Softly Falling (10 page)

Jack laughed out loud, a hearty sound that put a little more steel back into her spine. “Lily, Lily, you’re starting to sound like a foreman!”

“Oh, you,” she said, embarrassed.

“I’d probably have used a different word than ‘trying,’ ” he said, which made her smile. His face grew serious then. “He could use your help—he’s probably desperate for help—but I don’t think he even knows how to ask for it.”

“We’ve never been close, but he
is
my father. How can I help him?”

“Get him to meals, listen to him.” He started down the stairs with her but stopped. “You haven’t really had a father, have you?”

“No. He was always somewhere else, failing.” Her face burned with embarrassment. “I expect your father was better.”

“He was, but he died of overwork.” He was silent until they reached the main floor. “Life’s hard for us small people, Lily. I can’t even convince the man I work for that this is going to be a hard winter.”

Jack stopped before the closed door opposite the parlor. He tapped on the door, then opened it. “Clarence? Mr. Buxton?” He opened the door wider and gestured to Lily.

Suddenly shy, she peeked into the office. Her father sat at a desk, overshadowed by a beefy-looking man in shirtsleeves and a vest ornamented with the dull gold of a watch fob. The man’s eyes narrowed against the intrusion, then widened into something close to appreciation, which made Lily want to take a step back.

He looked her over carefully, a long stare that she thought rude and unmannerly. Apparently Jack did, too, because he stepped farther into the room until Mr. Buxton had no choice but to look at him instead.

“Sir, this is Miss Lily Carteret,” Jack said. “She’s just made a deal with Mrs. Buxton to teach your daughter and the Sansever children.”

Mr. Buxton gaped at her then. “At the same time? How’d you get my stickler of a wife to agree to that?” he asked.

She glanced at her father, who gave her a warning look, the sort of look that said, “Answer carefully, or we’ll both be out of here in a twinkling.” Since she had no idea how the wind blew between the Buxtons, she could only rely on the most unreliable man in the room and give her father the slightest of nods.

“Mr. Buxton, she could plainly see the benefits of educating all the children on the Bar Dot. It’s an American thing to do,” she concluded blandly.

“But only if Luella sits by herself on the other side of the room, eh?”

Such a boorish man. “She expressed some concerns, and I assured her that all would be well,” Lily replied, thinking of Chantal and Amelie’s eagerness to learn, and Luella’s wary look.

What could he say to that? Mr. Buxton rocked back and forth on his heels. “And what is this extravagance going to cost me?”

“Twenty-five dollars a month, Mr. Buxton,” she said. “And if you or the Bar Dot could provide . . .”

Mr. Buxton slapped a hand on Clarence Carteret’s shoulder. Her father cringed. “I’ll pay it directly to you at the end of the term, Miss Carteret. No telling what Clarence here would do with an extra twenty-five dollars a month, eh?”

“Certainly you will pay me, since I will be earning it,” Lily said, desperate now to draw the dreadful man’s attention away from her father. “I would like to request another ten dollars for supplies.”

“Ten dollars more?” he asked, startled. “Do you plan to put the consortium in the poorhouse?”

“Hardly, sir.”

“It hasn’t been a good year for beef, what with the drought.”

Ten dollars, you tight-fisted fool
, Lily thought, keeping her expression neutral, much as she would have with Uncle Niles. Silent, she stood her ground and wondered if there would ever come a time in her life when people wouldn’t bully her. She doubted it supremely.

“Make it eight, and the boys and I will chip in four bits apiece,” Jack countered.

Mr. Buxton still frowned, but Jack apparently wasn’t through.

“Just think, sir, how impressed the governor will be to know that the Bar Dot is educating the territory’s greatest resource, her children,” Jack said. “Think what a report he’ll make to the Cheyenne L&C on your behalf.”

Nature intended you for a diplomatist
, Lily thought with admiration.

Like most self-absorbed men, Mr. Buxton didn’t appear to know when he was being worked over. Lily could almost see him preening.

“I suppose I can do that. Eight dollars for school supplies and not a cent more. Clarence, if your hand isn’t shaking too bad, get the money out of the strong box!” He laughed, punched her father’s shoulder for good measure, and left the room.

No one said anything for a long moment. Lily’s father drew a long, shaking breath. “I hate that man,” he whispered, his face pale.

“He is a tough nut, but we work for him, Clarence,” Jack said. “I’ll get a list from Lily and . . .”

“You should call her Miss Carteret,” Clarence said, but he did so feebly, as if he doubted his ability to convince anyone of anything.

“It’s all right, Father,” Lily said gently. “Life is more casual here.”

Clarence Carteret rubbed his eyes with both hands—a childish gesture she remembered from the few times she had seen him—as though he could scrub away unpleasantness. She knew she was looking at a man with no hope. She wondered how on earth she could bolster someone who had given up.

Meanwhile, Jack was giving her the high sign. Maybe Mr. Buxton was returning, and she already knew she didn’t want to be in the same room with him again without Jack present.

“I’ll be back at noon to walk you to the cookshack,” she told her father.

“Usually Fothering just brings me a bowl of soup.”

“That’s not enough,” she scolded, but gently. “I’ll be back, and don’t argue.”

He nodded and there was something grateful in his eyes now, as if he relished the idea of someone—anyone—taking charge of him in a kindly fashion. His expression tore at her heart, the heart she had vowed to keep to herself, because she had been disappointed so many times. She wanted to kiss the top of his head, but there was Jack, watching them both.

“See you at noon, Papa,” she whispered, then followed Jack Sinclair from the office.

They left the Buxton residence in silence, Lily with her head down until she realized that she was unconsciously imitating her father. She raised her head and looked Jack in the eye, swallowing her shame at such a father.

“He’s a sad little man,” she said, looking away.

“Life can do that,” was all Jack said.

She was too shy to ask him if he would walk with her to the schoolhouse, but that seemed to have been his plan, this busy man who probably had so many more important things to do. He started toward the distant building but then stopped.

“We need reinforcements,” he said. He put two fingers to his mouth and gave an earsplitting blast. She couldn’t help laughing when the screen door on the cookshack banged open and Chantal and Amelie came out, Chantal running and her older sister walking more sedately.

“Madeleine might like a quiet moment,” Jack said, “and the dishes are done.”

She watched as they slowed down past the Buxtons’ house—perhaps Mrs. Buxton had rules—and then picked up speed. They took a wide berth around a low outbuilding, darting glances at the door sagging on leather hinges.

“Spooks and demons?” Lily joked.

“That’s where Freak hangs out. Never hurts to be cautious,” Jack told her.

“Honestly, the
cat
?”

He just shrugged. “He’s a curious brute. If he decides to take an interest in the schoolhouse, you might see him, but only if he wants you to see him.”

“I have
never
been afraid of a cat,” she assured him.

“Just sayin’. Well, ladies, how about you escort your new teacher to the schoolhouse?”

With an easy familiarity that warmed Lily after Luella’s wariness, Chantal took her hand. Amelie walked beside Jack, not as close as Chantal, but obviously deriving some comfort from him because the little frown left her face. Lily wondered what it was about Jack Sinclair, since she felt more confidence in his presence too. Maybe it was a knack given to the few.

Chantal skipped to keep up, so Lily slowed down. She couldn’t help comparing the little child to Luella Buxton, who, at first glance, had all the advantages. Chantal’s hair might have seen a comb earlier in the day, but her hair flowed free down her back. No one had yanked it back into tight braids. Her dress was too short and patched. A large patch up the back left Lily to wonder if Chantal had gotten too close to the cookstove. Obviously Madeleine Sansever was not a woman to retire a dress with a deficiency that she could mend and use another day.

Seen from a distance, the schoolhouse had appeared small. The closer they came, the larger it loomed and the greater her doubts grew. She had never taught anything in her whole life. For that matter, she couldn’t think of a single person who had ever asked her advice, or even listened when she spoke, unless it was the younger students at the female academy.
What was I thinking?
she asked herself.

“What will you do when you can read?” she asked Chantal, determined not to listen to the gossip her head was trying to tell her heart.

“I will read everything I see, even labels on jars. I will read to my mama, because she just sits and rocks now.” She wrinkled her face. “She misses Papa. We all do.”

“A story will help?”

She nodded, then tugged on Lily’s arm. “One night when no one knew it and I was feeling sad, I sat on the porch of the great house and listened to Fothering read to Luella. I felt better.”

“What was it?” Lily asked.

Chantal shrugged. “Something about fairies, but it made me forget for a few minutes that I was sad.” She jostled Lily gently. “But I don’t believe in fairies. Do you think Luella does?”

“I don’t know. You must ask her.”

“Her
mama
doesn’t want her to have anything to do with us,” Chantal said. She explained it carefully and in a low voice, as if wanting Lily to understand without any embarrassment.

“We may have to change that,” Lily said. They had stopped to talk, and Jack and Amelie up ahead had stopped too, watching them. “Let’s hurry up.”

“I don’t know,” Chantal said doubtfully, ever a realist. “But if you say so . . .”

“I do say so.” Lily looked at the building that probably had some desks in it, and maybe a shelf or two. A blackboard would be nice, but her well-earned skepticism wouldn’t let her guarantee much more. Suddenly, though, it didn’t look so large, because in her honest way, Chantal Sansever had whittled it right down to a manageable size. Lily remembered all the books that had taken her a long way from Bristol, England, where she was lonely. She understood Chantal.

There they stood, the four of them, staring at the closed door.

“Is there a key?” Lily asked.

“Nothing’s locked here,” Jack said cheerfully. “If any door ever had a lock, it’s been a long time. Who goes first?”

“I do,” Lily said, her voice quiet. She thought of Chantal crouched on a porch to listen to a story and decided to stop feeling sorry for herself. “I’m the teacher, after all.”

C
HAPTER
10

S
he opened the door, which creaked on hinges that hadn’t been oiled recently, if ever. Lily stepped inside, then moved aside when the others followed. No one said anything.

“We have a lot to do, girls,” Lily said finally.

The spiders had been industrious but seemed to hold no fears for Chantal, who clapped her hands. “Is that a blackboard?” she asked, ignoring the webs that were making Lily’s skin crawl. “I have heard of blackboards.”

To Lily’s eyes, it was as poor an excuse for a blackboard as she ever hoped to see. She glanced at Chantal and saw her eagerness. “It is a blackboard, my dear. We’ll use it for ciphering and letters and the alphabet.”

Chantal’s satisfied sigh seemed to travel all the way to the soles of her feet. Amelie smiled, perhaps in a big-sister attempt to excuse Chantal’s enthusiasm, but Lily saw the excitement in her eyes too.

Lily walked into the schoolroom and noted four desks, probably fashioned from packing crates. Each desk had a stool. A wholly inadequate teacher’s desk presided over the ramshackle business. She touched the spindly chair and jumped back when it collapsed in a dusty pile.

“You broke it, Lily,” Jack teased. “Let us thank Preacher’s Merciful Almighty that you didn’t sit on it first. Nearest doctor’s in Cheyenne.”

“You are a rat and a rascal.” Lily gave him a long look, which made Amelie frown and chew her lip. Jack touched the child’s shoulder. “She doesn’t mean it,” he whispered, his eyes on Lily. “Least ways, I don’t think she means it.”

“Do be serious, Jack,” she said. “Amelie, he’s a big tease,” she added, which earned a rare smile from the child.

Lily continued her trip around the classroom, doing a silent tally. No books. No chalk. No maps. Crate desks and stools that would likely leave splinters. A bucket with a dipper, teetering on someone’s cast-off child’s desk, probably Luella’s. A hand towel last used by coal miners. The one window by the door faced south, but there were panes of glass. Several floor boards felt loose. They could be nailed down. She turned around to face the others.