Romancing the Schoolteacher (9 page)

“Now you're just getting whiny. You sound like an old woman.” Mr. Keen waved his hand in Lindley and Marcus's direction. “Lunch break's almost over. Go.”

Behind Lindley, Marcus opened the door. His boots thumped against the floor as he left.

Lindley remained seated. “We have one more item—”

“I said, you're done.”

Arguing seemed to be futile at this point. Lindley rose slowly, folding his piece of paper and placing it on the desk in front of Mr. Keen. “The men deserve all of these.”

“You know as well as I do that the investors will decide.”

Lindley would like to put the investors in these men's living and working conditions and see if they didn't want better. He left.

Marcus waited outside and slapped Lindley on the back as he exited. “I'd say that was mighty successful.”

Successful? A start, maybe, but not nearly enough.

The men crowded around the pair.

“How did it go?”

“We still got jobs?”

Marcus held up his hands to quiet the men. “Of course you still have your job. And more. Our houses will get fixed and our families can see the doctor.”

The men cheered.

But they were still working long days for little money. Script no less. It would have to do for now.

* * *

The next few weeks of school went like the previous week. Bridget's eight students had dwindled to six, then after a week picked back up, gaining a pupil or two a day. Dora and Gabe were spared the whooping cough, and for that she was grateful. Two infants in the mining camp had succumbed to the illness. Many of the adults had also become sick. For a while, it seemed as though the whole town was coughing.

The weather had warmed, and school was almost over for the summer. With only a little more than two weeks left, most of her students had returned. At this juncture, there wasn't much point in having Gabe and Dora resume walking home with the Bennetts, who still had an ill child.

On Monday after supper, Lindley followed Bridget to the sink with dirty dishes from the table. His words came out in a rush. “Would you go to supper with me?”

“What?”

“I want to take you to the Hotel de Haro's dining room. I hear they have excellent food.”

“I don't know.” She couldn't allow him to spend what little money he had. On
her
no less. She glanced back at his children, still seated at her table.

“Just the two of us.” His eyes were wide with expectation. “I'll get someone to look after Gabe and Dora.”

He wanted to be alone with her? Her heart did a little dance.

* * *

This was harder than Lindley ever imagined. His insides felt like a knotted rope. He'd wanted some time with just Bridget but had never been able to muster the courage. He'd been spared all this courting nonsense with Doreen. His father had made an agreement with her father after Lindley had rescued Doreen from a racing freight wagon. He'd known since he was twelve whom he would marry. No falling in love or worrying about whether she loved him. No need to get nervous. They were betrothed, and that was the end of it.

Doing this on his own was different. Hard.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. What if she turned him down? He'd waited long enough so that he was fairly certain she cared about him and not just for his children. Looks she gave him. The blush in her cheeks when he caught her staring. Always having supper ready.

Her silence unnerved him. “I mean, it
is
the least I can do after all the meals you have provided for me and my children.” There. Now she might feel as though she could accept because it didn't sound so much as if he was trying to court her. Which he was.

But was he really in a position to be courting this fine lady? That didn't seem to matter. The more she hesitated, the more he wanted her to say yes. Once alone with her, he could make his intentions known.

She looked down. “Lindley, the hotel dining room is…expensive.”

Was she embarrassed?

She continued. “I know miners don't make much. I would feel bad if you spent your money on me.”

“So, your hesitance is the cost and not me?” Relief hovered over him in anticipation.

“Of course.”

He let out his breath. This from a woman with a very expensive clock. “So if I were to invite you to…let's say…go for a walk with me, you might accept?”

Her cheeks tinged pink. “Of course. That would be lovely.”

“Then I invite you to take a walk with me on Saturday to the Hotel de Haro's dining room. Don't worry about the money. I have a little tucked away. I really want to take you there. Please.”

She was silent again. And just when he thought she was going to turn him down, she said, “I'd like that.” And the pink of her cheeks deepened.

* * *

Bridget closed the door and leaned against it after Lindley and his children left. She couldn't believe she had said yes. Was she touched in the head?

The man likely didn't have the kind of money needed for the hotel restaurant. And even if he did, he should save it for his children. But the thought of spending time with just Lindley made her skin tingle with delight.

She pictured herself married to him and the four of them a happy family. Such nonsense. She still couldn't figure the man out. But right now, she didn't care a fiddle about that.

For the rest of the week, her insides were all aflutter. On Friday, he told her he didn't need her to look after Gabe and Dora, that one of his sisters was visiting. She found herself disappointed at that. She would truly miss the children. They had become part of her daily life.

On Saturday afternoon, she decided to purchase some perfume. She hadn't worn any since her arrival in Roche Harbor. Hadn't brought any with her and hadn't felt the desire for any.

Until now.

Maybe a rosewater or lilac. She would have to see what her choices were.

Oh, she knew she was being silly but didn't care. Lindley obviously liked her, so a little perfume wouldn't make him like her more. But she wanted supper to be special.

She entered the general store run by the mining company. The scents of sweet lavender soap, pungent kerosene and tangy dill pickles assailed her nose. The perfumes were tucked under the counter, and Mr. Miller was attending to a customer already. So she strolled around the store. Candles. Matches. Pots and pans. Books. Bolts of yard goods.

Glancing up, she gazed through the large plate-glass window. A man in a sharp suit, who resembled Lindley in height and build, stood across the street. She moved closer to the pane of glass but, from this angle, could see more of his back than anything. Under a low flat-top derby hat, his hair was neatly combed down. He spoke with the mine manager and another gentleman. All three men were dressed in fine suits.

The one who reminded her of Lindley turned, and she could see him better.

Lindley?

She gasped and stepped back from the window, bumping into a display. A tray of sewing notions tumbled to the floor. Spools of thread thudded as they bounced and rolled. Thimbles scattered and skittered beneath a shelf.

Mr. Miller gazed over at her, squinting his eyes.

“I'm sorry. I'll clean this up.” She squatted and gathered spools, thimbles and packets of needles off the dusty floor and put them all back in the tray. She was hidden below the windowpane but couldn't stay there.

Slowly, she rose, staring out the window.

Lindley and the two men still stood across the street, talking. The third man made her think of a Pinkerton detective she had once met. She gasped again. He wasn't here for her, was he? She stepped back from the window. She couldn't let him see her. Any of them.

What was Lindley doing in a suit and talking to those men?

Who was he?

Obviously not a miner. Not in those clothes. Was he a Pinkerton, as well? The thought stabbed her in the chest, and she caught her breath.

She had known from the start that he didn't seem like a miner, and now she knew why. He wasn't. Had he been trying to trick her all along?

She waited until Lindley and the men left and moved toward the door.

“I appreciate you picking those up for me.” Mr. Miller nodded to her. “Can I help you?”

“N-no, thank you.”

“You came in for something.”

“No. No. I'm fine.” She hurried out the door and closed it. Glancing both ways, she crossed the street, her pace
very
unladylike. She peeked over her shoulder every few seconds until she reached her little house and entered.

She turned the lock on the door and heaved several breaths. She had been foolish to think she wouldn't be found out. After three years, she had become complacent, thinking a strip of water would keep her hidden. She pulled back her pink gingham curtain, peered out, but saw no one.

What should she do?

She strode to her bedroom and then back out to the front window. Her shoes beat heavily on the wooden floor as she moved from one room to the other and back. Stopping, she glared at her feet. Someone might hear her. That was silly. Just the same, she walked on the balls of her feet, making as little noise as possible.

Finally, she sat on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. How could she have been so foolish? As she had suspected, Lindley Thompson was no miner. How could she let herself fall in love with him?

It was simple. She would leave. She opened her trunk and tossed in two of her dresses. She wrapped her French clock in one of her petticoats. When the trunk was nearly full of her belongings, she stared at it. She couldn't haul the trunk. Not if she left in a hurry. The carpetbag. She would be able to carry the carpetbag. She plopped it on the bed and sorted through the trunk, figuring out what to pack.

Why had he waited so long? Two months? If he knew who she was, why wait?

What about her students? She couldn't leave them before the end of the term. If Lindley had waited this long, maybe he would wait until school was out. But could she risk it?

She pictured each of her students. Every one eager to learn. Daniel, Suzanne, Faye, Jill, James, Aggie, Carol, Donita, Heidi…Troy. If she left, he would have no chance at a better life. None of them would.

Regardless of the risk to her, she would stay until the end of school and slip away during the night.

If Mr. Thompson tried to take her away before then, she would appeal to his better nature to let her finish the school year. She would even use his children against him as he had used them to gain her trust. Were they even his children?

She wanted to back out of supper but didn't know how without making him suspicious. Maybe this evening was when he would tell her she had been caught.

Her heart ached that he was not who he said he was. She tried to muster anger at him for lying, but her fear kept it at bay.

Lord, please let me be wrong about him being a Pinkerton. Let him be the simple miner I've come to care for. Come to love.

Her heart refused to see anything except the simple miner and loving father. But her head screamed for her to run, that he had tricked and manipulated her.

And threatened her very existence.

T
wo hours later, when the knock came on Bridget's door, she jumped, unsure if she should answer it. Pretend she wasn't home? Or go to her doom? And so had gone the afternoon, back and forth. Heart or head? Head or heart? But, in the end, her heart needed to know who he really was.
And
if he was going to betray her or not.

Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her dress, prayed he was in his miner's clothes and opened the door.

Her heart plummeted like a ship pitching in a stormy sea. His fancy suit from earlier. He could have gotten it from a missionary barrel like his children's Sunday clothes.

She forced a smile. “My, don't you look dapper.”

He stared at her a moment. “And you look lovely. Are you ready?”

She pulled a shawl from the peg by the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was cold, even though the day had been warm. “Yes.”

“The hotel's not far. I hope you don't mind the walk.”

“A walk will be lovely.” She preferred walking anyway. If he was indeed a miner, all his money was going to pay for supper. If he had rented a buggy, she would have known for sure he wasn't who he claimed to be. She took his offered arm and did her best to keep up her end of the commonplace conversation.

She had forgotten how lavish the hotel and dining room were. Candlelit chandeliers flickered light and shadows around the room, taunting her. White linen adorned the tables with silver, crystal and china upon them.

Lindley couldn't afford this. She was about to say so when a waiter in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie greeted them and deftly led the way across the room. He stopped at a table by a window that overlooked the harbor. She sat and gratefully accepted the offered menu, something to hide behind and focus on. She didn't want to see betrayal in Lindley's eyes.

Once she ordered and no longer had the menu to occupy her, she straightened her silverware, making them all even, and smoothed her napkin, centering it exactly square on her lap. “This is a very nice place.”

“Have you eaten here before?”

“Once, more than a year ago.” She felt him staring at her but didn't dare to look up.

“Is everything all right?”

Her emotions were in such a tangle she was sure tears would burst out of her at any moment. She would not fall apart. She had been trained better than that. “Yes, I'm fine.” Please let him be everything she thought he was before. Miner, father, friend. “You look… I mean your suit… Where…? Um…it's very nice.”

He tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “Do I tidy up all right?”

“Oh my, yes.” But where had he gotten the fine clothes? Please let it have been a missionary barrel.