Choices of the Heart (12 page)

Esther murmured something she hoped appropriate or incomprehensible. She didn’t think God had anything to do with her being there. He wouldn’t approve of her leaving home as she had, disobeying her parents. Even if she was twenty-four, she had lived under their roof.

She beat a hasty retreat first to her room to stash the note under her mattress with the others, then to wander through the ten-by-fifteen-foot space set aside for a classroom, a space the size of her bedroom at home and far more sparsely furnished. Nothing covered the floor except dust. Hard benches were all the students would have to sit upon, unlike the comfortable chair in her father’s study she had enjoyed for her schooling, as he taught her arithmetic and philosophy, literature and history, the Bible and French. As if a village midwife would need to know a foreign language.

Momma had taught her chemistry as they worked in the stillroom making medicines and preserving food. Momma taught her the workings of the human body and, of course, the art of birthing children, as her mother had taught her, and her mother before her, and back for as long as any of them remembered. Back when physicians scarcely ever delivered babies and midwives ruled the birthing chamber.

Not so much now. Now women preferred doctors with their forceps that could ease a difficult birth—but could destroy the woman if the doctor were not properly educated, which far too few were.

“Women should be doctors too,” Esther had once told her mother. “I know more than any physician I’ve met.”

Momma had laughed at the notion. “Females don’t go to college like doctors do.”

But Esther had heard tell of a college in Ohio that let women in to study right alongside men. A fascinating prospect.

But what would be the use? She wouldn’t be allowed to get medical training and be called a physician. She would only be able to teach, and she didn’t need to waste money on schooling to do that.

And here lay her school—barren and stuffy, lacking in proper books and writing materials. But she would have six students and perhaps an entire mountainside to use as a classroom when the weather permitted.

She stroked one of the benches. Perhaps she could find some of that homespun cloth everyone wore and make cushions for these benches. Discomfort did not promote better attention. After all, she didn’t know how else she would spend her wage of five dollars a month, which was paid, Zach had informed her, from the mine profits. She supposed she should save some for the day she needed to leave. Until then, she would enjoy making her classroom more appealing.

Planning when and how she would conduct her first day of class, she wandered outside. Perhaps the children would have time to take her for a walk up one of the trails. Surely they didn’t have chores all day. Otherwise how could they attend classes?

The chatter of young voices drew her back to the schoolhouse. Across the yard, Zach stood at the gate, his hands at his sides but not relaxed. Three of the younger Tollivers surrounded him, and the voices weren’t welcoming. Even as Esther gathered up her skirts to run, Brenna picked up a stone the size of her fist and aimed it at Zach’s face.

10

Esther grabbed Brenna’s wrist and spun her around. “What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Her voice rasped. Her heart raced. She glared into the girl’s set face. “You never, never, never throw anything at a person’s face.”

“Or anywhere else,” Zach added in his quiet drawl.

“Um, no, nowhere else either.” Esther’s face heated, perhaps from the rush across the yard, perhaps from the embarrassment of implying that throwing rocks at other body parts was all right.

Brenna tugged against the restraint on her arm. “Let me go. He’s a Brooks. We hate Brookses.”

“We don’t hate anyone.” The words popped out reflexively. Esther expected the retort before Brenna jerked herself free and faced her with hands on her hips, one hand still clutching the stone.

“You aren’t we. You don’t know nothing about this, how a Brooks shot my daddy and probably stabbed my brother and killed my other brother and Bethann’s baby and—” Tears starred in the girl’s eyes, and she loosed the rock then. It thudded to the ground. She covered her face with her hands.

Esther jerked a half step backward. “Bethann’s—” She closed her mouth. This wasn’t an appropriate discussion to have with a female not yet a woman, with a man listening nearby. She was, after all, supposed to teach the girls deportment.

“Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek,” she said instead. “No matter what someone does to us, we are not, as Christians, supposed to fight back.”

Hypocrite that she was. Trying to fight back had gotten her nowhere but publicly shamed.

“And,” she added for good measure, “I don’t think Mr. Zach has done anything.”

“Remember,” he interjected, “I stabbed Griff, or so Bethann claims.”

Esther looked at Zach’s face—just rugged enough to not be pretty, his striking blue eyes, his gentle smile—and shook her head. “Griff doesn’t believe it, and neither do I.”

“You don’t know him,” Brenna wailed. “They’re all slippery as eels.”

“Brenna—” Esther swallowed down the tightness of anger in her throat to gentle her voice. “You need proof to accuse a body of trying to kill someone.”

“Bethann has proof.”

“Your brother doesn’t accept it.” Esther stepped forward and laid a hand on Brenna’s shoulder. “Now then, go into the house and wash your face.” She turned to the silently gaping boys. “Jack and Ned, if you’ve finished your chores, will you take me for a walk around the area?”

“I’ll take you.” Zach’s eyes glowed. “I came over to see if you wanted a look around. The walk down to the ferry is right pretty.”

“You shouldn’t go anywhere with a Brooks.” Brenna dashed her sleeve across her eyes. “They like to hurt us Tollivers.”

“Ah, but I’m a Cherrett, not a Tolliver. Your feud has nothing to do with me.”

“You might find wild berries on the walk,” Ned added. “I’ll bring a pail.”

“You boys are as bad as Griff and her.” Her wide skirt flaring out like a sail bellying in the wind, Brenna spun on her bare heel and dashed for the house.

Zach frowned, then his shoulders slumped in an expression of resignation. “I’ve never hurt a Tolliver in my life.”

“Momma and Pa say that,” Jack said. “And Griff. The ones who caused the trouble are all gone.”

“Not quite,” Zach answered. “But if the rest of us can be an example, there won’t be more fighting.”

“I’d rather shoot bears than people.” Ned lifted his hands as though aiming an imaginary rifle.

Esther smiled to cover up a quaking in her middle. “Run along, boys, and ask your mother if you may come along. And say, ‘May we go?’”

“Sounds funny to me,” Jack muttered, but he sprang into a hop, then a jump that ended in a cartwheel, then another, all the way to a perfect landing at the door of the house.

Esther watched him, her smile genuine. “I always wanted to learn to do that, but my mother wouldn’t let me. Too unladylike, and I could hurt my hands.”

“Do you play an instrument?” Zach asked.

“A little pianoforte. Not very well, though I can sing some. Why do you ask? Are you a musician?”

“No. I can’t sing or play anything, but you mentioned your hands.”

“Oh, that.” Esther stared down at her long, slim fingers and narrow palms traditionally required of a midwife. In defiance of that tradition, she had grown her nails out past the ends of her fingers. “A lady needs nice hands.”

The truth, as far as that went.

“You are a lady.” Zach stared into her eyes. “I saw that straightaway. I mean, we figured you were, and, well, you’re right fine, Miss Esther.”

“Thank you. But I’m nothing special. My father is a preacher and my mother comes from simple folk. Her father was a schoolmaster. Quite ordinary.”

As if anyone would consider her parents ordinary. Despite living in a small seaside village as its pastor for more than half his life, Papa was still very much Lord Dominick Cherrett. And Momma! Momma was kind and gentle and strong—independent, yet a true helpmeet to her husband. They were smart and loving and—

Esther’s throat closed. Her heart ripped open a little more.

“Is something wrong?” Zach asked.

Esther thought of the note—the new one—tucked beneath her mattress, and the pain eased. She was here to make her family’s lives easier. She must not mourn. They would understand the wisdom of her decision to leave quietly now that she had gone.

She shook her head. “I’m all right. I simply miss my family a bit.”

“I expect they miss you too.” Zach’s gaze held hers with brilliant blue intensity like the hottest of flames.

Esther shivered despite the growing warmth of the day. So he liked her—too much. She should tell him now that he possessed no hope of anything more than superficial friendship with her. If she didn’t, she just might have to keep running, as that note had said.

Could Hannah have sneaked over and nailed it to the door, not wanting Esther to attract her brother?

The idea was ludicrous. She shook it off like the chill of a cold wave washing over her and turned toward the house. “I’ll see what’s keeping the boys.”

“I’d rather they didn’t come along.” Zach fell into step beside her. “They’ll scare off any hope of us seeing some of the birds or maybe even other wildlife along the way.”

“That’s quite all right with me. Well, the birds might be nice, but not wildlife. I’m, um, not used to animals that aren’t domesticated except for fish and the occasional snake.”

“We got plenty here. Mountain lions, bears—”

Esther skittered to a halt. “Bears? I thought Ned was joking.”

“Naw, he’s shot at least one, maybe two. The skins’ll be put away for the summer, but come winter, they come in right nice on a cold night.”

Running sounded like a grand idea at that moment.

Esther glanced toward the line of trees beyond the stockade. Mrs. Tolliver mentioned how it was to keep wild animals away from her chickens, but she thought the older woman meant foxes and badgers—unpleasant enough, but not large enough to harm a person. But a ten-year-old boy shooting something the size of a bear?

Zach squeezed her hand. “They’re just little black bears.”

“Just.” Esther emitted a nervous laugh.

“They won’t hurt you if you don’t get between a momma and her cubs.”

“Right. I think we’ll collect the boys.”

They came flying out of the house then, Ned banging a leather bucket against his leg. “Momma says we can go.”

“Grand.” Esther glanced down, decided her ankle-high boots were sturdy enough, and took the arm Zach offered.

They departed from the compound, the boys racing ahead, then circling back to join them, energetic despite the steadily uphill climb. Zach pointed out the variety of trees, all of which he knew the names of, too many for Esther to remember.

“I’ll have to come with you again and make notations with some drawings.” She paused in the shade of an oak at least a hundred feet tall arching overhead to entwine its branches with another ancient deciduous tree. Together they formed a canopy like a cathedral roof with sunlight peeking through the leaves in a green glow. “One could hold a church service here.”

And in that moment, the boys too far ahead for their voices to carry back, Zach calm and still beside her, the presence of God touched Esther’s heart for the first time in months. It was a mere breath of awareness like the brush of a fingertip across the cheek, the tender hand of a parent against the face of a sleeping child, or a voice just soft enough for the ear not to catch.

“‘And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the L
ORD
was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.’”

She recalled that that voice had gone on to ask Elijah what he was doing there on the mountain.

She crossed her arms over her middle and grasped her elbows. She knew what she was doing there—being selfless for the first time in her life. The Tollivers and Brookses needed her. Well, they needed someone to teach their children.

“Is that from the Bible?” Zach asked in his own still, quiet voice.

“The first book of Kings, yes. I had to learn a great deal of Scripture.”

“I never did. We don’t always have a preacher here.” Zach slipped one hand beneath her elbow and started walking again.

Esther’s arm tensed, and she pretended to wrap her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, though the day was warm. “But you have Bibles, don’t you?”

“Yea, Momma has one, but I don’t—she reads to us sometimes.”

“You could—” Esther puckered her lips as realization dawned.

He couldn’t read, at least not well enough for something as difficult to manage as the Bible. “No teacher. No preacher,” she said instead. “That must make learning things like Scripture difficult.”

And here she had chafed at the hours she’d been forced to spend reading and memorizing verses. Too often she hadn’t—and paid the consequences for neglecting her lessons.

“I wanted to be running around on the beach instead of studying,” she confessed. “But I couldn’t escape when my parents were my teachers and everyone in town knew me.”

“Nice thing about growing up on a mountain. Lots of places to escape to.”

Like places to hide.

Pine needles and last year’s leaves, damp in the shade of the trees, cushioned each step, making them mostly silent.

The cool shade beneath the trees suddenly stifled her, hemming her in like the walls of Papa’s study when she wanted to be diving into the Atlantic. She needed to run, swim, climb a tree.

The boys broke through the underbrush, Jack carrying something cupped in his hands. “It fell out of its nest, but it ain’t hurt or nothing.”

He held a baby sparrow, gray and insignificant but with its head held high and its mouth opening and closing as though it shouted in protest at its captivity.