A Bride at Last (6 page)

“Yes, you have to.” She grabbed him and kissed his forehead. “One day at a time, Anthony.”

The moment he left, she shed her dressing robe and unbuttoned her nightgown. Did this boardinghouse have any suites? Could she afford two rooms? Not if she was going to clothe the boy and maintain her wardrobe.

Brushing her hair as quickly as possible, she debated over arriving at school late or spending the time to put up her hair. Neither tardiness nor a messy updo would make the board happy. Not that they ever dropped by, but Miss Jennings, the teacher across the hallway, seemed to make it her personal duty to tattle on the “pretty young thing” who hadn’t taken the state’s teacher exam but rather passed the one the local school board had created on the spot.

And she didn’t need the extra scrutiny—a natural teacher she was not. Especially when she sympathized with the children whose focus waned because they had to work at home instead of play. How many times had her own teachers pegged her hair to the wall, forcing her to stand on tiptoe in front of the whole class because all she wanted to do was sleep or go outside and run the hills like she had before her mother died?

Kate’s much-older sister’s husband had treated his ward more like an acquired maid than a child in need of love—so whenever she’d been allowed to go to school, studying had been difficult.

Though, thankfully, she’d learned enough to pass that teacher test.

She batted at her wrinkled skirt and splashed cold water onto her puffy eyelids. If only she hadn’t stayed up late looking through Lucinda’s things. She twisted her hair up tight and poked in pins haphazardly.

After grabbing her schoolbooks, she raced down the hallway and tromped down the stairs, silently apologizing to the people still trying to sleep. Once she made the alleyway, she sprinted toward the schoolhouse, cringing at the way the pins pulled against her hair and the loosened tendrils tickled her neck.

She ignored people’s stares as she ran faster. Even if the board overlooked her being late—which they likely wouldn’t if they heard of it—she shouldn’t leave her pupils unsupervised for long. Hopefully she’d arrive before any of them alerted another teacher. Surely Anthony would tell them she was coming.

She slowed when she hit the block before the school and took in deep draughts of air to cool her face and settle her lungs. At the school’s front door, she used the glass’s reflection to repin her wild tresses as best she could. If she gained her room without the other teachers seeing her, she could rearrange her hair before first recess. Oh, why hadn’t she brought along a brush?

Releasing one long, steady exhale, she pushed on the door and walked into the foyer, through the quiet hall, and toward her silent room. Considering the lack of noise, her students were evidently behaving themselves. How lovely. Her hard work at disciplining had gained her something. Not only could they behave when necessary, but today, they didn’t call attention to her absence.

She opened her classroom door and smiled at the back of their bent heads. “Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Miss—”

“Where’ve you been, Miss Dawson?” Mr. Kingfisher stood behind her desk.

Kate’s heart skipped two and a half beats. “What—” She pressed her mouth closed. Questioning the superintendent’s presence would not be wise. “I mean . . . I . . . I’m late.”

“Obviously, but why?”

She darted a glance at Anthony, who gave her a wide-eyed look. Had he not given her excuses? But what would he have said?
“My teacher’s
a slug-a-bed?”

“I fear I was unaccustomed to . . .” At the quiet snicker of her biggest troublemaker, she straightened. “If you would join me in the hallway, Mr. Kingfisher, I’ll give you an explanation.” She turned on her heel and strode out.

Why, oh why, had the superintendent chosen to visit her classroom today? He’d never checked on her before. Maybe if she returned his attention to his original purpose, he’d forget her tardiness.

When he stepped into the hallway, she shut the door behind them. “What brought you here today, Mr. Kingfisher?”

“The Logans informed me you’ve moved out.” He crossed his arms. Since he was at least a foot taller than she was, his gesture made her feel smaller than usual.

“Yes, I settled into the boardinghouse last night.” She smiled as wide as her lips would allow, trying to keep anxiety from showing in her eyes. “I didn’t know I had to inform you, but—”

“Do you make a habit of being late, looking as disheveled as you do?”

She clasped her hands together tightly to keep from spinning a finger into the untidy locks of hair tickling her shoulders. “This is the first time I’ve been late. I suppose I didn’t adjust well to sleeping at the boardinghouse. I didn’t have—”

“I’d hoped our talk at the funeral would’ve settled this, Miss Dawson. I suppose this boardinghouse is the one that houses Anthony Riverton?”

“Yes.”

“You told me taking on a child would not hinder your teaching.”

“It hasn’t—”

“I know you’re softhearted and don’t discipline the students as much as I’d like, but this is too much. You cannot take him on.”

“The first day of adjustment doesn’t mean I’ll continue having difficulty. Check on me every day if you must, and I assure you, I’ll be punctual.”

“You better be, Miss Dawson, or you’ll find yourself being asked to give up the position instead of the boy.”

She attempted to swallow, but her throat refused to work. She couldn’t lose this job. If Anthony ended up going with Silas, she couldn’t put herself in the same position as she’d been in Hartfield, so desperate for security she’d almost married a drunk. “I promise, I’ll give you no reason to chastise me from here on out.”

Chapter 5

“Thank you.” Silas smiled at young Myrtle as she set his plate in front of him.

She gave him the same wide-eyed stare she gave him every morning when he thanked her—which was precisely what he should do since she was highly efficient. The moment he sat at one of the three rickety tables in the boardinghouse’s dining area, she placed a plate in front of him. Even arriving earlier than normal this morning, she’d gotten him breakfast immediately.

He wasn’t hungry yet, but yesterday he’d slept in after reading late and missed Anthony and Kate before they headed to school. And evidently, they’d skipped breakfast the day before, perhaps because of Richard.

He’d stay the whole three hours of breakfast if necessary to make sure Richard didn’t keep them from eating.

He yawned a greeting to a man walking past him and leaned back to wait. He’d learned a lot about Anthony’s teacher, Richard, and Lucy from her journals. Her embittered words and complaint-filled pages made him wonder why Kate had befriended her. Lucy might not have admired Kate, but she
hadn’t slandered her either—which was high praise coming from Lucy’s pen.

Richard walked in the door, face scruffy, eyes dark-rimmed, a slight off-color tone to his skin. The man frowned at the lack of places to sit that weren’t at Silas’s table.

As much as he wished to tell the man not to sit with him, he hadn’t the right to tell another lodger he couldn’t eat breakfast.

The man plunked down to his left, the smell of bay rum and body odor overwhelming. “You still here? I’d thought you’d wise up and realize you’re wasting your time.”

“There’s a bathhouse down the street on Pine and Fourth, in case you didn’t know. Might not want to offend the judge’s nose if you’re looking for a favorable ruling.”

The man scratched at his stomach and stretched. Silas tried not to gag at the smell wafting from his shirt’s now-exposed underarms. “I’ll probably go tomorrow—need a shave.”

So would he just douse himself with cologne again today?

Silas set down his fork. The smell of this man made his entire plate unappetizing.

Unfortunately, there were no journal entries on how Richard treated Anthony, but there were plenty on how Richard had treated Lucy—damning stuff.

But there were scathing things about himself in the journals as well. Were Lucy’s stories about Richard as exaggerated as her stories about her Kansas hardships?

Given that she referred to Richard as Anthony’s pa though, he could only hope some page clearly stated Anthony was his; for as it was, the journals would be enough for Richard to make his case the upcoming Monday.

If he knew they existed.

Lord, if Anthony truly is mine, let her have written something.

Of course, if Anthony was Richard’s son, should he not be praying
for
Anthony’s father rather than against him?

Myrtle scuttled over and handed Richard a plate of bacon and corn mush. “Here you are, sir.”

“’Bout time.” He wrinkled his large-pored nose and yanked his plate from her, as if her touching the dish’s edge tainted his food.

Silas’s arms itched to stretch out and accidentally whack him in the face, but that’d not help his case come Monday.

“Could I bother you for salt and pepper, Myrtle?” Maybe if he could doctor his mush so it wasn’t tasteless, he could get it down before it got cold—now that Richard had put his arms down. Though at the rate the man was shoveling in his food, perhaps he’d leave before he had to worry about his breakfast cooling.

“No problem, sir.” Myrtle bustled toward the door as Anthony entered. She quickly sidestepped to the serving table, prepared a plate of food, set it across from Silas, and smiled at Anthony. “There you are, Mr. Riverton.” She gave Silas a wink. “Now I get the salt.”

Richard called Myrtle a derogatory name under his breath, and Silas clenched his fists to keep from punching the foul-smelling brute.

Anthony sat warily, choosing the chair directly across from Silas instead of Richard. At least he favored him a bit.

Kate’s pretty form swept into the dining area and stopped. Her face looked as if she could smell Richard across the room.

Silas wiped his greasy fingers on his stained linen napkin and waved. “Good morning.”

Anthony dug into his mush, swallowing the tasteless concoction as quickly as Richard did.

Myrtle skirted around Kate, set the shakers down, and then moved to answer another man’s bellow.

Silas stood and dragged an empty chair over for Kate, squeezing her into the small spot next to him. “Did you sleep well last night, Anthony?”

Anthony shrugged.

“Answer him, boy.” Richard’s bark made them all jump.

“Fine,” Anthony mumbled.

“I didn’t—too hot.” He’d not let Richard know he’d been up reading Lucy’s journals.

His eyes dreaded reading any more of her cramped, frilly handwriting, growing illegible with fading ink—his hope of finding anything barely intact.

He had to spend time outside today. He had three more days until the hearing— plenty of time to read the rest, so he could take a break to work on his relationship with a boy he prayed would be returning to Salt Flatts with him next week. “What’re your plans for today?”

“Hoping another cup of coffee will stop this headache,” Richard mumbled, then swallowed his last spoonful of mush. “Then I’m going to take a nap before I head back to Lucky’s.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He hadn’t been asking Richard, but at least he’d be busy and out of the way.

But how to arrange an outing with Anthony after school when Richard might be opposed, or worse, decide to come along?

Myrtle filled the cup Richard tapped as he growled, “Have you packed, boy?”

Anthony shook his head. “I only have two outfits.”

“My wife won’t be happy with those rags of yours.” He glared at Anthony. “We’ll get some ready-made clothes while we’re in the big city before heading home.”

Anthony lifted his eyes to look at Silas.

He nodded a bit to encourage him to answer civilly.

“All right.”

Richard appeared rooted to the seat, sipping and staring.

He’d ignore him. “Know a good place to fish around here?”

No interested gleam lit the boy’s eye, though Kate turned an accusatory glare on him. “You’re going fishing?”

“Or I might play chess.” Silas tried to cut through his rubbery bacon with the edge of his fork.

Not even a fidget from Anthony. Too bad—he liked chess. “Maybe I’ll find a place to shoot targets . . .” Could the boy truly not be interested in any of those things? “The library perhaps? Maybe I could learn to draw or paint.”

“Paint?” Anthony’s spoon hovered in front of his mouth, his left eyebrow raised.

Richard huffed. “Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“Well sure.” Silas blinked against the thought of actually having to go through with painting lessons. He couldn’t even draw a recognizable map.

“Miss Dawson paints.” Anthony shrugged.

“Not you?” He grabbed the salt shaker for the second time to doctor his mush.

“Only when she wants me to.”

Silas blew out a breath. At least he didn’t have to pretend to like art for the boy’s sake.

Myrtle set a plate in front of Kate, and she bowed her head over her food. Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask Lucy about her relationship with God before the wedding. Maybe if she’d been like Kate, things would’ve gone more smoothly.

He now told people he liked living alone; it was quiet, gave a man time to think. But maybe his life would’ve turned out better if he hadn’t written for a wife but waited on a praying woman to show up in his little town in Kansas.

One who smelled like flowers and soft soap like Kate.

He blinked. Wait, what was he thinking?

Once Kate took up her spoon, he tried again with Anthony. “So what do you do when you’re not in school?”

The boy shrugged again.

Silas swallowed a sigh. Was he simply not much of a talker? Or was Richard the problem? “Are you a good runner? I used to outrun all the boys. Bet you’re fast.”

“Not as fast as Miss Dawson.”

He looked to Kate, who was now the one afflicted with shrugging.

She
had
flown past him rather quickly that first day. Why had he brought that up anyway? It’d been an age since he’d run. He’d probably hurt himself if he challenged anyone to a race.