The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (47 page)

“Would you
please
stop talking!” Jonathan couldn’t imagine what had happened to the nice young children who had clapped him on the back and joked with him just last week. Above the din came the sound of the door opening. The noise abated by the time Vicar Phelps had taken five steps into the room. Deeply embarrassed, Jonathan nonetheless managed to feel some relief. From the astonishment in the vicar’s expression, it was obvious he had heard the disorder from the other side of the door. The children respected the vicar. No doubt he would give them a stern lecture on obedience, and order would be restored.

But he did not. After leading the children in prayer, he delivered a sermon about putting on the whole armor of God and then turned to leave. He paused at the door long enough to send Jonathan a look which clearly said,
And you fancy yourself a schoolmaster?

The unspoken insult stung. Still Jonathan wanted to shout after him, “Please stay!” But the door clicked shut and he was in charge again. Dismally so, for the talking began anew.

He managed to accomplish some teaching by finally threatening to withhold recess privileges. Thankfully, the merry-go-round was a sufficient carrot to dangle in front of any miscreant’s nose. But any change in routine, such as his dropping a piece of chalk or a student’s loud belch, caused giggles that turned into whispers. By the end of the school day he was happy to see them leave. He dropped down into his chair, nursing a throbbing headache and fighting a renewed temptation to leave Gresham.

“The teacher hollered at us today,” Edgar said at the supper table after his father and brothers had exhausted the subject of how Squire Bartley was a stingy old coot for not raising the price he paid per gallon of milk during the past eight years, and of how they should show him up one day by building another cheese factory and driving him out of business.

“Why did he holler at you?” Mr. Sanders asked, his weathered face indignant. “I don’t send my boys to school to be hollered at.”

On her way to refill the serving bowl of smothered marrow and onions from the kettle on the stove, Mercy said, “They probably deserved it.”

“But we wasn’t doing nothing.”

“The teacher’s face got red, just like a apple,” Jack threw in, grinning, when Mercy had returned to the table. “Edgar burped out loud three times.”

Mercy sent Edgar a severe look. “You should be ashamed.” He merely spooned another heap of peas into his mouth while looking very pleased with himself. After she had cleared the table and washed the supper dishes, Mercy sought her father out as he sat by the low parlor fire sharpening his pocket knife on a whetstone. “Shouldn’t you talk with the boys about their misbehaving at school?”

He shrugged, his forest green eyes indifferent. “Why?”

Mercy pulled up a footstool and sat near his knees. “Because you’re sending them there to learn, Papa, not to give their schoolmaster grief.”

“I’m sendin’ them because thet woman made a bargain with me. I don’t want her coming here and taking thet heifer back before it’s old enough for milking.”

“But since they have to go to school anyway to keep your end of the bargain, wouldn’t it be better if they actually
learned
something?”

Her father stopped sharpening and frowned. “Mercy, it ain’t proper to speak ill of the dead, but you let that Brent woman put grand ideas into yer head. I can’t even write my name, and I manage to keep the seven of you fed and clothed proper. If thet teacher can’t get Jack and Edgar to learn, then I don’t know what you expect I can do.”

“You could order them to behave. They’ll listen to you.”

“But I can’t go sit with them in thet schoolroom.” He resumed moving the knife across the whetstone in a fluid motion. “If they act up too much, maybe thet teacher will send ’em home. Thet Kingston woman can’t say I didn’t keep our bargain then.”

So that was it, Mercy realized. Her father still couldn’t see the use in educating boys who would follow in his footsteps and become dairymen. He would just as soon have them here at their chores. But fear of Mrs. Kingston’s appearing and taking that heifer away—which would most likely happen, though Mercy couldn’t imagine what she would
do
with the animal—compelled him to send Jack and Edgar to school every day. If they were
expelled
, however …

Any more conversation along that line was futile, she realized, and since her father’s face had assumed the same look of irritation it would have worn should a persistent fly buzz about his ears, she got up from the stool and went upstairs to her room. She went to the window and opened the curtain. Off in the distance burned two lights at the Brent cottage. Upon more thorough scrutiny, she realized one light burned in what was at one time the milking barn. Mr. Langford’s reclusiveness was almost bizarre, and he had yet to thank her for the cake. But ever since learning about how the man had sent the bolt of fabric to that poor woman, she found herself wondering at times about him and the boy, Thomas. It seemed a little sad, the two of them living on tinned foods, without a wife and mother to care for them.

“Why do we leave food if she’s just going to sleep?” Thomas asked, brushing Lucy’s gray coat with long strokes as Seth had taught him. Seth had surprised him by showing up on horseback after school, leading the Welsh mountain pony so that the boy could ride her home. At only ten hands tall, the little mare was perfect for Thomas, and the sheer joy in the boy’s face was worth even twice what he had paid for the pony and saddle.

He looked up from using the hoof-pick on Lucy’s left forefoot and answered the question. “Because she won’t sleep the entire night, like we do. She’ll wake two or three times and want to eat.”

“Will she lie down, sir?”

“Probably not for a few days.” Seth moved around to the right forefoot. The pony blew out its nostrils nervously, but the soothing effect of the brush upon her coat probably was what kept her from panic. “She’ll need some time to get used to her new home before she feels safe enough to lie down. But in the meantime she’ll rest all right standing.”

“Perhaps I should stay out here with her … just for tonight? In case she gets lonesome?”

Seth smiled at the hopefulness in the boy’s voice. “You’ll need your sleep too. She’ll have Bonny and Soot in the next stalls, and you can see about her in the morning.”

“May I ride her to school by myself?”

“Well, I’ll go with you for a few days until you’ve had more experience. And I’ll need to find a place for her to wait for you.” He had been told by Mr. Worthy’s nephew that the
Bow and Fiddle
had a paddock and stable, hardly used by customers since the decline of the coaching trade. For a small fee the few students who rode horses to school could keep them contained there. Seth wanted to look over the situation and make sure no aggressive animals would be penned in with her.

He got back to his feet and hung the hoof-pick high on a post, then leaned against the inside of the stall and watched Thomas groom his pony. It was the boy’s bedtime, but he hated to tear him away from the animal. Seth seldom thought about the distant future except to make plans for the boy’s security, but now his mind painted a picture of himself as an old man, perhaps seated by a fire and wearing a shawl as he thought back on the events of his life. This night with Thomas would be one memory he would smile over and savor always.

“It was kind of your father to have me here again,” Paul told Elizabeth as she accompanied him through the garden after supper. “I had a most pleasant time.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “Because you seemed a little preoccupied.”

“I did? It wasn’t the company, I assure you.” He held the gate open for her, and when they reached the tethered horse, he turned and glanced over at the vicarage. “I wish to apologize for my … behavior last week. I pray you don’t think any less of me, Elizabeth. A minister is supposed to hold himself to a higher standard, and I sadly allowed my emotions to overrule my self-control.”

“Less of you? For what, Paul?” She knew exactly to what he was referring and would have been amused had she not so many other perplexing feelings struggling within her.

Shifting upon his feet he said, “What I did … down by the river.”

Now a definitely recognizable feeling surfaced. Irritation. “Was it
that
unpleasant for you, Paul?”

In the moonlight she could see his eyes widen. “Unpleasant? Why, no.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

“Elizabeth. …” Again he glanced over at the house. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing it with you like this. We both know what I did, and until we’re officially betrothed, I haven’t the right to take such liberties. Will you just accept my apology?”

She folded her arms. “If you’ll tell me why you can’t say the word ‘kiss.’ ”

The shock upon his face could not have been greater had she spat out an oath. “Elizabeth, it doesn’t become you to talk this way. There are certain things an unmarried man and woman shouldn’t discuss.”

“Of course there are,” she agreed. But this particular instance seemed quite silly to her. They had already
done
the deed, as dastardly as he now considered it. Which was worse—doing it or saying it?

It didn’t vex her that his standard of morality was obviously higher than hers, for she had thought nothing wrong with the kiss and even had enjoyed it a little. What was so troublesome was that the few times they had attempted to discuss anything deeper than the usual daily incidents in each other’s lives, they found little mutual agreement. For months she had told herself that marriage would change all that, but now she wondered if that change might be even worse. Would she be expected to surrender every opinion she had that was incompatible with his?

She would have to take those thoughts inside now, because surely the lamp would appear in the window any minute. Paul was looking at her with such worry on his handsome face that she gave him a reassuring smile. “I forgive you, Paul.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said, his posture easing. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being disappointed in me.”

“I’m not disappointed in you.” Seconds later, when he had swung into the saddle and was headed for home, Elizabeth stood just inside the gate and told herself she had spoken truthfully. He was a good man, full of integrity and a diligent worker for God. But disappointment of another source lay heavy within her. Her hopes and dreams for a perfect marriage seemed to be fading as rapidly as the sound of hoofbeats in the distance.