Wooing the Schoolmarm

He stifled an unreasonable sense of disappointment. Willa Wright’s expression, her pose, every inch of her proclaimed she was a schoolmarm here on business. Well, what had he expected? No…hoped. That she would come as a friend?

He hung her damp cloak on one of the pegs beside the door and gestured to the doorway on his left. “Please come into the sitting room. We can talk freely there. Sally has calmed, now that the lightning and thunder have stopped, and she and Josh are playing checkers in his room.” He urged her forward, led her to the pair of padded chairs that flanked the fireplace. “We’ll sit here by the fire. The rain has brought a decided chill to the air.”

“Yes, and it shows no sign of abating.” She cast a sidelong glance up at him. “You had best be prepared for cold weather, Mr. Calvert. It will soon be snowstorms coming our way.”

Would they be colder than her voice or frostier than her demeanor? Clearly, she was perturbed over his asking her to come. “I’m no stranger to winter cold, Miss Wright. We have snowstorms in Albany.” He offered her a smile of placation. Perhaps he could soothe away some of her starchiness. “In truth, I enjoy them. There’s nothing as invigorating as a toboggan run down a steep hill with your friends, or as enjoyable as a ride on a moonlit night with the sleigh bells jingling and the snow falling.”

“A sleigh ride with…friends?”

“Yes, with friends.”

She nodded, smoothed her skirts and took a seat. “A very romantic view of winter in the city, Mr. Calvert. I’m afraid there are harsher realities to snowstorms here in the country.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him. “You wanted to speak with me. I assume it is about the children?”

He looked down at her, so prim and proper and…and disapproving. He glanced at the rain coursing down the window panes. Small wonder the woman was irritated with him. He turned and pushed a length of firewood closer to another log with the toe of his boot. What did it matter if she was upset with him? This was not about him or his confusing feelings for the aloof teacher. “Yes, it’s about the children.”

He looked into the entrance hall, toward the stairs that climbed to their bedrooms, then sat on the edge of the chair opposite her. “Miss Wright, as I have previously explained, I had parenthood thrust upon me a little over seven weeks ago under extremely stressful circumstances, and I—well, I’m at a loss. As I mentioned, there is much I don’t understand. Especially with Sally. However, I did not go into detail.”

He stole another look toward the stairs and leaned forward. “I asked to speak with you because I believe you are due an explanation of Sally’s behavior during a storm. You see, the day my brother and his wife died—” The pain of loss he carried swelled, constricted his throat. He looked down at the floor, gripped his hands and waited for the wave of grief to ease.

The fire crackled and hissed in the silence. The rain tapped on the windows—just as it had that day. He lifted his head. The firelight played across Willa Wright’s face, outlined each lovely feature. He looked into her eyes, no longer cool, but warm with sympathy, and let the memories pour out. “I was teaching Joshua to play chess, and that day Robert and Judith brought him to spend the afternoon with me while they went to visit friends. Sally went with them.”

He pushed to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets and stood in front of the fire. “When it grew close to the time when Robert said they would return for Josh, a severe thunderstorm, much like the one today, blew in. We were finishing our game when a bolt of lightning struck so close to the house that it rattled the windows and vibrated my chest. A horse squealed in panic out front. I jumped to my feet and hurried to the window. Josh followed me.”

He stared down at the flames, but saw only the carnage of a memory he prayed to forget. “There were two overturned, broken carriages in the street. One of them was Robert’s. His horse was down and thrashing, caught in the tangled harness. I told Josh to stay in the house and ran outside, but there was nothing I could do. Robert and Judith were…gone.”

He hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and cleared the lump from his throat. “Sally was standing beside her mother, tugging on her hand and begging her to get up. She was scraped and bleeding, but, thankfully, not seriously injured.” His ragged breath filled the silence. That, and the sound of Sally’s sobs and Joshua’s running feet and sharp cry that lived in his head.

“I’m so sorry for you and the children, Reverend Calvert. I can’t imagine suffering through such a terrible occurrence. And for Sally to—” there was a sharply indrawn breath “—it’s no wonder she is terrified of thunderstorms.”

The warm, compassionate understanding in Willa Wright’s voice flowed like balm over his hurt and concern. The pressure in his chest eased. “Yes.”

“And it’s why Josh tries so hard to protect her and take care of her, even though he hates thunderstorms, too.” He looked down into her tear-filmed eyes. “He recognized his father’s rig and followed me outside. He…saw…his mother and father.” He shook off the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when he thought of the children standing there in the storm looking shocked and lost and made his voice matter-of-fact. “I thought you should know—so you could understand their behavior. I’m sure you have rules about such things.”

She nodded and rose to her feet. “There are rules, yes. It is the custom in Pinewood to close the schools and send the village children home when a storm threatens, lest they be caught out in it.” Her voice steadied. She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’m thankful you called me here and told me what happened, Reverend Calvert. Now that I understand, should there be another thunderstorm, I will keep Sally and Joshua with me until you come for them, or should the hour grow late, I will bring them home and stay with them until your return.”

“That is far beyond your duty as their teacher, Miss Wright.” A frown tugged at his brows. “I appreciate your kindness, as will the children, but I assure you, I meant only to explain, not to impose upon you.”

She went still, stared up at him. “Nor did you, Reverend Calvert. You did not ask—I offered.” A look he could only describe as disgust flashed into her eyes. She tore her gaze from his and turned toward the door. “I must get home.”

He held himself from stopping her, from demanding that she tell him what he had done to bring about that look. “Yes, of course. I did not mean to take so much of your time.”

They walked out into the entrance hall and he lifted her cloak off the hook. The sound of rain drumming on the porch roof was clear in the small room. “You cannot walk home in that downpour, Miss Wright.” He settled the still-damp garment on her shoulders. “If you will wait here, I will get the buggy and drive you home.”

“That is not necessary, Reverend Calvert.” She raised her hands and tugged the hood in place. “I’m accustomed to walking home in all sorts of weather. The children need you here.”

Why must the woman be so prickly when he was trying to do her a kindness? The stubborn side of his nature stirred. “I insist, Miss Wright. The lightning has stopped. The children will be fine with Mrs. Franklin. Wait here.” He snatched his coat off its hook and hurried out the door before she could voice the refusal he read in her eyes.

* * *

The buggy moved along the muddy road, each rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves a step closer to her home, yet the way had never seemed so long. She had done it again! She’d allowed the man to reach her heart in spite of her resolve. Willa stared down at her hands and willed her gaze not to drift to the handsome profile of Reverend Matthew Calvert. The sense of intimacy created by the curtain of rain around the buggy did not help.

The horse’s hooves struck against the planks of Stony Creek bridge and the carriage lurched slightly as the wheels rolled onto the hard surface. She grabbed for the hold strap to keep from brushing against him and held herself rigid as the buggy rumbled across the span, splashed back onto the mud of Main Street, then swayed around the corner onto her road.

“Miss Wright, may I ask your opinion about something that troubles me with Sally?” Matthew Calvert turned his head and looked at her.

She lifted her hand and adjusted her hood to avoid meeting his gaze. She was too easily swayed by the look of sincerity in his brown eyes. And she knew better, although her actions didn’t reflect it. Hadn’t the man just manipulated her into offering to watch his children if he was delayed, perhaps deliberately, in coming for them during a thunderstorm? What did he want of her now?

“To be fair, I must tell you it is a personal situation and has nothing to do with school. I simply don’t know what to do for the best. And I thought a woman would have a better understanding of a little girl’s needs than I.”

If it did not pertain to school, why involve her? She opened her mouth to suggest he ask Bertha Franklin, then closed it again at the remembered feel of Sally clinging to her. “What is it?” She fixed her mind on her father’s and Thomas’s selfishness and brought a “no” ready to her lips.

“Sally misses her mother terribly. It seems especially difficult for her at bedtime. That first evening, when I put them to bed in the parsonage, she wanted to sleep in Joshua’s bedroom. She cried so hard, I moved a trundle bed in for her.” He glanced her way again. “Perhaps I should not have done so, but it…troubles…me when she cries.”

She steeled her heart against the image of the grieving little girl and boy, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the rain splashing off the horse’s rump. Sympathy came too easily when she looked into Matthew Calvert’s eyes.

“When we moved here, I decided permitting Sally to sleep in Joshua’s room was not for the best, and, in spite of her tears, I put her in a bedroom by herself. When I went to check on her later that night, I found her asleep—with one of Judith’s gloves clutched in her hand.”

The poor, hurting child! Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and, under the cover of her cloak, rubbed at the growing tightness in her chest. “That is my cabin ahead.”

The reverend nodded and drew back on the reins. The horse stopped. The drum of the rain on the buggy roof grew louder.

“Miss Wright, Sally takes comfort from Judith’s glove, but it seems she is becoming more dependent on it. It was the first thing she wanted when we came home earlier.” He turned on the seat to face her. “I don’t know what to do, Miss Wright. And, though I feel it is unfair of me to ask for your advice, I feel so inadequate to the situation that I find myself unable to refrain from doing so.” The sincerity in his voice tugged her gaze to meet his. “In your opinion, should I let Sally keep the glove? Or should I take it away?”

She couldn’t answer—couldn’t think clearly. Her memories were too strong, her emotions too stirred. This man and his wards were a danger to her. She squared her shoulders and shook her head. “I’m afraid I have no answer for you, Reverend Calvert. However, I will consider the problem, and if a suggestion should occur to me, I will tell you.” She pulled her hood farther forward and prepared to alight.

He drooped the reins over the dashboard, climbed down and hurried around to offer her his hand. She did not want his help, did not want to touch him, but there was no way around it. She placed her hand on his wet, uplifted palm and felt the warm strength of his fingers close over hers as she stepped down. The gesture was meant to steady her, but the effect was the opposite. She withdrew her hand, clasped the edges of her cloak against the driving rain and looked up at him. “Thank you for your kindness in bringing me home, Reverend Calvert.”

“Not at all, Miss Wright. It was the least I could do. Watch that puddle.”

His hand clasped her elbow. He guided her around the muddy water onto the wet planks that led to the stoop. Water from the soaked yard squished around his boots as he walked her to her door, released his hold and gave a polite bow of his head.

“Thank you for allowing me to unburden myself of my concerns over Sally and Joshua, Miss Wright. It was good of you to listen. Good afternoon.”

She nodded, opened the door and stepped inside, but could not resist a glance over her shoulder. He was running to his buggy.

“I expected you home when the storm started, Willa. Was there something wrong? I heard a buggy. Are you all right?”

She closed the door, turned and shoved the wet hood off her head. “I’m fine, Mama. Reverend Calvert’s ward, Sally, is frightened of thunderstorms and it took a bit to calm her. The reverend drove me home because of the rain.”

“You were scared of thunder and lightning when you were little. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” Too many things. The memories keep rearing up and betraying me. “You used to hold me and tell me stories.”

Her mother smiled and nodded. “I hope the reverend’s little girl gets over her fright. It’s a terrible thing when a child is afraid.” She narrowed her eyes, peered closely at her. “Are you certain you’re all right, Willa? You look…odd.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why. I’m perfectly fine.” She was. Or at least she would be, as soon as the tingly warmth of Matthew Calvert’s touch left her hand.

Chapter Five