarters, closing the connecting door behind him. He went first to the window that looked out on Main Street. A man on horseback was headed out of town. A team hitched to a wagon was tied to the post in front of the bank. Farther down the street, three men stood on the boardwalk in front of the feed store, one of them gesturing, the other two seeming to listen to him.

An ordinary kind of day in Frenchman’s Bluff. But it didn’t feel ordinary.

He wanted to check on Felicia. He wanted to see if she was all right. But he didn’t think he could. What if he was seen on her porch? What if it created even more gossip, making things worse? He didn’t care for himself, but he cared for her. He’d promised he would make things right. He had to keep his distance for now.

“There’s another reason you can’t afford to let Miss Kristoffersen lose her position.”

He turned and sat in his favorite chair. His gaze fell on the Bible resting on the table beside him. He opened it and withdrew the letter Margaret had written to him. His gaze moved over the words on the page, pleased that the letters were less jumbled than they’d been before, thanks to the practice words he’d been going over for weeks. It didn’t all make sense to him yet, but one particular word stood out on the page today:
Love.

“There’s another reason you can’t afford to let Miss Kristoffersen lose her position.”

Love.

“There’s another reason you can’t afford to let Miss Kristoffersen lose her position.”

Love.

He straightened as glimpses of Felicia flashed through his memory—lying on a boulder, talking to God; sitting in the schoolhouse at one of the desks, so excited about maps on the wall; riding bareback astride Walter’s wagon horse; gripping that tree limb, going under in the river as the water tossed her about like a rag doll; beautiful in a blue gown, dancing in his arms, her eyes turned up to him.

“I love her.” He spoke the words with wonder.

How could he not have realized it before now? He didn’t just want to kiss her every now and again. He didn’t just want to hold her
in his arms while they danced. He didn’t just care about her or feel a fondness for her or want to be her friend. And his feelings had nothing to do with wanting a woman’s influence for Charity.

“I
love
her.”

He slipped Margaret’s letter back into the Bible, then let his fingers linger on the leather cover.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.