Belonging (9 page)

But she said nothing.

His daughter was right. Felicia Kristoffersen did look pretty in that blue dress. So much more flattering than the bleak mourning attire she’d worn her first few days in Frenchman’s Bluff. And the color matched her eyes to perfection, making them seem even bigger and brighter.

It bothered Colin that he was so aware of her appearance. It wasn’t like him to notice. It was better to resist such thoughts, about
any
woman. Better for him, better for his daughter. Allowing a female past the barriers he’d constructed would put the careful order of his life—his and Charity’s—in jeopardy.

They made the rest of their way to church in silence, and as soon as they arrived at the entrance to the narthex, Colin went to look for Charity, the perfect excuse to separate himself from Felicia’s company. By the time he and his daughter entered the sanctuary, he saw Felicia was seated with Ann Dowd and her family.

Good. He didn’t want the gossips to have a heyday because he and Miss Kristoffersen had happened to walk to church together this morning.

Colin and Charity took their usual place in the last pew. He hadn’t always sat at the back of the church. That started after Margaret died. Back then, he hadn’t wanted to be surrounded by people. He’d wanted to be able to leave at any time. He’d wanted to avoid more words of sympathy from well-meaning folks. Now he stayed in the last pew out of habit. Or maybe he stayed because he didn’t want others to guess how little confidence he had in the messages given by Reverend Hightower.

For instance, all things
didn’t
work together for good, not even for those who loved God. They never had. They never would. Hard things befell people,
good
people, and changed their lives for the
worse. That’s how it had been throughout the history of mankind, and no nice religious platitudes would change that fact.

Colin wondered if his wife could look down from heaven and see him. He wondered if she could read his thoughts as he sat there in that pew. He hoped not. Heaven was supposed to be a place where sorrow and sighing didn’t exist.

If he even still believed in heaven. He wasn’t sure he did, wasn’t sure he didn’t.

The pump organ at the front of the church bellowed a few opening chords, and the congregation rose to their feet, hymnals in hand. Colin stood and joined in the singing, but only for the sake of his daughter and the promise he’d made to her mother.

At the outdoor picnic that followed the Sunday service, Felicia was introduced to so many people that it left her head spinning with names and faces. Her cheeks hurt from smiling for such a long time, but she couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. Her heart was too filled with joy. For the first time in her life, she felt she’d found a place to belong. The fear that had dogged her heels on her way to Frenchman’s Bluff was gone.

Felicia was particularly glad to see so many of her students, most of whom she’d met in their homes over the past two days. Some were shy. Some were bold. Some were short and slight, others tall and broad. They were the children of the shopkeepers in town and the children of the farmers and ranchers who worked the land beyond the borders of Frenchman’s Bluff. The youngest was six, the oldest fifteen, and she thought it possible that she loved each and every one of them already.

After the tables had been weighed down with the offerings of the womenfolk, Walter Swanson took a moment to officially
introduce Felicia and welcome her into their midst. Then Reverend Hightower said a blessing over the food. Following the “Amen,” others quickly moved to get in line to fill their plates, but before Felicia could do the same, Iona Bryant told her to sit down on one of the blankets.

“Let someone else bring you food,” the woman added. “You’re our guest of honor.”

Felicia felt a flush of pleasure warm her cheeks. Truly, she’d never been this spoiled nor felt this welcome anywhere. Still, she wasn’t sure she wanted others to think she expected to be waited on. But before she could protest, she saw Charity hurrying toward her, holding a plate with both hands, mouth skewed in concentration.

“Here’s your food, Miss Kristoffersen,” the girl called as she came near. “Hope you like what I chose. I got Mrs. Dowd’s fried chicken and Mrs. Bryant’s bean salad and Mrs. Summerville’s corn bread. Don’t know who made this other stuff, but I thought it looked good.”

“My goodness, Charity. I don’t think I can eat that much.”

“Sure you can. I heard Phoebe’s grandmother say you’re awful thin and could use some meat on your bones.”

As she took the plate from Charity’s hands, Felicia laughed, certain that Helen Summerville hadn’t meant for that particular comment to reach her ears. “Thank you, Charity. I’ll try to eat every bite.”

The girl nodded before dashing off to fill a plate for herself before her favorites were gone. Then others settled onto blankets and chairs around Felicia and soon they began to ask questions. Where did she grow up? Did she have any brothers or sisters? What were her favorite subjects when she was a student? How long had she been at the normal school in Laramie? Did she like Frenchman’s Bluff? Wasn’t the food good?

“For pity’s sake!”

Felicia glanced up to find Kathleen standing nearby, her hands on her hips as she frowned good-naturedly at the inquisitors.

“Can’t you let the poor woman take a few bites? Give her a chance to eat before you ask anything else.”

“I don’t mind,” Felicia answered.

Kathleen smiled. “But I do.” She joined Felicia on the blanket, then lowered her voice to say, “Mrs. Dowd’s fried chicken is the best. You should take the time to enjoy it.”

Apparently, the others nearby decided to heed Kathleen’s orders and began talking among themselves. And as soon as Felicia had a chance to bite into the fried chicken, she was glad for her new friend’s aid. “Oh my. This
is
good.”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Felicia nodded.

“You’re going to do wonderfully, Felicia. I can tell. I was watching you with the children, and you had such a look of excitement on your face.” Kathleen’s gaze turned toward a small group of people seated in the shade of another tree. “I told Colin … Mr. Murphy … that he needed to give you a chance before being so sure you wouldn’t be a good teacher. Everyone has to begin somewhere.”

Felicia’s throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, the food suddenly tasteless.

“All I know is that I’m glad the board didn’t hire a schoolmaster. I think a man in that position might frighten Phoebe half to death, no matter how kind he was. She can be timid around men. I suppose because she lives in a house full of women, excepting her grandfather, and he spends most of the time at the bank. But
you
don’t frighten her. She likes you already.”

“I’m glad,” Felicia answered softly. “I like her too.”

She took another bite of the food on her plate, but the pleasure
had gone out of the day with the knowledge that Colin Murphy believed she wouldn’t be a good teacher. That somehow seemed even worse than when she thought he simply didn’t like her.

Kathleen felt awful. Why had she allowed Mother Summerville to convince her to say anything to Felicia about Colin’s opposition?

“Miss Kristoffersen deserves to know. She mustn’t think she has unanimous support. It might make her feel so secure that she will disregard the wishes of the board in school matters.”

It shamed Kathleen, knowing there’d been a small part of her that wanted Felicia to be worried. Not for the reasons Mother Summerville stated—which Kathleen didn’t quite believe—but because she didn’t want Felicia setting her cap for Colin. He was, after all, one of the few eligible
and
acceptable men in Frenchman’s Bluff; her mother-in-law was right about that. And if Kathleen was ever to be free of Mother Summerville’s control, she needed to marry a man who could afford to take in a wife and two stepdaughters.

Her guilt increasing the longer she sat next to Felicia, Kathleen excused herself, rose, and went to check on her children. She found them seated with a number of friends on the shady side of the church. Giggles and laughter were carried to her on the soft, warm breeze. She adored the sound, yet it was one that should be shared … with the man she loved. Loneliness swept over her.

She’d thought her life would be so different from what it was. She’d expected to grow old with Harold, living in the same house year after year after year. She’d expected they would be together to watch their daughters get married and give them grandchildren. She’d thought they would live comfortably always, supporting each other, encouraging each other, caring for each other.

But life, she’d learned, was rarely what one expected.

“Good day, Miz Summerville.”

Recognizing the voice, Kathleen forced a small smile onto her lips as she turned toward Oscar Jacobson. “Hello, Mr. Jacobson. Are you enjoying the picnic?”

“Sure am. We don’t get grub like this on the Double G. Not all at one sittin’ anyway.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

The cowboy tipped his head in Felicia’s direction. “The new schoolmarm seems right nice.”

“She is.” Another twinge of guilt caused her to take a quick breath. “Very nice.”

“Pretty too.”

“Yes.” She wondered how long it would be before Oscar or one of his friends called on Felicia. After today, she wouldn’t expect it to be long.

“I guess Suzanne and Phoebe must be eager to get back to school.”

“Yes.”

“Wish I’d been able to go further with my schoolin’.” He moved a couple of steps closer. “The boys give me a hard time about it, but I’m right partial to poetry.”

“You are?”

He grinned. “Don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t, ma’am. I don’t suppose I look much like the poetry type nor sound like one either.”

No, he didn’t, but she’d already been careless with her words. She wouldn’t be so again. “Who do you like to read?”

“Whatever I can find. I like Shakespeare’s sonnets. Henry David Thoreau. John Milton. I memorized a couple of his poems this summer.”

“Can you say one for me? I love poetry too.”

“Reckon I could give it a try.” His grin widened. “I might get a bit nervous. Never quoted a poem to a lady before.” His cheeks became flushed, something else she wouldn’t have expected from him.

“Would it help if I didn’t look at you?” she offered.

“I imagine it would help some.”

She turned away from him, once more looking toward the group of children eating their picnic lunch in the shade of the church. “All right. I’m listening.”

“It’s called ‘On His Blindness’.” Oscar cleared his throat. “When I consider how my light is spent / ‘Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide, / Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker, and present / My true account, lest He returning chide …” He paused to clear his throat a second time.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined to hear such words coming from a cowpoke who spent his days on horseback and was better acquainted with cows and rabbits, coyotes and ground squirrels. And that he was quoting the John Milton poem so well, here in this public place, amazed her even more.