Sycamore Hill (6 page)

“The train wasn’t due to leave again for another three days. I was
too excited to wait that long.” My words were met with a stony look.

“It might have been wiser if you had, Miss McFarland.”

“Oh, Jim,” Emily cut in. He darted her an impatient look.

“Is her room cleaned yet?” he asked abruptly, and Emily flushed.

“I... I hadn’t gotten around to going over there yet,” she said,
and I felt there was more than acute embarrassment in her admission of the
oversight.

“I’m sure my room is just fine.” I tried to reassure Emily
Olmstead. She gave me a very odd little look and then darted another at her
husband.

“The school has been closed for over a year,” he informed me.
“Nobody has been in the place during that time.”

That statement aroused a whole series of questions in my mind, but
Olmstead’s forbidding expression prevented me from asking any.

“You see, we weren’t able to find another teacher after—” his wife
started to explain.

“You’re lucky you didn’t collapse on the road in this August heat,
Miss McFarland. It’s over a hundred degrees, by my guess,” her husband
interrupted her smoothly, casting her a warning glance that she obviously
understood.

“Yes,” she agreed at once to his change of subject. “It’s too bad
someone didn’t happen along and give you a ride into town.”

What was going on here? First Jordan Bennett with his dire
predictions and unreasonable animosity, and now this silent conversation going
on over my head. I thought of Jordan Bennett’s warning not to speak of our
brief roadside encounter. Looking at James Olmstead’s slightly disapproving
perusal of me, I decided that perhaps silence was indeed the best policy.
Especially when I did not know what was going on at all!

“Yes, I would have welcomed a ride,” I agreed with a wry smile.

“I think the coffee should be ready now.” Emily excused herself.
She was back almost immediately with a tray on which sat a cup and saucer, a
sugar bowl, a small cream pitcher, a plate of cookies and the welcome glass of
water.

“Oh, that’s very refreshing,” I thanked her, having finished the
water first. The tingling of a bell drew my attention as well as that of the
Olmsteads.

A heavyset woman walked into the store. As she progressed down the
aisle, I noted the small flannel hat perched on her head, with its ridiculous
feather protruding and bobbing as she walked. Dark, ferretlike eyes moved over
me with avid curiosity.

“Berthamae,” Emily greeted. Berthamae only treated Emily to a
cursory glance, and then continued to stare pointedly at me.

“You’re new in town,” she stated the obvious and waited for an
introduction.

“Miss McFarland, this is Berthamae Poole,” Olmstead supplied.
“Miss McFarland is our new schoolteacher, Berthamae.” The woman’s thick eyebrows
shot up.

“Well, it’s high time,” she emitted sharply before I could even
extend my hand in polite greeting. “The town has done without a teacher long
enough. That last one was a poor excuse for one,” she went on critically.

“I’m sure Miss McFarland isn’t interested in the previous
teacher’s shortcomings,” Olmstead cut in, and again there was a quick exchange
of glances, this time between Berthamae Poole and James Olmstead.

“Of course, she is,” the woman insisted. “She’s got to live in
that place. She should know about it.”

“Did you want something, or not, Bertie?” Emily cut in.

Berthamae Poole relented. “I came for dried lentils, onions,
basil, yeast and ten pounds of wheat flour,” she answered, quelling her
previous course of conversation.

“Then come right this way, if you please,” James Olmstead
instructed, indicating another section of the store. The woman followed, chin
up. James Olmstead was talking fast, his voice very low.

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Emily Olmstead whispered close
to my ear. “She prattles on just to hear herself talk. Here.” She thrust the
plate of cookies toward me. “Have a macaroon.”

I accepted in silence, casting Berthamae Poole and James Olmstead
a curious glance. What had she been going to say about the schoolhouse and the
previous teacher? Olmstead had practically taken her by the ear and dragged her
away. Another look at Emily was enough to tell me that I would gain no further
information from her. She was watching with relief her husband’s low-growling
conversation with Mistress Poole.

“You will of course stay with us for dinner,” Emily informed me.
“Then we’ll take you up to the schoolhouse.” That prospect did not seem one to
which Emily Olmstead looked forward.

“School opens the first week of September. That should give you
time enough to get the schoolhouse in order again,” Olmstead was saying later,
between mouthfuls of delicious beef stew and sips of freshly brewed coffee.

“I’m afraid it’s a mess,” Emily said apologetically.

“After the last teacher resigned, some of the children got it in
their heads to vandalize the place,” Olmstead said with obvious annoyance.

“You might as well tell her who it was, Jim,” Emily told her
husband. Then she supplied the answer before he had a chance to swallow another
bite of stew. “It was those Poole boys. You met their mother this afternoon.
Well, Sherman and Grant, her two sons, are little hellions. I don’t suppose I
have to tell you who they’re named after.”

“They’ll be in your class,” Olmstead said.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Sherman is fourteen, and Grant is almost thirteen,” Emily
supplied immediately. “They’re two years senior to our Andrew. He’ll be eleven
in April.” I was informed that Andrew was at a friend’s for dinner.

“She’ll have plenty of time to meet the children, Em. Bridle that
tongue of yours so I can get on with our talk,” Olmstead said.

“Yes, dear,” she demurred.

“As I was saying, Miss McFarland, the schoolhouse and yard could
use some cleaning up. The heavy repairs will be taken care of for you by some
of the townsmen when they can spare the time.”

“Are there many heavy repairs?” I asked dubiously.

“Two broken windows in front, a couple of smashed desks, a few
leaks in the roof, and the back steps from your room need some work. Your
quarters are in good condition.”

The place sounded like a wreck to me.

“More coffee, Miss McFarland,” Emily offered as she began clearing
away the dishes.

“No, thank you. May I help you with the dishes?”

“No, but thanks,” Emily deferred, stacking the dishes with a
clatter and almost scurrying from the room.

“There are other things we should go over,” James Olmstead began
again, and I reluctantly turned back.

“There are certain rules of conduct that must be maintained.”

“For the children?” I asked. I had expected to be able to decide
on rules for the children without much interference from the townspeople.

“No, ma’am. For you.”

“For me?” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice.

“Of course,” he said, giving me a look that indicated he thought I
should have known as much. “Your position in this community is a very important
one. You are an example for our children, and as such, there are certain strict
standards that you must keep.”

I braced myself as he continued.

“You will be expected to attend church each Sunday and teach a
class there under the authority of our excellent reverend, Jonah Hayes. From
your letter and from the reference we received from Bradford Dobson, you have
attended church regularly. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, it is,” So far I had no qualms.

“Classes for the children will be from Monday through Friday,
beginning at nine in the morning and ending at three in the afternoon. We would
have you start school earlier, but there are some children who must ride in
from outlying ranches.”

“Yes, of course,” I murmured in assent.

“The children have not had a teacher for over a year, so you will
have to see that they make up the lost time.” That was a handicap I had not
foreseen.

“How many children are there?” I asked, silently praying there
would be few enough that such expectations would not be utterly impossible.

“Sixty-four. Not many for a town this size. Some of the children
do not attend because they are needed at home. Others are too young. There will
be ten new pupils next year.”

The task ahead of me seemed to grow with each word James Olmstead
spoke. Sixty-four children! Lessons for all levels! Cleaning the schoolhouse
and yard!

“If children have academic difficulties, you will, of course, be
expected to tutor them after school hours. If any become sick, you will make up
lessons for them to do at home.

“As for your own social conduct, you are not allowed to entertain
men in your quarters, nor are you to be alone with a man for any reason other
than school business, and then never after five in the afternoon.”

“Are you serious, Mr. Olmstead?” I asked, unable to believe he
was.

“Absolutely,” he said, surprised that I should ask. “They are
fairly universal rules, Miss McFarland.”

“They seem archaic. I can assure you I have no intention of
entertaining men in my quarters, but I am not even allowed to carry on a
sociable conversation with a man except on school business?”

“That’s correct. You will have as much social contact as you need
with the Mothers’ League, the Women’s Church Guild and the local sewing
circles.” With what Olmstead had already outlined as my duties, I doubted if I
should have the time for any socializing.

“You’re expected to attend all town meetings; however, you are not
permitted to speak on any issue. You must remain neutral in all political
conversations. As for the subject matter in the classroom, limit your teaching
to reading, writing and arithmetic. Those are the basics, and anything else is
unnecessary frill.”

I wanted to interrupt and object, but James Olmstead continued
unabated. “Now, about your dress.” I stiffened noticeably as he looked me over
blandly and nodded approval. “Your present outfit is appropriate to your
position, if a bit untidy.” After ten miles of walking, what did the man
expect! “Ankles, wrists and neck are to be covered at all times. You are
permitted to wear browns, grays, black, white or deep green. Anything else you
are not. No furbelows. No jewelry except perhaps a plain watch pin. No ribbons,
no fancy hairpins. Your hair is to be confined at all times.”

“May I take it down when I go to bed?” I asked dryly, unable to
resist. Olmstead looked shocked.

“I hope you will not make a habit of speaking in such a manner,”
he criticized, and I wished I had held my tongue.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized meekly. I suddenly felt very tired and
depressed. I had thought I had escaped oppressive bondage, but apparently I had
cast myself beneath the control of an even harsher master. The new life I had
hoped for stretched dismally ahead of me.

Emily Olmstead returned to the dining room, having finished the
dishes. She sat down and glanced from her husband to me.

“What have you been saying to Miss McFarland, Jim? She looks
positively miserable.”

“I’ve simply been informing her of what is expected of her,” he
muttered defensively, Emily Olmstead looked sympathetic.

“I suppose you neglected to tell her the good points,” she said on
a sigh. What good points? I wanted to ask. She answered without a question.

“The children are wonderful. Except the Poole boys, of course.
You’ll have your hands full with them.”

“Em, will you please….” James Olmstead was not going to succeed in
silencing his wife this time.

“Reverend Hayes’s four sons are perfect little angels, and all
very quick-witted. So is Toby Carmichael, the poor waif. And Hudson Thomas’s
little girl, Margaret, is a spunky, sweet child. Linda Bennett, Jordan’s
daughter, is the prettiest and also the quietest, and it’s no wonder—”

“Em.”

“Katrina Lane is another story altogether. She’ll probably turn
out to be just like her mother.”

“Em!” This time her husband was heard. “Miss McFarland can’t be
bothered with your senseless gossip,” he chastened. “Right now I think she
would rather have a good night’s sleep. She’s got a full day ahead of her
tomorrow, cleaning out the schoolhouse.”

I wanted to laugh hysterically, but swallowed the urge with a
determined effort of will.

“Is she going to stay over there tonight?” Emily gasped, and her
husband gave her a baleful look.

“Why shouldn’t she? Now, don’t start in again, Em. Berthamae took
fresh linen over this afternoon and made up the bed for her. She won’t notice
the dust tonight. The place is perfectly habitable.” Emily looked from him to
me and then down at her hands clasped in her lap. There were worse bondages, I
thought suddenly.

“I shall be fine, really, Mrs. Olmstead. You’ve been very kind.
I’m so tired, I’ll sleep like the dead.”