packed, handing it to her in silence.
As she turned away he cleared his throat. Fiona paused, keeping her back to him.
“You’ll do just fine.”
She looked over and absorbed a jolt at the way he was watching her. Feeling her cheeks redden she managed a smile. “Thank you, Gray. And thank your father for me. Each time I feel lost today, I’ll look at these and remember his kindness. And yours.”
He pulled himself up to the wagon and snapped the reins.
Fiona stood on the porch and watched until a sudden gust of wind had her stepping inside the schoolhouse. She was grateful for the dozens of chores to see to. She hoped they would be enough to keep her fears at bay.
* * *
Fiona was feeling more than a little breathless. She’d swept the floor and polished the desktops until they gleamed, even though they were already sparkling. She’d hauled a bucket of water from the stream and filled a pitcher, which she’d set beside a basin on a little table in the outhouse. The rest of the water stood just inside the door of the schoolhouse, with a dipper beside it. The bouquet of wildflowers stood in a second bucket beside her desk. Their fragrance perfumed the room.
In large neat letters she wrote her name on a slate and placed it on her desk.
Her chores completed, she paced from her desk to the door, where she paused to peer about, hoping to hear the sound of a wagon or horse. Seeing and hearing nothing, she paced to her desk, then back again.
What if no one came?
The thought had her going rigid with fear. What if the townspeople had decided that she was too different, too... Irish, to be allowed to teach their children?
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and stared at the vast expanse of field and forest. Seeing no horse carts or wagons, no sign of children or adults, she let out a long, deep sigh and was just about to turn away when she spied something in the tall grass.
Was that a child’s head? Or was she so desperate for a student, any student, that she’d conjured a vision in her mind?
While she watched she saw a figure straighten after retrieving something from the ground. Sunlight glinted off blonde hair as a boy of about ten sauntered toward the schoolhouse, holding a tin bucket in his hand.
A boy. Headed toward the school. Her heart gave a leap of joy before beginning a wild flutter in her chest. As she stepped out onto the porch she caught sight of a cluster of children on the horizon. And behind them, a horse cart bearing several more. They were coming. Her students.
For a moment she was so overcome she had to press a hand to her heart. Then, taking a deep breath, she smiled in welcome.
“Good morning. I am Miss Downey. What is your name?”
There was no answering smile. Only a frown as the boy took a step back from her. “Siegfried Gunther.”
“Are you related to Greta Gunther?”
He gave a quick nod of his head. “That’s my grandmother.” He wrinkled his nose. “She lives with us. She sleeps in my room along with my baby sister.”
Fiona thought of her poor mother, forced to share a room with several nieces. Were they generous? Or did they resent the stranger who was now taking up space in their bed, as this boy seemed to? “I met your grandmother yesterday on the way to church.” Fiona held the door. “Come in, Siegfried, and choose a place to sit.”
She turned to the cluster of children just reaching the schoolyard and beckoned them inside. As each one entered Fiona introduced herself and asked them to do the same, repeating each name in her mind until it was committed to memory.
The last boy inside was the one who’d driven the pony cart. Taller than the others, taller even than Fiona, he had wind-tossed blonde hair and eyes so pale blue, they seemed made of ice. He took her measure as he brushed past her and walked to the back of the classroom.
Following his lead, the children became unusually quiet, the atmosphere strained as they shuffled about choosing a place to
As she turned away he cleared his throat. Fiona paused, keeping her back to him.
“You’ll do just fine.”
She looked over and absorbed a jolt at the way he was watching her. Feeling her cheeks redden she managed a smile. “Thank you, Gray. And thank your father for me. Each time I feel lost today, I’ll look at these and remember his kindness. And yours.”
He pulled himself up to the wagon and snapped the reins.
Fiona stood on the porch and watched until a sudden gust of wind had her stepping inside the schoolhouse. She was grateful for the dozens of chores to see to. She hoped they would be enough to keep her fears at bay.
* * *
Fiona was feeling more than a little breathless. She’d swept the floor and polished the desktops until they gleamed, even though they were already sparkling. She’d hauled a bucket of water from the stream and filled a pitcher, which she’d set beside a basin on a little table in the outhouse. The rest of the water stood just inside the door of the schoolhouse, with a dipper beside it. The bouquet of wildflowers stood in a second bucket beside her desk. Their fragrance perfumed the room.
In large neat letters she wrote her name on a slate and placed it on her desk.
Her chores completed, she paced from her desk to the door, where she paused to peer about, hoping to hear the sound of a wagon or horse. Seeing and hearing nothing, she paced to her desk, then back again.
What if no one came?
The thought had her going rigid with fear. What if the townspeople had decided that she was too different, too... Irish, to be allowed to teach their children?
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and stared at the vast expanse of field and forest. Seeing no horse carts or wagons, no sign of children or adults, she let out a long, deep sigh and was just about to turn away when she spied something in the tall grass.
Was that a child’s head? Or was she so desperate for a student, any student, that she’d conjured a vision in her mind?
While she watched she saw a figure straighten after retrieving something from the ground. Sunlight glinted off blonde hair as a boy of about ten sauntered toward the schoolhouse, holding a tin bucket in his hand.
A boy. Headed toward the school. Her heart gave a leap of joy before beginning a wild flutter in her chest. As she stepped out onto the porch she caught sight of a cluster of children on the horizon. And behind them, a horse cart bearing several more. They were coming. Her students.
For a moment she was so overcome she had to press a hand to her heart. Then, taking a deep breath, she smiled in welcome.
“Good morning. I am Miss Downey. What is your name?”
There was no answering smile. Only a frown as the boy took a step back from her. “Siegfried Gunther.”
“Are you related to Greta Gunther?”
He gave a quick nod of his head. “That’s my grandmother.” He wrinkled his nose. “She lives with us. She sleeps in my room along with my baby sister.”
Fiona thought of her poor mother, forced to share a room with several nieces. Were they generous? Or did they resent the stranger who was now taking up space in their bed, as this boy seemed to? “I met your grandmother yesterday on the way to church.” Fiona held the door. “Come in, Siegfried, and choose a place to sit.”
She turned to the cluster of children just reaching the schoolyard and beckoned them inside. As each one entered Fiona introduced herself and asked them to do the same, repeating each name in her mind until it was committed to memory.
The last boy inside was the one who’d driven the pony cart. Taller than the others, taller even than Fiona, he had wind-tossed blonde hair and eyes so pale blue, they seemed made of ice. He took her measure as he brushed past her and walked to the back of the classroom.
Following his lead, the children became unusually quiet, the atmosphere strained as they shuffled about choosing a place to
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