Second Chance Bride (11 page)

“We’re playing alle-over, Miss Cunningham.”

“Are you going to throw the ball?” Martha asked the boys as she came around the building followed by the rest of the girls.

“Did we disturb you?” Ida asked. “I forgot. The ball bouncing on the roof probably startled you.”

Annie nodded, then put her hand on her chest to calm her rapidly beating heart. “The game you’re playing made the thump on the roof?”

“Oh, yes! It’s so much fun.” Elizabeth hopped and skipped. Her face was flushed, and her hair had escaped her big bow. “Have you ever played alle-over, Miss Cunningham?”

“No, I don’t believe I have. How is it played?”

“Boys against the girls,” Samuel said. “With a team on each side of the building. One team yells ‘alle-over’ and throws the ball over the building. When the other team gets the ball, they run around the schoolhouse before anyone on the first team can tag them.”

“It’s our favorite game,” Tommy said. “Except most of the girls can’t get the ball over the schoolhouse.”

Ida studied Annie for a moment. “Are you a good thrower, Miss Cunningham?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never played this game. I’m not sure a teacher should.”

“All the other teachers have played,” Rose said. “And we really need you.”

“Yes, Miss Cunningham, please play,” Frederick begged.

“All right. I’ll try.” From all the cleaning she’d done in Weaver City and now in the schoolhouse, she thought she’d become fairly strong, and the game did look like fun.

The children cheered and returned to their sides of the schoolhouse.

It surprised Annie to discover she was able to throw the ball over the building, an odd talent but useful in this situation. Before long, with the throwing and running and laughing and shouting, her hair had fallen from its bun and perspiration beaded her forehead.

Then, just as she shouted, “All right, boys, here comes the ball. You can’t catch us,” Annie looked up to see John staring at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She attempted in vain to straighten her hair. She did not look in the least bit like the responsible teacher she should, but she was having the most wonderful time.

“I was just admiring your skill,” John said. “I didn’t realize we’d hired such an excellent athlete to teach here.”

Embarrassed at having been caught in such disarray, Annie said, “Children, I think it is time for us to go inside.”

“No, no, please continue. It looks as if you had a great game of alle-over going on here.”

“You know the game?”

“Of course. One of my favorites when I was a student here. Unfortunately, I never get to play it anymore.”

Annie smiled at the image of the town leaders tossing the ball over and running around the bank building.

“Please play,” Tommy begged. “Miss Cunningham’s too good.”

John said, “Why not?” He took his hat and coat off and placed them carefully on a bench. “Gentlemen, let’s play.”

By the time Annie called an end to the game fifteen minutes later, dirt covered John’s expensive clothing, his dark hair curled against his sweat-covered forehead and he was smiling and laughing.

Again Annie was amazed at how handsome and happy John was. The way he looked reminded her of the time she’d seen John on his horse tearing across the prairie. Suddenly she felt a little breathless. Probably because she’d been running so hard. Probably because the game had worn her out.

More likely because John was here.

“We’re so pleased you joined us, especially Elizabeth.” She looked down at the child who leaned against her father’s leg. “Is there anything you need to discuss with me?”

“No, nothing. I was on my way to the bank after lunch and heard the laughter. I had to track it down.”

He gave Annie a smile that caused her stomach to drop out. She felt slightly weak.

“I’m glad I joined you, but now I’ll have to go to the ranch and clean up so I can go back to work.”

He hugged Elizabeth, then looked at Annie. His glance took in her hair, loose and curling around her face. He looked into her eyes and let his gaze linger for just a moment. “Good day, Miss Cunningham.”

“Good day, Mr. Sullivan,” she said in the voice of a teacher, trying to disguise her feelings. Little by little, every time she saw him, she trusted him more. And, yes, every time she saw him, she felt more and more attraction.

Yes, something had changed for her, but she didn’t know exactly what. And she didn’t think she wanted to know. She couldn’t face that—not yet.

A
month. Annie had lasted almost a month. During that time, she’d taught herself to read and print. Every Saturday, she wrote out assignments for the next week and made sure she knew how to complete every task. While the older children worked on cursive, she practiced with them.

By staying up late every night and working all day Saturday and most of Sunday, she’d become a teacher. Now she felt she earned every penny the school board paid her. Most importantly, the students were learning—all twelve of them.

The Bryan brothers, Philip, Travis and Wilber, had started attending school a week earlier, after their chores on the farm were finished. Although Wilber had immediately moved to the sixth reader, the two younger brothers had trouble with the fifth level.

“Children!” She stood up from her desk. “Attention please.” When all the students had put down their slates and books, Annie said, “Thanksgiving is in ten days. We’ll take part in the service on Wednesday evening preceding the national holiday.”

The students clapped and could barely contain their excitement.

“We’re not going to sing, are we?” Philip asked.

“Some of us will sing. Others will recite sections of President Lincoln’s proclamation, about Thanksgiving.” She held up the American history book in which she’d found the words. “I’ll read the entire proclamation to you, then assign parts.” She glanced at the class. “Listen carefully.” She read, “The year that is drawing towards its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties…”

The children listened attentively until the sounds of an approaching horse distracted them.

“Miss Cunningham, the stage brought you a package.” John interrupted her reading as he opened the door. In his arms was a large box, almost half the size of her desk.

She took a step toward him as her stomach clenched. Who would send her a package, especially such a large one? No one knew where Annie was or cared about her, and Matilda said she had no family.

But she’d probably had friends. Of course she had. Why hadn’t Annie considered that?

“Miss Cunningham, you have a package.” Clara hopped up and down. “It’s so big.”

“I’ve never seen a package that came on the stage before,” Frederick said.

Annie hadn’t, either. She wished she could enjoy it, but it worried her—she could lose the position she loved because someone knew the real Matilda and had sent her a package, a large package.

“Open it!” The twins jumped up and down in excitement.

John placed the box on her desk. The address written on the top said very clearly, “Miss Matilda Susan Cunningham, Teacher, Trail’s End, Texas.”

There was no mistake. Annie put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath. Someone knew where Matilda was supposed to be and would expect to hear from her and probably wondered why she hadn’t yet.

“Children, this box is personal.” John’s words stilled the excitement of the students. “It’s Miss Cunningham’s. She’ll want to open it in privacy.”

Disappointed, the students returned to their seats.

“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.” She turned toward the class. “Children, I’ll open the box tonight. I don’t know what my—” she paused to consider her words “—friends may have sent. Tomorrow, I promise I will show you everything that is not personal.” She forced herself to smile. “That will give you something to look forward to. Do you want to guess what is in here?”

The students perked up.

“Each one of you can make a guess. Write your guesses up here, on the blackboard. Tomorrow we’ll see who is correct.” As the students rushed to the front, Annie added, “We’ll start with the youngest. Bertha and Clara.” When they came forward, she handed them the chalk. “Choose something you know how to spell.”

“Very nicely done,” John said quietly. “You changed their disappointment into a challenge.” John gazed at the board where Clara wrote
book
in her clear printing.

He did not, Annie noted, look at her or step closer. The desk separated them, a comfortable barrier.

“I’ll give a prize to those who guess correctly what is in the box.” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “A penny for each.” He held one up.

While the students buzzed about the prize, he placed the money on her desk. Before Annie could move her hand away, his fingers touched hers. A response rushed through her, a feeling of warmth and…well, she still didn’t know what it was, but the emotion was…pleasant. Yes, pleasant and maybe more than that. She pulled her hand away and glanced up to find herself looking into his eyes.

For a moment, his gaze held hers and she could not turn away. The linking of their eyes led to a deeper sharing on a level she couldn’t understand. It felt as if, while they stood there, their eyes and fingers and emotions connected. An understanding flickered between them. She took a step closer to him.

“Miss Cunningham, did I spell
pencil
correctly?” Rose asked.

Annie snatched her hand from the desk and turned toward the board, mortified to be caught staring at John in such an oddly intimate manner. Fortunately none of the students seemed to have noticed the private moment the two of them had shared.

“Use a
c
instead of an
s,
Rose.
P-e-n-c-i-l.
”

“I’ll leave you with your class, Miss Cunningham.” He smiled at her and a velvety warm yearning filled her. “Would you like me to take the package to your quarters?”

She returned his smile before dropping her gaze. “Please leave it here.”

As he left, she watched him go. At the door, he turned and waved.

As difficult as it was, Annie pulled her concentration back to the excited children, each of whom wrote a word on the board. Candy, paper, pens and clothing were among the guesses listed. Annie herself had no idea what could be in there. In fact, she feared opening the box, but whether she did or not wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Whoever sent it threatened her future.

After the students finished writing their guesses, Annie continued with President Lincoln’s proclamation about Thanksgiving. She passed the book to the students so each could write down their lines to memorize, but the presence of the box distracted the students—and Annie, too.

After lunch, the students practiced singing “We Plow the Fields and Scatter,” and worked on memorizing their presentations.

“Remember,” Annie said as the students prepared to leave for the day, “everyone must come to the Thanksgiving service. It’s one of the times we show the community what you’ve learned here.”

And then she was left alone with the box. With anticipation and intense dread, she approached it and pulled off the string. As soon as the twine hit the floor, Minnie was on it, battling it with all her might. Minnie had grown since she’d catapulted into Annie’s life, but she was still just a kitten. Annie was suddenly very grateful for her companionship as she tried to calm herself enough to deal with the box. Finally, she opened the container and looked inside. The contents filled the entire box and on top of it all lay a letter. She picked it up and took it to the window to read. It was written in cursive, the beautifully curved letters strung together in straight lines. She was glad that she had improved at reading cursive even if her efforts to write it were slow.

“Dear Tilda,” she read aloud. So that’s what her friends called her. Tilda. “We hope you arrived safely in Trail’s End and have settled in. Please write and let us know how you are.”

How could she do that? Her friend would certainly know Matilda’s handwriting. Well, she’d consider that later.

“The church took up a collection for you and the school. Please find enclosed paper, books and other supplies.”

How lovely. Weren’t church people wonderful?

“My mother’s health continues to…”

What was that next word? Annie went to the blackboard and printed the word to sound it out. “De-ter-i-or-ate,” she said. “Deteriorate. My mother’s health continues to deteriorate. I will not be able to visit you for Christmas as we had planned.”

Thank goodness for that.

“I do hope you will come back home for a long visit when the spring term is finished. Your friend, Edith Palfrey.”

Annie looked at the address at the top of the letter. The teacher had come from Houston, a long trip for a young woman alone.

Setting the letter aside, Annie began to unpack, placing each layer on a different table. First she pulled out a large jar of hard candy. The children would love that. Next were packages of paper and yards of fabric, as well as lace, beads and other trim. In a large envelope were scraps of material, the type women saved for quilts. Beneath that were embroidery frames with yarn, scissors and a pot of glue. Pencils, pens, a knife and bottles of ink followed and, on the bottom, ten books—a few readers and books on science and history.

Annie stood back and surveyed the bounty that threatened to topple off some of the tables. Where should she put all this? What would she do with such a quantity of supplies?

And how would she use everything? The pens? She’d never used one before and guessed she’d need to practice. But first, she’d practice using a pencil. She held one up, admiring the wood grain.

She put the fabric and trim in the empty drawers of her dresser. Some of the books fit on top. The scissors, pencils and knife went in her desk drawer. The rest she stacked on the bookcase.

“Thank you, Edith Palfrey and everyone at the church,” Annie whispered. Matilda certainly had wonderful friends. “Dear Lord, bless them all.”

What was she going to do about Matilda’s friend Edith?

She looked at the letter. She couldn’t answer it, but she could learn from it. For an hour, using a newly sharpened pencil, she copied the letter over and over, now able to use her right hand. Despite her aching arm, her handwriting began to take shape. It flowed. Although it looked a great deal like Miss Palfrey’s hand, the writing showed Annie’s individual touches.

After her success reading Miss Palfrey’s letters, she decided to attempt those from John to Matilda. She took them from her desk drawer. In his clear hand, they were easy to read and spelled out what he had told her before. Relieved that she already understood everything that was expected of her, she slid the letters into the desk and picked up her pencil again.

It wasn’t until Annie moved the cat from the middle of the bed and crawled in after midnight that she allowed herself to consider what had happened that day with John. She allowed herself to savor that moment, when his touch hadn’t frightened her at all—in fact, it had pleased her. In her mind, she could see the expression in his eyes. Could it have been true affection that had glowed there for an instant? Only a moment, but she’d seen it. At least, she thought she had. How and why would a man so handsome and rich and personable find Annie interesting?

Well, he wasn’t exactly interested in Annie. It was the real teacher who attracted him.

And yet, wasn’t she Matilda now? She’d become the teacher when she’d left her former life on the road to Trail’s End. She’d become the teacher when she’d entered the schoolhouse, when she’d taught herself to read and write. Everything that was Annie, every single bit, had perished out on the prairie a month ago.

She was no longer the same person. No reason existed why John shouldn’t find her attractive. Except, of course, that she was only the teacher and he was the banker who lived in a huge house with many beautiful furnishings and silver trays on the dinner table and a water closet so grand it looked as if it belonged in a palace.

And, no matter how much she tried to convince herself, she was not Matilda. She only wished she were. She pondered as she rubbed Minnie, who had curled up against her side, purring.

John had been courteous and respectful—he hadn’t allowed himself to be alone with her since that other occasion. That showed esteem for her.

How did she feel about that? John was handsome, a Christian man who loved his daughter. He treated Annie with respect. But she couldn’t forget the warmth of his fingers against hers and the longing in his eyes.

If things were different, she could fall in love with him. If she were truly Matilda—if she didn’t have Annie’s terrible background, if she weren’t living a lie—she could fall in love with him.

She had no idea how to behave around a respectable man like John. No knowledge of what the tender glances and affectionate smiles meant to a man, or how a lady—a real lady—responded. She was amazed to discover that she was no longer afraid of John Sullivan. In fact, she’d begun to feel she could she trust him.

The next day, Annie gave a penny to each child who had guessed an item in her package. Then they began to make a cornucopia from a length of yellow fabric Edith Palfrey had sent. They would stuff it with their pictures of the abundance from the land.

As the students worked on the art, Annie had an idea. “Would you please write a note to my friends?” she said to Ida, gesturing toward her arm. “I’d like to send a thank-you note, but my writing is so painful and slow.”

She carefully dictated the letter to Ida, who wrote it in her nice hand. Exactly how to get a letter to Miss Palfrey wasn’t clear to Annie. But she was certain Amanda would know.