Ingrid slowly rose to her feet. When she was standing, she swayed and would have fallen if Gunnar hadn't had a tight grasp on her arm. Ingrid lowered the stick and used it to balance herself.
When Ingrid managed one stiff step forward, Tessa saw that the little girl was crippled with one of her thin legs turned in at an odd angle. How had she missed seeing it earlier?
Of course, Alex had carried Ingrid into the classroom and
placed her on the bench, and Ingrid hadn't risen from her spot all morning. Even so, Tessa should have noticed the twisted leg and the makeshift crutch.
“I don't suppose you're married, are you, Miss Taylor?” Ingrid asked.
Tessa decided the best thing to do was to act like she wasn't surprised by either Ingrid's condition or her forward question. “No, Ingrid,” she said, “I'm not married.” Although she'd come close once.
“Do you ever want to be a mama, Miss Taylor?” Ingrid asked.
“Ingie,” Gunnar whispered harshly. “Let's go. Leave the new teacher alone.”
But Ingrid stayed put, hunched on one side. “I don't have a mama.”
In the same instant that Ingrid spoke, understanding rushed through Tessa. Alex was a widower. His wife had obviously died and left him alone with the two children.
“I'm sorry you lost your mama,” Tessa said. “That must have been very hard.”
“I don't remember her anymore. She died giving birth to my baby brother when I was only one.”
Five years ago. Alex had lost his wife five years ago. That would explain why he'd flirted with her so effortlessly now. He'd moved past the time of grieving.
“My baby brother died too,” Ingrid said, ignoring Gunnar's tug on her sleeve. “And Daddy has been really sad ever since then.”
Sad? Tessa hadn't gotten the impression that Alex was sad. But maybe he was different at home. “It's hard to lose someone you love. I know because I've lost both my parents and my little sister.”
Ingrid searched her face. “You don't look as sad as my daddy.”
“I'm sure his sadness just means that he loved your mother very much.”
Gunnar stared at his feet and twisted the tip of his shoe, obviously embarrassed by his sister's boldness. “Can we go eat now?” he whispered.
Ingrid nodded and took a wobbly step forward, using her stick to compensate for her misshapen leg.
Gunnar started to release a breath, but before he could get it out completely, Ingrid stopped and spoke again. “I hope my daddy learns to love someone else now.” Tessa nodded, but before she could respond, Ingrid rushed on. “Maybe he'll learn to love you, Miss Taylor. Then maybe you can become my new mama.”
Without waiting for Tessa's reaction, the girl limped away, clutching her brother's arm with one hand and her cane with the other.
Speechless, Tessa could only stare at them as they exited the schoolroom.
T
essa closed the schoolhouse door and smiled at the boy who'd asked if he could help carry her books home.
“I'm perfectly fine carrying them on my own, Henry,” she said to the gangly boy waiting for her outside. His white-blond hair was clipped almost to his scalp, likely an attempt by his family to control the lice, a prevalent problem among her scholars. His nose still contained a smattering of freckles he'd gained over the short summer, during the days of fishing and swimming in the lake. Although there was still a boyish fullness to his face, at eleven he was her oldest male student.
Josie was her oldest female student, a fact Josie never failed to complain about each morning when Tessa prodded the girl awake and elicited a promise that she would attend class.
Tessa had learned that most boys started working in the mine when they were ten. Some of the girls went to work too, hired at the boardinghouses as housekeepers, cooks, or washerwomen.
The classroom was primarily populated by young children
who weren't conscripted yet into the drudgery and danger of the mines. She'd been told by the mother and helper, Hannah Nance, that there were enough children in town to fill the school to overflowing. “Over one hundred,” she'd said.
Tessa couldn't imagine teaching more than the forty or fifty who had shown up for class the past two weeks. Even with Hannah's help, she struggled to listen to everyone's recitations, give spelling lists, and drill on math facts. So many of the students needed individual attention, and no matter how hard she worked to get around the classroom, she could never seem to reach every student.
She was in short supply of McGuffy Readers, North American Spellers, slates, slate pencils, and an assortment of other supplies. Already she'd had to find creative ways for the children to share the meager resources they had.
Even with all the shortages and challenges of her new position, it still troubled her that the older children who most needed an education were missing out.
She stood on the lone wooden plank that served as a step and stared at the wisp of smoke that rose from the stamp mill. The brick building was just down the road at the base of the hill that ran down the one-hundred-fifty-mile length of the Keweenaw Peninsula. It was the hill that held the vein of copper a dozen or more companies were mining.
The children had been a wealth of information about the mines and had answered her questions with more knowledge than any child should have about mining operations. She'd learned that the fissure deposit at Cole Mine was massive, dropping some thirty levels and over three thousand feet straight down into the earth.
She could only shudder at the thought of men down that
deep in the bowels of the earth. But young boys? Like Henry Benney? It was scandalous.
She'd also learned that most of the miners had emigrated from Cornwall, England, when the tin and copper mines there had reached a peak of production. With their knowledge of copper mining, the Cornish had become invaluable assets to the copper industry in the Midwest.
In the late September afternoon, the sun had disappeared behind a band of clouds. The air was cold and damp with the threat of rain. She thought she heard the faint rumble of thunder, but realized the sound might also belong to a load of rocks being dumped out of the mine into a chute that would carry them down the hill to the stamp mill.
Henry waited for her on the rutted wagon path. He was the last of the students to leave the schoolhouse every day. After she dismissed everyone, he always came up to her desk with numerous questions about his assignments. She relished his eagerness to learn and didn't mind staying late to tutor him.
She fell into step next to the boy. “I just wish more boys your age would attend school, Henry. Perhaps you can talk with them and encourage them to come.”
“Lot of my friends don't care about any learning,” he said, lengthening his stride to match her pace. “But my father, now he's a good one. He keeps saying he wants me to have something else to do with my life besides working in the mines like him and his father before him.”
If only more of the fathers felt the same way. But sadly, most of them were stuck in their old ways of doing things. They'd lived and died as miners in Cornwall, and most of them planned to live and die as miners in Michigan. They had no other aspirations.
“All week I've been thinking about what I can do to help
educate more of the students who work in the mines,” she said as they walked toward the main business district of town, “and I've decided I'm going to start holding evening classes.”
“That so, miss?” Henry said.
“Yes. What do you think of the idea? Do you think I'll get the older children to attend?”
Henry shrugged. “Can't rightly say. Maybe some.”
Teaching evening classes would make for long days. Over the past couple of weeks that she'd been in Eagle Harbor, late in the afternoon, utterly exhausted, she'd trudged back to the house where she was staying. She'd wanted only to flop down onto the bedbug-infested mattress in her attic room and sleep, but she'd had lessons to plan and assignments to grade.
How would she manage teaching all day
and
all evening? Especially after she'd already promised her younger students that she'd hold extra spelling classes for those who wanted to participate in a spelling bee contest.
She forced the negative thoughts out of her mind. She'd come to Eagle Harbor to teach, but now that she'd realized God had bigger plans for her here, she needed to trust that He would give her the strength to do whatever He called her to.
“Maybe you could open the class to parents too,” Henry suggested. “If the fathers are learning, I bet they'll be more keen on their children learning.”
“You're brilliant, Henry.” She stopped and smiled at the boy. “That's an excellent plan.”
He beamed at her praise. “I know my father always talks about how he wished he'd had more learning when he was a lad. He'd be mighty happy to get the chance now.”
“Of course he would. Most of the parents would.” Why hadn't she thought of including them earlier? If the parents were
educated, they'd be more supportive of educating their children. Perhaps there would be fewer dropouts. Then the community as a whole would have the tools to improve themselves rather than being at the mercy of the mine and its owners.
She let her gaze linger on the look-alike log cabins that housed the miners' families. Now that school was out for the day, the yards were dotted with young children helping with the endless chores and some laughing and playing in spite of their dismal existence.
“I'll start a class next week,” she said more to herself than to Henry.
“Will you ask permission of Mr. Updegraff first?” Henry's young face took on a shadow of worry.
Percival Updegraff had left the day after her arrival for a trip downstate, or so she'd been told. Josie had speculated that the superintendent of Cole Mine had gone to see his wife and children one last time before winter locked them in and stopped navigation on the Great Lakes.
Whatever the case, Tessa hadn't seen him since the day she'd signed her contract. “I don't think Mr. Updegraff will mind if I start an evening school,” she said. “I don't see how he could object. Not when it would be a huge benefit to the town.”
Henry glanced around and then lowered his voice. “My father says Mr. Updegraff likes to know everything that's going on. He says a man can't relieve himself in the woods without Mr. Updegraff hearing about it.”
Tessa bit back a laugh. “I can't imagine he'd concern himself with what I do or don't do with the school.”
“Oh, he'd concern himself, all right.”
Before she could say anything more to ease Henry's mind, a child's voice calling her name came from the direction of the bluffs that ran along the bay.
She turned to see a blond-headed boy trotting toward her. The stocky build and proud stiff hold of his shoulders belonged to Gunnar Bjorklund, Alex's boy.
“Miss Taylor,” he called again with a wave.
She lifted her hand in a return greeting, trying to ignore her pleasure in seeing the boy again. Even though she'd just said good-bye to Ingrid and Gunnar a short while ago, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed their company. They lingered briefly with her in the classroom at lunch instead of rushing outside with the other children. She'd found their sweetness endearing, even if Ingrid was slightly overbearing in the questions she asked.
Of course, Tessa hadn't been able to avoid seeing Alex when he dropped the children off for school each morning. And she hadn't been able to shake the awkwardness in knowing he'd once been married, had lost a wife, and had children. She still wished he'd said something about it earlier. But how did one go about divulging such personal information? She didn't suppose he could have saved her from drowning, carried her to the beach, and then made the declaration,
I'm flirting with you. By
the way, I'm a grieving widower with children.
She almost laughed aloud at the absurdity.
Gunnar didn't stop running until he was standing in front of her panting like one of Alex's dogs. He bent over to catch his breath.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
He shook his head, but didn't meet her gaze.
Something in his manner set her on edge. “What's wrong?”
He held his side, still gasping for breath.
Her mind flashed with the picture of Ingrid having fallen and hurt herself. “Is it Ingrid?”
Gunnar nodded. “She asked me to come for you,” he managed to say. Guilt rippled across his face before he could hide it.
But Tessa was already turning to Henry and sending him ahead without her to the Rawlingses with instructions to carry her books to her room in the attic where they'd be safe from the younger boys of the household who tended to be destructive.
With Henry scampering off, Tessa took Gunnar's arm. “Take me to Ingrid,” she said, trying to keep the anxiety out of her tone. She wanted to assure Gunnar that he had nothing to worry about, that she was only too glad to help, and that everything would be fine.
But as they hurried along, she grew breathless in her attempt to keep up with the boy. She had no time for conversation, to discover what had happened. She had no care about where he was leading her either. Her only concern was getting to Ingrid just as fast as she could.
Her shoes slapped the path and her chest thudded. Even so, she could hear the crash of the waves growing stronger as they ran. When they broke through the wooded bluff into a clearing, Tessa stumbled at the sight of a lighthouse straight ahead. It was the same lighthouse she'd seen from the harbor the day she arrived. From a distance it had seemed rather plain and unassuming. But now up close, she could see the keeper's house was actually quite large and solid.
“Don't tell me the two of you were playing where you shouldn't have been,” Tessa said to Gunnar, who was now at least two body lengths ahead of her.
He didn't respond except to pick up his pace and sprint the last distance to the door of the keeper's cottage.
“You do know that a lighthouse is federal property,” she said, coming up behind him, heaving and hot from the exertion.
“You shouldn't enter one without permission from the keeper, especially if he's not available to give you a tour.”
Gunnar and Ingrid's misdeed reminded her of something her twin brothers would have done in their younger days. They'd always gotten into one kind of trouble after another. And since she'd been the only mother they could remember, she'd been the one to rescue them from death-defying incidents.
Gunnar didn't stop to make sure she was following him. Instead he barged into the cottage as if accustomed to doing so. She followed him inside, praying the lightkeeper wasn't at home. She didn't want to bring trouble upon herself or the children for breaking and entering into a house that wasn't theirs.
She followed him down a hallway past two closed doors she assumed to be bedrooms. He led her to a parlor near the back of the house, which was across from the kitchen. A big picture window overlooked Lake Superior. Maybe the men who'd designed the house had put the parlor at the rear of the house with the thought of providing the family with a view of the lake. She supposed to anyone else, the rocky ledge below with its crashing waves and endless lake beyond offered a majestic sight. But she cringed at the thought of having this view every day.
She wanted to yank the curtains closed, but instead she focused on the rest of the parlor. It looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Clutter was piled on end tables, balls of dust crowded the edges of the wooden floor, and blankets were tossed haphazardly across armchairs.
She'd grown up in a nearly spotless keeper's dwelling, always living with the fear of a surprise visit by an inspector. Keeping the cottage clean had been one of her most important duties. Lighthouse officials expected the keeper's house to be as perfectly clean as the lighthouse.
What had happened here?
“Miss Taylor?” came Ingrid's muffled voice beneath a scattering of knitted afghans on the sofa.
With a start, Tessa rushed across the room to the little girl. “Ingrid?” she said, kneeling beside the sofa and tugging back a blanket to reveal the girl's flushed face. “Whatever is the matter? Are you hurt?”
Ingrid nodded and pointed to her neck. “I have a scratchy throat.”
A scratchy throat?
The girl peered up at Tessa and batted her eyelashes over her baby-blue eyes. Her expression was one of such innocence that Tessa could almost believe for a moment the girl really was suffering.
But then Tessa glanced over her shoulder at Gunnar, who stood in the middle of the room staring down at his feet and shuffling them. The guilt she'd observed earlier was now plastered all over his face.