A Baby on the Teacher’s Doorstep (Preview)

Chapter One

Dusty Ridge, Colorado, Summer, 1878.

“And what are we celebrating today, children?” Cora Whitman asked as she looked out over the sea of faces looking up at her from the desks.

Several children raised their hands tentatively, and Cora smiled, pointing to an eager hand at the back.

“Go ahead, Joseph,” she said, knowing he would know the answer – he was the brightest boy in the class.

Joseph sprang to his feet, smiling proudly at having been selected.

“Please, Miss Whitman. It’s the second anniversary of the creation of the State of Colorado on August 1^st, 1876,” he replied, uttering the words with such speed Cora had to repeat them for the benefit of the rest of the class.

“That’s right,” she said. “And why’s it so important we remember the date?”

Fewer hands were raised this time, the children glancing at one another and shaking their heads. Joseph raised his hand again, but Cora wanted someone else to answer, and now she pointed to a tall, lanky girl sitting in the front row. Hortensia never answered questions. She was a shy girl, and Cora knew her father was cruel to her, but there was intelligence there – if only she would apply herself – and Cora had been trying to encourage her.

“Hortensia? Do you know the answer?” Cora asked, smiling encouragingly at the girl, who shook her head.

“I … I don’t know,” Hortensia stammered.

Cora continued to look at her encouragingly.

“Well … think about it, Hortensia. Why do we remember birthdays?” she asked.

“Because … they mark … progress?” Hortensia said, her cheeks turning red as she spoke.

Cora smiled, clapping her hands and repeating Hortensia’s words to the class.

“Exactly. Progress. Well done, Hortensia,” she said. “We live in a world of progress. Think of all the things just waiting to be invented or discovered. Political progress is part of that, too. Entering the union meant recognition of our progress, and it means we go on progressing. As a nation, there’s nothing we can’t achieve together, and that’s what I want each of you to remember when you leave this classroom for the vacation. Think of the next few weeks as a time of progress for yourselves. Learn things, discover things, be curious about things.”

At that moment, a handbell was rung in the schoolyard, and the children now looked eagerly at one another, as Cora smiled.

“All right. You know what that means. Enjoy your vacation. And I’ll see you back here in September. Make sure your parents have you enrolled, and look after yourselves,” Cora said, as now the children hurried to leave, calling out their goodbyes, and making plans for the long weeks of freedom ahead.

Only Hortensia remained. She was still sitting at her desk, with a forlorn look on her face. Cora went over to her, placing her hand gently on Hortensia’s shoulder.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel awkward, Hortensia. I wanted you to answer the question. I knew you could. You just have to have some confidence in yourself,” she said, and Hortensia nodded.

“It’s not that,” she said, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Cora knew life was not easy for Hortensia. It was not easy for many of the children who came to the schoolhouse in Dusty Ridge for their lessons. Life was hard, and many of their parents would have preferred a child who worked to a child who went to school. But over the years, Cora and the other teachers – Miss Willett and Miss Hove – had worked hard to persuade the community of the value of education, and the value of the children themselves.

“Oh, dear … what’s wrong, Hortensia?” Cora asked, pulling out a large spotted handkerchief from her pocket.

She pulled a chair up next to Hortensia’s desk and put her arm around her as Hortensia now sobbed loudly into the handkerchief.

“It’s my dad … he’s been so cruel. I didn’t want the summer to come. When I’m here … I feel happy,” Hortensia said.

Cora felt terribly sorry for Hortensia. Her father was a drunk who spent most of his time in the saloon, losing money at cards and dice. Having lost his wife some years previously, he would take his anger out on Hortensia, who often arrived at the schoolhouse with evidence of bruising on her arms. The coming weeks would not be happy for Hortensia, and Cora now wondered how to help.

“I’m sorry to hear it, Hortensia. You know I tried talking to him, but …” Cora replied, remembering the encounter she’d had with Burt Lellis outside the saloon a few weeks previously.

Hortensia looked up at her fearfully.

“Please, Miss Whitman, don’t talk to him again. He’ll only be angry with me,” she said, her hands trembling as she spoke.

To see such a reaction in a child toward her father filled Cora with the utmost sorrow. She did not have children of her own, but in becoming a teacher, she had found a vocation – much like a religious sister or a missionary. The children meant everything to her, and when she had arrived in Dusty Ridge three years previously, it had been as though all the longings of her heart had been realized. She loved the children, and she felt herself a mother, not just to one or two, but to all the children under her care.

“I tell you what, Hortensia. How would it be if you came and helped me at the smallholding during the summer? You could come each day and help me take care of the animals. I could do with the help. It’s always good to have an extra pair of hands,” Cora said.

At these words, Hortensia’s face lit up with delight. Cora’s second love, after teaching, was animals, and she was well known in Dusty Ridge for taking in strays and injuries. Her smallholding was a menagerie of different animals, all with their own stories to tell. There were dogs and cats, a cow, two goats, a donkey, and a horse …

“Oh, Miss Whitman … do you really mean it? Can I come and look after the animals with you?” she exclaimed.

The children were always asking about the animals, and Cora would sometimes take the class to the smallholding and allow them to pet the animals and help muck out the stable. The children loved the animals, and it was a practical lesson, too. Now, Cora smiled and nodded, glad to see the smile return to Hortensia’s face.

“You can come with me now if you want. It’ll do you good, Hortensia. And keep you away from your father, too. I’ll just get my things together, then we’ll go,” Cora said.

It would be almost two months until Cora returned to the schoolhouse. The summer stretched ahead, long and hot. The other teachers were returning east to their families, but Cora would remain in Dusty Ridge. She had put down roots and returning home was not as easy for her as it was for the others …

“All right, let’s get going. I’m sure we’re going to find some hungry mouths waiting for us. We’ll walk past the church rather than through town. It’s probably best if your father doesn’t see you,” Cora said.

Hortensia nodded, and the pair left the schoolhouse together. Out in the yard, Louisa – Miss Willett – had just waved goodbye to the last of her charges, and she smiled at Cora and shook her head with a sigh.

“I spend the whole term exasperated by them, and then I’m full of tears when they leave,” she said.

Miss Willett taught the older children – the ones now leaving the school behind for work on the farms or domestic service. Some would follow in the footsteps of their parents, and some, like Cora herself, might even venture beyond the confines of the life they were born into, and surprise themselves at the lives they came to lead. It was one of the things Cora liked most about teaching – seeing the potential each child had, if only it could be realized.

“You’ve done your best, Louisa. That’s all that matters,” Cora replied.

“And what about you, Cora? Are you going back to Chicago for a few weeks? That’s where your parents are, isn’t it?” Louisa asked.

Cora nodded.

“That’s right. And my brother and sister, too,” Cora replied, reminding herself she owed Anise a letter.

“I’m going east, too, back to Richmond. It’ll be so nice to see my sister. I’m trying to persuade her to come here, but she’s wary of anything further east than Kentucky,” Louisa said, laughing and shaking her head.

“Oh, I didn’t mean I was going back. I just meant you were right in saying they’re in Chicago. My family, I mean,” Cora replied.

Louisa looked at her with a puzzled expression. She always talked about her family and forever sent gifts to her nieces and nephews. Cora kept in touch with her younger sister, Anise, but as for the rest of her family …

“You mean they’re coming here?” Louisa asked, and Cora shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not seeing them. My parents didn’t take the fact of my wanting to become a teacher well.”

Louisa looked embarrassed.

“Oh, I see. Yes, I think you mentioned it before. Now I think about it. Well, I’m sure they’re proud of you, though,” Louisa persisted.

Cora did not want to talk about it. She found the subject of her parents – of her family, in general – difficult. It was the reason she could sympathize with Hortensia and the other children for whom homelife was difficult. Cora had never known cruelty on the part of her parents, but the fact of their disappointment in her had brought with it a separation not yet recovered from. As a child, Cora’s prospects somewhat differed from the life she now lived …

***

“I won’t hear of it, Cora. You’re refusing a match to a man with a fortune and prospects unrivalled in the whole of Chicago. He’ll be president of the union one day,” Cora’s mother exclaimed, throwing up her hands as she spoke.

Cora shook her head. She did not want to upset her mother, but neither did she intend to marry a man like Jeremy Mosley. He was not in love with her. He wanted her to look pretty on his arm and advance his cause – the very cause her mother now spoke of.

“But I’m not happy, Mother. And I won’t be happy if I marry Jeremy. I know what I want,” Cora replied, and her mother let out another angry exclamation.

“How can you possibly know what you want, Cora? You’re eighteen years old. It’s not up to you to know what you want. It’s up to your father and me. You’ll never receive a better offer, and when he’s president … just think …” she cried, throwing up her hands as though in utter despair.

But Cora would not be moved. She had read about the need for teachers in the West. Young women with aspirations and hope to set out for the frontier and found schools for the education of a new generation of pioneers. That was what she wanted to do, even though she knew how dead set her parents were against the idea. Raised in the rarified atmosphere of Chicago’s upper society, Cora had been told from a young age where her destiny lay, and it was certainly not at the western end of nowhere. Yet Cora had always been possessed of an adventurous spirit. The thought of dull tea parties and pretty dresses, monotonous dinners, and the company of a man she already detested for the rest of her life filled her with dread. Her choice was made, and she would follow it through, whether her parents liked it or not.

“When he’s president, I don’t think I’ll have the strength … oh, Mother, can’t you just be pleased I’ve found something that’s going to make me happy?” Cora asked, and her mother pulled out her handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I thought this would make you happy, Cora,” she said, but Cora shook her head, and now, after three years in Dusty Ridge, she knew precisely where her happiness lay …

***

“They’ve got used to the idea. But we’d better be going, Louisa. Enjoy your visit to Richmond,” Cora said, beckoning Hortensia to follow her.

She did not explain why Hortensia was accompanying her. If word got back to Hortensia’s father, there could be trouble, and Cora had no intention of finding herself on the wrong side of Burt Lellis once again. Previously, she had tried to reason with him over Hortensia, but the man was a drunk, and his only law was his fists.

“Do you really not like going home, Miss Whitman?” Hortensia asked as they walked away from the schoolhouse, taking the circular route to Cora’s smallholding to avoid the saloon.

It was a hot, dusty afternoon, and Cora fanned herself with her notebook as they walked. Chicago could be warm in the summer, but it was nothing compared to Colorado, and Cora still found the heat of the high summer relentless. She was wearing a plain cotton dress to keep cool, but the layers of skirt and petticoat seemed to absorb the heat, magnifying it as she paused under the welcome shade of an old limber pine growing next to the mission church.

“It’s not that I don’t like going home. I miss my parents and my brother and sister. But I had a very different life in Chicago than I do here,” Cora said.

The heat did not seem to bother Hortensia, who now leaned on the picket fence, kicking her left foot back in the dust as she pondered Cora’s answer.

“What sort of different life?” she asked.

“Well … my parents are wealthy. I had a governess when I was growing up, and … well, young ladies like me were expected to marry respectable gentlemen – not become schoolteachers on the frontier. My parents weren’t very happy about it,” Cora said.

Sometimes, she wondered what her life would have been like had she married Jeremy. He was not yet president of the union. Or even a politician. But he was certainly doing well for himself. Something Cora’s mother liked to remind her of in her letters.

“So you disobeyed them?” Hortensia asked, and Cora smiled.

She did not think it was right for a schoolteacher to put ideas of rebellion into the minds of her charges – even as Hortensia’s father was fully deserving of such. But the question was a pertinent one, and the answer to it was “Yes.” Cora had disobeyed her parents, and in doing so, she had found her happiness.

“I suppose I did, yes. Things are a little better now. But at the time, they were very upset. I haven’t seen them since,” Cora said, thinking wistfully of the life she had lived in Chicago. “We write to one another. But it’s not the same. Anyway, enough of all that. We’ve got the animals to see to.”

It was a short walk from the mission church to the smallholding, and as they arrived, two of the cats – strays Cora had taken in off the street – came to meet them.

“This is Abbie, and this is Willow,” Cora said as the cats purred, arching their backs as they wound their way around her legs.

The cats always came to greet her when she arrived home. But as Hortensia reached down to stroke Willow’s back, the cat hissed and lashed out at her with her claws.

“Ow! That hurt,” Hortensia exclaimed, pulling back her hand, where a long scratch now ran along the length.

The cats scurried away, and Cora began to apologize.

“Oh, Hortensia. I’m so sorry,” she said, taking Hortensia’s hand in hers. “I should’ve warned you about Willow. She doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”

Luckily, there was no blood, but Hortensia looked warily at the cats, now perched acrobatically on the fence post above.

“She’s like Nate Harper. I was out in the woods the other day and came across his cabin. He chased me away as soon as he saw me. They’d make a good pair,” Hortensia said, shaking her head, as she edged through the gate, following Cora, who was trying to reassure her the cats were not a danger – not unless provoked, of course.

“Nate Harper? I’ve heard of him … does he really live out there all by himself?” Cora asked as now she led Hortensia toward the stable.

The smallholding was a tumbledown collection of outbuildings around a small yard. Cora had been able to buy it thanks to an inheritance from her aunt, and she lived in a small house at the far end of the yard, next to the stable, along with the domesticated animals she cared for. It was not much, but it was home, and Cora was happy there. She had heard of the town hermit, Nate Harper, though she had never seen him. Rumors abounded about him, but as for there being any truth in them …

“And he sets traps and goes hunting, and sometimes he comes into the town to steal eggs,” Hortensia replied, obviously warming to the apparent authority of her knowledge of the hermit and his ways.

Cora raised her eyebrows.

“I’m sure he’s just … a little different, that’s all,” she said, but Hortensia shook her head.

“His father was the sheriff, but he got killed in a shootout. Nate had a sister, Lydia. But she married a man called Edmund, and Nate didn’t like it. He vowed revenge on him, and …” she began, but Cora stopped her.

“Enough … let’s get started. These animals won’t feed themselves, will they?” Cora asked, smiling and shaking her head.

But as they began filling a nosebag for the horse, Cora found her curiosity sparked about the town’s hermit, a man who obviously had a story to tell.

Chapter Two

“Goodnight Clucky, goodnight Miss Belle, goodnight Marjorie. Watch out for the foxes,” Joe Tanner was saying as Nate Harper watched through a gap in the bushes.

It was dusk, and he had been lying hidden for the past hour, waiting for the farmer to bolt the chicken coop and go to bed. It was uncomfortable lying in the dirt, and Nate could only hope he was not sharing his hiding place with the home of a rattlesnake. But the thought of fresh eggs – and perhaps even the boiled carcass of Miss Belle or Clucky – was enough to keep him there. That evening, it was not foxes Joe Tanner needed to be wary of.

“Are you coming inside, Joe? Or have I wasted my time making your dinner and keeping it hot? Should I just serve you cold food from now on and be done with it?” the voice of the farmer’s wife echoed on the still-warm air.

“I’m coming, Agnes,” the farmer called out before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Stupid woman. I’d hardly notice if it was hot or cold, anyway. It’ll still taste like …” he muttered, his words disappearing as he trudged across the yard.

Nate waited for a few moments, knowing the hens would make a noise as soon as he made his move. He had to be in and out of the coop as quickly as possible and away into the scrubland before Joe Tanner and his rifle could appear on the porch. He pictured the farmer inside the house, berated by his wife, who would now be setting some dish down in front of him. It made Nate smile to think of it. What a different life these people led to his own.

And that’s why you’re out here stealing eggs, he thought, as now he contemplated the risk of stealing a chicken, too.

Nate did not make a habit of theft. His father had been the sheriff of Dusty Ridge, and, as a child, Nate had received ten lashes of the belt for stealing apples from the town’s orchard. It had taught him a valuable lesson, but needs must, and Joe Tanner would not miss a few eggs – or even one of his birds.

But he’ll certainly make out as though he does, Nate told himself, as now he decided against stealing one of the birds, too.

Crawling out from his hiding place – mercifully having not encountered any snakes – he glanced toward the house. A lamp was burning in the parlor window, and Nate could see the outline of the farmer, with his back to the window. He was eating and had probably been told to remove his boots before entering the house. Even with the inevitable disturbance of the hens, it would take him several moments to react. Nate could be in and out of the coop and away with the eggs long before Joe Tanner realized what was happening.

Eggs it is, he thought as now he crept toward the coop.

Nate had taken eggs from Joe Tanner’s farm before. He knew there would be plenty. Mrs. Tanner was too lazy to collect them in the evening and had not even bothered to send her daughter – who only ever collected a few – to do it for her. Nate now pulled back the bolt on the coop, ready to dash inside, seize the eggs, and run. But as he did so, and sooner than expected, one of the hens let out a barrage of frightened clucks, sending the others into a frenzied chorus of the same, as though an orchestra had struck up entirely out of tune, its instruments competing to make the loudest possible noise. Nate only had time to seize the nearest of the eggs, breaking several as he did so, before the house door was thrown open, and a shaft of lamplight illuminated the yard.

“Who’s out there? Hen rustlers? Run for it, or I’ll start shooting,” Joe Tanner’s voice now echoed, and Nate had no choice but to run for it.

With only two eggs in his pocket, he ran for the cover of the scrub as the sound of a gunshot echoed behind him.

“I’ll get you next time,” Joe Tanner called out as Nate now collapsed, breathless in the scrub.

It’s my own fault. I should’ve waited until they were roosting, Nate told himself, slipping his hand into his pocket to feel the smooth shell of the two eggs.

One of them had cracked, and uttering an expletive, Nate tossed the other to the ground. There would be no eggs that evening – or for the rest of the week. Joe Tanner would be keeping a close watch on his hens, and Nate did not like the idea of shotgun peppering just for a few eggs. Dejectedly, he emerged from the scrub a short distance from the farm. He wanted to go home, but his stomach was rumbling, and he knew he could not pass another night in his cabin in the woods without something to eat. Angry with himself for failing and feeling his pride dented, he reluctantly turned toward the mission church, knowing Reverend Abraham would help him, even though he hated having to ask him to do so.

This wasn’t how it was meant to be, he said to himself as he stepped up onto the porch in front of the pastor’s house next to the church.

A lamp always burned there, and next to the door hung a framed piece of embroidery, with the words from scripture etched in red thread on a white background – “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Nate knocked on the door.

“Reverend Abraham’s just finishing his dinner. Would you like to wait in the hallway?” the maid asked after Nate had explained his reasons for calling at such a late hour.

He nodded, stepping into the hallway, where a large grandfather clock stood ticking in the corner. Reverend Abraham had been the pastor of Dusty Ridge for nigh on twenty years. He was a good man and had done much to help Nate following his father’s death and the trouble with his sister. Now, he emerged from the dining room, smiling at Nate and offering him his hand. He was a tall man with bright blue eyes and graying black hair. He possessed the confident assuredness of a man of faith and had always made Nate think of the prophets mentioned in the Old Testament scriptures. His words meant something, and Nate had always trusted him to give good advice.

“Good evening, Nathaniel,” he said. “What gives me the pleasure of your company tonight?”

Reverend Abraham always called Nate “Nathaniel.” He was one of the few people who did, having once told him it was disrespectful to shorten a name from scripture. Nate felt embarrassed to ask, even as he had done so on many occasions before.

“Well, I … you see … I’m down on my luck, Reverend Abraham. I’ve been unable to find any work, and food isn’t …” he said, his words trailing off as Reverend Abraham smiled.

“Tula,” he said, addressing the maid. “Would you make up a pack of things for Nathaniel here, please? Give him whatever’s left over from tonight and some bread, a piece of bacon, and some cheese. Oh, and a box of Joe Tanner’s eggs. He brought some over earlier, didn’t he?”

The maid nodded.

“I’ll see what’s left, Reverend,” she said, and the pastor now ushered Nate into the parlor.

“Come and have a drink,” he said.

“Oh … I’m not really dressed for it, Reverend Abraham,” Nate said, looking down at his dirt-covered clothes in the light of the lamp burning in the room.

But the pastor only smiled and shook his head.

“Did the good Lord have a dress code when he cured the sick?” he asked, and it seemed Nate had no choice but to accept.

He sat on a chair by the hearth, and Reverend Abraham poured him a glass of bourbon. It was a welcome respite, and Nate was grateful to the pastor for his kindness.

“I feel terrible asking for food, Reverend Abraham. But it’s not been easy lately. It really hasn’t. I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” Nate said, sighing and shaking his head.

He had tried to get work, but either no one was hiring, or they were not hiring him. He had sold most of his possessions and had come to rely on the charity of others to make ends meet.

“It’s difficult for everyone at the moment. All we can do is pray for fairer weather ahead. You’ve not had it easy, Nathaniel. Be kind to yourself. And trust in God. We haven’t seen you at church in a while. I wish you’d come. It’s what your father would’ve wanted. He’d have made a fine preacher, though he gave his life to another vocation, and I admire him for that. We need men of good character to serve us as law enforcers. I’m surprised you didn’t follow in his footsteps,” Reverend Abraham said.

Nate blushed.

“I’m not half the man my father was,” he said, but the pastor shook his head.

“That’s not true. You displayed the same grit and resolve your father would’ve done when you went looking for your sister. That was a nasty business, Nate. I still think you’re right about Edmund, but proving it …” he said, his words trailing off.

Nate nodded. The thought of his sister upset him, but he knew he had done his best in trying to persuade her not to marry the man who now held her heart …

***

“I’m telling you, Lydia. He had something to do with it. I don’t know what, and I don’t know how … but there’s something just not right about him,” Nate said, pulling at his hair in frustration as he spoke.

His sister glared at him, folding her arms in a gesture of defiance.

“You just don’t like him. And you’re looking for someone to blame. I feel the same. I want Father back just as much as you do. I wish he’d never gone to that cursed bank … but he did, and he got himself killed for it. But that’s nothing to do with Edmund. Why can’t you see that?” Lydia demanded.

Nate cursed under his breath. Why did his sister not see that Edmund Blackwood was bad news? He was a wealthy landowner with property across the territory. But as for where his money came from …

“Aren’t you just a little suspicious of him? Where did his money come from? He didn’t inherit it. And don’t you think it’s strange how he goes off for days at a time without anyone knowing where he is? And wasn’t it just a bit too much of a coincidence for him to have been in Buffalo Gully on the day of the bank heist?” Nate persisted.

His sister looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “He doesn’t tell me everything. It’s not my right to know where his money comes from. And as for being in Buffalo Gully that day … well, lots of people were. It was the county fair. That’s why Father was there.”

Nate raised his eyebrows.

“Yes … including the man you’re about to marry and half a dozen others, all on horseback, who left pretty sharpish after the shootout. I’m just asking you to think it over, Lydia. I’m your brother, and with Father gone, I’m the one that’s got to take care of you from now on,” Nate said.

But his words fell on deaf ears, and two months later, his sister was married …