Chapter Twenty-nine
“It isn’t quite the same as a day of shopping in Baltimore,” Sybil said, as Ivy drove their wagon toward town, “but I’m excited just the same. Shopping, after all, is shopping.”
Sybil and Ivy laughed. Emma grinned broadly, not merely at her friend’s ridiculousness, but also at how much more at ease Ivy was than when Emma had first arrived.
Yes, she was more herself with Sybil than with Emma, but there’d been so much improvement.
Ivy was so obviously and noticeably happy, and that warmed Emma’s heart.
“Did you often shop for beans and flour in Baltimore?” Ivy asked.
Sybil made a show of pondering that. “I can’t say that I did.”
It was nice to have some lighter moments.
Emma’s thoughts had been heavy since the impromptu céilí.
Miss Groves had been unkind, but it was the truth of her harsh words that Emma couldn’t dislodge from her thoughts.
In many ways, she wasn’t truly part of her family.
And, at the end of her two weeks of acting as though she was remaining in Hope Springs, she would have to face the reality that when she returned to Baltimore, she would be even less so.
How could she bear that? Could she endure the difficulties of living in this place with all its heavy memories and pain in order to keep that connection?
As if to emphasize that dilemma, the wagon came within view of the Hope Springs cemetery.
Only Papa’s barn drove pain faster and more acutely into her heart.
She’d thought her usual approach of closing her eyes while they drove past Marianne’s final resting place would be enough to endure it. But it wasn’t that time.
“Would you mind leaving me here?” Emma asked, hating the sudden edge that had entered her voice.
Ivy brought the wagon to a stop. “Here?” She looked around. “Why here?”
“It’s a nice day and I’d like to sit in the rare sunlight and enjoy it.”
Both Ivy and Sybil gave her looks of doubt and confusion. But they didn’t argue. She climbed down out of the wagon and waved them on, doing her best to smile and insist all was well. And once they had continued on their way, she breathed.
Her eyes slowly wandered in the direction of the churchyard. She was still far enough away that she couldn’t read any of the headstones. It was almost far enough to push away the ache.
Emma turned so her back was to the rows of grave markers.
There was a fence around the cemetery. It had always marked the edge of the schoolyard.
The schoolhouse acted as the church on Sundays.
So many things about life in Hope Springs were intertwined with each other.
The joy of weddings and christenings was inextricably connected to the sorrow of funerals.
The solemnity of those occasions hovered on the edges of the pure joyfulness of childhood.
Perhaps it was one of the reasons why Baltimore was a little easier.
She could keep the pieces of her life separate from each other, rather than having to think about it all at once.
Emma sat on a large, obliging rock, with her back to the cemetery and the schoolyard to her left.
Straight ahead was the river. Just on the other side was the Callaghans’ farm.
Beyond that would be the rest of the O’Connors’ homes.
Further still were the rest of the Irish families.
Far, far down the road were the cattle ranches, and then the mountains.
And days and days beyond that was Baltimore, so far from this place of sorrow but also terribly far from the joys that this town held.
She let her eyes shift a little. Not to the cemetery—she couldn’t bear to look at that—but to the schoolyard.
The children had been let out to run and have a moment’s respite from their lessons.
Emma was just on the other side of the fence line, while still being outside the cemetery itself.
That gave her the perfect vantage point for watching their games and listening to their laughter without being disruptive.
How well she remembered her years at this very school.
She and Marianne had spent their recesses playing and laughing and giggling.
Marianne. She was buried in the cemetery just behind Emma.
They’d still been schoolchildren when she’d died.
Emma had now lived more years since Marianne’s death than she had before.
From this point forward, Marianne would always be part of less than half her life.
It felt so horribly unfair. Marianne ought to be grown now, building a life and deciding what that life ought to be.
Her family ought to be enjoying her company, not grieving her loss.
And Emma ought to still have her friend, but she didn’t.
That would never stop hurting, though the agony of it had grown a little less acute.
She caught sight of Sean and Rigger chasing each other around the schoolyard.
It had the happy effect of bringing a flicker of a smile to her face.
They were the most darling little friends.
In some ways, they reminded her of herself and Marianne, though with far more energy.
They had the same closeness. The same bond.
The boys lit up whenever they were together.
In perfect unison, both boys turned quite suddenly and rushed over to where she sat. They stood only a pace or two away from her, smiling eagerly.
“We have a teacher question,” Sean declared. “And you’re a teacher.”
Emma nodded. “Yes, I am, just not in this exact moment.”
Sean waved that off. “You’ll still know the answer.”
“What’s your question?” Emma asked.
“Rigger doesn’t want to do his arithmetic,” Sean said. “I told him it was important that he learn how to do it, and he said it wasn’t important and he wasn’t going to do it. So our question is, is arithmetic important or is it just something teachers make you do?”
Emma eyed Rigger for just a moment. Though he made a good effort at appearing both smug and disinterested, she detected underneath the stubbornness a hint of embarrassment, even a little bit of worry.
“Arithmetic is important,” she said. “It also can be tricky.”
Rigger sighed and nodded. “Sometimes it’s very tricky.”
She hadn’t guessed wrong then. He was struggling with arithmetic and was too embarrassed to admit it. She’d known students who tucked their humiliation behind indifference.
“If you would like,” Emma said, “you could come home with Sean today, and you can tell me which bits of it you think are particularly tricky. I am a teacher, after all. I might be able to explain them to you.”
“I have a teacher at my own house,” Sean said. “No one else can say that.”
Emma smiled to see her little brother puff up with pride. He had mentioned before that he liked having a sister who was a teacher. To hear it again was delightful.
But the moment of joy did not last.
Miss Groves arrived within a few steps of them, looking none too pleased. “You boys know you are not supposed to leave the schoolyard.”
They both grew immediately nervous and uncomfortable, eyeing their teacher with drawn brows.
“You said the schoolyard goes all the way to the cemetery fence,” Sean said. “We haven’t crossed past the fence.”
They were correct about that.
Miss Groves’ eyes turned sharp on Emma instead. “You said you wouldn’t come back to the school.”
“I’m not at the school. I am sitting on this side of the fence line. So I’m not actually in the schoolyard.”
Little smiles sneaked over the boys’ faces. Rigger didn’t quite manage to stifle a little laugh.
That turned his teacher’s frustration on him once more. “I will get down the paddle, boys. You know I do not tolerate disrespect.”
Both boys were solemn again. They even looked a little pale.
Emma stood, watching Mrs. Groves with concern. “‘The paddle’?”
Miss Groves tipped her chin. “It’s none of your concern.”
Not far behind Miss Groves, others of the school children had stopped their play and taken note of the exchange. All of them looked nervous, just as Sean and Rigger did.
“You have a paddle in your classroom?” Emma pressed.
“Again, it is none of your concern.”
There was no mistaking that the children now looked afraid.
In a flash of impulsiveness, Emma made an inarguably rash decision. She ran. Not away. Not home. She ran directly to the schoolhouse, knowing she was fast enough to beat Miss Groves there.
Rushing inside, she searched the walls. Miss Groves had said, “Get the paddle down,” which meant it was hanging somewhere.
Emma spotted it quickly on the wall beside the blackboard, behind the teacher’s desk. Right where the children would always see it. As Miss Groves’ footsteps closed in on her, Emma pulled the paddle off the wall and took tight hold of it.
“You cannot take that. You are stealing my property.”
Emma tucked it behind her so it was out of the teacher’s reach. “I suppose I am, since I don’t intend to give it back.”
The schoolchildren had spilled in behind her and were watching the exchange with confusion as well as, if Emma wasn’t mistaken, a bit of hope.
“I will report this thievery to the town council,” Miss Groves said.
“Your threat is that you will tell the town council that I took a paddle from you that you have threatened their children with?” She let that sink in for a moment. “Do. I dare you to.”
Miss Groves began to look a little unsure of herself.
“I will allow no one to hurt these children,” Emma said. “If that means stealing everything in your possession that you could possibly wield as a weapon, then I will do it. And I will proudly stand in front of this entire town and explain to them why.”
“I am making my home here,” Miss Groves said. “You are nothing more than a visitor.”