Softly Falling (9 page)

“Reading, writing, and ciphers,” she said, and permitted herself a little joke. “Why, I could probably even teach you how to read; that is, if you needed such instruction. Lead on, sir.”

The Buxtons’ dwelling was a true house, with clapboard siding, a marvelous porch with a swing, and gangly zinnias leading up the boardwalk to the door. The summer wind had exhausted the zinnias, but at least they weren’t lying down in abject submission.
It takes a strong flower to survive this territory
, Lily thought. Maybe it was true of people too. Jack Sinclair didn’t look like a man with any soft connective tissue anywhere.

Lily willed herself a little taller, secure in the knowledge that her shirtwaist and skirt were well-tailored and impeccable. Uncle Niles had never skimped on her clothing allowance, although she suspected that long cotton undergarments might be more useful than her silky things.

As she walked up the step, her skirt chinked on the tread. She stopped. “See there, Jack? I took you at your word and added your lead weights to my hems.”

“I am accustomed around here to having people do what I say,” he replied. “Let me know if you need any more.” He leaned toward her. “Ready?”

She nodded, and Jack knocked. The door was answered by a gentleman even more impeccable than she. From his dark tie and black suit to his general demeanor and bearing, she knew this man as surely as if they had met in Gloucestershire. The Buxtons had a butler.

She glanced at Jack, who was smiling at her. “Now maybe you won’t be homesick,” he whispered rather too close to her ear for total comfort, although she did like the sensation of his breath on her ear.

“Do come in, madam,” the butler said. “I am Fothering and you are welcome to the Buxtons’ humble home.”

Perhaps it might have been humble in a city, but on the Bar Dot, the house stood out like a gardenia among pokeweed. The Turkish carpet was almost too much, but it did go well with the heavy dark furniture—mahogany?—and the handsome windows with stained glass in the upper panes.

“This is Miss Lily Carteret, daughter of our very own Clarence,” Jack told the butler, who nodded with almost exquisite dignity. “She’s from . . .”

“Bristol, Gloucestershire,” Lily said.

“You ah doubly welcome, m’deah,” he said. “I shall see if Mrs. Buxton is available and receiving callers. Do have a seat”—he glanced at the foreman—“if there isn’t any ordure on your boots.” He executed a smart turn and left them in the sitting room.

“ ‘Ordure,’ ” Jack repeated. “I have been put in my place. It happens every time I come in here. I had to ask Preacher what ordure was. Don’t know why Fluttering—”

“Fothering,” she interrupted, trying not to smile.

“—couldn’t just have said sh . . .” He paused. “Beg pardon.”

Beyond a mere smile now, Lily mustered all her good manners to keep from disgracing herself with a laugh that welled up from some deep, unknown cavity. She struggled to contain herself, thinking of dark looks from her uncle and shocked looks from everyone at Miss Tilton’s School, if they ever found out.

Jack Sinclair helped not at all. “You know, it’s not a crime to laugh in Wyoming.”

Ah, there. The moment had passed. “You do try me,” she said. She almost made some comment about Fothering’s somewhat unusual British Isles accent, like none she had ever heard before, but it probably wasn’t her business.

The butler returned a few minutes later. “Mrs. Buxton will see you now,” he said in perfect tones to any ears but hers. He indicated the stairs.

“We won’t tax her,” Jack said as he started for the stairs that divided the downstairs rooms. “Up you go, Lily.”

He returned her questioning glance with a brief, whispered comment. “Mrs. Buxton doesn’t get downstairs too often. She’s a delicate thing.”

And so she was. After a tap on the door, Jack opened it for Lily. He gave her a little push in the small of her back when she just stood there.

Mrs. Buxton reclined in her bed, propped up by several pillows. She wore a crocheted bed jacket with blue ribbon intertwined. She looked to Lily like the bloom of health, with a delicate complexion tinged a faint blush. Her eyes were lively and she held out her hand.

“Come closer!” she said in a voice with nothing fading away about it. “So you are our Clarence’s little daughter.”

Lily couldn’t help herself. “I’ve never been guilty of being little,” she said, “but, yes, I am Lily Carteret. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Mrs. Buxton let her hands flutter to her heart as she rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “You sound even more English than my butler, and goodness knows he is all that is proper.” She waved toward a corner of the room. “Come here, Luella, and make yourself known.”

Lily looked toward the gesture and saw a young child with a book in her lap. They eyed each other: Lily with interest, wondering if she was the age of the Sansever girls, and Luella with something more guarded. She was dressed plainly in dark cotton with a lacy pinafore that buttoned up the front with mother of pearl buttons. Her hair was braided and pulled back so tight that Lily nearly winced for her. She was tidy and everything the little Métis girls were not. “I am delighted to meet you too,” Lily said, extending her hand, which was ignored. Lily put her hands behind her back, remembering her teachers’ “mustn’t touch” rule when the class had made a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

She felt a finger in the small of her back again and another gentle push forward, plus a whisper from Jack, “You have a plan.”

She moved forward until Mrs. Buxton indicated a stool beside the bed. Jack moved away to sit in the window seat. Lily wished for one moment that he stood closer to her, but this was her plan.

“Lily Carteret? What a lovely name. May I call you Lily?”

“Certainly.”

“And you may call me Mrs. Buxton.”

I’ve been put into my place
, Lily thought with amusement.
Better get to it
. She cleared her throat. “I’m delighted to be here in Wyoming Territory,” she began, and Mrs. Buxton cut her off with a hand chop.

“No one is delighted to be in Wyoming Territory,” the woman said with that sort of assertiveness that dared anyone to disagree. Lily heard something else: a brittle, nervous quality that made her wonder. “Wyoming is either hot or cold and always windy. The rain falls sideways, and everything smells of cow.”

Lily shrugged. “I’m happy enough with Wyoming. Perhaps not delighted, so I stand corrected, Mrs. Buxton.”

That felt like the right touch, sufficiently apologetic without sounding subservient, something she never intended to be again.

“I have a plan,” Lily said. “Mr. Sinclair showed me that little schoolhouse that you built. I propose to teach whatever children around here might be interested. It will be the fundamentals of reading, writing, and ciphering.”
Mainly because that is all I think I can manage
, she thought,
but you don’t need to know that
.

“Are you an educationist?”

Lily shook her head. “I see a need, though, and believe I can fill it.”

She glanced at Jack and was rewarded with a nod.

“I propose to teach Luella, if you are interested, and the Sansever children. I will do it for twenty-five dollars a month.”

Mrs. Buxton leaned back against her pillows, still the picture of health. Her eyes narrowed, which Lily did not take as a good sign.

“Are you implying that Luella doesn’t know the rudiments?” she asked in an awful tone of voice.

Mercy, she is as unpleasant as my uncle
, Lily thought, startled.
But here I am, and here I will remain if Papa stays, and I haven’t another plan
.

Might as well return cool with cool. “I would imagine Luella knows great deal more than the Sansever children. Think what a good example she would be.” There, that sounded firm enough.

Mrs. Buxton’s expression became more thoughtful. “I have a better plan: I will pay you forty dollars a month to teach Luella alone. I’d rather she didn’t mingle with mixed blood children.”

“It’s not their fault, and the girls want to learn to read. I am afraid I will have to decline your generous offer to teach Luella alone.”

Forty dollars a month, and she had just turned it down. Forty times nine months was three hundred and sixty dollars. It was enough to blast her out of the territory, it was true, but she had nowhere to go, so why did it matter?

“We are at an impasse,” Mrs. Buxton said with some satisfaction. She appeared to be a woman used to having her way.

“Not really,” Lily said cheerfully, starting to rise. “I have declined your offer, but I can probably teach the Sansevers for my own enjoyment. Once the men clear out of the dining hall, there is plenty of room.” She glanced at Jack, who was pulling a long face as he tried to keep from laughing.

“It was grand to meet you, Mrs. Buxton.” Lily stood up and held out her hand. “I do hope you feel better soon. Luella, so nice to meet you.”

Apparently Mrs. Buxton didn’t shake hands when she was displeased. Lily had started for the door when Mrs. Buxton called her back. A sidelong look at Jack showed one raised eyebrow, so she turned around.

“If I paid you twenty dollars a month, you could have the use of the schoolhouse and teach my daughter and the little mixed bloods. There is a condition: Luella does not sit near them.” Mrs. Buxton paused a moment before delivering her final barb. “Surely you, of all people, must know what it feels like to be separated because of your condition in life.”

The words stung and Lily took an involuntary step backward, only to be met with a hand at her back, pushing her forward again. It was the foreman’s whole hand this time, and it was a soft touch. She swallowed down the hurt she thought she had left behind in England.

“Twenty-five, and you have my word that everyone—everyone—will learn a great deal and be a credit to you in the community.”

“Done. I will not pay a penny until the spring.” Mrs. Buxton looked Lily in the eyes, triumphant. “When does this school begin?”

“As soon as the boys and I can swamp it out, Mrs. Buxton,” Jack said. “Give us a few days. Next Monday, Lily?”

She nodded, wanting nothing more right now than to leave this room. Mrs. Buxton’s chief ailment seemed to be a crabbed and disagreeable disposition, and Lily hoped it wasn’t catching. No, there was something else about the woman. What, she could not tell.

“My dear Lily, what do you propose to use for your course of study?” Mrs. Buxton seemed determined to catch her out and make her feel small.

“I plan to use whatever I can find around the Bar Dot, from whomever wishes to share. If you have any primers or . . .”

“Those are only for Luella.”

“Very well. We’ll manage. Good day.”

She started for the door again, which looked half a pasture away. She scrunched her eyes shut when Mrs. Buxton cleared her throat again.
I will not turn around again
, she thought, desperate to leave the room.

“In your spare time, see what you can do about your disgrace of a father. I have told Mr. Buxton over and over to sack him, but still he remains. Do something.”

Since the only words that came to her mind would have resulted in the loss of the job that had only been hers for five minutes, Lily said nothing. His face a perfect blank, Jack opened the door for her and closed it with a distinct click. It was the only recourse of the powerless, and something she remembered quite vividly from Bristol.

Back straight, Lily started down the stairs but sank onto a tread when her legs gave way. Jack sat beside her, their shoulders touching.

“What a horrid woman,” she whispered when words formed again in her brain. “I trust she has nothing to do with the running of the place.”

“Not a thing. I take my orders from Mr. Buxton, some of which I ignore, because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.” He looked back up the stairs. “I’m not sure why she stays in bed all the time, but I’m grateful.”

“I, too! Do you think there are any books on the place?”

“We’ll find everything here you need. We’re ramshackle, but we might surprise you.”

C
HAPTER
9

L
ily looked down the stairs to see Fothering, his expression unblinking, the perfect butler. Maybe everyone collapsed on the stairs after a session with Mrs. Buxton.

“Could you two use a hand?” he asked so politely.

If anything, he was a diversion. Lily found herself wondering just where in the British Isles he could have sprung from. He was everything a butler should be, but oh, that accent. Maybe Jack could tell her later. Now she just wanted to get out of this house.

“Good thing she didn’t order me out the back door,” she muttered to Jack.

“She probably would have, but the shock of having someone deny her put her off her feed, I think,” he told her. “We can leave by the front door.”

Jack pointed to the closed door at the foot of the stairs. “That’s the office. Shall we see if your father is at work?”

“Why not?” she said with a sigh. “It’s already been a trying day, and it’s only . . .” She glanced down at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist. “Eight o’clock.”