Gingham Mountain (19 page)

Hannah turned and rushed inside—which was completely different than running away.

Feeling pure envy, Grant watched that pest Hannah run away.

Sure, she was running from him, but she had the extra treat of getting far away from Shirt Lady. Grant wanted to run himself. If he could only dislodge the woman’s fingernails. He gave a second of thanks to God that he was wearing a coat or she’d leave scars.

Her grip reminded him of last Saturday when he’d had to practically fight her off to get Charlie and Libby. It also reminded him of his bucket of eggs and the impression he’d had of someone lurking around his wagon that night. His chickens were doing well, and he’d planned to do some trading in the general store. He didn’t think much about the eggs. But the bucket hadn’t turned up along the trail, so they hadn’t fallen out of his wagon. Right now he’d rather be talking with an egg thief than dealing with this woman and her fingernails.

He endured Shirt Lady’s brainless chatter for as long as he could, worrying about getting home to Josh and thinking about what a nuisance Hannah was and how nice it was that she’d brought her little nuisance self out to watch his children today. Now the young’uns were home alone while Grant stood here trying to be polite to a woman whose name he’d made a deliberate effort to not learn. All he knew was the lady was always and forever talking about making him a new shirt.

Grant glanced down, remembering he’d torn to shreds his best shirt to make bandages for Josh. That now-destroyed shirt was little better than a rag before he’d taken it straight off his back but a lot better than the one he now wore.

The woman finally took a breath, and Grant near to knocked her over taking possession of his arm. He thought she might have left scratch marks, even through his buckskin coat.

“I’ve left the young’uns alone too long.” He vaulted onto the wagon seat. It occurred to him that Shirt Lady hadn’t come out to check on
things today. Half the folks in town had come. They’d offered food, their strength, their support, their prayers. Shirt Lady hadn’t so much as asked after Josh, even now. No possible way she could have missed what happened with all the effort Ian and Will had made to put the word out Josh had amnesia. Any decent person would now ask which boy was hurt and inquired after his health. She just hadn’t cared.

He saw that same sour expression on her face that had been there before when he’d talked about his children. She looked up at him on the high seat. “But Grant, what about coming over?”

“I’ve got to get home.” Why would she even want to pass a moment of her time with him if she didn’t like children? It just didn’t stand to reason. It was on Grant’s tongue to say something mannerly about “another time,” but he feared if he started talking something rude might come out. The best he could manage was, “Evenin’, Miss. . . .” He jerked on the brim of his Stetson and slapped the reins on his horses’ backs so hard he owed the poor critters an apology. Well, too bad. They weren’t gettin’ one. Helping him escape was part of their job.

He saw Shirt Lady jump back. She dodged the wagon. Good, if he’d run over her toes he’d’ve had to stop and take her to the doctor.

Grant promptly dismissed What’s Her Name from his thoughts and quarreled inside his head with Hannah all the ride home.

Y
ou may close your books, children. Class dismissed for recess.” The children dashed out the door.

Hannah waited until the last one left, then buried her face in her hands and wept. She did her best to muffle the sound, but she couldn’t control the shuddering of her shoulders and the quiet, choking sobs. She gave herself up to it completely, knowing these tears would just have to run their course. She’d be fully recovered by the time her students came back.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jerked her head up, mortified. Marilyn looked down at her with a kind smile.

Hannah had a split second to wonder if this particular student was older than she. Then she took another split second to wonder just how old either of them was. Chances were no one really knew.

“Don’t cry, Miss Cartwright. You should be happy. You’re a wonderful teacher.”

Hannah really needed to cry for just a few minutes, but with Marilyn watching, she got a grip on herself. Her shoulders stopped quivering. She sniffed and blew her nose with the handkerchief she clutched in her hands. She wiped her eyes and struggled with the last few tears. Her lower lip trembled. “You should be outside playing.”

With a smile, Marilyn said, “I’ll leave in just a minute.”

The stern look Hannah tried to muster was ruined by the hiccups.
At last she managed a weak smile. “It’s really going well, isn’t it?”

“You know pride is a sin, Miss Cartwright.” Marilyn straightened and showed no sign of leaving.

Since she was caught anyway, Hannah decided she was glad for the company to interrupt her foolish tears of joy. She dabbed at her eyes. “And why do you mention pride?”

“Because you’re so proud of yourself for the way things went this morning.” Marilyn’s smiled broadened, her blue eyes flashing with pleasure as she gently teased. “I don’t think it’s a sin for
me
to be proud of you, though.”

“Are you proud of me?” Hannah leaned forward. “Did it go as well as I think?”

Marilyn nodded. “I’ve just come to live with Grant recently. Before that, well, there was never much time for schooling, but I did manage to do some learning. I think you have a rare gift for working with children. I’d say you’ve done it before a lot, haven’t you.”

“I’ve never taught a school before. This is my first time.”

“There are other ways to work with children, other ways to teach besides in front of a classroom.” Marilyn sighed. “I’ve done some teaching myself in the orphanage where I lived before I ran off.”

Needing to get on with preparing for the rest of the morning classes, Hannah said, “You’d better go on out. Charlie isn’t one to let anyone push him around. Maybe you can keep the peace.”

“I’ll go. I just thought you looked a little wobbly, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I am now. I’ll come out and watch recess in just a minute.”

“No hurry.” Marilyn pulled a sandwich wrapped in a square of fabric out of her coat pocket. “Pa sent way too much food with us today. He must have packed it thinking Joshua was still going to school. Sadie and I pack the lunches, but he came in after chores and threw a few more things in. I can’t possibly eat three sandwiches, two apples, and six cookies. I don’t want Pa to feel bad if I don’t finish it though.” Marilyn
laid the sandwich on Hannah’s desk.

Hannah felt her stomach growl. She’d had no breakfast. She wouldn’t have money to eat until her first pay came. It frightened her when she dared to think of it, because that might be a month away. The only food she’d had since she arrived at Sour Springs had come from eating at Grant’s. But Hannah would never take food out of a child’s mouth. And Marilyn was thin already. “Uh. . .I don’t think I should.”

“It’d help me out if you took it.”

Hannah realized that part of the reason she’d broken into tears was because she felt so shaky from hunger. Marilyn set the food on her desk, holding Hannah’s gaze. Hannah didn’t look at the sandwich because she was sure Marilyn would see hunger. Marilyn no doubt had plenty of experience with the feeling.

“Take it. There’s plenty more for me. I wouldn’t lie to you, Miss Cartwright.”

“Thank you.” Hannah noticed the faint trembling of her hand as she reached for the sandwich. “That’s really generous of you.”

“I can handle whatever trouble comes up outside. You should eat your lunch early. You’ll need the energy for class. You look like you skipped breakfast this morning.”

Hannah couldn’t even control her hunger long enough to let Marilyn leave the classroom. She bit into the hearty roast beef sandwich and chewed slowly to make it last. She didn’t know where her next meal might come from.

As soon as her hunger eased, Hannah reflected on the morning. She had worried that Grant’s children might be well behind others their ages, but all of them were quite well educated. The older girls, Marilyn and Sadie, stepped in so willingly and helped with the younger ones—all of them, not just their own brothers and sisters—Hannah nearly had two other teachers in the room.

Sadie had a voice that would stop a naughty little boy in his tracks. She must have had considerable practice making little brothers and
sisters mind. Hannah was distracted by envy every time Sadie verbally cracked the whip.

Marilyn had a comforting touch that made children turn to her like flowers turning toward the sun. If anyone cried, whether from hurt feelings or a scratch, Marilyn went to the child before Hannah could so much as move.

She had thirty-two students; many had to sit three to a desk so everybody would fit. But they shared with good spirits, listened when she taught, and studied quietly when she worked with others. She’d spent the morning quickly dividing them into classes and starting their lessons.

Learning was the important thing. If only she could educate them so they’d never be forced into mill work or, because of illiteracy, have no prospects of any jobs. She believed giving them an education could be the difference between life and death for some of them. It might be the difference between keeping their own children or sending them off to orphanages. With a kind of desperate urgency, Hannah taught them words and numbers to put them one step further from the awful fate that could await the uneducated.

The morning had gone wonderfully. Once her sandwich was finished, she went out and observed the playground. There was lots of running and shouting, but everything looked peaceful.

Emory Harrison, a first-grader in the same class as Benny, sidled over to Sadie and, wide-eyed with curiosity, asked, “Why do you have black skin?”

Hannah froze, afraid that this could bloom into trouble.

Sadie pointed to a big, dark freckle on Emory’s arm. “I’ve got that kinda skin all over.”

The boy stared at his arm a moment then nodded and went back to playing.

Hannah found an apple on her desk when she came in from watching the children during the noon recess. She found two cookies
after the afternoon recess. She knew Marilyn had left them, except once she caught a gleam in Sadie’s eyes that made her wonder about the apple. And Libby grinned at her impishly when Hannah asked about the cookies. No one would admit to leaving the food. Not knowing what to do, Hannah slipped the treats into her desk drawer for later.

The rest of the day went well, and Hannah went back to her cold room. There’d be no supper, but her stomach wasn’t painfully empty as she’d expected.

The sun set early in the Texas January, and with no time wasted preparing an evening meal, and no light from a lantern because she had no oil, she looked out the single narrow window overlooking Sour Springs. She saw again the window in the living quarters of Prudence’s sewing shop. And again she saw a second figure, just as she had on the night of the blizzard. Of course it wasn’t late. Anyone could have dropped by for a visit. Anyone. . .including Grant.

Even after such a brief acquaintance, Hannah had a hard time believing Grant would go out on a date the day after Joshua was so badly hurt.

The curtains were drawn, but they weren’t heavy enough to block out the pair of silhouettes. Hannah turned her back on the sight and on her roiling emotions.

H
annah got to school early the next morning. She had a complex arithmetic problem she needed to explain to her older students and she wanted to review.

Hannah was distracted from her studying when four ladies and two men, looking grim, stormed into the schoolhouse.

“Can I help you?” Hannah smiled, rising from behind her desk, but her stomach sank as she studied the somber crowd. She recognized Quincy Harrison from the interview for her job. The others were familiar faces from around town, but she didn’t know them by name.

The six people approached her desk and stood without speaking for a moment, until one particularly sour-faced woman poked the man beside her. “Get on with it, Quincy.”

Hannah braced herself.

Quincy looked uncomfortable, but he stepped forward. “We need to discuss the trouble here at school yesterday. We’re concerned that the children won’t be able to learn in these conditions.”

Mystified, Hannah asked, “What trouble? The children all worked hard, and they seemed—each one of them—bright and eager to learn.”

“Of course they’re bright,” the woman who’d poked Quincy said. “Did you expect our children to be stupid?”

Another woman interrupted, “Let Quincy speak for us, Gladys. We agreed.”

Hannah opened her mouth to apologize. Of course she hadn’t expected her students to be stupid, but caution kept her silent. Instead of talking she began to pray. She waited to hear what the problem really was, terribly afraid she knew already.

“It’s not that our children didn’t learn.” Quincy looked from his toes to Hannah and back. “It’s just. . .we don’t like the idea of them uh. . .uh. . .”