Paradise Falls (3 page)

Soothed, Fiona swallowed back her fear, and vowed to write the grandest adventure of them all.

T
hin morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees lining the railroad tracks, creating a kaleidoscope against Fiona’s lids. She opened her eyes, fighting a feeling of complete disorientation, before she realized where she was. The train was slowing. She peered out the window but could see nothing except forest.

“Paradise Falls,” came the conductor’s voice.

Knowing first impressions were important, Fiona reached into her valise and withdrew stiff new boots and a bonnet. It wouldn’t do to meet her hosts looking weary from her travels. She set aside her everyday boots and slipped her feet into the shiny new ones. After stuffing her old boots into her valise, she pulled on the bonnet, tucking little wisps of hair up under her brim. She smoothed down her skirts before picking up her valise.

As soon as the train came to a shuddering halt she followed the old man and his grandson down the length of the car and accepted the conductor’s hand as she stepped from the train.

The station was little more than a crude shed. Inside a bearded man was seated at a wooden desk, marking in a ledger. When the conductor, assisted by one of the coal-stokers, dropped Fiona’s trunk with a thud, the station master looked up in surprise.

“Sorry, Edwin. You should’ve told me. I’d have given you a hand with that. Looks heavy.” He glanced toward Fiona. “Don’t get many visitors to Paradise Falls.” His words were delivered in clipped tones, with a thick accent Fiona didn’t recognize. He carefully set down his pencil and stepped around the desk.

Fiona extended her hand. “My name is Fiona Downey.”

“The schoolmistress?” The man couldn’t hide his surprise as he looked her over. “Didn’t know you’d be coming in today. Neither did the Haydn family, I’ll wager.”.

Her heart sank. That would mean there was no one here to greet her.

“Fine people, the Haydns. You won’t find anyone better in Paradise Falls.” The stationmaster looked pointedly at her trunk. “Don’t think you’d care to haul that all the way to the Haydn farm. Just leave it here until someone’s heading that way. I’ll see they deliver it.”

“Thank you. How will I find the Haydn farm?”

He stepped to the door and pointed. “Just follow that road up the hill and around a couple of bends. It’ll be the sixth farm you come to. No more’n a half-dozen miles, I figure.”

Six miles.
She saw the conductor step aboard the train, and gave serious consideration to following him. Then her sanity returned and she managed to smile at the station manager. “Thank you. I don’t know your name.”

“Gerhardt Shultz.”

“Mr. Shultz, do you think I might leave my valise here with my trunk?”

“Yes, indeed.” He took it from her hand.

“Thank you.” She turned away and walked out of the little shed into blinding sunlight.

Squaring her shoulders, she started up the dirt path, wondering what had happened to the old man and little boy who had shared her train ride. In the excitement of retrieving her trunk and getting directions to her destination, she had lost track of them. Seeing no one on the trail ahead of her, she decided they must have been picked up by family.

Family.

The very word brought a heaviness to her heart, and she had to fight the tears that threatened. She’d once been part of a family. Now she felt like the loneliest person in the world.

“Oh, Da.” Her words came tumbling out in a cry of anguish. “How I wish you could be here with me.”

She shivered as a breeze whispered across her cheek, tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet, just the way, her father often had.

Though her doubts remained, a little of her fears seemed to subside.

As she passed the first squalid farm, and studied the leaning outbuildings and meager crops in the fields, the thought of her grand adventure mocked her. Grand indeed. This seemed to be the sort of grinding poverty her parents had endured, before coming to America. It would seem that she’d traded one set of problems for another. Perhaps she should have gone to Chicago with her mother. Even if the only work she found would be cleaning other people’s homes, at least she and her mother could be together.

Here she was, nothing more than a fool, trapped in a web of her own making. Now there was nothing to do but endure it as best she could, and hope that by year’s end she had enough money saved to leave this dreary place and make a home with her mother any place but Paradise Falls.

“Was this what drove you from Ireland, Da?”

The sound of her own voice startled her and she walked faster. The sun was now high overhead, sending little rivers of sweat down her back. Her boots were stiff and she thought about sitting on a boulder and removing them. But what would her hosts think if the schoolteacher should arrive barefoot?

Her hair beneath the bonnet grew damp. After half an hour she’d tossed her hat back from her head, leaving it bouncing against her back, secured by the ribbons at her throat. She was so grateful for the breeze she gave not a thought to the havoc it might be playing with her hair, which tended to curl into little corkscrews in the heat.

The second farm she passed was no better than the first, though the house seemed pretty enough, with sunflowers growing by the porch. By the time she’d passed the third farm the road grew steep, climbing through heavily wooded forest. Her gown was damp with sweat and her boots weighed her down with every step. The fields here seemed larger, each farm farther away from its neighbor, but, she reasoned, it might only seem that way because she was so desperately weary.

After passing yet another farm she paused under a tree and removed her boots, carrying one in each hand. The hem of her gown swept the dust of the trail, though she no longer cared how dirty it got. All she wanted was to reach her destination and enjoy a sip of water.

As she moved doggedly forward, she was too tired to appreciate the symmetry of the fields she was passing. The soil here seemed richer, darker, but that might mean it had recently rained. When she spotted the name
Haydn
on the side of the barn up ahead, she thought she might weep with relief.

She sat down in the grass by the side of the road, determined to slip into her boots and smooth her hair before meeting her hosts. But before she could even begin to repair the damage of her long walk, she caught sight of a horse and wagon coming up over a rise.

When the driver spotted her he pulled back on the reins and sat staring at her with a look of complete surprise.

“Hello.” She got to her feet, unaware that she was still holding a boot in each hand.

“Hello, yourself.” With sunlight streaming over him, he looked like a drawing from one of her da’s books on mythology. His hair glinted with gold highlights. His skin, too, was bronzed by the sun, while his eyes were palest blue, like the sky in early morning, before the sunlight warmed it. “Are you lost?”

She was so dazzled by the look of him, it took her a moment to answer. She shook her head. “It seems I’ve found what I was looking for. The Haydn farm.”

“Why are you looking for the Haydn farm?”

“I’ll be living there while I teach school.”

“You’re the new teacher?” He laughed then, a loud, joyous sound that had her smiling in spite of her weariness. “Oh, this is going to be great fun.”

“Fun?”

He nodded and jumped down. “The fun will begin when Ma sees you.” He offered his hand. “I’m Fleming Haydn. My friends call me Flem.”

“Flem.” She stuck out her hand, then seeing the boot dangling from her fingers, laughed and dropped it before accepting his handshake. “My name is Fiona Downey.”

He lifted her boot out of the dirt and handed it back to her. “Are you going to wear these, Fiona Downey, or carry them?”

She blushed slightly before plopping down in the grass.

“I think I’d better wear them. I don’t want to meet your family looking like this.”

“I don’t see why not.” He knelt beside her, his smile widening. “I think you look positively delightful. Not at all like a schoolmarm.”

She ducked her head and finished lacing her boots before getting to her feet and brushing off her skirts.

“Come on. I’ll take you up to the house.” Flem climbed up to the wagon seat and reached down to help her up beside him.

It seemed to Fiona that he kept her hand tucked in his a bit longer than was necessary before releasing her and flicking the reins. But his boyish smile put her at ease.

As the horse started forward he glanced over to see her furiously shoving her hair beneath her bonnet. “It won’t help, you know.”

“What won’t?” She looked over at him.

“Trying to make yourself presentable.”

“Why not?”

He gave a deep chuckle. “My ma expected you to be like our last teacher. Her name was Hilda Hornby. She taught in Paradise Falls for more than twenty years before going to her eternal reward. That was three years ago.”

Fiona clapped a hand to her mouth. “You mean the children haven’t been to school in three years?”

He nodded. “But that’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

“Miss Hornby was a spinster, with crooked teeth, thick spectacles, and a face that would have stopped a plow-horse at twenty paces. What’s more, she never bought a new dress in all the years she lived here. Ma claimed that she used to sew her dresses from feed sacks, but I swear she was born in that shapeless gray rag she wore every day of her life.” He gave Fiona a long, appraising look that brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. “When my ma offered to put up the town teacher, she was expecting someone like Miss Hornby to keep her company.”

“I didn’t mean to deceive her...”

He threw back his head and roared. “I didn’t say you did. Besides, if you had two heads and breathed fire, Ma would still have offered you board.”

“She must be a very kind—”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it. The school board pays ten dollars a month to anyone willing to provide room and board to a teacher. If there’s one thing my mother knows, it’s how to squeeze a dollar from a lump of sand.” He reined in the horse and helped Fiona down, then led the way to the backdoor.

Inside a woman looked up from the table where she was rolling dough. Despite the heat of the day, gray hair was slicked back from her face and secured in a perfect knot at her nape. She wore a faded blue gown, and over it an apron of bleached muslin that was dusted with flour.

“Ma.” Flem was grinning as though enjoying himself immensely. “Look who just arrived. It’s the new schoolteacher, Fiona Downey.”

The woman’s smile faded. She took considerable time studying Fiona through narrowed eyes as she crossed the room.

Positioning himself so that his mother couldn’t see, Flem winked at Fiona. “This is my mother, Ulrica Rose Haydn.”

“You know I hate the name Ulrica, Fleming. I had an aunt by that name, and she was my least favorite.” Rose ignored Fiona’s outstretched hand while she meticulously dried her hands on her apron. “We weren’t expecting you until next week, when school starts, Miss Downey.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Haydn. I thought you would have received my letter of introduction by now.”

“There’s been no letter.” Rose’s tone was accusing.

Fiona flushed. “I mailed it almost two weeks ago.”

“There is no regular mail delivery in Paradise Falls. If someone wants to contact us, they usually send a message with the conductor of the train.”

“I see.” Fiona glanced at the table, set for four, and wondered how much longer she could stand without keeling over. Whether from hunger or exhaustion, her legs were threatening to betray her. The kitchen smelled of yeast and baking bread and all manner of wonderful spices that had her mouth watering. “If I could trouble you for a glass of water.”

Rose turned away and pointed to a bucket in the corner of the kitchen. “There’s a dipper. Help yourself.”

Fiona crossed the room and lifted the dipper to her lips, drinking deeply. When she looked up, Rose had returned her attention to the dough, rolling, kneading, pounding, then flipping it over to roll and knead again. She seemed to be taking great pleasure in pounding the lump of dough.

Without missing a beat she called, “Fleming, show the teacher where she’ll be staying.”

“This way.” He led Fiona through the parlor to what appeared to be an enclosed sunporch across the front end of the house. It had been made into a bedroom with the addition of a daybed, a scarred wooden chest, a desk and chair. Over the windows, sheets had been strung along wooden poles and tied back on either side. When untied, they would afford privacy.

“I’ll fetch you a basin of water.” Flem was still grinning when he walked away, as though enjoying a private joke.

Minutes later he returned with a basin and pitcher, which he set on top of the wooden chest. “Ma says to clean up for supper. As soon as Gray gets here, we’ll eat.”

“Gray...?”

“My brother.” He nodded toward the approaching horse and wagon that could be seen through the windows. “That’s him now. I think I’ll go wash up, before he sees me. Otherwise, he’s bound to find some work he wants done.”

Flem ambled away, leaving Fiona to stare at the man who leaped down from the wagon and wrestled her trunk from the back and up the steps. Behind him raced the biggest hound she’d ever seen. It was nearly as tall as a colt, its shaggy coat the color of caramel.

She hurried to open the door to the sunporch.

The man was so tall, Fiona had to tilt her head back to see his face. Unlike Flem, his hair was black as coal and his eyes, though blue, more nearly resembled the sky at midnight. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. His pants and shirt were streaked with dirt and damp with sweat.

He paused on the threshold and simply stared at her. “You’d be the teacher.”

She stepped aside. “You’ll want to put that down. I know it’s heavy.”

“Not so heavy.” He set it in a corner, then turned to see the hound sniffing at her feet. “You know better than to come in here, Chester.”

Fiona knelt down and touched a hand to the hound’s head. “Hello, Chester.” She looked up. “Why can’t he come in here?”