12, 1888.”
In amazement, she glanced at Granger. “Sir, is this date correct?”
He glanced at the newspaper and chuckled. “Of course not.”
Jessica sighed in relief. “You mean the year isn’t 1888?”
He laughed again. “Certainly, the year is 1888, miss. But you must know how long it takes to get any newspa pers out here. I wouldn’t have this one, except a traveling salesman left it.”
Jessica was growing exasperated. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it is the year 1888, but it’s August now, not June.”
“Oh,” said Jessica dully, flashing him a frozen smile.
She barely heard Ma asking Mr. Granger to load up their supplies in the buckboard while she and “Miss Jessie” finished their shopping next door at the general store. In a daze, she let Ma grab her by the arm and lead her toward the next shop. It was all she could do to walk on her weak knees.
So she really was living in the year 1888. There was no further denying it. She was over a hundred years removed from the life she had known before, the people she had loved . . .
They entered the general store to another clanging bell. Ma left Jessica inside the doorway and proceeded to the counter to speak with the merchant. Gradually Jessica be come aware of a potpourri of scents—pickles, tobacco, beef jerky, and spices. Coming out of her daze, she glanced about the old-fashioned store with its high ceilings and glass display cases.
She strolled the sawdust-covered floor, amazed by the antique pickle barrels, the “store-bought” clothing hang ing from racks, the decorative tins and apothecary jars that held foods and medicines, the barrels and bags of staples stacked everywhere—coffee, flour, beans, hardtack.
At a table laden with various giftware, Jessica mar veled at a cobalt blue china tea set, a ceramic shoe, a fluted glass candy basket, a miniature hurricane lamp painted with flowers. She was particularly intrigued by a lovely, slim, leather-bound writing journal, and was examining it when she felt a tug on her skirts. She looked down to see a little blond girl with a cherubic face gaz ing up at her expectantly. Why, it was the same child she’d spotted outside. Wearing a lace-trimmed blue linen frock and matching bonnet, she appeared to be no more than six.
The child grinned shyly, revealing a charming gap in her front teeth. “Hello, ma’am. I see you got a book there. Would you be the new schoolteacher we been a’waitin’ for? My brother Ben and me was hoping it was you.”
Jessica glanced off to see the girl’s brother lounging against a syrup barrel, watching them. Catching Jessica’s perusal, he blushed and stared self-consciously at his shoes.
Jessica smiled at the girl. “You know, honey, I’d love to be your schoolteacher, but—”
“She ain’t one,” Ma cut in.
Jessica glanced up to see that Eula, wearing a massive scowl, had joined them. Now she made a shooing motion at the child. “Now run along, young ‘un, before your ma takes to frettin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Curtsying, the child rushed off.
Crestfallen, Jessica regarded Ma. “Did you have to be so harsh with her?”
“Harsh?” Ma laughed. “Shooing away a young ‘un, that ain’t harsh a’tall. Giving one a switchin’, that’s harsh.”
Jessica gazed at the children, who stood with their mother at a clothing rack. “You know, I wish I could be their teacher.”
“Well, you can’t, so don’t you go getting no highfa lutin’ ideas,” Ma replied gruffly. She gestured at the book Jessica held. “What’s that you got?”
“A writing journal.”
“You favor it?”
“Well, I—”
Ma snatched the journal out of Jessica’s hands. “We’ll take it, and get you some pencils, too. Keep your fingers busy and your mind off palavering. Well, missy, you’d best step lively now. Mr. Allgood is ready to total us up— and see you stow the wabash this time.”
Frowning, Jessica followed Ma to the
In amazement, she glanced at Granger. “Sir, is this date correct?”
He glanced at the newspaper and chuckled. “Of course not.”
Jessica sighed in relief. “You mean the year isn’t 1888?”
He laughed again. “Certainly, the year is 1888, miss. But you must know how long it takes to get any newspa pers out here. I wouldn’t have this one, except a traveling salesman left it.”
Jessica was growing exasperated. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it is the year 1888, but it’s August now, not June.”
“Oh,” said Jessica dully, flashing him a frozen smile.
She barely heard Ma asking Mr. Granger to load up their supplies in the buckboard while she and “Miss Jessie” finished their shopping next door at the general store. In a daze, she let Ma grab her by the arm and lead her toward the next shop. It was all she could do to walk on her weak knees.
So she really was living in the year 1888. There was no further denying it. She was over a hundred years removed from the life she had known before, the people she had loved . . .
They entered the general store to another clanging bell. Ma left Jessica inside the doorway and proceeded to the counter to speak with the merchant. Gradually Jessica be come aware of a potpourri of scents—pickles, tobacco, beef jerky, and spices. Coming out of her daze, she glanced about the old-fashioned store with its high ceilings and glass display cases.
She strolled the sawdust-covered floor, amazed by the antique pickle barrels, the “store-bought” clothing hang ing from racks, the decorative tins and apothecary jars that held foods and medicines, the barrels and bags of staples stacked everywhere—coffee, flour, beans, hardtack.
At a table laden with various giftware, Jessica mar veled at a cobalt blue china tea set, a ceramic shoe, a fluted glass candy basket, a miniature hurricane lamp painted with flowers. She was particularly intrigued by a lovely, slim, leather-bound writing journal, and was examining it when she felt a tug on her skirts. She looked down to see a little blond girl with a cherubic face gaz ing up at her expectantly. Why, it was the same child she’d spotted outside. Wearing a lace-trimmed blue linen frock and matching bonnet, she appeared to be no more than six.
The child grinned shyly, revealing a charming gap in her front teeth. “Hello, ma’am. I see you got a book there. Would you be the new schoolteacher we been a’waitin’ for? My brother Ben and me was hoping it was you.”
Jessica glanced off to see the girl’s brother lounging against a syrup barrel, watching them. Catching Jessica’s perusal, he blushed and stared self-consciously at his shoes.
Jessica smiled at the girl. “You know, honey, I’d love to be your schoolteacher, but—”
“She ain’t one,” Ma cut in.
Jessica glanced up to see that Eula, wearing a massive scowl, had joined them. Now she made a shooing motion at the child. “Now run along, young ‘un, before your ma takes to frettin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Curtsying, the child rushed off.
Crestfallen, Jessica regarded Ma. “Did you have to be so harsh with her?”
“Harsh?” Ma laughed. “Shooing away a young ‘un, that ain’t harsh a’tall. Giving one a switchin’, that’s harsh.”
Jessica gazed at the children, who stood with their mother at a clothing rack. “You know, I wish I could be their teacher.”
“Well, you can’t, so don’t you go getting no highfa lutin’ ideas,” Ma replied gruffly. She gestured at the book Jessica held. “What’s that you got?”
“A writing journal.”
“You favor it?”
“Well, I—”
Ma snatched the journal out of Jessica’s hands. “We’ll take it, and get you some pencils, too. Keep your fingers busy and your mind off palavering. Well, missy, you’d best step lively now. Mr. Allgood is ready to total us up— and see you stow the wabash this time.”
Frowning, Jessica followed Ma to the
Similar Books
