True to the Law (8 page)

She carried it to Priscilla and placed it firmly in the girl’s hands. “You will find this challenging and much too long to read in one evening. Bring it back tomorrow, and we’ll talk about what you’ve read. Once you’ve read it all, I will expect you to write a letter to Mrs. Coltrane thanking her for providing our school with such fine books.”

Priscilla nodded eagerly and tucked the book under her coat before she bolted for the door. She flung it open, prepared to charge out into the cold, and squealed like a piglet when she plowed into Cobb Bridger.

Chapter Three

Cobb steadied the girl so she didn’t fall. Before he could apologize she eluded his hold and squeezed past him, as quick and unpredictable as a bead of mercury. He teetered on the threshold, caught himself, and then entered.

“Please close the door,” Tru said. “Class. Our guest is Mr. Bridger. Say hello.”

Cobb was aware that every student was already turned in his direction and that they probably had not caught the inflection in their teacher’s voice that made the word “guest” a rather stiff but polite substitute for the word “intruder.” He closed the door.

“Hell-o, Mr. Bridger!”

The wall of sound that was their enthusiastic greeting rolled over Cobb. He nearly reared back. “Hello.”

With all the children turned in their seats to face Cobb, Tru was free to express her disapproval. She did not go as far as setting her hands on her hips and tapping her foot. Her narrow-eyed stare was sufficient.

Cobb favored her with an apologetic smile while he reached under one arm to reveal he had come bearing a gift. He dangled the sack from his fingertips and gave it a little shake. “From Mrs. Phillips,” he said. “Sand tarts.”

The children clapped, delighted. More important from his perspective, their teacher stopped glaring at him.

Tru examined her watch. “I dismiss the class at three o’clock, Mr. Bridger. You may leave the sack on my desk if you like, or stay and pass out the cookies as the children are leaving.”

“They cannot have them now?”

Tru was aware of every child’s head swiveling in her direction. “No,” she said firmly. She did not explain herself. The disappointment that was leveled at her was palpable, but she remained resolute.

“Then if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay.”

Tru pointed to the seat left vacant by Priscilla. “You may sit there. Your bench neighbor is Mary Ransom. Mary, please make room for Mr. Bridger.”

Cobb looked doubtfully at the bench as Mary scooted to the edge and pulled in her skirts. His knees would not fit under the desk. He would have to make room for them under his chin. “Perhaps I should stand.”

“No, really,” said Tru. “You should sit.”

Cobb was familiar with standoffs, and this had all the makings of one. He saw Miss Morrow come to the same realization a moment after he did. The flash of panic in her eyes was revealing, and he let her wrestle with the implications of starting a skirmish that might have no clear winner. Her students were watching him, but it was their respect for her that was in jeopardy.

Cobb’s decision to comply was a strategic one. There was the battle, and then there was the war.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Cobb observed relief on Finn’s face as he began his march down the center aisle. He held the sack of sand tarts in front of him like the offering of a penitent and gingerly took his place beside the diminutive Mary Ransom. He did not have to tuck his knees under his chin as he feared, but there was no doubt in his mind that he cut a comical figure. He removed his Stetson and set it and the sack of cookies to one side. He wanted the slate uncovered in the event she required him to use it.

“Thank you, Mr. Bridger. Class, eyes here.” She motioned to herself. “Who remembers where we left off?” Three hands shot up. Tru called on Charity Burnside.

“The capital of Pennsylvania,” she said. “The Keystone State.”

“Thank you, Charity.” Tru picked up her pointer and indicated Pennsylvania on the map. She did not assume that Charity knew the capital so she put the question to the class. She was prepared to ignore Cobb if he raised his hand, but apparently he had decided not to be more disruptive than he already had been. That, or he didn’t know the capital.

“Harrisburg,” Tom Sedgwick said when she acknowledged him.

“Very good. Would you share an interesting fact about the state?”

“The name means ‘Penn’s woods.’”

“It certainly does. Now Maryland.”

The lesson continued in this fashion until they had covered all the states east of the Mississippi. Finn was the last to volunteer an answer. He offered to name the capital of Delaware but struggled when he had to come up with an interesting fact. She let it pass when Cobb scribbled something on his slate and held it over his shoulder for Finn to read. Finn announced to the class that it was the first state to sign the constipation.

When the class erupted with laughter, Tru set down her pointer and called it a day. Without meeting Cobb’s eyes squarely, she indicated that he should go to the door. The children were still giggling and ribbing each other as they filed out, but they all managed to mind their manners long enough to thank him when he placed a sand tart in their hand.

Finn remained at his seat, his head lowered so far that his small, pointed chin rested on his chest. Tru picked up the slate that Cobb used and examined it before she set it down on top of Finn’s.

“It looks like ‘constipation’ to me,” she said. “I would have to say that Mr. Bridger did not practice his script as he ought to have done when he was your age. That accounts for these badly formed letters. And truly, Finn, when it is written out, there is little to distinguish ‘constitution’ from ‘constipation.’” Because she could not help herself, she flicked his cowlick. It immediately sprang back up. “You made everyone laugh. Usually you don’t mind that.” When he said nothing, she added, “I suppose it makes a difference when you didn’t mean to do it.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe you could pretend that you did mean to make them laugh.”

Finn lifted his head and regarded her suspiciously. “Lie?”

Cobb had been trying to listen to what she was saying to Finn as the children shuffled out. He caught a few words here and there, but when the last pupil filed past him, he was able to shut the door and clearly hear her comment. Curious, he leaned back against the door and folded his arms across his chest. The sack, with four cookies left in it, dangled from his fingertips.

“Certainly not,” she said. “The best course is not to comment on it. When Rabbit teases you about it, and you know he will, say nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right. Nothing at all. Just smile.”

“I’ll want to punch him.”

“I’m sure you will, but if you smile as if you know something he doesn’t, he will always wonder.”

“I know lots of things he doesn’t, and he’s eleven.”

Tru patted him on the shoulder. “You think about it while you start on the slates. There’s a rag and bucket in the broom closet, but you’ll have to pump water.”

“Sure thing.” He jumped to his feet when Tru stepped aside and went to get his coat. He put on gloves and jammed his hat on his head before he retrieved the bucket. At the door he accepted a cookie from Cobb, but he put it in his pocket for later. “You should have practiced making your letters, Mr. Bridger. Things can get all twisted up on account of poor penmanship.”

Cobb thought about the letter he was carrying inside his jacket. “You make an excellent point, Finn.” He let the boy out and then extended the hand that held the sand tarts toward Miss Morrow. The sack swung like a pendulum from the end of his fingertips. “There is one in here for you. Mrs. Phillips took pains to make sure of it. Also one for the little girl who nearly flattened me. Priscilla Taylor, was it?”

“Yes.” Tru closed the distance between them and reached out to take the sack. At the last moment, he withdrew his hand. Her arm remained suspended as he opened the sack and took out a sand tart for himself. He put a third of the rectangular cookie between his lips while he rewound the string around the sack’s neck. Only then did he place it in Tru’s open palm.

Her fingers closed around it while the line of her mouth settled somewhere between disapproval and amusement. One of her eyebrows lifted. “How
old
are you, Mr. Bridger?”

Before he answered, Cobb bit off the portion of the cookie between his lips and pushed it into his cheek. “Twenty nine, ma’am.”

“There’s a wonder,” she said, turning away. “Have a mind you step back from the door before Finn knocks you over.”

Her warning came just in time. Cobb had just sidled sideways when Finn barreled through.

Finn spared a glance for Cobb as he passed. “You’re still here, Mr. Bridger. You in some kind of trouble?”

Cobb answered the boy, but his eyes were fixed on Miss Morrow’s slender back as she walked away. He swallowed. “Sure feels like some kind of trouble, Finn.”

Finn hefted the bucket onto his bench. “She makin’ you write something? She likes doing that.”

Tru looked over her shoulder as she set the sack on her desk. She also spoke to Finn while her eyes remained steady on Cobb. “Mr. Bridger is leaving.”

“I’m being banished, Finn.” He took another bite of his sand tart. “Like Napoleon to Elba.”

Finn’s attention was all for making sure he didn’t slop water onto the floor. The looks exchanged between the adults in the room went literally and figuratively over his head. He pulled the cleaning rag from his pocket with the flourish of a magician. “Never heard of Napoleon,” he said. “Elba neither, but if you mean you’re goin’ back to the Pennyroyal, I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I hope so. There’s that errand we talked about.”

Finn stopped twisting the cleaning rag over the bucket and looked at Cobb. “Really? You got something for me to do?”

“I do.”

“What is it?”

“Later.”

“I’ll come directly after I’m done here.”

Tru had started toward the broom closet, but now she paused. “You better go home first, Finn.”

The boy sighed feelingly. “Miss Morrow’s right, Mr. Bridger. There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t, and you and me ain’t come to money terms yet.”

“It doesn’t matter how much I pay you,” said Cobb. “The devil always charges a nickel more than a man’s got. Go see your granny before you come by the hotel.”

Nodding, Finn turned back to his task.

Over her shoulder, Tru mouthed a thank-you to Cobb.

He shrugged. “I guess I’ll be going, then.” No one said he shouldn’t. Cobb saw that Finn’s concentration was all for the slate he was cleaning. When the boy was done there would be no evidence of what Delaware signed, and very likely no black left on the slate. He also noticed that Finn’s tongue was peeping out of the corner of his mouth. He looked back at Miss Morrow. Andrew Mackey’s alleged thief had a broom in her hand and was using the butt of it to push the closet door closed. When she turned around, he glimpsed surprise in her eyes.

“Oh, Mr. Bridger. You’re still here.”

“I thought I would finish my cookie first.” Although he only had a third of it left, he bit that part in two. Crumbs fell on the floor. He brushed more off the front of his duster. When he looked up and saw Miss Morrow was watching him, he stamped his slim smile with equal parts guilt and remorse.

Tru saw right through to the guile. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She held out the broom. “You can sweep the floor,” she said. “Mind you get the mud under Sam Burnside’s desk.” She cast her eyes in the direction of Sam’s seat. “Every day he carries in clods of earth in his shoes. I believe he is moving a mountain.” She thrust the broom in Cobb’s hand when he came forward to collect it. “I’m going to pick up the slates for Finn.”

Cobb put what remained of the sand tart in his mouth. He passed the broom from hand to hand while he shrugged out of his duster. He hung it on a hook next to Finn’s coat and then started sweeping.

Tru began gathering slates at the front and wound between the rows until she had them all. She stacked them on Finn’s bench beside the water bucket and went to get a cloth to wipe away the excess water. She engaged him in conversation while they worked, although it hardly required effort. Finn had something to say about everything and even more to say when he didn’t know his subject.

Although Finn had her attention, Tru was not unaware of Cobb Bridger moving around the schoolroom. She had had no particular expectations when she handed him the broom. For practical reasons she would have been pleased if he just swept away his own crumbs and Sam Burnside’s muddy footprints, but he was doing much more than that. She heard him moving desks, lifting benches, and digging the broom straws deep into the four corners of the room. He didn’t interrupt her to ask for a dustpan but found it in the closet on his own. She also noticed that he took particular care around the stove not to scatter ashes into the air.

When he was done, he put the broom and dustpan away but made no move to leave. Instead, he sat on the other side of the classroom and thumbed through one of the readers lying on a desk.

Tru returned the last clean slate to its proper place and briskly brushed off her hands. “We’re done here, Finn. Thank you.”

“Will you have something for me to do tomorrow?”

“Let me think about that this evening.”

He nodded. “All right. I need to empty the bucket before I go.”

“Very well. Don’t play in the water.”

As soon as Finn was gone, Cobb stood. “Not to worry, Miss Morrow. I’m leaving now. I have a letter to post at the station. I don’t suppose that Finn will have any objection if I walk him home.”

Tru got to her feet; her eyes followed him as he went to get his coat. “Why did you come here, Mr. Bridger?”