Her Daughter Was Mocked For Having No Father, Cowboy Knelt And Said “You Have One Now”

Chapter 5

The first day of school arrived with the kind of perfect September weather that seemed determined to mock her nerves.

Fifteen students filed into the schoolhouse, ranging from six-year-old Peter Jenkins, who could recite the alphabet backward, to sixteen-year-old Margaret Wells, who clearly believed she’d outgrown education. Grace stood at the front of the room, her palms sweating, her voice steady.

“Good morning, children. I’m Mrs. Donovan, your new teacher.”

Lily sat at the front desk, wearing her best dress and a ribbon that matched her mother’s. She was the youngest student, but Grace had decided that keeping her at home alone wasn’t an option.

The introductions went smoothly until Theo Harrison’s turn.

“I’m Theo Harrison,” he said, his voice carrying the same sneer his mother had perfected. “My father’s the mayor. My mother says new teachers don’t usually last here. Most of them leave after they find out how hard it is.”

Grace felt the eyes of the entire room on her. “Well, Theo, I’m not most teachers. I came here to stay.”

“Because you got nowhere else to go, right? My mother said—”

“That’s enough.” Margaret Wells’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She turned in her seat, fixing Theo with a glare that made him shrink back. “Nobody cares what your mother says. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Theo’s face turned crimson. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Just did.” Margaret turned back to face the front, meeting Grace’s eyes with a small nod.

Grace cleared her throat. “Thank you, Margaret. Now, let’s begin our arithmetic lesson.”

The day passed in a blur of assessments and routines. Grace discovered that Peter Jenkins was indeed capable of reciting the alphabet backward, that Margaret Wells had a gift for numbers that went untutored, and that Theo Harrison was going to be a problem.

She also discovered that Caleb Hartley was a man of his word.

The next morning, when she opened the schoolhouse door, she found a jar of fresh milk on the step, a note tucked beneath it. “Thought the little one might need this. — C.”

The next week, it was a basket of apples. Then a sack of flour. Then a small bag of coffee beans, tied with a piece of string.

Each gift was small, practical, and delivered when she wasn’t looking. She never caught him in the act, but she knew. She knew by the way Lily’s face lit up when she asked, “Did Mr. Hartley bring something today?” She knew by the warmth that spread through her chest when she saw his handwriting. She knew by the way she found herself glancing toward the road, hoping to see a tall figure on horseback.

“You’re falling for him.”

Beatrice’s words were blunt, delivered over tea in the boarding house kitchen.

“I’m grateful for his kindness,” Grace corrected, her cheeks flushing.

“Gratitude doesn’t make you smile like that.” Beatrice took a sip of her tea. “Prudence Harrison was in here yesterday, by the way. Asking questions about you. Wanted to know how long you’d known Caleb before he started bringing you gifts.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That it was none of her business. But she’s got her eye on you, and she’s not the forgiving type.”

Grace set down her cup. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Didn’t say you had. But Prudence has been trying to marry her niece off to Caleb for two years now. She sees you as competition.”

The news settled in Grace’s stomach like a stone. “I’m not competing with anyone.”

“You don’t have to be. The fact that you exist is enough for Prudence to see you as an enemy.”

That night, as Grace tucked Lily into bed, the girl’s small hand caught her wrist.

“Mama? Do you think Mr. Hartley will come to the school picnic?”

“What picnic, sweetheart?”

“The one Mrs. Potter said they have every fall. With games and food and dancing.” Lily’s eyes were bright with excitement. “I want to dance with Mr. Hartley.”

Grace kissed her daughter’s forehead. “We’ll see.”

But as she blew out the candle and lay down in the darkness, she found herself wondering the same thing. Wondering if he would come. Wondering what it would mean if he did.

And wondering, with a fear that bordered on hope, what she would do if he didn’t.