beautiful, with heads full of shining curls and cherubic faces, appeared in the bedroom doorway.
Harriet opened her little bow-shaped mouth, most likely on the verge of making some remark about her kinsman’s presence, but Piper quickly pressed an index finger to her own lips, shushing her.
Though she was very young, only in the first grade, Harriet read Piper’s signal and bit back whatever she’d planned to say.
For the next hour, the children kept busy, cutting strips of colorful paper, saved especially for the purpose, and pasting them together in loops, so they turned into long chains.
The boys returned from the shed, triumphant, with several pieces of wood cobbled together to serve as a stand for the tree.
After much ado, the stem of the tree was wedged into the simple stand. Piper found the box of handmade ornaments on the cloakroom shelf and brought it into the schoolroom, where the lid was ceremoniously raised.
Inside were other chains, made by other students and other teachers, along with a few carefully wrapped glass balls, tiny rag-doll angels, and stars cut from tin. Some of the stars had rusted, which only added to their charm, and the children were as enthralled as if they’d just found a pirate’s treasure.
Soon, the tree stood glittering, ready for Christmas.
By midday, the weather was turning gloomy again, the sky dark and heavy with snow, and fathers and uncles arrived in wagons and on horseback, to collect their offspring and see them safely home. Two of the mothers came as well, and peered curiously at Piper, as though they weren’t sure they recognized her.
When the first fat snowflakes drifted down, Ginny-Sue took her leave, squeezing Piper’s hand before she hurried outside. “Don’t worry, Teacher,” she said.
“Christmas will still come—you’ll see!”
CHAPTER 6
O f all Piper’spupils, only Edrina and Harriet remained at the schoolhouse, waiting for Clay to come for them. Heedless of the continuing snow, they laughed with Sawyer, who had hauled Piper’s rocking chair out of the bedroom and now sat with one of the little girls on each knee, telling stories about himself and Clay as boys.
The fire in the stove warmed the room and steamed up the windows in a cozy way, and the Christmas tree lent a definite air of festivity, but Piper was nervous, just the same.
From a practical standpoint, she knew that Clay wasn’t late—it was not quite three o’clock and he had farther to travel than most of the other parents—and even if he’d gotten off to an early start, the weather would surely slow him down.
No, it was Dara Rose she was concerned about.
Hadn’t Clay said, that very morning, that Dara Rose had seemed anxious to get her daughters out of the house? Wasn’t that an indication that the baby might be coming?
Piper bit her lower lip and busied herself at her desk, pretending to study her attendance records. Dara Rose was healthy, she reminded herself, and strong. She’d had two other children with no problem at all, hadn’t she?
But Edrina and Harriet had been born in a large city, with a real doctor present at each of their births, and Dara Rose had been younger then.
Was she giving birth right now, this minute, way out there on that isolated ranch?
Had she run into some kind of trouble with the delivery, the kind Clay didn’t have the knowledge or skill to handle?
At three-fifteen Piper heard the squeal of wagon wheels being braked, the snorting and tromping of horses, and rushed to the front window to wipe away some of the mist and look outside.
Clay, wearing a heavy coat, with the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes to shield his face from the blustery weather, jumped down from the wagon box and left the team standing, their nostrils puffing out white clouds of breath.
Piper looked harder, trying to discern something from Clay’s bearing or manner—his face was still hidden from view by the angle of his hat—but he revealed nothing as he made
Harriet opened her little bow-shaped mouth, most likely on the verge of making some remark about her kinsman’s presence, but Piper quickly pressed an index finger to her own lips, shushing her.
Though she was very young, only in the first grade, Harriet read Piper’s signal and bit back whatever she’d planned to say.
For the next hour, the children kept busy, cutting strips of colorful paper, saved especially for the purpose, and pasting them together in loops, so they turned into long chains.
The boys returned from the shed, triumphant, with several pieces of wood cobbled together to serve as a stand for the tree.
After much ado, the stem of the tree was wedged into the simple stand. Piper found the box of handmade ornaments on the cloakroom shelf and brought it into the schoolroom, where the lid was ceremoniously raised.
Inside were other chains, made by other students and other teachers, along with a few carefully wrapped glass balls, tiny rag-doll angels, and stars cut from tin. Some of the stars had rusted, which only added to their charm, and the children were as enthralled as if they’d just found a pirate’s treasure.
Soon, the tree stood glittering, ready for Christmas.
By midday, the weather was turning gloomy again, the sky dark and heavy with snow, and fathers and uncles arrived in wagons and on horseback, to collect their offspring and see them safely home. Two of the mothers came as well, and peered curiously at Piper, as though they weren’t sure they recognized her.
When the first fat snowflakes drifted down, Ginny-Sue took her leave, squeezing Piper’s hand before she hurried outside. “Don’t worry, Teacher,” she said.
“Christmas will still come—you’ll see!”
CHAPTER 6
O f all Piper’spupils, only Edrina and Harriet remained at the schoolhouse, waiting for Clay to come for them. Heedless of the continuing snow, they laughed with Sawyer, who had hauled Piper’s rocking chair out of the bedroom and now sat with one of the little girls on each knee, telling stories about himself and Clay as boys.
The fire in the stove warmed the room and steamed up the windows in a cozy way, and the Christmas tree lent a definite air of festivity, but Piper was nervous, just the same.
From a practical standpoint, she knew that Clay wasn’t late—it was not quite three o’clock and he had farther to travel than most of the other parents—and even if he’d gotten off to an early start, the weather would surely slow him down.
No, it was Dara Rose she was concerned about.
Hadn’t Clay said, that very morning, that Dara Rose had seemed anxious to get her daughters out of the house? Wasn’t that an indication that the baby might be coming?
Piper bit her lower lip and busied herself at her desk, pretending to study her attendance records. Dara Rose was healthy, she reminded herself, and strong. She’d had two other children with no problem at all, hadn’t she?
But Edrina and Harriet had been born in a large city, with a real doctor present at each of their births, and Dara Rose had been younger then.
Was she giving birth right now, this minute, way out there on that isolated ranch?
Had she run into some kind of trouble with the delivery, the kind Clay didn’t have the knowledge or skill to handle?
At three-fifteen Piper heard the squeal of wagon wheels being braked, the snorting and tromping of horses, and rushed to the front window to wipe away some of the mist and look outside.
Clay, wearing a heavy coat, with the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes to shield his face from the blustery weather, jumped down from the wagon box and left the team standing, their nostrils puffing out white clouds of breath.
Piper looked harder, trying to discern something from Clay’s bearing or manner—his face was still hidden from view by the angle of his hat—but he revealed nothing as he made
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