Chapter 154
"Thank you, Mrs. Grayson," he said gravely. He walked into the room with an odd feeling of going to his fate.
Reverend Norton greeted him from the comfort of a blue wing chair. Rancher Wyatt Thompson and Caleb Livingston, both tall men, although shorter than half a head to Ant, stood near the fireplace. They nodded a greeting. Merchant Cobb grunted from where he was seated on a settee.
Ant had previously met Livingston when he'd gone to the bank to arrange for a transfer of his a.s.sets and to discuss his plans with the man. At the time, they had been all business, but now, seeing the banker in his domestic realm, Ant wondered why Livingston remained unmarried. Remarkable given his dark good looks and his wealth.
A woman, wearing the black uniform and white ap.r.o.n of a servant, with her gray hair pulled back tightly, brought in a tray of coffee steaming from cups. The aroma was a welcomed scent. All the men took one. Cobb added cream and sugar, while the rest took theirs black. They held the saucers, blew on the brew in their cups, and took careful sips, the mood tense.
Ant looked around, noticing the high ceilings, the tall brick fireplace with an elaborately carved mantel, and polished woodwork that gleamed from the sunlight streaming through the lace-framed windows. He couldn't help contrasting the room with the "parlor" of the log house he'd be living in from now on. The comparison wasn't favorable, and his spirits settled lower. He tried to shrug away the thoughts. He'd never been a man who cared much where he lived--provided the ceilings were high enough.
Ant sipped his coffee, sizing up the other men, planning his strategy.
Cobb's bulbous nose twitched. "Who else is coming? I have to get back to the store."
Reverend Norton gave him a reproving glance. "We're waiting for Carter and Sanders. Doc Cameron's been called out to a birthing. But he gave me his opinion already."
Livingston scowled. "Since when did Sanders become a town leader?"
Thompson raised his eyebrows. "You mean besides the fact that he married the wealthiest, most beautiful woman--next to my bride-to-be, of course--ever to step foot in this town?"
Cobb cackled. "Stole her right out from under your nose, Livingston."
The banker shot him a glance of dislike.
So the Boston beauty, Elizabeth Sanders, was the reason Livingston was still a bachelor. Ant wondered if the two men hated one another and whether the banker had any interest in Harriet. It could hurt his chances of getting a governess for David.
At that moment John Carter entered the room, followed by the man in question, Nick Sanders.
They all nodded h.e.l.lo before Livingston waved toward a doorway, pointedly changing the subject. "I thought it might be easier for us all to sit in the dining room. Mrs. Graves has made cookies and lemonade for anyone who wants something cold to drink."
As they walked across the room, Carter ambled next to the banker. "You still have much ice, Livingston? We ran out Sunday. Used the last of it to make ice cream. After Lizzie's brush with influenza, I had the men cut more blocks last winter. Consequently, we used more ice and ran out at about the same time as before."
The banker shrugged. "I don't know. I leave that kind of thing to Mrs. Graves."
Carter turned to Ant. "How's that nephew of yours?"
"Adjusting. Slow going."
Carter clapped a brief sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but didn't say anything. The gesture was unexpectedly warming, and Ant hoped the rancher would aid his cause.
A large table, of a size Ant hadn't seen since he'd left New York, dominated the room. A portrait of a couple in old-fas.h.i.+oned clothes hung above the ornate fireplace. The man had the chiseled Livingston features. Father? No the clothes were too old-fas.h.i.+oned. "Your grandfather?" Ant asked the banker.
"Yes, he founded the family business in Boston."
A big blue-and-white platter of sugar cookies sitting on the table drew his attention. Ant hadn't had sugar cookies in ages, but his stomach felt too tight to eat. "Those cookies look good. Maybe I could take one home for David?"
Reverend Norton leaned over and pushed the plate closer to Ant. "Go ahead. The boy's too skinny. Probably has a sweet tooth."
Nick swiped a cookie. "Doesn't everybody?"
A rumble of laughter went around the room.
Livingston went to take the chair at the head of the table. Carter and Norton took a seat on either side of him. Thompson sat next to the minister, and Cobb slouched beside him. Sanders dropped into the chair next to Carter, leaving Ant to slide into the seat at his right, setting down his empty coffee cup and saucer.
Ant took some time to a.s.sess the men, all of whom he'd met before. Never had to face a moral committee before. Don't like that I do now. If he hadn't already bought the house and paid the architect to start work on the office building, he'd take David and leave.
Livingston picked up the pitcher of lemonade and poured a gla.s.s for himself. "Do you know why you're here?" he asked Ant, his tone pompous. He handed the pitcher to Reverend Norton, then took two cookies and set them on a plate in front of him.
"You summoned me." Ant allowed some of his resentment to edge his voice. To cool his temper, he picked up the pitcher, tipped a flow of lemonade into a gla.s.s, and took a long draught of the sweet concoction. He nodded approval to his host.
Wyatt Thompson poured himself some lemonade, "First of all, Gordon, we're meeting here because of who you asked to be a governess to David," he said, his gray eyes steady. "If you'd chosen another woman, it would be none of our business."
Reverend Norton cleared his throat.
With an apologetic glance at the minister, Thompson continued, "Except for the good preacher here. But because Miss Stanton is the schoolteacher and paid by the town, some people--" he gave Cobb a pointed look "--feel they have to bring up the issue."
Carter segued in. "And others of us are concerned about Miss Stanton's well-being. She's a valued member of our community, and we care about her." He took a sip of his coffee.
Ant sent a glare at the men a.s.sembled around the table. "This conversation does no service to Miss Stanton's strength of character, which I've seen plenty of in my few days
The men exchanged glances, but for the life of him, Ant couldn't figure out what the looks meant. A hum of energy filled the room, making him uneasy. What's going on here?
Thompson nodded in agreement to Ant's statement. "Personally, I think this meeting is a waste of time. I'd rather be spending time with my beautiful bride-to-be. This is all a tempest in a teapot. I trust Miss Stanton's good sense. And--" he slanted a glance at Sanders "--Miss Stanton's partiality for another is well-known."
The younger man's face reddened.
Why did Ant's stomach knot at Thompson's words? The man was only confirming what Ant had already learned.
Carter ran a hand over his head of thinning sandy hair. "No one took Livingston, here, to task for living alone with his housekeeper in the years before his sister moved in."
Livingston coughed and set down his gla.s.s.
Carter's blue eyes twinkled. He blithely continued on. "Not that Mrs. Graves looks anything like our Miss Stanton, but the point is the same. No chaperone."
"She's older," Livingston said in a strangled voice. "A widow. Not at all the same thing."
Reverend Norton smoothed his white beard. "You could always marry her," he said to Ant with an angelic smile.
Ant choked on the bite of the cookie he'd just taken. He could feel the pressure of the men's heavy gazes. He didn't know what to say. The silence lengthened.
Thompson came to his rescue. He shook his head. "Then we'd lose our schoolmarm. Samantha's boys have had enough difficulty adjusting to school. They love Miss Stanton, and she's done an excellent job with them."
Carter looked thoughtful. "Even the troublemakers tend to mind her, which is interesting with her being a bit of a woman."
Marriage! Ant's head spun. "Now, hold on."
John Carter looked thoughtful. "Nothing says that we couldn't have a married lady teacher. Male teachers are often married." He tipped his head toward Ant. "Providing that Gordon allows her."
Ant made a gabbling noise, which the other men ignored.
The conversation carried on without him. Finally, Sanders, who hadn't yet spoken, seemed to take pity on Ant. "You'll have to forgive us, Gordon. Except for our banker here, you're corralled with a herd of happily married..." he lifted his chin at Thompson. "Or almost married, men."
All the men except Livingston laughed.
The banker scowled at the younger man, then turned the frown on Ant. "If you sully Miss Stanton's good name, are you prepared to marry her?"
"Good idea," said Thompson, who took a bite of a cookie.
Livingston scowled at Ant. "The truth is it's not Miss Stanton's character that's an issue here. It's yours."
Cobb grimaced at him. "We don't know you from Adam. There's been nothing but trouble since you came. Murder and..."
Ant could feel anger heating up his neck.
Carter shot the shopkeeper a sharp glance that shut the man up. He turned his attention back to Ant. "We want to know that you'll marry Miss Stanton if need be."
"If I sully Miss Stanton's good name, which I don't intend to do, I'll marry her."
"Sometimes the best of intentions aren't good enough," Reverend Norton said in a tone of gentle reproof.
Ant didn't care if Norton was a man of the cloth. His patience unraveled. "I said I'd marry her if need be," he snapped. "But for now, let's leave the subject alone." He stood. "I think I've made myself clear." He swiped a cookie from the platter. "Good night, gentlemen!"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
After talking to the Cobbs, Harriet stormed off to the schoolhouse, a book tucked under one arm, anger giving fuel to her stride. How dare the Cobbs meddle in my business, calling a meeting of the town leaders to talk to Ant without consulting me! She held her head high, conscious of her stomach churning and flags of embarra.s.sed color in her cheeks. She barely acknowledged anyone walking past her.
Once at the schoolhouse, she unlocked and flung open the door, stepped inside the hushed, hot room, then shut the door behind her. The sun streamed through the windows, providing welcomed light. Even though school was out for the summer, she'd left the shutters to the windows open because she often came here for peace and quiet.
Harriet walked up the aisle and set her book down on the table she used for a desk. Then she wove her way through the rows of long plank benches with corresponding narrow tables in front of them, to the windows on each side of the building. She flung open the sashes to let some air into the stifling room. A slight breeze wafted in. Not enough to cool her cheeks. But at least with the huge old oak shading one side of the building the temperature in the schoolhouse was more pleasant than at the Cobbs'.
In winter--she shuddered at the memory--the room would be freezing, except for the area near the stove in the right front of the room. Harriet made sure to rotate her pupils, so each had some time near the stove and some away. Yet, even close to the stove, it wasn't uncommon to have one side of your body warm and another chilled. She'd heard some teachers only allowed their favorites to sit next to the stove, or they punished students by forcing them to sit in the coldest part of the room all day. Other weak-willed teachers allowed the oldest students, the bullies, or most popular ones, to decide who sat near the stove, another practice she didn't condone.
Harriet sighed and stepped away from the window. Just thinking about winter seemed to cool her somewhat.
Unable to sit just yet, she strolled around her domain. Harriet knew she was lucky in the teaching tools the more prosperous citizens of Sweet.w.a.ter Springs had provided. Her school had a slate chalkboard in the front of the room, with a map of the United States hanging on one side and one of the world on the other. She twirled the suspension globe donated by the Carters, glad that she didn't have to use an apple and a ball as she'd done at her previous school.
A shelf held Harper's Young Ladies, Chatterbox, McGuffy's Readers and Youth's Companion, several books of poetry, dictionaries and almanacs, a Bible, and some well-read novels by Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, and Jules Verne, and a copy of Elsie Dinsmore. Hopefully soon, Ant's newspapers would also have shelf s.p.a.ce.
Another shelf held a pile of extra slates for those students whose families couldn't afford one per child, along with a box of chalk. Each student was supposed to bring his or her own, but a request to Pamela Carter had resulted in extras to loan out. She made a mental note to request more. She doubted the Swensen girls would be able to provide their own.
Stopping at her desk, she straightened the ruler and pencils propped in a tin can. She fingered the horsewhip, inherited from the former schoolmaster that she kept on the side of her desk, not that she'd ever had to use it, thank goodness. Nevertheless, the whip was a deterrent to potentially disobedient students.
Harriet sat down in her chair, opened The Count of Monte Cristo, and began to read.
But even in the solitude of the schoolhouse, she had a hard time concentrating on the book. The delights of a new story and the freedom to read in peace couldn't stop her from worrying about the outcome of the meeting at Banker Livingston's. I've never taken so long to finish a new book before.
She'd barely read a chapter when the sound of hoofbeats and wheels made her get up from her desk and run to the window. She saw Ant pull up in front of the schoolhouse driving Mack Taylor's rented buggy. Although she was tempted to fling open the door and run outside, she knew it would be better for Ant to come inside, away from prying eyes.
Harriet returned to her desk, placed a piece of paper in the book to mark her place, and closed it. Carrying it with her, she hurried to the door just as Ant came in. His tall frame filled the entranceway.
All of a sudden, her stays seemed too tight, and she struggled to breathe.
When he saw her, he grinned, his smile big and white, and canted a tad to the right. "I've been released on my own recognizance, but it was a close call."
"What did they say?"
"Only good things about you, my dear lady," he drawled. "They obviously value their schoolteacher as they ought."
For the first time since she'd heard about the meeting, Harriet took a deep breath. "Then they're going to allow me to be David's governess?"
His eyebrow pulled even higher. "It's not their place to disallow you from working an extra job as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties as a teacher. Not that they agree with me. It wasn't your duties that were in question, just your virtue."
Heat flooded Harriet's cheeks, and she put her hands on her face. "They didn't?"
He winked at her. "I a.s.sured them that your virtue was safe with me."
"Oh, Ant. I don't even know what to say."
He sobered. "Don't worry, Harriet. They were just being protective of you. They gave us their blessing." He looked as if he was going to say more, but stopped.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. You are now free to teach school in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs and be David's governess."
She clapped her hands. "I'm so thankful."
He walked over to her desk, picked up her new bonnet, and held it out to her. "David's waiting in the buggy. Do you want to drive with us to see your new home?"
She grabbed her bonnet and set it on her head. "Oh, yes!"
David sat in the buggy between his uncle and Miss Stanton. Once Uncle Ant had gotten the Falabella for him, David had started to trust him and stopped cringing away from the big man whenever he got close...mostly. Instead he had a warm feeling inside his body and knew he hadn't felt this happy in a long time.
The big man still scared him. Not because of anything he did or said. Uncle Ant wasn't mean--drunk or not--like his pa. The way the man loomed over him was enough to sometimes send creepy crawlies scuttling through David's stomach. But he no longer wanted to run away.
Most times, he held back the good feeling. He still felt like he had to look over his shoulder for his pa. He knew Pa was dead. But it didn't feel that way. He kept expecting that heavy hand to land on his shoulder, the beginning of bad things. He shrugged his shoulders as if shaking off the memory.
Miss Stanton looked at him. "Are you all right, David?"
He gave her a quick nod, staring at the brown horse pulling the buggy.