Second Chance Bride. Jane Myers PerrineЧитать онлайн книгу.
Cunningham?”
His voice startled her, as did the way he addressed her. She must get used to her new name as quickly as possible. With a jerk, she looked to her right where he stood ready to hand her down from the carriage. What would Matilda do in this situation? No one had ever helped Annie from a surrey. In fact, she’d never been in a surrey, but she’d seen enough to know she shouldn’t leap out on her own.
She suddenly remembered the mayor’s wife in Weaver City getting out of their wagon. She’d put her hand in her husband’s and let him steady her as she descended. So that’s what Annie did. As soon as she was on the ground, he dropped her hand and stepped away, smiling at her again with that look in his eye.
She’d seen that expression flicker in men’s eyes before, but those were rude men, men who frequented saloons or tried to take advantage of young women in the stagecoach. Mr. Sullivan seemed different, upright. She must have misunderstood his smile, his warm gaze.
Scolding herself, she lifted her gaze to study the building for a few seconds. “It’s very pretty.”
“Yes, it’s made of gray limestone, quarried only a few miles from here.” He picked up her valise. “My wife chose the material shortly before her death,” he said matter-of-factly.
Along the side of the building were three windows with clear glass that reflected the light of a bright moonrise.
“I’ll go inside and light a lamp.” He headed toward the building, going up two steps before disappearing through a door. In no time, a glow from an oil lamp shone softly through the windows.
As Annie entered, she saw six rough benches, each with a narrow table in front of it, and a desk—oh, my, her desk—in the front of the room, on a little platform. Stacked on the desk were a pile of slates and another stack of books of various sizes. The sight alarmed her.
“This is the schoolroom,” Mr. Sullivan said, “as, I am sure, you must have surmised.”
Surmised. Annie rolled the word around in her mind. It had such a weighty feeling. “Yes, I’d surmised that.” She nodded.
He motioned toward a narrow room at the other end of the building. “That’s the kitchen. You’ll warm the students’ lunches there and may use it to prepare your own meals.”
So that’s how schools did things. “How many students are there?”
Even in the faint glow of the lamp, Annie could see his puzzled expression. He must have written Matilda about that, too. “Twelve. Not a terribly large group to teach, but they are in all the grades from one through seven.”
“I’d forgotten.” She nodded again, precisely, a gesture that seemed to belong to her new character.
“Your bed and drawers for your personal accoutrements are through this door,” he said as he put the bag on the floor in front of it.
Accoutrements. Another word to remember. “I have few accoutrements.”
“There is a door to the outside in your room.” He pointed. “The facility is behind the building.”
She nodded again.
“Several of the mothers cleaned the building to prepare for your arrival. You have a new mattress, several towels and clean bedclothes.”
“How nice of them. I must thank them.”
“I’ll leave you now to settle in. The children will arrive at seven-thirty on Wednesday. I trust you will be ready for them?”
“Yes, Mr. Sullivan.”
“A lamp is on your desk with a box of matches next to it.” For a moment, he studied the bruise on her cheek and her arm. “Miss Cunningham, may I send our cook, a fine woman, to help you with your wounds?”
“Thank you, but I’ll take care of them myself. I’m very tired.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll wish you good-night.”
“Good night, Mr. Sullivan.”
His hand brushed her arm as he moved to the door. At the contact, he stopped and glanced at her as if trying to decide whether he should apologize, and then he turned away quickly, opened the door and closed it behind him.
A woman could fall in love with a handsome, caring man like that without trying, but not Annie. No, she’d learned a great deal about handsome men and ugly ones, and she didn’t trust either. With a shake of her head, she told herself to forget her past. It was over, and she was ready to start her new life, preferably without any men, handsome or ugly.
She surveyed the amazing place to which her deception had led her. For a moment, being in a schoolroom made her feel an utter lack of confidence until she reminded herself she was no longer Annie MacAllister and straightened her posture. She was Miss Matilda Cunningham, the composed and educated schoolteacher of Trail’s End.
Well, she would be for at least a few days, until someone discovered she was not Miss Matilda Cunningham. During that time, she’d be warm and fed and safe, which was enough for now. With that bit of comfort, she picked up the lamp in her left hand, pushed the valise ahead of her with her foot and entered her bedroom.
It was tiny, but it belonged to her, at least temporarily. Even as her muscles protested, she turned slowly around the small space and smiled. It was hers alone! The narrow bed had been pushed against the rough, wooden inside wall. Two hooks hung beside the window, and a dresser stood next to the door out to the privy. When she placed the oil lamp on the dresser, the light wavered. Was it low on oil? Slipping her shoes off, she thought a sensible young woman would go to bed before it got so dark she would need a lamp.
But a sensible young woman would not find herself in a position like this. Annie lowered herself onto the bed and contemplated the fix she’d landed herself in when she’d assumed Matilda’s identity.
No, a sensible young woman would not find herself teaching school when she didn’t know how to read or write.
Chapter Two
John Matthew Sullivan snapped the reins over the heads of his horses as they trotted down the short road between the schoolhouse and his home. He’d chosen the pair carefully—they had exactly the right stride to pull the surrey he’d had built to his specifications. Painstaking and cautious described him well, characteristics passed on to him by his father.
But for him, the value of the animals lay in their magnificence and spirit, the sheer beauty of their matched paces and movement.
Beauty. His thoughts came back to the new teacher. Although he’d investigated her references carefully and heartily recommended Miss Cunningham to the school board, tonight he hadn’t felt completely confident about the young woman who was to teach his daughter and the children of the community. She’d written fine letters, had exceptional recommendations and excellent grades from the teachers’ college. However, this evening she’d behaved oddly, seeming uncertain and confused.
Of course, she’d just been in an accident, one in which another young woman had died. She had a wound on her arm. Bruises, cuts and blood covered her.
Small wonder she was distressed and flustered. She was understandably upset from her experience. So what flaw could she possess that now nagged at him?
He slowed to allow an armadillo to saunter across the road and considered the question.
She was too young and too pretty to be a teacher. Under the grime—in spite of it, actually—she was very attractive with thick, dark hair and what he thought to be rich, brown eyes. As a respectable widower and pillar of the community, he shouldn’t have noticed that. As a man, how could he not?
Of course, Miss Cunningham wasn’t as lovely as his dear wife, Celeste, had been, but even with the dark bruise on her cheek, he could see her features were regular and, well, appealing. But definitely not as fine as Celeste’s had been. His wife, alas, had been