The Revenant (21 page)

Chapter 30

T
HE DAYS DRAGGED ON
, clumping into weeks and then months. I heard nothing from the seminary. Nothing from Eli. The hours were filled with planting and weeding, spring cleaning and diaper changing. Beasts needed feeding, watering, and milking. Fences required mending and berries were ripe for picking. Three times a day dishes piled up in the sink for me to wash. At night, I rubbed cream into hands turned rough and callused. In the morning, I stared in the mirror at a face browned from too much sun. My body grew strong and lean, but I feared my mind was turning to mush.

For all my torments at the seminary, I missed my time in the classroom. It seemed ages since I’d discussed a work of literature, or even read a book. I was simply too tired at night to peer at the pages by candlelight. I could barely make it through supper without wishing to put my head down on the table to sleep.

There was no improving the situation through playacting. One did not “perform” the roles of farmhand and household drudge. One simply worked all day and dropped wearily into bed each night. Sundays offered a bit of variety, with church in the morning and quiet sewing in the afternoon, but overall I couldn’t escape the feeling that life had become something to endure rather than enjoy.

One day, when the afternoon heat became too intense for outdoor work, Mother asked me to stay inside with the boys. I pouted childishly; it would have been much more pleasant to sit in the breezy loft of the barn. But when she brought a package wrapped in brown paper to the parlor and asked me to take a seat on the lumpy horsehair sofa, I felt a prickle of curiosity. She directed Freddy and Hal to sit quietly on either side of me. The boys’ eyes were huge as she placed the heavy package in my lap.

“Gabriel found this in town,” Mother said softly. “He thought it might be good for the twins.”

The boys leaned in, their shoulders pressing against my arms as I untied the string and pulled the paper open. Inside was a wood board covered in the letters of the alphabet. For a moment my heart froze. Had that fool Toomey purchased a
talking board
for his own children? But, no, it was a spelling board, crafted with slots through which one could move letter blocks around to form words. The board was painted a cheerful yellow and embellished with fanciful designs. The letter blocks were round and bright red. Freddy reached out to touch one of the blocks, then hesitated. He looked up at Mother, who smiled.

“It’s all right, Freddy,” she said. “The blocks are meant to be touched.” Her gaze turned to me. “They need to spend more time learning their letters. Gabriel thought this very clever for even the roughest of boys—the letters move along the grooves without coming out, so they won’t lose them.”

The twins were mesmerized, crowding closer so they could fiddle with the block letters. Freddy moved them one by one toward Hal, who chose his favorites and moved them into the inner groove. Together they pushed an assortment of letters into the center.

“A-R-B-M-D-S,”
spelled Hal, pointing to each letter as he said it. Then he looked up at me. “What does that spell?”

“That’s not actually a word,” I said with a laugh. “Why don’t we begin with your names? Hal, what letter does your name start with?”

And so Mother left us to it. I’d thought the boys terribly ignorant, and before that day would have doubted they could sit still for more than a minute without a kitten in their arms, but the spelling board enchanted them. They were so excited to get their hands on the letters they practically climbed into my lap, and to my surprise this did not annoy me. When they clung to my arms, smelling of grass and sunshine, I felt a pleasant pang in my heart. They were so trusting, even after I’d been nasty to them. And their laughter bubbled so freely, as though deep reserves of joy surged within them, refusing to be contained.

A shadow in the doorway caught my attention. I looked up to find Toomey leaning against the doorframe with Christabel in his arms. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes shifted from the boys to me, and the smile faded. He stepped back as though to retreat, but for some reason—I suppose the boys’ cheerfulness infected me that day—I smiled and waved him in.

Freddy looked up and wriggled like a puppy. “Papa! Look what we got!”

“We’re learnin’ our words,” said Hal, sitting up straight and manly.

I glanced back at Toomey, then pulled the boys close. “Show your papa how you spell your names,” I whispered.

Practically before I could finish the sentence, they had leapt off the sofa, each clutching the spelling board with one hand and crying for Toomey to sit down with them. I stood and took Christabel from his arms, nuzzling her plump cheeks until she giggled. Smiling sheepishly, Toomey settled his bulk into the old wingback chair, moaning in mock torment as the twins climbed into his lap. Each tugged on the spelling board as they argued over which name they would spell first.

“You two settle down.” Toomey growled the words like a bear, making the boys giggle.

I stood awkwardly for a moment. I could have taken Christabel from the room, claiming we both needed fresh air. But when I watched the boys cuddle up to their father, concentrating on the board in an obvious effort to impress him, I had no desire to walk away.

So I took a seat and settled my baby sister on my knee. She gurgled happily.

Though he did not raise his head, Toomey’s smile broadened.

• • •

And thus I became a teacher again. Though it was nothing like the seminary, teaching the boys to read proved challenging enough. With the use of the spelling board and an old slate of mine, I taught them new words every day. Before long, they were able to sound out short sentences on the slate. At that point, it seemed time for them to learn how to write as well as recognize the letters of the alphabet.

We continued our lessons each afternoon. When the boys were especially attentive during the week, I was allowed to hitch the old horse to the wagon and drive them into town on Saturdays to buy sweets at the general store.

On a Saturday in late July, we made such a trip after a week of good progress in printing the alphabet. I stood to the side as the boys inspected all the candies and made their selections, then herded them out and toward the post office to pick up any mail. Occasionally, there was a seed catalog held for Toomey or a letter from my mother’s cousin in Ohio. I never took anything thrilling away from the post office, but it was nice to walk in and be treated like a grown lady.

That day, however, the clerk handed over a packet addressed to me. The postmark, clearly stamped, was from Tahlequah, and I knew the address to be written in Miss Crenshaw’s hand. My pulse quickened as I mentally weighed the thick packet. Shaking it did nothing to tell me what might be inside.

I was distracted for the rest of the day, ignoring the boys and holding the reins slack in my hand as the old horse made its own way home. As soon as we were back in the house, I climbed the stairs to my room and slipped the packet under my pillow. I would wait until bedtime to read it, for I didn’t want anyone looking over my shoulder.

During supper, Mother narrowed her eyes at the unfinished food on my plate. “Are you taking ill, Willie?”

“Just a little tired,” I said, though my brain was quite lively with wondering. “I think I’ll turn in after the dishes are done.”

When finally alone, I set the kerosene lamp on the floor and sat down with the packet. After studying it for a moment, I sliced the edge with a knife and dumped out the contents. Dozens of folded pieces of paper spilled onto the braided rug. I pushed them aside and reached for the unfolded sheet covered in Miss Crenshaw’s crabbed writing. My hand shook as I read.

Dear Miss Hammond
,

I hope this letter finds you in good health
.

The new term commences in two weeks, and thus I write during this brief lull before the girls begin arriving and the school reverts to pandemonium
.

I know we did not part well, but I think of you often. How could I not, when the girls asked after you almost daily? I must confess that I have withheld the truth from them. I’ve told the students that your family suffered a tragedy and you were required to return home at once. Fannie Bell knows the truth, and I did explain to Miss Adair, for she was very concerned for you, but they both have agreed not to divulge your secret to the rest of the students and faculty
.

No doubt you think I’m perpetuating your deceit in order to preserve the reputation of the school. That indeed is a large part of it. But I also felt moved to protect you because of what you accomplished at the seminary. Yes, you struggled with discipline and only finished your marking under duress, but you also managed to convey your passion for literature to the students. And you guided them in putting on the best spring play we’ve ever seen at the seminary—I still hear about it from the girls’ families, and even from people in town. You left a deep and positive impression on the students, as you will see when you read the notes I have enclosed
.

As much as it would please the girls, I could never invite you back to teach at the seminary. In all conscience, I could not even provide a reference for you to teach at another school. But, Miss Hammond, I will provide one if you decide to return to school to obtain a teaching certificate. I strongly urge that you consider this. With the proper training and, shall we say, “seasoning,” you could make a very fine teacher indeed
.

Sincerely
,             
Harriet Crenshaw

I sat back and took a deep breath, eyes burning with tears. I’d known I would never see the seminary again. There could be no going back after all my deceits.
I knew that
. Still, it hurt to read it confirmed in Miss Crenshaw’s own hand. No matter what kind things she wrote, no matter how she offered to help, the fact remained that she’d never have me back. I laughed even as my heart ached. How I’d resented that place at times! How strange to long for it now.

The younger students wrote breezy missives that spoke some on how they missed me, but mostly of what they remembered best about our class. Of the senior notes, Lucy’s was the longest, dealing almost entirely with her horror at what the doctor had done to Ella and Cale. Alice wrote to thank me for pushing her to perform as Rosalind despite her panic. Lelia wrote briefly and very politely about how strange it was to have Miss Taylor teach both English and domestic science for the remainder of the term. Lelia never was a very sentimental girl.

All the seniors but Fannie wrote to me. I didn’t resent her for this. She knew what she’d done and had already apologized in her own way. Her deceits and manipulations were no worse than my own, and I’d never apologized to
her
.

Olivia’s letter was short, but ended on a reassuring note:
I am certain you had reasons for your deception, and my only regret is that I won’t have you near me in the new term. Whatever lies you told, you were a good friend
.

I’d not had someone tell me I was a good friend since … before I went to the Athenaeum. And though Olivia was kind and friendly to everyone, I did believe she cared especially for me. I’d shared more of my private self with her than anyone else, and we’d endured much together. I certainly wouldn’t have survived at the seminary for so long without her.

It seemed unlikely I’d ever see her again, but I smiled at the thought of one day encountering her at a séance table. God only knew how I might find her; nevertheless, I could see it very plainly. Her face would be veiled and mysterious, but I would know her voice and the touch of her hand. I would trust the words that came from her mouth, because Olivia’s heart held no deceit.

I knew then what to write in my letter to her. I would share these very thoughts, finally expressing what I loved about her
—not
dwelling on what I hated about my own life.

There would be no word from Eli—I knew that too—but I still searched among the notes for a passing mention of him. Apparently, he had not asked about the mysterious “Miss Hammond,” and Miss Crenshaw had not deemed it prudent to explain to him. Had he been hurt that I left without saying a word? Had he made himself forget me?

I would never know.

Chapter 31

L
IFE BARELY TOOK A BREATH
before returning to its usual routine. There wasn’t time to mope and be wistful about the seminary. The vegetable garden and blackberry bushes were bearing at their peak, and thus Toomey and I had to spend every morning picking before the sun grew too hot.

We never spoke much when we worked together, but this no longer bothered me. Strangely enough, I’d grown quite comfortable with Toomey. I now called him by first name to his face, for he seemed to deserve at least that much respect. He worked hard, straining and sweating, but there was a curious gentleness about him. He was tender with the vegetables and fruits, careful to brush the dirt off each item and set it carefully in his bucket to keep the flesh from bruising. I knew he took special pains so Mother would have less work in the kitchen. There was a tiny bit of romance in that man, after all.

One humid August morning found Toomey and me struggling to finish picking before we drowned in our own sweat. While we worked, Hal and Freddy chased each other up and down the rows. They were meant to be pulling weeds but couldn’t keep their minds on the task. I didn’t blame them and certainly couldn’t complain about the breeze they struck up as they rushed by. Mother needed them out of the way while she put up preserves, and they couldn’t get into much trouble in the garden with Toomey keeping an eye on them.

When I’d finished my last row of okra, I stood to stretch my back, removing my bonnet so the gentle rush of air could cool my damp head. As I faced the breeze, I saw a figure in the distance. A man in a wide-brimmed hat holding a jacket over his shoulder. He walked toward us on the dirt road, his feet sending up clouds of dust with each step. I shaded my eyes, trying to get a better look at him.

“There’s a man coming up the road,” I said to Toomey. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Toomey looked up and wiped his face with a filthy handkerchief. “Can’t say that I am.”

I turned back to the road.

And gasped.

“Who is it? Who is it?” chanted the twins in unison, jumping up and down in an effort to see over the plants.

Toomey rose to his feet with a groan and stood behind me. “Is that the boy from the river? The one who—”

“The one who saved my life? Good Lord, it is. Eli Sevenstar.” I turned to stare at my stepfather. “What do I do? I look a fright!”

Toomey grinned. “Go inside and wash your face, girl. I’ll greet the boy—he won’t care that I’m soaked in sweat. But you tell your mother and come right back out—he deserves some proper hospitality.”

I set off toward the house in the fastest ladylike walk imaginable. As soon as the door slammed shut behind me, I broke into a run and took the stairs two at a time up to my room.

“Willie?” Mother called up the stairs. “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”

“We have a visitor! Gabriel says to offer him some hospitality.”

I pulled off my gardening smock and sweat-drenched dress, sighing as the air touched the bare flesh of my arms. I poured water into the basin for a quick wash-up. Then I unpinned my hair and ran a brush through it. It was still damp, but at least it looked tidy when I pinned it back in place. I buttoned myself into a clean dress and pulled a fresh apron over my head, tying it around my waist. One more glance in the mirror and I was racing down the stairs.

Mother stood in the front hall, fanning her overheated cheeks. Her eyes were dark, her mouth stern.

“
Who
is this visitor, Willemina?”

I hesitated. “It’s … Eli Sevenstar.”

“The boy who brought you so much trouble at the seminary?”

“I think it was the other way around.” I was itching to get back outside, but she looked so concerned that I reached for her hand. “Mother, I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

She stared at me, eyes glistening. Then she pulled me close, her thin arms nearly squeezing the breath out of me. I didn’t mind. In fact, I leaned into the embrace, breathing in her scent of blackberry preserves. After a moment, her arms softened, and she let me go. We faced each other, smiling shyly, until finally she spun me around and gave a gentle shove toward the front door.

Toomey and Eli were talking when I came down the porch steps. The twins were silent, standing close together and looking up with great concentration at Eli. Though he didn’t turn, Eli was conscious of my approach—it was obvious from the way his body straightened and his jaw grew rigid. Finally, as I drew near, he turned his head languidly and smiled. Then, as an afterthought, he took off his hat. His own hair was damp, his cheeks reddened by the heat. Those wide, dark eyes glittered with mischief. He was the best thing I’d seen in months, and despite the muggy heat, all I wanted was to fall into him and feel his arms around me.

Toomey cleared his throat. I turned to find him frowning ever so slightly, his eyes thoughtful.

“It’s hot as Hades out here,” he said. “I think it’d be a good idea to take the boys inside for lemonade. We’ll sit awhile on the back porch. Willie, why don’t you lead the young gentleman to a shady spot?”

I grinned. “We’ll join you in a minute, Gabriel.”

He tipped his hat and, taking a hand from each boy, walked toward the house. Hal craned his neck to stare at us, but when I made a face, his head snapped forward where it should have been. I turned to Eli, a sudden shyness setting in.

He smiled. “Willie?”

“Short for Willemina.”

“Ah, yes, I remember my confusion when Mr. Toomey called out to you.”

I laughed softly. “All those secret talks we had and you never once tried to call me by my first name.”

“You never seemed like an Angeline to me.” He stared at me for a moment, then wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s too hot to stand here for much longer.”

“Of course,” I said, coming out of my daze. “Let’s walk through the orchard. Or do you want to go inside?”

“I’d rather walk.” He looked as though he might offer his arm but then thought better of it. We walked side by side in silence.

“How did you find me?” I finally asked.

“I did a little sleuthing. Even Fannie didn’t know where you lived, and Miss Crenshaw would not tell me, so I asked around in Columbia.”

I stared at him. “Did you come all this way … for me?”

“I’m on my way to Nashville. I mean to study law at Vanderbilt.”

“Yes, of course. I knew that. I mean, I knew you wanted to study law, I just didn’t know it was to be in Nashville. That’s … close.”

“So close it seemed only polite to search you out.”

We fell into awkward silence again. I reached for a branch and pulled off a leaf, just to have something to fiddle with. I turned to him, prepared to say anything to break the roaring silence, but he spoke first.

“You lied to me.”

His words were as sudden and sharp as a slap to the face. I fumbled for a response, but all I could do was bite my lip.

“I mean, you lied to everyone,” he continued, “but you should have told me the truth. I
always
was honest with you.”

I knew the betrayal he felt, for I’d endured it myself when he disappeared. But that pain had its source in the doctor’s lies. I had only myself to blame for the pain I’d caused.

“I lied because I wanted to keep my position. My independence.”

“Fannie said you were only pretending to be a Miss McClure. But your last name isn’t Toomey, either.”

“No, it’s Hammond. Gabriel Toomey is my mother’s second husband.”

He was quiet for a moment, as though digesting this information. “He seems like a good man, and you have a comfortable home here. Why pretend to be someone else?”

I stared at the leaf, tracing the delicate veins with a shaky finger. “I was … unhappy. Mother needed me to quit school and help at home. So I stole someone’s teaching certificate in order to teach at the female seminary. I thought it was far enough away that no one would suspect I was only seventeen and not finished with my own schooling.”

He shook his head. “I took you for a student the first time I saw you, remember?”

“It seemed you found me a great deal more interesting when you learned I was a teacher. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I just liked
you.
” He reached out and ran his finger along my hand. His head was down, but I could see his mouth curving into a shy smile.

“I never understood why,” I said, staring at our hands as they touched. I would not take his hand, but neither could I draw mine away.

“All this began with you staring at me on the train. I had to know more about such a bold girl.”

I did pull my hand away then. “You’re teasing me.”

“And now you’re being coy. I’ve been fascinated by you since the first moment I saw you, and you know it.” He chuckled. “ ‘That girl is an adventurer,’ I told myself.”

“Turns out I was a liar, and I’m sorry for it. But if I hadn’t done such a foolish thing, I never would have met you.” I looked up into his wide brown eyes, marveling at the bold angles of his face, the way that lock of hair falling over his forehead made him look so boyish. I reached up to push the stray hair back into place, then let my fingers trail down his cheek. His hand gripped my wrist, pulling me closer. I’m not sure which of us moved first—it might have been me—but when our lips met, I pressed so tightly against him I thought to melt into the warmth of his body, hands, and mouth.

Shame at such boldness caught up to me, and I broke the kiss. But he would not let me go. “Come to Nashville with me,” he whispered in my ear.

I pulled back to look at his face. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing untoward. We’ll find you a respectable boarding-house. I’ll go to the university, and you’ll go back to school. Fannie told me—very reluctantly, mind you—that you had the makings of a good teacher.”

“And just who is going to pay for all this?”

“I will, for as long as I can. Someday I’ll return to the Cherokee Nation with my law degree. My dream is to help protect my people. If you feel about me the way I feel for you, you could be part of that.”

“How exactly do you feel about me?”

He placed both hands on my face and kissed me gently. “I love you, Willie,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, staring at me intently. He reached into his pocket and knelt.

A flush of heat rose from my chest to my face. “What are you doing?”

He pulled out a delicate gold ring with a single pearl. “I came here with a specific purpose.” He took my hand. “Willemina Hammond, will you marry me?”