The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (63 page)

At least the butcher’s cart won’t be able to come
, Seth thought, staring out at the rain from his open doorway. Nettle Lane would be too muddy for wagon wheels in such a deluge. Yet he had gone to the door three times during the past half hour, for what reason he was not sure. He was about to close the door again when he saw something looming above the drystone wall between his barnyard and the lane. It was moving toward his drive, and after staring at it through the rain for another second or two, he recognized it as an umbrella.

That can’t be her!
he told himself, yet he knew without a doubt that it was. How could he have imagined that the same bashful-looking woman who sang so sweetly before the church could possess such tenacity! With a sigh, he took up his own umbrella from an old churn crock near the door.

“I’ll be back,” Seth called to Thomas, who lay in front of the fire practicing his penmanship on his slate, his elbows propping him up in the front and his ankles crossed up in the air above his knees.

“Is it her?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s her,” Seth replied before stepping outside. She looked a sight with the umbrella over her shoulder, basket in one hand, and another bunching her skirts just above the ankles. There was no use attempting to talk in the downpour, and he certainly could not order her to turn around and go back, so he took the basket from her and accompanied her to the cottage.

Thomas, having temporarily abandoned his homework, held the door open and took their umbrellas as they entered.

“Hello, Miss Sanders!” the boy piped while their visitor took off a pair of oversized and surprisingly mudless men’s boots and left them on the rag rug just inside the door. It appeared that she intended to go shoeless, with just the thick wool socks on her feet, until time to leave. In spite of her umbrella and bonnet, which she also removed to hang on the doorknob, several damp ringlets formed about her face.

“Good day to you, Thomas,” she replied with an affectionate smile.

Seth found her kindness grossly unfair, because it would have warmed the heart of any boy on the receiving end. “I see that you’ve lessons to do today too?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ran to scoop up his slate and brought it back to show her the rows of
apple, bear
, and
candle
he had written as well as chalk would allow. “I’m learning script now.”

“Why, that’s fine work,” she told him, eliciting a radiant grin from Thomas.

I told him the same thing not more than an hour ago!
Seth thought. While the boy had smiled, he had not
glowed
, as he was doing now. “Miss Sanders, why didn’t you stay home today?” he asked, barely able to keep the irritation from his voice. “The weather and all,” he added lamely when she turned her hazel eyes to him.

She had the audacity to change the subject, explaining that she had walked on the grasses near the wall to keep her brother’s boots from getting caked with mud. “I’m afraid it’s just going to be vegetable soup today,” she said, nodding toward the basket that sat on the floor now. “But I did bake some barley cakes this morning that will go nicely with it.”

“Fine,” Seth snapped, for he had no other choice. He returned to his chair and picked up the well-worn copy of
A Tale of Two Cities
on loan from the lending library. To add insult to injury, Thomas asked if he could take his slate in the kitchen and finish his homework at the table. “Fine,” he snapped again.

He attempted to become absorbed again with the story, especially with reading time being so hard to come by. But his effort was thwarted by sounds of occasional clinks of dishes and conversation coming from the kitchen. It was not that they were too loud. On the contrary, they were too soft for him to tell what was going on without straining his ears. Finally he gave up and closed his book, making note of the page he had attempted about three times to read. He walked into the kitchen, pausing just inside to view the scene at the table with wonder. Thomas sat on his knees in one chair, his young face screwed up in concentration as he used his chalk. Miss Sanders, in the chair across from him, had in her lap what appeared to be a kitchen curtain and was pulling a needle and thread through it. She looked up at him and blushed a little.

“I noticed this tear last week,” she said, raising the cloth a bit to show him. “I hope you don’t mind my taking the liberty of mending it.”

Bemused that she would concern herself about taking liberties when she already barged in on his life every Saturday, he replied softly, for the sake of the boy, “Would it matter if I did, Miss Sanders?”

“It would matter, Mr. Langford.”

“But that wouldn’t stop you, would it?” he could not resist asking.

“I suppose not,” she answered frankly, then returned her attention to her mending.

Four more times
, Seth consoled himself, purposely ignoring the savory aroma of the soup bubbling on the stove.

“It’s so good to see you up and around!” Julia said to Miss Clark upon meeting her just outside the lending library early Tuesday afternoon.

“It’s good to
be
up and around,” Miss Clark smiled, switching a book into her left hand so that she could take Julia’s hand with her right. “Doctor Rhodes advised that a daily walk would be good medicine.”

Indeed, the advice seemed to be working, for there were bright spots of color in her cheeks. But then Julia wondered how much October’s nippy wind had to do with it, for the schoolmistress still seemed much too frail. “Why don’t you come back to the
Larkspur
with me and have some tea? You have to go home that way anyway.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Ten minutes later, they sat in the hall and had ginger biscuits with their cups of tea. “Have your daughters not arrived from school yet?” Miss Clark asked.

“Mr. Raleigh has asked the children if they would be willing to stay another hour every school day for archery practice,” Julia replied. “So many have to help on their parents’ farms on Saturdays. And Grace asked to stay and watch Aleda practice.”

“I see.” Miss Clark raised her cup for another sip, but her forehead seemed knotted in thought.

Julia kicked herself mentally for bringing up the archery team, when it was obvious that Miss Clark was longing to assume the role of schoolmistress again. But what other answer could she have given but the truth? “Is something wrong?” she felt compelled to ask.

Miss Clark lowered her cup and smiled, softening the angular facial lines her illness had produced. “Are you wondering if I
mind
that the students are so enthusiastic about Mr. Raleigh?”

Julia would not have stated it that bluntly, but she had to reply in the affirmative.

“Not at all, Mrs. Hollis. In fact, I think it’s wonderful. Yet of course I don’t relish the idea of replacing someone who has sparked such a collective interest in them.”

“They’re going to love you, too, Miss Clark.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a doubtful sigh. “I’m aware that Mr. Raleigh had some difficulty with some of the boys until he introduced the archery. Discipline was never an issue at Saint Margaret’s. In spite of Doctor Rhodes’ assurance that I’ll be strong enough to teach in another three weeks, I have delayed notifying the board. I know nothing about archery, Mrs. Hollis, and wonder if I’ll have the strength to maintain order in a class that size without such an incentive.”

Recalling Andrew’s description of the chaos he had witnessed on his previous Monday visits, Julia wondered as well. Perhaps if she were a man with the commanding presence Captain Powell had possessed, and not such a soft-spoken woman, her lack of knowledge regarding archery would not be a concern.

Presently her guest’s voice pierced her thoughts. “You know, I do appreciate you having me over,” she smiled gratefully. “It helps to discuss this with someone other than my parents. They’re of the mind that I should take the whole year off.”

“Are you considering it?” Julia had a feeling Mr. Raleigh would be happy for an excuse to stay longer and try to win Elizabeth’s affection, but it was Miss Clark’s wishes that had to be honored first. She was the one who had left Scotland because she was assured a position by the school board, while Mr. Raleigh’s tenure was never supposed to last any longer than a month or so.

“Or at least waiting until after the tournament. That’s in only a little less than six weeks. Teaching is the joy of my life, Mrs. Hollis, and I am eager to resume it, but there are the children to consider.”

“Are you aware that Luke Smith has started attending the practices after school in the eventuality that Mr. Raleigh would have to give up the position before the tournament? So you wouldn’t be taking that away from them.”

Miss Clark gave her a sad smile. “The way I hear it, Mr. Raleigh inspires them. They’ve formed a team with their schoolmaster, and I cannot in good conscience destroy that now.”

Shortly afterward Miss Clark left, with Julia accompanying her as far as the end of the courtyard. As they wished each other farewell, Julia did so almost distractedly, for the seed of an idea had been planted in her mind.

She spoke with Andrew about it two days later, in the library again, after giving the idea time to grow and bathing it in prayer.

“A secondary school?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Here in Gresham?”

“Why not? Have you spoken with Ben Mayhew lately? He’s dying to continue his education. His father would agree to it if it were free. No doubt there are others as well.”

“My dear, it’s a worthy idea,” Andrew told her. He nodded thoughtfully. “A very worthy idea. But to hear the board tell it, finances are strained to the limit to maintain the grammar school. From whence would come the support? And what about a building?”

Julia smiled, thankful she had waited to consider all the possibilities before bringing it up. “The town hall sits empty most of the time. And even when it’s in use, it is almost always on a Saturday or Sunday. There wouldn’t be
that
many students, Andrew, because many graduates of the grammar school are content to work at their family farms or businesses.”

He reached up to touch her cheek, his hazel eyes lit up with affection. “You’ve thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I’ve thought of little else for two days,” she admitted.

“And so have you thought up the funds as well?”

“No, but I’ve thought of the person who could easily afford to sponsor it. All that is really necessary would be books, which would be reused year after year. Some lamp oil and firewood will be needed during the cold weather. And the teacher’s salary, of course.”

“And who might this generous person be?” he asked, smiling. “One of your lodgers?”

Julia shook her head. “I can’t ask them for money, even to support a school.”

“Then who?”

She hesitated, preparing herself for the argument to come. “The squire.”

“The squire?” Andrew raised his eyebrows again. “
Our
squire?”

“He donated those slates to the grammar school, remember?”

“Which doesn’t exactly make him a philanthropist, Julia. A mere drop in the pail considering his fortune.”

“Yes,” Julia had to concede. “But I’ve found the way to his heart.”

“You suggest we offer the squire
money
? But wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of asking
him
for some?”

“No,” she replied, smiling. “I’m referring to Mrs. Kingston.”

“Ah … so he’s that serious about her?”

“He has called on her here three times already this week, and once she even consented to take a carriage ride with him.”

“I see.” He became thoughtfully silent then, toying with the handle of his teacup.

Julia could see from his eyes that he was considering all the ramifications of the idea. Finally he looked at her and smiled.

“You know, it could work. It’s a shame to have a sturdy building sitting idle most of the time, like the steward from the parable who doesn’t use his talents. And the board would have several months with which to advertise for a teacher.”

Now that she had sold him on the main part of her idea, it was time to sell him on the rest. But she knew it wouldn’t be easy. “I’m talking about this year, Andrew. As soon as possible.”