Chapter 1

© Copyright 2007 by Elizabeth Delayne



“I thank you for meeting with me, Miss. Lynne.”

Sitting on the neat sitting chair Mrs. Petterson had brought with her from Boston, Rachel Lynne studied the aging rancher. He’d come to her asking for a word after the Sunday Services. She’d agreed to meet with him on the next Tuesday, and following propriety, met with him in Reverend Peterson’s parlor. She was temporarily sharing a room with the Peterson’s three year old daughter until a place for her could be finished.

Well, temporarily was relative. It was closing in on October.

Still, the desks had been and important project to finish first. Then the Anderson’s barn had burned down and the town had shown up to help him rebuild.

So, temporarily living with a three year old was turning into a year experience.

The aging rancher’s name was Gregory Forester. She’d been introduced to him and his family by the Petersons during her first week in Lenox. He was tall, strong, his face worn by the sun and wind and age. He looked out of place sitting in Mrs. Peterson’s stiff wingback chair, attempting to drink tea from a formal china cup and saucer.

“You’ve met my grandson,” he began, awkwardly setting the tiny cup and saucer down on the table between them.

‘matthew?” Rachel asked, and thought of the little boy with tasseled hair and big brown eyes—eyes that were so very sad. As the school’s teacher, she’d been introduced to all of the children, and was expected to plan activities for them during the church socials.

Anytime, Matthew was one of the first ones there. “Yes—I don’t think I could miss him.”

“He has thrown himself at you,” Gregory smiled fondly, then shook his head. “I know it may seem an odd request, but my grandson has had his heart set on coming to your school all year.”

“I don’t believe he’s old enough to. He’s barely four years old?”

“Nearly five ... I know he’s just a little boy, I know, but he’s gotten excited about it. Got it into his head a few weeks ago when young Thaddeous was showing him his letters in the dirt outside the church building. He thanks the world of you. Matthew has a mind to solve the mysterious. Even when he’s sad, he seems to think there’s an answer to everything.”

“He’s a sweet boy.”

“His own ma died last year. He took things well, in the beginning. Then, all the sudden, he just ... turned sour—like a bad bucket of milk. He doesn’t understand why he can’t be learnin’ like the other boys. And seein” this light in him, I don’t want to see it fade. Not again.”

Rachel thought of Matt, remembered the sad eyes. “I would love to have him, but I don’t know what the school board would say. They are the ones that make up the rules. And ... I’m not sure would be able to handle the long day.”

“We’re a tight town, Miss. Lynne. People will work with me if they sees that its all right with you.” He looked down at the dusty hat he held in his hands. “I won’t be asking for him to stay all day or come all week. Maybe half of a day. Maybe for just certain days. I could come in for supplies on that day and he could come in for a bit. He would think he was comin’ out school. He’s real excited about it.”

‘then I would love to have him as part of my class.”

It wasn’t like she didn’t have the room. The town of Lenox only had a handful of school age children and not all of them were allowed to leave the farm and come to school. Maybe setting a standard for coming half of a day would encourage those few other parents to allow their children to come in—just for a little while.

Or it could work the other way. The support she had might lean more toward less schooling. She knew her job was precarious as it was. People weren’t to keen on paying for a teacher.

But she was here. And she was determined to earn their trust.

Gregory Forester stood. “I’ll be talking to Reverend Peterson then. If everything works out, I’ll bring Matt by before school on Monday.”

When he left a few minutes later, Mrs. Peterson came to the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands off on a dishrag. “I haven’t heard that man say that many words in all the time I’ve been in Lenox. Those Foresters are a quiet bunch.”

“So you heard?”

“I think it’s a fine idea. Phillip won’t have a problem with it, but what will you do with a four year old?”

Rachel thought of Lauren, the Peterson’s spirited three year old. Every evening before diner Lauren set the table with precision. On Saturdays, she helped Rachel and her mother scrub the floors, carefully dipping the cloth into the soap water, wringing it out, and washing as if she thought it was a game. She knew how to take off her Sunday dress and hang it on the low peg and how to button her own shoes.

She shrugged. “If he wants to learn, I’m sure I can teach him something.”

* * *

Five years ago the town of Lenox was nothing more than a meeting place in the center of a grouping of farms, a point in the trail west. The mail would come through, stop at a small shack that would later be rebuilt into an official post office. The Bartons had moved in not long after to open a store. Then the Peterson’s came to start a church. For years they met in the shade of a growing oak tree.

But he had a vision for more. First a church building, and later a school.

They now employed a teacher. Soon, they would get around to building that school. Until then, the pews were removed during the week and replaced with ten student desks’the extent of hope for the Lenox school house attendance.

Now the town of Lenox was on his way toward thriving.

Rachel loved to walk the planked sidewalks every afternoon after school. People would stop to talk, invite her to dinner, ask about the children.

Her favorite place was Bartons. Barton’s was the only store in town that you could get more than farming supplies, plus it was the post office and best place to find out the local news. It was owned by Jasper Barton and his wife, Mille. They had a son, Jeff, who was not much older than Matthew. She kept him with her in the store as she moved around stocking shelves and helping customers.

But when Rachel came in, she would pause for a minute and set herself up on a stool behind the counter. Rachel had found a friend she could share her letters with. It helped dilute the homesickness.

She was close to all of her family, but she missed her twin sister Rebecca most of all. They had always been close. They had shared everything ... everything except for falling in love.

At just the time they had graduated from the teaching school, Rebecca had gotten married. She was well on the way to starting her family.

She shook herself from falling into the pity and focused instead on Millie. She had friends, she reminded herself. She had her own adventure and her own place.

“I heard about Mr. Forester asking you to let Matthew come to school.”

“How did you know about that?”

”‘this isn’t Charleston, honey. Everyone knows everything about everyone,” Millie laughed. “Besides, Gregory came in here himself and bought his grandson a new slate and chalk. He was beaming.”

“Just for part of a day, once a week. Maybe more than that after we see how it goes,” Rachel made herself concentrate on the ball of yarn she was rolling. “You could send Jeffrey if you wanted to.”

“Jeff has his chores here,” Milly said practically and glanced over to where her son was straightening piles of handkerchiefs. “‘My real concern is that Matthew will put too much stock in you being there as his mother. He adores you.”

“He seems so sad.”

“He is sad. He picks it up from his father. James Forester has not smiled a day since Anna died.”

Rachel thought of the tall, sullen man. He did not come into town often, missed the church meetings more often then not, and even when he did come in on Sundays stayed at the back and left quickly after the end of the service.

She might not have noticed if it wasn’t such a pattern. Anytime his name came up in conversation, that was how people described him. He’s the tall one you see in the back on Sundays. Poor man, he can’t take being there. His dear Anna had such a beautiful spirit.

“Loosing his wife must have been terribly hard on him.”

“She was a jewel, never spoke a bad word about anyone—in public, anyway, and always willing to help, always full of love and energy and adventure. And she had a beautiful voice. For singing. She loved the idea of moving out here, to start in a new world. She and James ... they were a team. When bad times came she looked forward. It was always going to get better.”

”Then you think it is a bad idea for me to grant permission for Matthew to come to school?”

“Not a ... bad idea,” Millie said and reached across to pat Rachel’s hand. “It’s nice to see the boy smiling for a change. It’s just different. And Matthew ...” Millie sighed. “‘Maybe he needs different.”

* * *

By Monday morning Rachel was ready for Matthew Forester. There was no reason why she shouldn’t begin to teach him to read—eventually, she admitted. She had no idea what he knew and what he didn’t. Did he know his colors? His numbers, his letters? He’d been raised mostly by his father and grandfather. He was a farm boy, used to farm chores—even at four years old.

But he’d been so excited when his grandfather brought him up to her after the church service.

She stood at the door as the children arrived. They came in, her few students: Mary, James, Lucille, Carl, Michael, Thaddeous, Catherine and Sarah Anne. Mr. Forester arrived on his horse with Matthew in front as the others walked past.

Rachel stepped down the front steps with a ready smile on her face.

Matthew frowned. “I thought I was goin’ to school.”

“You are going to school,” Rachel corrected.

“But this is church!”

“And during the week, it is school. They clear out the pews and bring in the desks. You’ll see that it’s different when we go inside,” she held out her hand. “Are you ready for your first day of school, Mr. Forester?”

Matthew looked at her hand and simply climbed down from his grandfather’s horse with such ease, Rachel couldn’t help but smile.

“You remember what I said,” the elder Forester said as Matthew grasped her hand. “You behave yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

He opened his satchel and withdrew a new slate and chalk.

“And don’t forget your school supplies.”

Obviously a surprise, Matthew reached up and accepted the gift from his grandfather.

“A real slate. Just like Thaddeous.”

Rachel grinned as she turned around with Matthew still clutching her hand. “Just like Thaddeous.”

* * *

The day seemed to go by as normal, even with her new pupil. For awhile, Matt worked with the next youngest of the children, little Lucille, with picture cards Rachel had brought with her from Charleston. She did this and this and class began.

He used some small sticks to learn, or rather start to learn his counting, and listened as she read the morning story to the entire class. His eyes lit up and followed the inflections of her voice. He was so easy, she thought, to entertain.

When they moved on to writing, he pulled out his slate. Rachel watched him as he seemed intent to copy the sentence the wrote on the board—but she resisted the urge to check on him for himself.

General George Washington sat gallantly on his horse.

Surely he wasn’t copying, she thought. She continued with the lesson and he watched her, as if he were taking her discourse for the older children on sentence structure right into his heart.



She looked at the time—a pocket watch her father had given her—and sighed. Lunch time already? And Matt had already just gotten here. Would he be ready to go home?

She called for lunch and the other children grabbed their buckets and hurried out the door. They paid little attention to Matthew who stayed behind.

“Look Miss. Lynne!” he came running up to her, holding his slate. “I wrote it!”

“You did! Let me see.”

He held it up to her, and to her surprise, it wasn’t letters at all, but scribbles. He’d seemed so intent ... she’d been sure that he’d copied it—maybe without understanding.

She smiled.

“You sure did, Matthew.”

“I can’t remember what it says. Can you tell me again? I want to tell Grandpa.”

She knelt down before him, “General George Washington sat gallantly on his horse.”

He grinned. “I have a horse. When she has her baby, I’m going to name it Washington. After George Washington. I wanted to remember. So when the baby’s born I can remember. You’ll come see the baby won’t you? The baby horse. You call it a colt.”

“Just tell me when.”

With a grin, Matthew threw his arms around her and held on tight. Rachel felt something move in her heart. It was sharp and sudden. And all too familiar.

”Matthew,” a booming voice signaled from the door. “Let’s go.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as he let go. However strong the emotion, it wasn’t something she was ready for.

She had already lived with that disappointment, watching her sister wed and talk about having a child, watching her cousins have children of their own. It wasn’t time for her.

Matthew turned and Rachel stood slowly to her feet. She knew the voice. She just hadn’t expected it. Matthew’s grandfather had been the only one of the Foresters that she’d dealt with.

And there he stood big and tall and right there before her. James Forester.

Matthew stood at his father’s side. “See?” he said, “I wrote it. I did good. Didn’t I Miss. Lynne?”

“You did incredible,” Rachel agreed. “A perfectly mannered young man.”

“Go on, Matthew. Get to the wagon.”

For a moment, Rachel thought Matthew would argue. The excitement was just brimming from him, and his father had yet to look at the scribbles on the slate.

“You could encourage him, you know.” Rachel said, walking toward the man. He was intimidating. Tall, with strong hands, seemingly so much larger than life now that he stood before her.

He wasn’t a man you messed with.

Still, there was something about him. Something ... ruggedly handsome. Something.

She wasn’t exactly afraid. Warned, but not afraid.

“And you shouldn’t either.”

“Encourage him to learn?”

“Encourage him in that way,” he waved a hand to the back of the school room where Rachel had just stood with Matt.

Where he’d given her that hug. The hug that tugged at her heart. She wanted her own children. She wanted ...

He’s not your child.

“I didn’t intend to...”

“It doesn’t matter what you intended. This was his grandfather’s idea,” he said, his voice rough with disdain. “And it put Matthew right in the middle.”

“I know, but your father is just worried about him. Matthew was just so sad. He’s just a little boy,” Rachel stepped forward and tried to gather herself together. Whatever her own heart, it was Matthew’s that mattered. “You didn’t ask, but he handled himself very well today. Like a fine little gentleman.”

“His mother died.”

“I know”“

“And he doesn’t need someone to take his place.”

“I wasn’t trying to take her place,” Rachel argued. “I was doing a favor for your father.”

”My father was out of line. I’m the one who makes the decisions on his welfare, Miss. Lynne. I don’t think he’ll be comin’ back to this school.”

“Because you don’t want him to?”

“Because he doesn’t need you.”

James turned around and left her standing there. She stepped to the door, and placed her hands on the frame.

”Maybe not, but he does need you”“ she called out, before spinning around to go back into the school room.

Then she stopped, slapped a hand to her forehead. Her mother had always warned her of her temper. Fire and brimstone.

For her mother, that was such a bad thing. For the destruction would only fall down on her own head, her family’s head ...

And for Rachel, that meant the school, her job.

Then she heard that deep timber voice, further away now as he spoke to his son.

Let me see there, son, what you've got on that slate.

Rachel grinned.

Didn't need her, she thought. Maybe.

Maybe not.


HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!




Return to Rachel's Lessons Table of Contents