E
xcitement had Rachel walking briskly toward Ida’s shop. Teaching the children would be the perfect job for her. For the first time in a long while, she had something to look forward to.
The bells on the door jingled as she walked inside. The aroma of spices and herbs greeted her. Ida stood by the bolts of fabric next to Callie.
“Callie, you need to stop fretting about all the details. You are going to be a lovely bride.” Ida glanced up at the door. “Rachel, it’s good to see you. Come in.”
Callie glanced quickly at Rachel. “Hi, Rachel.”
Rachel smiled. “Hello.”
Callie turned her attention back to the lace. She chewed her bottom lip. “I just want everything to
be perfect. And this lace Sara made for the dress looks awful. I can’t wear it on my wedding day.”
“I’m not telling Sara her needlework isn’t what it used to be.” Ida looked up at Rachel. “Thank heavens, another woman to talk sense into this jittery bride.”
Rachel moved toward them, unsure if she should give advice to any young bride-to-be.
Callie held up the lace collar. Her eyes were red. “Look at this collar and tell me it’s beautiful.”
Rachel took the hand-made lace collar. Crooked, with dozens of missed stitches, it looked a mess. Still, someone had put time into it. “Who made this?”
“Sara Crocket,” Ida supplied.
“She’s old and very spry,” Rachel said. She remembered how the old woman’s eyes had softened when she’d spoken to Ben. “And I suspect she loves you very much.”
“She’s a dear,” Callie said.
“Then I would wear the collar,” Rachel said. “Sara’s love is in this piece, making it far more lovely than expert stitching.”
“See, Callie?” Ida said. “Sara spent five days working on that collar for you. She wanted to make your dress special. She made the lace for my dress when I married my second husband.”
“I thought the collar would be beautiful,” Callie said. Her eyes started to tear.
“Sara used to make the loveliest lace. But her eyes have started to fail,” Ida said.
“I just want to be perfect for Timothy,” Callie said. “And that collar looks so awful. But I can’t tell Sara that. It’ll hurt her feelings. And I don’t know the first thing about lacework.”
The girl’s dramatics had Ida shaking her head and Rachel remembering a time when she’d been just as passionate about the silliest things. She also understood there’d be no reasoning with Callie over the lace. “If you’ve a lace hook, I could fix it for you.”
Callie’s eyes brightened. “The wedding is tomorrow.”
“I’m handy with a needlework and lace hooks.” It was one of the few activities Peter had approved of. She’d spent hours by the fire making samplers and lace dollies that in the end were stored away.
“There isn’t any time,” Callie said.
Rachel fingered the lace. “It won’t take me any time at all.”
Ida shook her head. “It would hurt Sara to know that you redid her collar, Callie.”
Callie’s eyes widened. “I won’t tell!”
“And I can reproduce what she’s done here,”
Rachel said. “I recognize the pattern. It can do it this afternoon.”
Callie squeezed Rachel’s hands. “You are wonderful. And tell me you are coming to the wedding with Ben.”
“Ben hasn’t said anything about us coming together,” Rachel said.
“Just like a man,” Ida remarked.
“Well, he wasn’t sure if I planned to stay,” Rachel added.
Ida nodded. “And you are now?”
“Yes,” Rachel said.
Ida smiled. “I wouldn’t fret over it. He’ll get around to asking. Men aren’t good with social details.”
“And Ben’s the worst,” Callie said. “He’s giving me away so he has to be there. And we’d love to have you.”
“I don’t want to impose on your day,” Rachel said.
Callie took her hands in hers. “You are saving my
life
by redoing that collar,” she said. “I can think of no one else I’d like to have there.”
Rachel smiled. “I will take care of the collar.”
Callie pulled a lace hook and a ball of extra thread from her pocket. “Thank you!”
Ida handed Callie a basketful of flour sacks and
spices. “Get on back to your mother-in-law’s. She’ll be needing that flour if she’s going to make your cake.”
The young woman beamed and headed out the door. Ida shook her head, turning to a pile of material in need of folding. “That girl runs me ragged. I hope Timothy knows what he’s getting into.”
“Does anyone when they marry?”
Ida laughed. “No.”
Rachel began to fold a piece of fabric. “I was thinking about the children in town and the fact that they have to travel so far for school.”
“Pity, isn’t it.”
Nervous energy shot through Rachel. “Have you considered opening a school on the island?”
“We’ve all talked about it enough, but like I said before, there’s no teacher.”
“I could teach.”
Ida stopped and looked at her. “You?”
Rachel feared if she didn’t keep talking she’d lose her nerve. “I’ve no experience directly with teaching, but I’ve been to many excellent schools. I love to read and I enjoy children. It could be a perfect fit for everyone.”
“You take a job like that, you just can’t pick up and leave. You’ll have to commit yourself to this place.”
“I know. Honestly, I think that I could love this place.”
Before Ida could answer, the bells on the front door jingled. “Don’t look now,” Ida said, smiling brightly. “You’re about to be baptized by fire.”
Three women from the village entered. Their dark dresses and gray bonnets made them look as tired and weather-beaten as the town.
A short woman stepped forward. Her hips were round and her eyes small like raisins. Her gaze darted to Rachel. She frowned. “Ida, we came by to see what else needs doing for the wedding.”
Ida grabbed a jar of peppermints. “There is so much to do by tomorrow and I’m so far behind.” She opened the jar. “Would you like a candy?”
The short woman took a candy. “Mighty generous of you, Ida.”
Ida passed the jar from woman to woman. “Before we talk about the wedding, there is something else I wanted to bring up.”
Rachel sucked in a deep breath.
Ida’s clear and steady voice calmed her. “Have you all met Rachel? She’s the gal Ben pulled from the ocean.”
The women studied Rachel. They nodded but none spoke. The stocky woman pulled in her stomach a fraction.
“Rachel, these three ladies are the cornerstones of this town. Don’t know what I’d do without them. This here is Marianne Freely, her husband is Horace.” Mrs. Freely nodded, straightening her shoulders a fraction as she eyed Rachel.
Ida pointed to a woman with large bosoms and ink-black hair. “This is Ella Harter and next to her,” she said, pointing to a very slim woman with auburn hair, “this is Sylvia Winters.”
“It’s a pleasure, ladies,” Rachel said.
The women murmured their greeting but clearly they were suspicious of Rachel.
Ida set the jar down. “Remember how we were talking after church a while back about starting a school on the island?”
Mrs. Freely reached for another candy. “A good idea but impossible.”
Ida held up her finger. “Maybe not. I’ve an idea that Rachel Davis could start a school for the children here in the village.”
Shocked whispers rose among the women.
Rachel stood straight, aware that all the women’s gazes bore into her now.
“Think about it,” Ida said. “We’d talked about converting a boathouse or even the base of the lighthouse into a schoolroom. Now that we have Rachel interested in teaching, we can have our
school. We’d no longer be at the mercy of the rising prices of the boarding school. We’d no longer have to worry over the weather when our children cross to the mainland.”
“But our children are getting a good education on the mainland,” Mrs. Harter said. “We know nothing about this woman, except that Ben pulled her out of the water and she’s been living with him.”
Ida planted her hands on her hips. Her silver hair glistened in the morning sun. “Ella, I can tell you she’s smart. Comes from quality. She can give the children more than that dried-up prune at Webster’s school.”
“And who’s to say she’s gonna stay,” Mrs. Freely said. “Be nothing worse than to cancel our spots at Webster’s and then have her leave.”
Rachel smoothed damp hands over her skirt. “Ida, if I might address the ladies.”
Everyone turned to face her. No one was smiling.
A shiver of apprehension danced down her spine. She’d never felt more out of place. The tension in the room was thick.
“I am well versed in reading and writing as well as French and Latin.”
“You ever teach?” Sylvia asked.
Rachel faced the woman, meeting her direct
gaze. “No. But I’ve been educated in schools in London, Paris and New York. I’ve read more books than I can remember and I know I’d love working with the children.”
Mrs. Harter stepped forward. “I have a thirteen-year-old and a five-year-old. You gonna teach both of them in the same classroom? My daughter is smart as a whip and has been reading since she was five but my boy only wants to fish. The teachers spend half the time dragging him back to his seat.”
“There will be challenges for all of us,” Rachel said.
Mrs. Winters shook her head. “I don’t like the idea of the children crossing. Makes my blood run cold. But my girl is having trouble reading. Says the words are backward. If I put her in your school, could you fix that?”
Rachel didn’t know. “I’d need time to evaluate her.”
Mrs. Winters frowned, clearly not happy with the answer.
“Let’s not mince words,” Mrs. Freely said. “We don’t know this woman. She washed up on our shores and all we know about her is that Ben likes her. Now, I ain’t doubting that she’s smart, that she
might
be a decent teacher one day, but I ain’t pull
ing my children from school unless I know she’s staying.”
“I give you my word that I will stay a year,” Rachel said.
“Ain’t enough,” Mrs. Harter said. “We don’t know you well enough to know that you’ll keep your word.”
Mrs. Freely nodded. “And, frankly, I’m not keen on the idea of you living so free and easy with the lightkeeper. That kind of domestic relationship is hard to explain to a child.”
“I can assure you that my relationship with Mr. Mitchell is quite respectable,” Rachel said.
“Might be now,” Mrs. Harter said. “But we don’t know that it’ll stay that way.”
Ida frowned. “My Ben’s an honorable man.”
“Aye, he is,” Mrs. Winters said. “But he is a man and having a woman like Rachel Davis under his roof would test the patience of a saint.”
Mrs. Freely’s lips flattened. “Ida, I say we call a vote. I for one don’t think the idea of this woman teaching our children is a good one.”
Rachel could feel the ground under her feet eroding like the sand on the beach. “Is there anything that I can say to change your mind?”
More murmurs followed. “No,” Mrs. Freely said. “Let’s get to the vote. I’ve got my morning
catch to clean. All those in favor of Rachel Davis teaching our children, say aye.”
The room was quiet.
Ida stepped forward. “Aye.”
Rachel’s stomach clenched. She managed a smile for Ida.
“All those opposed.”
A resounding “Nay” reverberated off the walls.
Rachel’s heart sank.
Rachel didn’t see Ben all afternoon. She’d half expected him to come by the cottage but his work had kept him very busy. She’d dearly have loved to tell him about what had happened in the village that day. But he never came.
She retreated to the parlor and spent the afternoon sitting by the fire remaking the lace collar for Callie. When the sun went down, she turned up the lanterns and continued to work the white tread into lace.
As she pulled the treads loose, she remembered her own wedding dress, a watered silk by Worth. It had cost a fortune partly because Peter had wanted it made and delivered within three weeks. Every detail of their marriage had been rushed. He’d paid a king’s ransom for the reception. At the time, she’d thought he’d loved her,
now she realized that it was his need to possess that drove him.
A clock on the mantel ticked. Her wedding day had been only a year ago, it was but a vague memory now. The yards of silk, the vases of flowers and the elegant meal had faded to the shadows—almost as if it had never happened.
Almost.
The clock on the mantel chimed twelve times. She’d finished the collar and with the extra thread made two cuffs. Together with the collar, she draped them over a chair for safekeeping. Ben usually came home for dinner before his shift, but not tonight.
Rachel picked up her lantern and moved into the kitchen. She knelt in front of the stove, opened the small door at the bottom and shoved in pieces of kindling. The red embers sparked and popped. Satisfied, she closed the door and rose. She pulled the kettle onto the front burner.
She moved into the pantry and found the ham she’d seen earlier. With a large kitchen blade, she took the ham to the table. The knife felt unwieldy and awkward in her hand. She hacked away a small, uneven piece.
Rachel dug the knife in deeper as footsteps sounded on the back porch. Startled, the blade slipped through the meat quickly and cut directly into her hand.
She dropped the knife and looked at her hand. Blood oozed from her index finger.
Ben strode into the room as she turned and headed to the sink to wipe the cut off. “What are you still doing up?” he said, moving toward her.
She felt foolish for cutting herself. “I was hungry and wanted a snack.” She reached for the pitcher of water.
“Have you cut yourself?” he said.
Holding the full water pitcher with one hand while keeping her bleeding finger over the sink was awkward. “Yes. A stupid accident.” She curled her injured hand into a fist, as if to hide her blunder.
He approached her with the lantern. He took her injured hand in his and inspected the wound. The cold night air still clung to him and he smelled of fresh air and the barest hint of oil.
His hands were rough, deeply callused, as he uncurled her fingers. “I just sharpened that blade a few days ago. You’re lucky you didn’t cut your finger off.”