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  At last Lloyd Edwards stepped forward again and said, “Seems like the teacher should be on our board.”

  Beth froze. This time she was immediately aware that she was not the teacher in question. The realization that Robert might be elected unveiled itself slowly, painfully. She had failed to even consider him, assuming he wouldn’t be eligible. Beth had completely overlooked the risk.

  “What’cha say, Mr. Harris Hughes?” Toby asked, a hopeful grin on his face.

  “I’d be honored.”

  No! Beth closed her eyes in shock and held her breath. This cannot be happening! Robert on the town council meant his influence would be extended, not constrained. From the nods and murmurs, there was no doubt he was fully accepted by the men in the room.

  “Good. That’s two. Who else?”

  Beth was lost to the remaining proceedings, frantically processing what had just occurred. In a single moment everything had slipped beyond her control. She quickly grasped the fact that her failure to predict this unforeseen twist meant that the school board she had planned to propose in this very meeting would likely report to Robert rather than the other way around. The realization silenced her.

  In the end, only two other names were added—Bardo Mussante, who had recently married Esther Blane, and Vern Ruffinelli, whose family also was new to town. The names were unilaterally accepted, making up a council of five together with Bill Shaw. Beth quickly found her way to the door, replaced her shoes with boots, and retreated home in stunned defeat.

  “Miss Thatcher” came the unwelcome voice. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

  All day Beth had been dreading the conversation she was certain would take place. She had suspected that Robert would make a point of seeking her out. Now he stood in the doorway between their classrooms, hands in his pockets, looking rather smug.

  Beth swallowed to give herself time to push away ungracious responses. “Of course. Please come in and have a seat.”

  “This will only take a minute.” Moving into the room, seemingly in no hurry to get to the point, he remained standing and looked over the spelling assignment Beth had been writing on the chalkboard. For one frantic moment her heart beat faster, and she fervently hoped there were no mistakes in the words she had posted.

  She could hear the faint sound of loose change jingling in his pocket. Is he mocking me? She turned to face him fully. His smile, which seemed almost cocky, did nothing to make her feel less awkward. Is he coming to gloat? To make me feel even more subdued?

  At last he ventured, “I was hoping to bury the hatchet, so to speak. But I’m afraid I haven’t figured you out yet, Miss Thatcher. I’m somewhat at a loss over what to say.”

  Then why make a point of saying anything at all? She set down the chalk and dusted her hands together. “If you’ve come to ask for another meeting, I’m afraid my answer hasn’t changed.”

  “Surely you don’t mean to suggest that you’ll never meet with me at all, about anything?”

  “Not about teaching philosophy.” Beth lifted a stack of readers off a front desk and stooped to transfer them back into place on the bookshelf. “Is there anything else?”

  He hedged. “I guess it’s a shame, really. When you think of it, almost ironic. The same progressive thought that you’re rejecting out of hand because of your religious bias is the very approach that would lift you from a traditional woman’s role into a place where you might increase your effectiveness. You could have gained a seat on the town council, where you would have been able to maintain your traditional ideals and suppress advancement. Don’t you think that’s rather paradoxical, Miss Thatcher?”

  So you do know exactly what’s going on! Exactly what I was intending. Beth flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.”

  His voice dropped lower. “Miss Thatcher, I’m not your enemy. I can’t understand how you came to consider me thus. And I want to assure you that I believe a public servant is, more than anything else, accountable to hear every voice within his constituency—even most acutely, words from those with whom he disagrees.”

  Beth stretched to her full height, feeling somewhat like a small child looking up at a parent, and not simply because of the difference in stature. “Accountable to whom?”

  “Why, to the citizens, of course.”

  “No, Mr. Harris Hughes. Every public servant is accountable to God, first and foremost. He is the source from whom all power derives.”

  Robert shook his head. “I’m sorry then, Miss Thatcher. You actually may be correct. We simply have nothing to discuss.” Beth could not be certain if it was condescension or genuine regret in his expression.

  “Good day, Miss Thatcher.”

  “Good day.”

  He exited just as ponderously as he had entered.

  CHAPTER

  14

  ON HER WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL, Beth nearly stumbled over a wrapped package the size and shape of a hatbox on the landing outside her door. Juggling books and her schoolbag, she managed to loop her little finger through the string around it and carry it across the doorstep. “What on earth?” she mumbled when she found no note. It must be from Jarrick. Maybe he sent it with the company car.

  She quickly untied the string and pulled the paper away. Lifting the lid, she found a lovely red felt cloche with matching satin hatband adorned by a single white feather. Delighted, she pulled the bell-shaped hat snugly over her head, tucking in stray strands of hair as she walked to the mirror for a look. Her eyes peeked out demurely from under the low brim. But I never wear red. I wonder why he chose it for me. Still, after having nothing new for months, she was thrilled by the lovely surprise. Perhaps Jarrick will mention it in his next letter, she thought as she replaced it in its box.

  Beth was almost finished grading papers when she heard Marnie’s footsteps on the stairs. Since learning about Harold Edwards, Beth’s enjoyment in their daily school preparations had faded, particularly now that it appeared Marnie would not go into teaching.

  The door closed softly before Marnie turned to Beth. “I was afraid I’d wake ya,” she said with a little smile. “Want me to feed Penelope, or did ya do that already?”

  “Oh, yes,” Beth answered, “a while ago.”

  Marnie slipped off her winter coat and hung it on her hook. Stopping to check both the sink and the trash, she sighed. “Well, I guess I’m gonna turn in, then.”

  “Glad you’re home, darling,” Beth said. “I hope you and Molly made some progress on that quilt she’s helping you with.” Not waiting for a response, Beth remembered, “Oh yes, Marnie, would you like to see the surprise that arrived today?”

  “Sure,” Marnie said. “What is it?”

  “Look in that box on the chair.”

  Marnie lifted the cover slowly. “It’s a hat.” Her voice sounded strangely restrained.

  “It is. The box wasn’t marked, but I’m sure Jarrick must have sent it. Want to try it on?”

  The girl hesitated, and Beth nodded vigorously. Finally Marnie consented. Very gently she lifted the millinery from its box and placed it on her head, pulling it down and moving to the mirror.

  Beth rose from her seat so she could share the reflected image. “It looks beautiful on you. Suits your pixie face and your lovely hair color nicely.” Beth had a sudden inspiration. “Want to wear it Sunday?”

  Marnie let out a gasp. “I—but you . . . it’s just, Miss Thatcher, I—”

  “I don’t mind, really,” Beth swiftly assured her. “I’d enjoy seeing you in it even more than wearing it myself. And Jarrick would agree. I know he would.”

  Confusion clouded Marnie’s face, and she turned away from the mirror. “I don’t know, Miss Thatcher. I’ll . . . I’ll have ta think on it.”

  “It’s a small thing, Marnie.” Beth placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’re the real beauty, Marnie, not the hat. But it does look lovely on you, just the same.”

  Marnie managed a ha
lf smile and drew it from her head. Carefully replacing it, she went off to bed without further comment.

  Beth settled in to finish the grading, picturing Marnie wearing the stunning hat come Sunday morning.

  “Harry Edwards is comin’ to church today,” Molly informed Beth as they met at the boarding house gate. Frank, who trailed a few steps behind, managed to lean sideways and wink at Beth over his wife’s shoulder.

  Beth caught Molly’s hands and squeezed them for a brief moment. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

  “Marnie said he don’t have ta work today. They give him the day off—his uncle’s been pressin’ them on it. So he’s comin’ ta church. And then he’s comin’ fer dinner too.”

  “Oh, Molly, then we all get to meet him.”

  “That we do.”

  The trio moved single file up the snowy road to the church, picking their way through the truck tracks. Their good mornings to neighbors burst little clouds into the freezing mountain air.

  Marnie was already in the entryway as Beth stepped inside, the red felt easily seen among the other women’s hats. Beth pushed across the foyer. The girl looked charming, the blush of winter still on her cheeks. Perhaps, Beth supposed, even the slightest hint of red lipstick. “You look beautiful, Marnie dear. Just lovely.”

  Her brows furrowed as she returned Beth’s greeting. “Thank you.”

  “Is he here yet?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Beth began unbuttoning her coat. “Well, we’re going to get a seat. Would you like us to save a spot for the two of you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Marnie whispered, still looking somewhat perplexed.

  Beth slid along the pew after Molly and Frank until they were settled with room to spare on the end. They exchanged knowing looks, and Beth reached for the hymnbook. Rose Shaw at the small organ was already playing chords for “Amazing Grace.” Philip took his place behind the pulpit and signaled for all to stand. Marnie and Harold still had not appeared. Beth rose with those around her, then sidled a few steps toward the aisle to venture a glance toward the back.

  Sure enough, Marnie and a young man were standing near the potbellied stove, whispering together. Beth moved back to her place and nodded to Molly. During the second verse, Marnie slipped in beside them followed by a thin rail of a young man with short blond hair and rather protruding ears. Beth forced her eyes back to the hymnal, trying to put the couple beside her out of her mind so she could focus on worship, though she found it rather difficult.

  “Now, Harry, you can take that seat there, right next ta Frank. We’ll all squeeze in somehow. Scooch forward, Teddy Boy. He’s gotta get ’round ya.” Their chairs scraped over the wood floor and the table was bumped repeatedly, but each managed to maneuver into place.

  Marnie hurried in from serving in the company dining room, her face glowing as she met their guest’s gaze once again. “They still need carrots, Miss Molly. I’ll get ’em.” She heaped them into a bowl, topping them with butter before rushing back to the other room. Beth watched covertly as the young man kept an eye on Marnie’s every move.

  Molly was explaining, “I got lots of ham today, so eat up. An’ there’s peach pie fer dessert. Frank, move that bread basket so it don’t fall, can ya? Thank you, dearie.” Molly was the last into her seat. Immediately conversations halted so Frank could bless the food. When he was done, all were instantly talking again, serving themselves and passing food around the full table. The young man seated across from Molly looked on with wide eyes.

  “We’re so glad ya come today, Harry. To church, an’ then to share our meal.”

  Marnie stirred uncomfortably and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “I told ya, Miss Molly, he likes ta be called Harold.”

  “Oh, forgive me. Harold, then, we’re glad to have ya.”

  Frank offered the bowl of scalloped potatoes to their guest. “You must’a know what a big family is’a like, eh?”

  Harold nodded slowly, large hands holding the dish of potatoes. “Not sure I ever saw so much food at once.” He seemed to compose himself quickly. “Smells delicious, ma’am. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Well, it’s plenty of work ta fix fer so many, but we ain’t complainin’ none. We know we’re mighty blessed.”

  “Where does’a your family live, Harold?” Frank asked.

  “My daddy works a cattle ranch out on the prairie, though it’s not his place. Owner lives somewhere back east. When we first moved there I was just fifteen. All we had was an old empty granary to live in—all seven of us. But now we have a little house we rent.” He chuckled, seeming to relax a bit more. “I remember before that, Mama used to say it would be a step up from that granary to be campin’ in a tent again! But Daddy always answered her the same. ‘Better is little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble therewith.’ He always says that, still.”

  Harold scanned around the table, seeming to receive enough encouragement to continue. “Anyway, Uncle Lloyd was workin’ the ranch too, till they had to start layin’ off men. Up till then I thought I’d follow in my daddy’s footsteps and be a hand. It didn’t take me long to figure I was gonna need to find work someplace else—now I’m old enough to be on my own.” His eyes flickered toward Marnie, but he quickly dropped his gaze. Beth was sure Harold hadn’t intended to give so much away by the impulsive glance.

  He lifted a few slices of ham onto his plate. “I don’t have experience minin’,” he said, “but my uncle says I’m catchin’ on fast. At least, I’m tryin’ real hard. It’s just so nice to have a Sunday off for a change and to go to a service. Feels like I’m home again somehow.” He smiled. “Havin’ a nice Sunday dinner like this brings it all back too.”

  Beth grew more and more pleased as she listened to Harold speak so freely, answering questions and asking his own in return. He was not as she had pictured him in any of her invented scenarios, and Beth found herself easily liking him. He was polite and well-spoken, cordial and transparent. She decided, I think Marnie has chosen well, even if he’s seven years her senior. Beth glanced down at her plate with a little sigh. And that girl is definitely a bride worth waiting a couple of years for. Guess he’s clever enough to know that—staking a claim before any other boy has a chance . . . if only the two are willing to be patient. Another sigh.

  Following dinner, Harold suggested a walk and Marnie was quick to accept, snatching her coat up. Frank and Molly exchanged meaningful looks, and Beth hurried forward. “May I come along? I’d love to have a look around now that winter’s really set in.”

  Harold gave a welcoming nod. “Pleased to have you, Miss Thatcher. Mr. and Mrs. Russo, would you care to come too?” He took the coat from Marnie and held it so she could slide her arms into the sleeves. “The ice isn’t quite frozen on the river, and I found some beaver tracks down there. Must have his dam close to the bend where the water’s open still.”

  “You go ahead,” Molly answered for them both. “We’ll likely sit fer a spell.”

  Harold stopped and looked around. “Where’s your hat, Marnie?”

  She gave an incoherent answer, but Harold lifted the red cloche from a hook by the door. “Here you are.”

  Marnie averted her gaze and pulled it down over her dark hair.

  The sun, reflecting off unspoiled snow, had already warmed the air. They stood together on the porch for a moment. “Winter always makes me wish I could paint,” Beth said pensively.

  Marnie explained, “Her sister paints pictures, Harold. She did lots of ’em fer the schoolroom. I can show ya sometime. They’re of the ocean and ships an’ things.”

  He stepped aside so Marnie and Beth could precede him down the steps. “I’d like that,” he said. “An’ I’d like to see your school, Marnie.”

  Already Beth was feeling like a third wheel. Yet she knew Frank and Molly were expecting her to keep the young couple company. “Where to, Harold? I’ll just follow the two of you.”

  “Sure, I guess I’m the
one who knows the way.”

  Beth faced a difficult balancing act. She wanted to interact but without monopolizing the conversation. Marnie had fallen quiet, almost reticent. Beth hoped the girl wasn’t feeling resentful that Beth was intruding.

  “This is a great little town,” Harold said over his shoulder as he led them toward the river. “An’ it feels so clean and new. Shucks, the wood on the buildings still smells like it’s newly sawn. Maybe it’s mostly the sawmill, but just the same, the whole place feels . . . fresh and newly born.”

  Beth noted a bit of a poet in this young man. “Do you like to read, Harold?”

  “Sure do. Don’t get much chance anymore, but I used to, ’specially late at night. Nowadays I keep fallin’ asleep when I try.”

  “How nice.” Beth raised the large collar of her coat until it covered her ears. “Marnie has borrowed all of my series of books about the land of Oz. Harold, did you bring any books with you? What do you enjoy reading?”

  The young man turned his attention toward Marnie. “You like that story too? My mama used to read to us every night, and The Wizard of Oz was one of our favorites. I didn’t even know there were any more than that one, Marnie.”

  Her answer came softly. “The Patchwork Girl of Oz was my favorite.”

  “Perhaps that explains your grammar and diction, Harold,” Beth commented, falling in step at his other side as the path through the trees widened. “You’re quite articulate, Harold.”

  He grinned mischievously and looked sideways at her. “You mean to say I talk too much? I get told that a lot.”

  “Why, no, Harold. It means well-spoken or expressive.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I know. I’m just joshin’. But now you do sound like a teacher.” He grinned at Beth and then reached out a hand to catch Marnie’s as they crossed a patch of deeper snow, releasing it reluctantly. “Actually, I had a real good teacher. Mr. Flemming. We all liked him, even the kids that were having a hard time with their studies.”