The Teacher's Mail Order Bride (3 page)

R
ose splashed
water on her face and looked in the mirror on her vanity. The dark circles under her eyes were something she hadn’t seen for quite a long time—since her mother died, she noted with surprise. She lifted up one eyelid and then the other. How could tossing and turning just for one night cause bloodshot eyes?

Sleep had eluded her as she thought of the warmth of the schoolhouse, her love of learning and the feel and smell of the books that contained so much exciting information about the world outside of Tombstone. As the first bright rays peeked through the window, ending her long night of contemplation, she’d finally arrived at a decision. At his earliest convenience, she’d ask Mr. Tate if he had received permission for volunteers and, if he had, offer her own services.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them against the early morning chill, hoping the sun would be fully risen by the time she got to the barn to collect the eggs and milk the cows. She reached for a scarf and tied her brown, curly hair back so as not to be in her way while she did her chores.

“Hurry up, Rose. I need to get on with things,” her sister Saffron whispered loudly against the door. She shrugged on her brown corduroy coat, hoping it would stave off the chill. She smiled as she reached for her dusty black boots that she saved just for ranch chores, polishing them only once a week as they didn’t stay clean long enough to warrant a more frequent effort.

“I’m coming.” She pulled the laces tight and tied the last bow on her boots. She opened the door and looked down the ranch hallway. All the other doors were closed. “Did you get the baskets yet?”

“No. Maria said they were down in the barn already. The pails, too.”

Rose put her arm around her sister. “I really appreciate this, Saffron. I know you were happy in the herb garden.”

“Mama’s herb garden is back in good shape, and Sage and I were just going to start some winter vegetables. See if we could actually grow some this year. So we’re in between and I’d like to learn how all over again. Papa didn’t seem to mind last night at supper when you asked, but any particular reason you want me to learn now?”

Rose squeezed her sister’s hand, and thought how different she was from her twin, Sage. Maybe that’s how all twins were, because Sage and Saffron were as different as Lucy and Lily, even though it was difficult to tell them apart just with a quick look.

“I know you don’t like to talk much, Rose. I was just curious.”

Rose’s eyes widened and she looked over at her sister. “I don’t talk much?”

Saffron laughed. “Does that surprise you? Surely you must know you’re on the quiet side, mostly with your nose in a book.”

Her face flushed as she realized how her sisters must see her. Quiet. Always reading, watching what was going on around her, mostly. Her older sister, Meg, had been her best friend as well as her sister, and since she’d married Sam Allen and moved away, Rose imagined she’d likely been more quiet than usual—even for her.

She wondered what they would think when she asked Papa if she could volunteer at the school. That is
if
Mr. Tate had been given permission for volunteers and
if
he agreed to allow her to participate.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought, and she was relieved that Saffron caught on quickly to her instruction, with minimal instruction. Saffron had done all this before—their parents made sure they all received instruction on each responsibility at the ranch—but it had been a while. As the girls each grew older and left school, they had each taken their place at the ranch, each with their own individual assigned areas.

She fell into a comfortable silence with Saffron and the cold numbed Rose’s hands as she reached for the final egg of the morning. Setting the basket down, she clapped her hands together and blew into them, hoping that would help turn them from white back to pink as her blood warmed.

“So, that’s it? That wasn’t too bad.” Saffron wiped her hands on her apron and rested her hands on her hips, looking back over toward the henhouse and cow stalls.

Rose’s lips turned up into a smile. “No, definitely not as bad with two of us. If I were alone, I certainly wouldn’t be done yet.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Saffron reached for the buckets of milk. “So we take these into town now?”

“We usually take them to the mercantile. I’ll take you there another day to teach you that part. I have some errands to run afterward today and I’m sure you’d like to get to the garden.”

Saffron smiled. “That would be lovely. Least I can do, though, is carry this over to the wagon for you.”

“Thank you, Saffron.” Rose reached for the basket of eggs and headed toward the wagon, placing them in the back and running into the ranch house to grab her gloves before leaving for the mercantile.

The horses’ hooves lulled her as they made their way to the mercantile. Her heart warmed as she thought of the books she’d held at the schoolhouse the day before, remembered her mother teaching her to read when she was very young, not in school yet. And she’d been reading ever since, working her way through all the books at school and almost all the way through her father’s extensive library at home. Over the years, she’d even made it all the way through the encyclopedia. Yes, being surrounded by books and people who loved learning was something that greatly appealed to her. Certainly more than eggs and milk.

Tombstone hadn’t had any rain for a spell and dust rose from the buckboard’s wheels as she pulled up in front of the mercantile. The sun had yet to rise much higher in the sky than daybreak, but Suzanne and James were there, ready to greet her and help with her merchandise.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Rose,” James, Suzanne’s husband, said as he reached around back for the heavy pails of milk. “Customers sure want what you have to offer from Archer Ranch. We’re looking forward to any vegetables Saffron and Sage actually come up with.”

Rose smiled, having almost laughed when she’d driven by her twin sisters making little headway in the vegetable garden, and they’d waved as she did. “I admire their tenacity, don’t you?”

James reached a hand up to help Rose down. “Oh, certainly. I know how challenging this hard ground can be, and I am always interested to see what they
do
coax to grow. The tomatoes this summer were delicious, even though small.”

Rose stamped her feet on the mat, hoping there were few traces of mud before she entered the store. Suzanne peeked through the door of the small office in the back and grinned when she saw Rose.

“Hello, my dear,” she said as she took the basket of eggs from Rose, set it on the counter and began to count them. “Cold outside, and you’re up early.”

“I’m glad you two are here early as well. Wasn’t able to sleep much last night.”

“Oh? Good book keep you up?” Suzanne winked at Rose and continued counting eggs.

“No, not exactly.” Rose twisted her fingers, weighing the wisdom of telling Suzanne of her dream to volunteer with her in the school. Her palms began to sweat and she thought better of it. She did decide, though, that a simple question would be harmless. “Did you hear if Mr. Tate was given permission to have volunteers this school year?”

Suzanne’s face brightened. “Oh, yes, he was given permission. Probationary permission, though, to see how it went for the first part of the school year. Good news, and I don’t think anyone believed that the Widow Samson would say yes right away. If she had, the earth may have stopped spinning.”

“Now, Suzanne,” James chimed in with a sideways glance at his wife, along with a slight smile.

“Oh, I’m not gossiping. Just stating facts.”

He set the pails of milk by the icebox and milk bottles. “Fine line, my dear. Fine line.”

Suzanne waved her hand at him and put the last egg into its box. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” Rose thought her voice hitched, but Suzanne didn’t seem to notice. She was inching closer to her dream and didn’t want to jinx it quite yet.

T
he bells
on the handle jingled as Rose shut the door of the mercantile behind her. She’d settled her business transaction, something she was still getting a bit used to since Meg left it to her when she got married. It was still early, and she peered each way down the dirt road, her nerves warring with her heart. Should she go see the headmaster and offer her services as a volunteer? What could be the worst that could happen? He could say no, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?

Maybe she could start a petition for a library and she could work there. She’d never even been to a real library, and her imagination ran wild, with shelves and shelves of books stacked high to the ceiling, the smell of leather permeating the air, the hushed tones as patrons read through books about Plato, Leonardo Da Vinci, castles in England, and big ships on the sea. She shivered at the thought of all the things she didn’t know and ached to see.

Maybe there could even be a display of the pyramids of Egypt, which she knew for a fact she would never see in her lifetime. Thousands and thousands of miles away, and her life was here, in Tombstone, with her family.

She pulled out her handkerchief and held it over her nose as a group of cowboys rushed by at breakneck speed. As the dust settled, she wiped the remainder of it off her face—or so she hoped—and resigned herself to the fact that she belonged here with her family, and the closest she was ever going to get to the pyramids in Egypt was in that schoolhouse down the street.

The slap of leather reins on the wagon barreling down the road brought her out of her reverie and she took one last look down to the west end of the street, the schoolhouse sitting just at the end. Her breath caught in her throat as Mr. Tate appeared, a lantern in one hand and a key in the other, and then disappeared into the schoolhouse.

She took a deep breath as she stroked the horses’ noses. She looked back to the schoolhouse—it wasn’t very far away and she could just go down and—

“Just give me another minute, boys. I promise I’ll bring back an apple.” She patted them once more and pulled on the reins, making sure they were tied properly to the hitching post and headed toward the schoolhouse.

Her pace slowed about halfway there, her boots still sounding on the wooden boardwalk but much more lightly as she hesitated, stopping in front of Bailey’s Restaurant. She turned and looked back at the horses, wishing her heart would stop thudding in her chest. It would not be the end of the world if he said no.

She turned to see how bad she looked in the window of the restaurant, tucking her ringlets back under her scarf and laughing at the dirt that lined her face. She looked down at her dress and shoes. Not only was her face dirty, but so was the rest of her. As she looked at her reflection one last time in the window of Bailey’s Restaurant, a small boy—maybe one of those she’d seen at the fundraiser, she couldn’t be sure—walked from the kitchen into the front of the restaurant carrying what looked to be a pot of potatoes that likely weighed almost as much as he did. His dark hair and dark eyes looked familiar, but she couldn’t make him out that well in the darkened restaurant.

The cold glass tickled her nose as she pressed against it, cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better view. The boy set the pot down with a thud and stood up slowly, turning to go back into the kitchen. When he saw Rose, he jumped back and nearly stumbled over the pot behind him. It startled her, too, and she gasped, backing away from the window, but still able to see him turn and run back into the kitchen.

“How odd.” She frowned, wondering at the boy’s reaction. She couldn’t be sure if he was the boy she’d seen with the schoolbooks, and even if he was, she couldn’t imagine why she’d frightened him so. Especially with the titles of the books he’d planned to read.

She gave her face one more swipe with the now-dusty handkerchief and continued on her way. As she reached the schoolhouse, she couldn’t help but peer in the window before she went inside. This was her last chance to change her mind, go back to Archer Ranch and forget all about this silly idea.

She should have known that her luck peeking in windows unseen was not good, and she jumped back as Mr. Tate looked up toward her and smiled, a lock of his wavy hair falling over his forehead. He stood and waved for her to come inside and headed toward the door.

“Well, good morning, Miss Archer.” He opened the door wide, gesturing for her to come in.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate.” She hoped that all the dust had been removed, at least from her face, but as he regarded her and cocked his head to one side, she was fairly certain it hadn’t.

“It’s awfully early, but you look as if you might have had a long day already.”

The sensation that was becoming more familiar of her palms perspiring popped up again and she twisted her fingers. “Yes, it’s been a bit of a long morning. Milking cows, gathering eggs, almost being run over by a band of cowboys and waiting for the dust to settle. My usual day.” She smiled, and her heart warmed at the genuine smile she received in return.

“Quite amusing, Miss Archer. I can’t even imagine. What brings you here after your trials and tribulations?” He gestured toward one of the student desks and she sat down, its slick, worn seat familiar.

“I was at the mercantile this morning, delivering said milk and eggs, and Suzanne mentioned that you had received permission to accept volunteers for the school year.” She folded her hands on top of the desk, feeling much like she had in her student days, waiting for either permission or approval.

“Conditional permission,” he said as he stood and paced in front of the chalkboard. “Widow Samson will have to ‘review’ its success or failure intermittently.”

“Oh, I see. Have you decided to continue?”

He stopped in front of the teacher’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back. She noticed his spectacles for the first time and it surprised her that she thought it made his dark eyes look even more handsome and worldly.

“I am. Mrs. Davis has already offered to assist, but only half days. For this to work, I’ll need to find someone who can be here the opposite times so I can avert chaos in the classroom.” He smiled and sat on the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

Rose laughed and stood, smoothing her skirts. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to offer her services, but turned around quickly as the door opened and Suzanne rushed in, her cheeks flushed and a piece of paper in her hand.

“Oh, Rose, hello.” She patted Rose on the shoulder as she walked past her and toward Mr. Tate.

“Hello.” Rose folded her hands in front of her, butterflies flitting in her stomach now that her attempt had been interrupted. She wasn’t sure how much longer her courage would hold.

“Rose was just about to say something.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth as he smiled at Rose, encouraging her to continue.

Rose’s cheeks heated as they both looked at her expectantly—patiently, yes—but expectantly and she knew it was now or never.

“I’d like to offer my services as a volunteer assistant here at the schoolhouse. I loved school when I was here and thought I might like someday to be a teacher.” The words came out in a rush and she saw Suzanne’s eyebrows rise before Rose looked down at her hands, waiting for the expected denial.

“I, for one, think it’s a wonderful idea. You wouldn’t know this, Mr. Tate, but Rose was a star student, never missed a day and was a great help to the previous teacher.” Suzanne nodded at Rose with a smile.

Mr. Tate stood, looking from Suzanne to Rose. “I would love the assistance of both of you, if possible.”

Rose heart tugged—he’d said yes!

“I do suppose that it would be conditional, on the Widow Samson’s approval, I’m afraid.” He sat back down on the desk, and Rose suddenly realized how tall he was—he was almost taller than she was even when he sat down.

Suzanne waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t think the Widow Samson will object. She’s known the Archer family for years and wouldn’t dare. Besides, she’s the least of Rose’s problems.”

“Oh?” Mr. Tate asked, one eyebrow arched as he cocked his head toward Suzanne.

Suzanne laughed and crinkled her nose in Rose’s direction. “Oh, Rose, you and I both know that the real problem will be your father.”