Falling for the Teacher

She sniffed the air, smiled at the remembered blend of candle wax, wood smoke and leather, with a hint of bayberry cologne. Her gaze went to the window where she and Willa and Callie and Daniel had crouched beside the lilac bush and watched her grandfather take the flat box from the desk drawer, count money he pulled from his pocket, write something on a small piece of paper, put it all in the box and then return the box to the drawer. She had made the others promise, then and there, that they would never tell anyone about Poppa’s money box, especially Ellen, who could never keep a secret.

The light flickered over the settle where she’d curled up on the cushion and looked at books while Poppa worked, then settled to a steady burn as she placed the lamp on the game table where she’d learned to play checkers.

She thrust her childhood memories away and crossed to the tall bookshelf desk that sat between the two windows on the front wall and opened the drawer that held the flat wooden box. She brushed her fingers over the smooth, waxed top, then flipped it open. Empty.

Her breath caught. Her grandfather always kept his money in the box. Did he know it was gone? Or had Cole found the box and taken the money on the sly?

She put the box back in the drawer and looked up at the bookshelves behind the glass-fronted doors, stared at a gaping space. Her grandfather’s green leather bookkeeping ledgers were gone as well. They were always— Nanna. Had her grandmother misplaced them while cleaning? Nanna would never take the ledgers from Poppa’s desk if she were thinking straight, but in her confused moments...

That horrible feeling of loss struck her anew. Heartsick, she looked behind the desk’s drop-down slant front and in the drawer again. No ledgers. A quick scan of the books on the shelves in the alcoves on either side of the stone fireplace showed no green leather bindings among them.

Where else could the books be? She lifted the hinged seat on the settle and searched through the box it covered. Two old pillows, a quilt, a dented flask, a pair of worn boots and her torn rag doll. She lowered the lid, straightened, wrapped her arms about herself and slowly rubbed her upper left arm as she gazed about. There was no place left to search. Suspicion wormed its way into her thoughts and took root. Her hand stilled. He had them. Cole must have slipped into the room and taken the ledgers along with the money. There was no one to prevent him from doing what he would.

Until now.

She whirled and strode to the table, picked up the lamp and carried it across the entrance hall into the sitting room. She would tell her grandfather what she had discovered and her suspicions, but first she must be certain that what she suspected was true. Her grandmother could have misplaced the books and even the money.

Her grandfather’s occasional snore was the only sound that disturbed the silence as she searched every cupboard and drawer for the books then moved on to the dining room and butler’s pantry. The lamp chased away the darkness, lit every nook and cranny she hunted through. The ledgers were nowhere to be found. Her suspicion solidified into certainty. Cole had the books—but why? She could not go to her grandfather until she knew the answer to that question. Cole had so ingratiated himself into her grandparents’ affections, she wasn’t sure her grandfather would believe her without proof.

Fatigue dragged at her. She climbed the stairs, her steps firmed by determination. She might have been helpless to stop his brother’s attack on her—and she did not come close to matching Cole’s physical strength—but God had given her a good mind, and she had taken her turn at tending the books at the ladies’ seminary. She would be her grandfather’s eyes, and she would find out what scheme Cole was about. But first she had to find those business ledgers.

She entered her bedroom, set the oil lamp in its place and untied the fastening on her dressing gown. She would watch Cole’s every move, and when she had discovered what he was about and why, she would tell her grandfather, and he would order Cole from his home. They would be safe then. She would be safe then.

Memories pressed upon her. She glanced at her bed and gave up the idea of retiring. Her agitated state would surely bring the nightmare.

The dimmed lamplight reflected off the raindrops falling against the window. She opened the sash and stood listening to the now-gentle rain pattering on the porch roof and on the plants in her grandmother’s garden below. Where would Cole have taken the ledgers? The most likely place was his shingle mill at Payne’s cabin.

A chill coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze riffling the curtains and fluttering the edges of her dressing gown. She looked through the darkness toward the trees that sheltered the path leading to the sawmill and wrapped her arms about herself. Payne’s cabin was a short distance beyond the sawmill. How would she ever find the courage to walk that path?

So many questions with no answers. She left the window, too exhausted by her confrontation with Cole in the stable and her worries over her grandparents to resist the lure of her bed any longer. The soft sound of the rain dancing on the porch roof calmed her nerves and lulled her to a place of peace. Her eyelids slid closed. She struggled to open them, then sighed and yielded to her weariness. It would be all right. It wasn’t Payne Aylward’s face she saw against the darkness. It was Cole’s raincoat on top of the grain chest in the stable.

It had been a...thoughtful...gesture.... All that...rain...

Chapter Five

A horse’s hoofs thumped on the carriage way, and buggy wheels crunched over the gravel. Her stomach flopped. Sadie frowned and covered the teapot with a towel to keep it hot. She wasn’t ready to face callers. Perhaps Nanna would go to the door.

She stepped to the window, open in the hope of catching a breeze, pushed aside the curtain and looked toward the stable. A tall, handsomely dressed man was lifting a woman down from a black phaeton. She skimmed her gaze over the woman’s attractive green gown and caught her breath at the sight of a thick roll of chestnut hair gleaming red in the sunlight beneath a green hat. Willa.

Joy swelled. She whirled away from the window, rushed out the kitchen door. “Willa!” Tears clogged her throat, spilled from her eyes as she raced down the length of the porch.

“Sadie?” Willa stopped dead in her tracks, then lifted her hems and clattered up the steps like they had as children.

She stretched out her arms and was enveloped in a mutual hug, danced around in circles with Willa, laughing and crying, their voices blending as they choked out words. “It’s so good to see you!”

“I’ve missed you so!”

“It’s been so long!”

“So terribly long!”

A throat cleared. “Excuse me, ladies. But if you will let me pass, I will attend to my business inside while you continue your reunion.” There was amused patience in the deep, resonant male voice.

She blinked away her tears and looked over Willa’s shoulder straight into a pair of smiling brown eyes.

“Welcome home, Miss Spencer. I’m the forgotten man—Matthew Calvert, Willa’s husband, at your service.” A lopsided grin slanted across his lips. “At least I will be if I can come up on the porch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

“He’s only teasing, Sadie.” Willa’s hand gripped her arm and tugged her aside. “I keep telling him it’s very unprofessional behavior for a pastor.”

“And I keep explaining that we all have our little foibles.”

She listened to Matthew Calvert’s laughter, watched the warm, loving look Willa and her husband exchanged and something stirred deep inside. Envy? Ridiculous. She wanted no part of any man, let alone marriage. The very thought of it made her ill. She stepped toward the dining-room door. “Forgive my lapse of manners, Reverend Calvert. Please come in.”

He moved to her side and smiled down at her. “There’s no need for the formal address, Miss Spencer. I am Matthew to Willa’s friends.”

She caught the hopeful look in Willa’s eyes and smiled but couldn’t bring herself to offer him her hand. She grabbed the doorknob as an excuse to withhold it. “I’m Sadie—to Willa’s husband.”

She tried to make it amusing, but acknowledgment of her limited acceptance flickered in his brown eyes, followed by a look of compassion that made her throat constrict. He knew. Willa had told him. A flush of shame prickled her skin.

“Sadie it is. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go pay my call on your grandparents while you ladies visit.”

“They’re in the sitting room. I’ll show you—”

“No need, Sadie. I know the way. And Willa will never forgive me if I steal one minute of your time.” He grinned and walked into the house.

She closed the door on his retreating figure. If only it were as easy to shut out the past.

“I’m sorry, Sadie. I know I promised to never speak of what happened, but I had to tell Matthew.” Willa placed a hand on her arm, held her gaze. “He wondered why you didn’t come home to visit with your grandmother being ill. And when your grandfather had his seizure...well...I didn’t know if you would come. And I couldn’t let Matthew think it was because you were uncaring.”

But now he would always look at her with the knowledge of Payne Aylward’s attack in his mind—the same as everyone else in Pinewood. She pushed aside the shame, smiled and squeezed Willa’s hand. “You always were protective of me.”

Relief flashed in her friend’s blue-green eyes. “Well, I am older than you.” A smile curved her lips at their old childhood contention.

“By three months.” She gave Willa another quick hug. “It isn’t age, my friend, it’s a matter of courage. I was woefully lacking in that attribute as a child, and I still am. Now—” She linked their arms and started for the kitchen door. “I’ve just made tea, in spite of the heat. Let’s bring it out here on the porch and visit. You can tell me all about becoming a wife and the mother of two young children at the same time. I can see now how Matthew won your heart. What you wrote me about his grin is true—it really is disarming.”

* * *

The cravat at his throat was a misery in the heat, and his Sunday suit wasn’t much better. Cole shifted in the saddle and shot a quick glance up at the sun. He’d rip the cravat off right now if—

Was that a scream?

He frowned and urged Cloud into a trot around the bend. Dust swirled in the air, gritty against his perspiring face. He squinted his eyes and spotted a buggy jouncing and jolting side to side on the road ahead, dirt spewing from beneath its wobbling wheels. The Conklins?

Women’s shouts and screams mingled with the thunder of the horse’s hoofs.

A runaway.