Second Chance Bride (9 page)

“Thank you,” she said. “I have worried.”

The quiver in her voice helped him understand how much she had worried about the upcoming meeting, but he had no idea how to calm her. With a snap of the whip, the horses took off.

“Miss Cunningham, we are delighted to have you meet with the board,” Mr. Johnson, the grocer, said. “The children seem very happy with your teaching. Ida and Samuel have expressed this often.”

“Thank you, sir.” She looked around at the members of the school board in the bank office. She knew Mr. Hanson, of course. She thought the tall woman with pale blond hair in the corner must be the grandmother of the Sundholm twins. In the corner sat Mr. Tripp, the carriage maker and the father of Tommy and Rose. John looked very much in charge, certain and sure in conducting the meeting. This was Mr. Sullivan she was seeing—he was no longer John, the man she’d spent time with Saturday morning.

“Miss Cunningham.” He spoke in a serious but reassuring voice. “Some of the members would like to ask you questions.”

Annie nodded.

“I wonder if you could tell us what techniques you use to teach,” Mr. Hanson said. “I have heard that you use the older children to teach the younger ones to read.”

Annie calmed the flutter in her stomach. “Well, yes, I do.” What other choice did she have when she knew so little? “I believe that the older children review what they’ve learned when they teach the younger ones, and it allows me to work with another group on arithmetic.”

“An interesting concept,” Mr. Johnson said. “But don’t you find that the older ones need additional help with their reading and writing?”

“Of course, but right now we are reviewing. The children have been out of school for almost six months. I want to make sure they remember what they learned last year before we move on to new material.” Oh, she spoke as if she knew what she was doing. She sounded like a real teacher. Confidence began to spread through her.

“How long will that take?” the elderly woman asked.

“A month, perhaps.” Until she learned to read much better. “Although I expect to do this occasionally during the school year. I’ve seen how working with the younger children helps the older children retain information.”

“Perhaps you can tell us some other methods you use.” John opened the leather folder and inspected a paper inside. “How have you used what they taught you in school?”

She paused to give herself time to gather her thoughts to make something up. “I learned to use two subjects together, one to teach the other,” she blurted out with no idea where the words had come from. In the back of her mind she could remember someone—had it been her mother?—teaching Annie her numbers while reading her stories. It had been so long ago, and she’d been so young.

“Could you give us an example?” the elderly woman asked.

“I use a song to teach the alphabet,” she said, surprised at her own words.

“Would you sing it for us?” Mr. Johnson asked.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Johnson said. “We’d like to hear that, wouldn’t we?”

All the members agreed.

Floundering, Annie wondered what to do. Everyone on the board sat in silence, waiting for her. She cleared her throat, then opened her mouth to sing the multiplication table, which she knew very well now, to a tune. She had no idea if the numbers would fit the tune, but she had to do something. Fortunately, the numbers and the notes came out almost even, with just a little flourish at the end. When she finished, Annie looked around the room. All the members looked at her with pleasure, even admiration.

“As I said before, you have a lovely voice, Miss Cunningham,” John said. She glimpsed that half smile briefly, before he became serious again. “The children are fortunate to have you as their teacher.”

“Thank you, sir.” She lowered her eyes, pleased to have survived that question.

“If there is nothing more,” John said, looking at each board member, “some of the mothers have prepared a small party to welcome you, Miss Cunningham.”

Once the other members of the school board began to leave, John could think of no reason to put off the short drive to the ranch. After he’d helped Matilda into the surrey and started the horses toward the ranch, he reminded himself that, although there was clearly something between them, she was alone in a strange place with no male relatives to protect her.

He wasn’t the kind of man who would take advantage of a vulnerable woman. Of any woman. But neither did he have any idea how to behave toward her in their situation.

“You did very well at the meeting tonight,” he said.

“Thank you.”

After that, conversation languished. He sensed that she was as uncomfortable and uncertain as he was.

When they reached the schoolhouse, he stopped the vehicle, walked around it and held out his hand to steady her. When their hands touched, he felt the attraction again, stronger now. Standing close to her as she turned to walk toward the schoolhouse, still steadying her with his hand under hers, he was drawn by her scent. He guessed it was only the soap Lucia had given her, but on Matilda it smelled like every marvelous fragrance in the world.

When she reached the steps of the schoolhouse, Annie looked up at him and removed her hand from his. “Thank you, John. I enjoyed meeting the other members of the school board. I believe the evening went well. Don’t you?”

But his thoughts were elsewhere. Under the bright light of the moon, he could only think of how lovely she was: her oval face, her beautiful dark eyes, her long lashes, lovely arched brows and the thick, dark hair he longed to feel loose and curling through his fingers. “Matilda, you are very beautiful,” he whispered, reaching for her hand again.

Her eyes opened wide in fear. She pushed his hand away as she attempted to escape from his touch, almost in a panic.

As soon as he realized his actions and words scared her, he stepped back. “I apologize. I don’t know what I did, but I’m deeply sorry my words and actions frightened you.”

How had he alarmed her? He had no idea. He hadn’t thought he’d spoken or acted disrespectfully; yet she was terrified. What had he done?

Her shoulders shook and tears ran down her face. He reached out a hand in an effort to comfort her, but she moved away. With the steps behind her, there was little space for her to flee. He quickly took another step backward.

“Are you all right?” He looked into her terrified eyes as he attempted to hand her a handkerchief. She didn’t take it. She didn’t answer.

“What can I do?”

She shook her head. Without a word or a glance toward him, she stumbled up the steps, entered the schoolhouse and closed the door behind her.

“Good night, Matilda,” he said to the door. He stood in the clearing for a moment and watched, wondering what to do. After several minutes, the lamp went on in the schoolroom and then moved toward her quarters. He strode to the surrey.

He had no idea how he’d upset her. He’d been raised to be a model of moral rectitude, to be a dutiful son with the added burden of living up to not just one but two biblical names. He’d been faithful to his wife and had never looked at another woman during their marriage or since—not until now.

Yet somehow he’d frightened Matilda beyond all understanding when he told her she was beautiful. Didn’t women like that? Or was it holding her hand that scared her? Or both?

Had something happened in her life that made her skittish around men, or was her reaction due to her virtue? And what should he do about it?

He leaped onto the seat and clicked the reins. He had no idea what he should do, but knew better than to go back to the schoolhouse and ask her tonight.

Shaking, Annie closed the door to the schoolhouse and leaned against it.

Was it so obvious what she was? Was
trash
written across her face? Why did men believe they could touch her whenever they wanted? How did they know that she wasn’t a lady? She’d tried to become one. The futility of all that effort caused tears to pour down her cheeks while loud sobs racked her.

“Meow?”

The cat was still inside. She hadn’t been able to put the tiny thing back outside. It had become such good company in spite of its constant noise. Or perhaps because of it.

She took off her shoes and padded slowly across the classroom, lit the lamp and carried it to her bedroom with the kitten trotting behind her.

She noted the narrow bed where Minnie sat, the unsteady dresser where she’d placed the lamp and the dresses hanging on the nails. A shabby little place by the standards of some but beautiful to her. She’d felt safe here.

For a moment, she closed her eyes. Those times from the past, the terrible experiences that she’d tried so hard to forget, were shoving their way past the barricades she’d built, plunging into her thoughts. The terror and pain of the first time, the raised hands, the beatings, the brutality. The fear that caused her to shrink back still, to try to hide from men by escaping into herself.

With his touch and his whispered words, John had opened the doors, and the horror of all those years had come swirling out to overwhelm her. She fell onto the bed, longing to be free of memories. But of course that was impossible.

Back when she worked in the brothel, she spent most of her nights playing the piano, but every now and then, a man would buy her time. It was always the customers who knew she didn’t want to be bought. Usually they were rough. She touched her lips and remembered they’d been cut and bleeding in the past.

Some part of her knew that John would not abuse her this way. And the whispered words and hand-holding was nothing compared to what she’d suffered before she arrived in Trail’s End. But those actions had often been the beginning of the process. They announced what a man had on his mind. The forwardness made it clear that a man knew what kind of woman she was back in Weaver City. Back when she was Annie MacAllister, a woman who’d worked in a brothel.

But she wasn’t Annie MacAllister anymore. She was Matilda Cunningham. At least that’s who she was to John.

She sat up. Had she completely overreacted? Had standing alone in the darkness with a man awakened those nightmares? Perhaps her reaction wasn’t his fault at all.

“He held my hand and whispered that I was beautiful,” Annie said aloud. What was so bad about that?

Annie wiped her tears away. Yes, she’d overreacted. She’d leaped ahead in her mind to what had happened when she was a prostitute. John wasn’t one of those men. He’d held her hand to help her across the ground, like a gentleman, and he’d told her she was beautiful, perhaps because he actually meant it. He hadn’t forced her in any way. He’d moved away when she’d become frightened. Could it be John wasn’t like the men from her past? Perhaps he’d only acted like a man attracted to a woman and she’d overreacted.

If that was the truth—and she now thought it was—how could she face him again?

The following afternoon, Rose approached the teacher’s desk. “Miss Cunningham, I’d like to read a story to the twins. Would you listen to make sure I don’t make any mistakes?”

Although she didn’t know if she could read fast enough to tell if Rose made mistakes, Annie nodded. Rose sat on the bench with Bertha and Clara while Annie stood behind them and leaned over so she could see the book.

As Rose read, she put her finger under each word. How nice. Annie could easily follow the printed words as Rose read them, and she recognized almost all of them.

After Rose finished, Samuel asked if she would listen to him read a story. He read a more difficult story but in the same way, pointing at every word.

Annie was suddenly struck by a realization that nearly took her breath away. The students were not practicing their reading. They were teaching her.

She was mortified and moved. So much love for her students filled the slowly warming corners of her heart that she couldn’t speak. She’d never tell them she knew but was incredibly happy that she had ended up in Trail’s End with these students.
Thank you, Matilda,
she thought.
And thank You, dear God.

That afternoon, after all the students but Elizabeth had left, Annie picked up one of the books she’d found in Matilda’s valise, the one with the drawings. In what Annie guessed was Matilda’s clear writing, she found plans and activities to use in class, but she didn’t have any of the supplies to make a thaumatrope, or decorations for the holidays or a game of anagrams. She sighed. Perhaps she could ask the school board for supplies when they met next.

Several minutes later, she checked the watch on her collar. It was almost four o’clock.

“Perhaps I should walk home, Miss Cunningham.”

“Your father wouldn’t want you to walk home alone.”

“Could you walk with me? Then Ramon could bring you back.” She looked at Annie pleadingly.

“If no one comes within the next few minutes, we’ll do that. Let’s give them a little more time.”

“They might have forgotten me.” She stood to look out the window.

“Elizabeth, do you really believe your father would forget you?”

“No, Miss Cunningham.” She smiled. “I know he’d never forget me.”