Wooing the Schoolmarm. Dorothy Clark
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she almost tumbled backward. She caught her balance and wrapped her arms around Sally’s small, trembling body.
Rain pelted the roof. Lightning streaked against the darkness outside the window and lit the room with a sulfurous yellow glow. Thunder crashed and rumbled. Sally sobbed and burrowed her face hard into the curve of her neck. She placed her hand on top of the little girl’s soft, blond curls and looked up at Joshua. The boy’s eyes were watery with held-back tears, his lips trembling.
“Joshua, what is—” The door jerked open. She started and glanced up.
Matthew Calvert stepped into the schoolroom and swiveled his head left and right, peering into the dim interior. “Josh? Sally?”
“Uncle Matt!” Joshua lunged at his uncle. Sally slipped out of her arms and ran after him.
She rose, shook out her skirts then lifted her hands to smooth her hair.
Matthew Calvert dropped to his knees and drew the children close. “I was out on a call. I came as quickly as I could.” The pastor tipped his head and kissed Sally’s cheek, loosed his hold on Joshua and reached up to tousle the boy’s hair. “You all right, Josh?”
Joshua straightened his small, narrow shoulders and nodded. “Yes, sir. But Sally’s scared.”
“I know. Thanks for taking care of her for me.”
She noted Joshua’s brave pose and the adoration in his eyes as he looked at his uncle, Sally clinging so trustingly, and turned away from the sight before she gave in to the impulse to tear the children out of his arms. She well remembered how loved and safe she had felt when her father had held her—and how devastating it had been to learn that the love and security had been a lie.
She swallowed to ease a sudden tightness in her throat and stepped to the open door. Those children have no one else. Please don’t let Joshua or Sally be hurt by their uncle. Her face tightened. Who was she talking to? Certainly not God. He didn’t care about such things.
Lightning crackled and snapped, turned the room brilliant with its brief flash of light. Thunder growled. A gust of wind spattered the rain sluicing off the porch roof against her and banged the door against the porch railing. She shivered, grabbed the door and tugged it shut. Murky darkness descended, too deep for the single overhead oil lamp she had lit.
“Forgive me, Miss Wright, I forgot about the door.”
She turned and met Matthew Calvert’s gaze, found something compelling there and looked away. “It’s of no matter.” She rubbed the drops of moisture from her hands and moved toward the heating stove, then paused. She would have to walk by him to reach it, and she did not want to get close to Matthew Calvert. Something about him stirred emotions from the past she wanted dead and buried. She busied herself brushing at the small, wet blotches on her sleeves.
“Joshua, get your coat and hat on. Sally, you must get yours on, too. It’s time to go home.”
She watched from under her lowered lashes as he gently loosed Sally’s arms from around his neck and urged the little girl after her brother.
“Miss Wright…”
His deep voice was quiet, warm against the drumming of the rain on the roof. She lifted her head and again met his gaze. It was as quiet and warm as his voice. And dangerous. It made her want to believe him—as she had believed her father and Thomas. She clenched her hands. “Yes?”
“I need to speak with you…alone.” His gaze flicked toward Joshua and Sally, then came back to rest on hers. “Would you please stop at the parsonage on your way home? I need to explain—” Another sizzling streak of lightning and sharp crack of thunder brought Sally flying back to him. Joshua was close behind her.
She swallowed back the refusal that was on her lips. She wanted no part of Matthew Calvert. The man had already used her once to free himself from his responsibility to the children so he could spend time with Ellen at the church dinner. But she was a teacher, and his wards were her students. She needed to learn whatever she could that might help the sad, frightened children. Especially if their uncle continued that sort of behavior. She well knew the pain a man’s selfishness could bring others. She gave a stiff little nod and went to adjust the drafts on the stove.
* * *
“Thank you for coming, Miss Wright. Let me help you out of that wet cloak.” Matthew stepped behind her, waited until she had pushed back the hood and unfastened the buttons, then lifted the garment from her shoulders.
“Thank you.” She took a quick step forward, squared her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her.
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