Paradise Falls (14 page)

“You owe Miss Downey an apology.” Except for a narrowing of his eyes, his expression was unreadable, but the tone of his voice left no doubt of the anger simmering inside.

Christian Rudd’s chin came up as he shoved his son aside. “She’s the one who should apologize. Filling young minds with nonsense. I’ll remind you that it was my vote and my money that made it possible for this town to have a teacher.”

Gray never moved. His eyes stayed steady on Christian’s, but his voice lowered just enough to cause those nearby to flinch. “You will apologize. Whether you do it now, of after I embarrass you in front of your family and this entire congregation, matters not to me. But you will apologize.”

No one moved. Children engaged in a game of tag nearby went eerily silent. No babies whimpered. No dogs barked. It seemed, in that instant, that even the breeze had died, so that the autumn leaves no longer rustled about the feet of those watching.

Fiona stood as still as a statue, feeling the blood drain from her face, leaving her temples throbbing.

“You would talk about embarrassing me?” Christian Rudd stood nose to nose with Gray, his face nearly purple with rage. “When everyone knows what sort of man you are?”

“I’ve faced my own judgment before God and man. Now you will do the same. This good woman has done nothing to you.” Gray kept his hands at his sides, though they had already curled into fists. “You will apologize.”

In the eerie silence, Christian turned to Fiona, his words as hard as his features. “I apologize.”

Unable to find her voice, she merely gave a slight nod of her head as he turned away and started toward his waiting wagon, with his wife and son running to keep up with his long strides.

The rest of the congregation hurried away as well, as though eager to put this awkward scene behind them.

Only Frederick Dorf remained. He walked timidly toward Fiona. His voice trembled. “I am sorry that my visit to your school has caused trouble.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Dorf. My students and I learned much from your visit, and that was, after all, the purpose of my invitation.”

“Christian Rudd is an important man in this town, Miss Downey. You do not want him for an enemy.”

“I don’t want anyone to be my enemy, Mr. Dorf. The choice, however, is his, not mine.”

When the old man walked away, Fiona turned to Gray, who hadn’t spoken a word.

“Thank you, Gray.” She hated the way her voice trembled, but there was nothing to be done about it. “But now, as Mr. Dorf said, you have made an enemy of one of your most important townspeople.”

“Christian Rudd is important only in his own mind. The man is a bully. Everyone knows it.”

“Why do they not stand up to him?”

Gray shrugged. “We tell ourselves we are minding our own business. Perhaps we are. But we all know he bullies his wife and son, and anyone who gets in his way.”

He glanced down at her hands, clasped together so firmly the knuckles were white with the effort. “Are you all right?”

Perhaps it was merely relief, or perhaps it was the concern she could read in his eyes. Whatever the reason, she feared that at any moment she might embarrass herself by crying. “I’m fine. But I’d like to leave now.”

He put a hand beneath her elbow. Just a hand, but she felt the quiet strength in him and had to resist the urge to turn into his arms and weep until there were no tears left. Instead she merely walked beside him on trembling legs until they reached the wagon.

Gray lifted her into the back, where she settled herself next to his father.

Rose and Flem were already seated up front. They kept their gazes averted, and from the stiff line of Rose’s back, Fiona sensed that Rose was not happy being thrust into the middle of this embarrassing scene.

As the horse and wagon moved along the road toward their farm, Broderick drew an edge of his blanket around Fiona’s shoulders. She looked over in surprise.

“Cold,” he muttered. “Come close. I need your hand.”

She placed a hand over his, and he covered it with his other hand before looking up into her eyes. “You must be patient with us. This town’s like a baby. Still crawling. You keep forcing us to take little steps. One day, you’ll see, we’ll be climbing mountains.”

She blinked back a tear and managed a weak smile. “Do you think I’ll be around long enough to see that?”

“I hope so.” One side of his mouth turned up. “Sorry I missed the excitement. There was a time I’d have been in the thick of it.”

She sighed. “I’m so embarrassed that the whole town had to witness that.”

“You didn’t ask for it.”

She fell silent a moment before saying softly, “Gray was my champion.”

“Not surprised.” He gave a grunt of laughter. “Takes after his old man.”

F
iona’s breath plumed in the frigid air of the empty schoolhouse. She knelt on the hearth and coaxed a thin flame in the dried grass and sticks she’d heaped on top of the log. Gradually the log began to smolder and burn, and soon she had a fire blazing. Though she was reluctant to turn away from the warmth, she had no choice. Picking up the small hatchet Gray had given her she carried it to the outhouse, where she chopped through the layer of ice that had formed overnight on the bucket of water.

The days had grown shorter, the air so crisp and cold it hurt to breathe it in. In the mornings it was still dark when Fiona left on foot for the schoolhouse, and dusk by the time she returned.

The children often arrived in a single pony cart driven by one of the older boys, and returned home the same way. Those few who lived on farms too far from town banded together to walk in a group, and Fiona often dismissed them early, so that they’d be safely home before darkness settled over the land.

On her way back inside the schoolhouse she filled her arms with as many small logs as she could manage. She was staggering by the time she climbed the steps and deposited them beside the fireplace.

The door was opened on a blast of wintry air.

“Oh.” She jumped at the shadow behind her, then gave a little cry of delight. “Will. Will VanderSleet. It’s been such a long time. How are you?”

The boy stared hard at the toe of his boot. “I’m fine, Miss Downey.”

“Has your uncle given you permission to attend school?”

“No, ma’am.” The boy turned several shades of red before he managed to say, “There aren’t many farm chores now, with the ground frozen. So I thought I’d come by and see if you might need a hand.” He glanced at the meager pile of logs beside the fireplace. “I could chop wood for you. Carry water from the creek.”

“That would be grand, Will. But I can’t pay you for your hard work.”

“Oh, Miss Downey, I don’t want pay. I just want to help.”

“It would be a great help.” Fiona thought a moment. “I know. In exchange for your chores, I’ll teach you.”

He was already shaking his head. “I won’t be able to stay more than an hour. My uncle will expect me back to help in the barn.”

“All right. An hour then. Can you read, Will?”

The boy shrugged. “A little. My ma taught me how to write my name before she died.”

“That’s a start.” Fiona drew a desk close to the fire. “Come on. Before the others get here, we’ll try a few words on a slate.”

“Let me get you more logs first.”

Fiona watched as he scampered out the door and returned with his arms laden with firewood. After slacking it neatly beside, the fireplace, he took the desk she indicated and began writing a few words on the slate.

When he handed it over for her inspection she looked up. “Where did you learn these words, Will?”

Again that flush on his cheeks as he said softly, “In my grandpa’s Bible. He used to read it to us at night. He was the only one who could manage all the big words. Now that he’s gone, all I can manage are a few small words.”

“Could you ask your uncle to help?”

The boy looked away. “My Uncle Dolph can’t read. Neither could my papa. Besides, Uncle Dolph said he doesn’t have time for such things.”

She sighed. “Then it’s up to you, Will. As long as you’re willing to work with me, I’ll have you reading so well, there won’t be any words that will stop you.”

“Do you really think so, Miss Downey?”

She heard the plea in his voice and touched a hand to his arm. “Let’s not waste another minute.”

* * *

Fiona trudged up the lane toward the Haydn farmhouse. In her hand was a lantern she used to light her way.

Hearing the jingle of harness she paused to see a team of horses pulling the big log wagon just topping a ridge. When it came alongside her, Gray drew the team to a halt.

“I stopped by the schoolhouse, but you were already gone.”

“You have enough to do, Gray, chopping down trees and hauling the lumber into town.” She’d learned from his father that Gray earned extra money every winter by selling logs to the townspeople. “I’ve told you not to go out of your way for me.”

He leaned down and helped her up to the hard wooden seat beside him. “It isn’t out of my way. Besides, look how dark it is. It isn’t safe for you to be out so late.”

“I have my lantern:” She lifted the glass and blew out the wick to save precious kerosene.

“But it’s cold.”

“That just makes me walk faster,” she said with a laugh.

They shared a smile as he flicked the reins. The team set out at a fast clip, knowing they were heading toward the barn where food and water awaited them in a warm stall.

Once inside Gray helped Fiona down. As she turned away he reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot. Gerhardt Shultz said the train came through this morning. The conductor left a packet of letters for you.”

“Oh. Thank you, Gray.” Fiona took the letters from his hand and stared at them with naked hunger. Then with a little laugh she danced away.

Inside she hurried through the house to her room. Without even bothering to remove her coat or boots she held a match to the lantern and knelt on the floor, where she devoured every word her mother had written.

There was a quick rap on the door, and Flem’s muffled voice. “Supper’s ready. Ma said you’re late.”

Fiona’s head came up and she flung aside her coat and boots before hurrying from the room. In the kitchen she saw that the others had already begun passing the food.

Rose gave a hiss of disgust, more effective than any words.

“I’m sorry.” Fiona ducked her head and felt a tear streaking down her cheek.

Tears?
She hadn’t even realized she’d been weeping.

Mortified, she rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes before taking her place beside Flem.

“What kept you?” Flem handed her a bowl of steaming potatoes.

“I was reading a letter from my mother.” As Fiona filled her plate she could feel Gray watching her while he assisted his father.

“Not a very happy letter from the looks of you.”

She twisted her hands together in her lap, wondering how to explain that it wasn’t what her mother had said that had her alarmed, but what she hadn’t said. It had been such a brief missive. Chicago was cold. Her nieces were busy little girls. She was happy to learn that the Haydn family was good to her daughter.

Not a word about herself. Was she eating? Was she able to sleep, while sharing a bed with three lively little girls? Was she still locked in grief over her loss? Had she made any friends in Chicago?

It was Gray’s voice that brought Fiona out of her reverie.

“Is this what I think it is?” He shot a look at his mother.

“Bavarian wurst.” Rose saw the look of surprise in her men’s eyes and was quick to explain. “Brunhilde Schmidt said her husband raved over the wurst she bought from Frederick Dorf. So I thought I’d try one, too.”

“Doing business with the peddler, Ma?” Flem laughed. “If you’re not careful, you may find yourself being publicly insulted by Christian Rudd.”

At that Fiona looked down at her plate.

Rose shoved back her chair and busied herself at the stove, pouring hot water from a kettle into the teapot. She circled the table, filling their cups. “Brunhilde and her husband personally inspected Frederick Dorf’s wagon and proclaimed it clean. Certainly cleaner than any other peddler’s wagon they’d ever seen.”

Flem was chuckling. “Next thing you know we’ll be inviting the old peddler and his brat to supper.”

“Enough.” Broderick set down his cup with such force the tea sloshed over the rim. He waited until Rose had taken her seat. One side of his mouth turned up just enough to hint at a smile. “The Bavarian wurst is good.”

Rose’s mouth opened and closed, though no words came out.

When the silence became awkward, Broderick turned to Gray. “I’d like to go to the parlor now.”

Gray helped his father to his feet, and the two of them shuffled slowly from the room.

When they were gone Flem glanced at his mother. “Did I just hear a compliment?”

“Hush now.” Agitated, Rose topped off her tea and sipped, all the while staring into space.

Flem pointed to the apple cake cooling on the windowsill. “Are we supposed to eat that
apkelkuchen
, or did you make it for the horses?”

When his mother didn’t answer Flem crossed the room and returned with the cake, which he cut into slices and set on plates, handing one to Fiona, and placing one in front of Rose.

After polishing off two big slices, he turned to his mother, who hadn’t even tasted her dessert.

He winked at Fiona, “I guess this would be the time to tell my mother that I have a secret wife, I’ve sold the farm, I’m taking the money and leaving my family alone and destitute while I pursue a life of debauchery.”

Though Rose never even blinked, Fiona was convulsed with laughter. Nobody could make her laugh as easily as Flem.

She pushed back her chair. “I think we should leave your mother alone, Flem.”

“I think you’re right.”

As the two of them walked from the kitchen, Fiona paused to look back at the woman, still seated at the kitchen table, her tea untouched, her gaze fixed on the spot where her husband had been sitting.

Instead of joining the Haydn men in the parlor, Fiona left them to their privacy and made her way to her room, where she intended to reread her mother’s letters. But as she knelt beside the lantern, it wasn’t the letters that filled her mind, but the little scene she’d witnessed in the kitchen.