Love's Story (30 page)

“There you are,” The man said with relief. “Are you all right?”

“She's fine, Chase,” Mr. Williams said. Rachel's head shot around abruptly to the amiable Mr. Williams.

“You know this man?” Rachel asked.

“Sure do. Allow me to introduce you to Chase Dylan. Chase is our resident peacekeeper. He owns a large sawmill up yonder in Portola Valley and comes down during the loading. Oversees his men; keeps them out of mischief. Chase, this here is Miss Rachel Phillips, the new Searsville schoolteacher.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Phillips. I'm sorry if I startled you.” The eyes that had fascinated her just moments before once again held her complete attention, much to her dismay. “This is a coincidence. Perhaps I can give you a ride into town; I go right through Searsville on my way to Portola Valley. In fact, you'll be teaching a few of my men's children. My buggy's right next door at the Ostrum Livery, and I'd be honored to ride into town with the new schoolteacher,” Chase said, a pleasant smile crossing his face, a challenge rising in his brows.

“I don't think so, Mr. Dylan. I'll be taking the stage into Searsville,” Rachel answered curtly, astonished by the man's audacity.

“Chase knows the roads well, Miss Phillips. You'd probably be more comfortable with him than on the mail stage,” Mr. Williams interjected.

Rachel felt betrayed. Surely her merry Mr. Williams couldn't think highly of this arrogant man, yet it
seemed
he did. “Thank you both for your concern, but my passage is planned on the stage. People are expecting me and I don't believe I should make any changes to my scheduled arrival, for their sake. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better be on my way.” Rachel lifted up her floor-length, blue muslin skirt and walked briskly out of the American House. Her long, bouncing curls swung in her defiance.

Chase Dylan and Mr. Williams looked at one another and grinned. “I guess she told me, huh, Joseph?” Chase asked.

“By the look in your eye, I'd say you won't let her get away that easily,” Mr. Williams added. Both men laughed merrily and watched Rachel stride confidently toward the stage, dragging her trunk along behind her.

A
fter nearly three hours, the dust from the stage was becoming unbearable. The ride had been fraught with rough spots along the steep grade, pauses for every slow-moving, redwood-hauling oxen wagon, and numerous mail stops.

Rachel, the coach's only passenger, felt as though she hadn't bathed in days and was not looking forward to meeting her new employer in her condition.
I'm sure they've seen many a dusty passenger arrive on this stage,
Rachel thought hopefully but without conviction. She lurched forward and the stage came to a final abrupt halt.

Her first view of Searsville brought only melancholy; the sight was nothing like she'd imagined. There were no beautiful redwoods shadowing the land, only a dry, dusty valley scattered with whitewashed buildings and a few oak trees. Rachel stepped down from the coach, her disappointment evident. The town certainly wasn't much.

The stage had stopped in front of the primitive Searsville Exchange and Post Office. Not far to the right was Eikerenkotter's Hotel, a simple two-story building. On the porch several men stood speaking with a questionable woman.

A young man dressed in a black suit approached Rachel, a welcoming grin on his face. “Miss Phillips?” he inquired.

“Yes. Mr. Lathrop, is it?” Rachel replied, surprised at the man's youth. As the patron of Searsville's school, she was expecting a much older man.

“It is. Robert Lathrop, the local blacksmith and benefactor of our new school. Welcome to our humble Searsville.” Mr. Lathrop's arm made a sweeping motion to introduce the town. “Your trunk will be taken over to the hotel where you'll stay until you find a boardinghouse that suits you.”

Rachel looked to the hotel and uneasiness gripped her. “Don't worry, Miss Phillips. You'll be well taken care of, August Eikerenkotter runs a respectable business.”

Rachel watched her dusty brown trunk being pulled roughly off the stage and shook her head in disbelief.

“What is it, Miss Phillips? You'll be safe at the hotel,” The blacksmith reassured her.

“Oh, I'm sure I will, Mr. Lathrop. I was just thinking of all the colorful dresses my stepfather purchased for me before my trip. Obviously, he's never been here or he would have only let me buy brown.” Rachel's smile told Robert Lathrop that she knew how to make the best of a situation.

Mr. Lathrop's voice turned falsely serious in mock lecture. “Brown's a very popular color around here, and rightly so, I might add.” The lighthearted conversation warmed Rachel to her new home and she decided she would reserve final judgment until after she'd had a bath.

“By the way, the schoolhouse is straight up the main road a spell.” Mr. Lathrop pointed north, then continued. “My blacksmith shop is to the right there and my home is on the left. The schoolhouse is just beyond my ranch.” Rachel looked in the direction of the schoolhouse, but it was not in her line of sight.

Mr. Lathrop spoke again, his voice low. “Miss Phillips, I need to be frank with you. You were selected for this position because of your faith. Your stepfather assured us you had come to know the Lord at a very young age. Maria, my wife, and I are believers and we want His light to shine through our school.”

Rachel nodded, but Mr. Lathrop continued on. “Being from the gold country, I'm sure you're aware of the so-called recreation that goes on after work: the gambling, the fighting, the gun play, and especially the drinking. Well, I'm afraid sawyers are no different. In fact, most of them are
from
the mining camps. Many of their children have never seen the inside of a church, and as patrons of the school, it is very important to Maria and myself that these children learn the road to heaven. I don't want to put a lot of undue pressure on you before you begin your duties, but I'd like you to do your best to teach them about Jesus.”

Rachel couldn't believe her ears. “Mr. Lathrop, I promise I will do my very best to teach the children about Jesus. Nothing would make me happier.” Rachel had heard stories from the Bible since she was a tiny girl; no lesson plan for the children would give her more pleasure.

“Come along, let's get you situated so you can rest. Introductions can wait until tomorrow. Since tomorrow is Sunday, I'm hoping you'd like to join my family for the service.” He picked up her trunk gently with a strong hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Lathrop. I'd enjoy that very much.”

“Good. Maria and I will pick you up at 9: 30. The church is a little bit of a hike, so wear your walking shoes. Actually, if you own any other kind, you can get rid of them now.” Mr. Lathrop laughed, and his young companion, now in good spirits, joined him.

Rachel allowed her trunk to be dropped off at the hotel but headed south on the road to the schoolhouse, eager to see where she would perform her teaching duties. She strolled down Searsville's main road, pleased to see the town offered all of life's necessities, including a general store, where she could order books.

At the end of the main route, Rachel was thrilled to see a lovely fresh-water lake bordering the village. She passed the schoolhouse by to gaze into its placid waters for a while. The water looked so inviting that Rachel wanted to jump right into it. She bent down, cupped her hand, and splashed her face with the cool, clean liquid. Feeling at once restored, she exhaled deeply and walked at a leisurely pace back toward the school.

The schoolhouse looked surprisingly like a church, and had probably been created by the same plans. Where there would have been a church steeple, a white tower housed the large cast-iron school bell. Rachel was tempted to ring the bell, but refrained. Giggling at the notion, she stepped inside the classroom. Her eyes became big and her mouth dropped; everything was just as she'd imagined. The room was in perfect order, and someone had scrubbed the walls and polished the windows until they gleamed.

The desktops were expertly crafted from oak and securely fastened to wrought iron bases. An elegantly carved, larger desk stood at the front of the room, and the new blackboard had W
ELCOME
M
ISS
P
HILLIPS
written upon it.

Rachel traced the words with her finger, and her stomach churned with excitement as she thought aloud, “I am a teacher and this is my classroom.” Rachel couldn't help momentarily crediting Marshall for his choice of careers for his stepdaughter.

“Miss Phillips?” Rachel turned to see a flamboyantly dressed woman with jet black hair and dark, piercing eyes standing in the doorway. The sweet tone of her voice simply did not coincide with the woman's looks.

Her dress was violet with a very tight fit and she wore a matching hat that had a single purple plume rising from its side. The ensemble was strangely out of place in this small logging town.

Rachel tried not to appear surprised by the woman's appearance, and answered, “Yes, I'm Rachel Phillips.”

“Welcome to Searsville, Miss Phillips. I'm Mrs. Gretchen Steele and this is my son, Henry.” Mrs. Steele turned to find her son missing from her side, and called sharply, “Henry!”

Henry soon appeared in the doorway, his head bent forward contritely and his big brown eyes peering shyly up at Rachel. “Say good day to Miss Phillips, Henry,” prodded Mrs. Steele.

“Good day, Miss Phillips,” sung the tiny boy sweetly.

“Henry will be one of your students. However, that's not why I'm here. I've come to invite you to our women's sewing circle. It meets on Tuesday evening at a different member's house each week. Obviously, since you have no home, you would be excused from being a hostess. This week we're meeting at my house, which is at the end of the main road, near the lake on A Street, second house on the left. I'm certain I'll see you there. I'm anxious to know all about you.” Mrs. Steele then grabbed Henry by the shoulder and left.

Rachel stood in a daze, unable to discern if the invitation was genuine. Too thrilled about her classroom to care at the moment, Rachel turned her attention to sorting through the supplies and preparing her desk for the upcoming school year.

The tinny music from the saloon below made sleeping a difficult task in Eikerenkotter's Hotel. Rachel decided locating a boardinghouse would be the day's priority. She rose early and opted to skip breakfast in lieu of strolling through town once again before attending church. The beauty of the morning surprised Rachel. The sun was glorious, coos from doves atop the hotel filled the air, and the golden hills with their majestic oaks reminded Rachel of her first home in Weberville, California.

Finding herself once again at the lake, Rachel finally viewed in the near distance the famed redwoods that provided the area's industry. She inhaled deeply, smelling their fresh scent, and suddenly the charm of Searsville became apparent. These trees were truly incredible; they were overwhelming in stature. Rachel's mouth gaped in awe as she looked up to the magnificent giants. She was reminded of her father's first words upon seeing the Sierra, and she realized she truly was witnessing the very handiwork of God.

As Rachel stood in wonderment, her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of an older woman, “Good morning, Miss Phillips. They're quite a sight, are they not?”

Rachel turned to see a woman with graying hair, dressed in her Sunday best: a long, dark plaid skirt topped by a crisp white shirt and a blue jacket. “I've never seen anything like them,” she answered.

“Well, I've lived here for ten years now and I still don't tire of looking at them. I hope the mills will leave a few for our enjoyment. By the way, I'm Thelma Hopper. Since I've already addressed you as Miss Phillips and was not corrected, I'll assume you are the new schoolteacher.” The older woman extended her hand and Rachel gently reached for it.