Chapter 2 #2
The quaver in her voice traced a cold finger of dread down Ivy’s spine.
“Is something wrong? The boys?” They’d appeared perfectly healthy when last she’d seen them.
But children so easily became ill. And illness often led to—” She shoved aside the memory of her brother, who’d been the same age as Fritz when he’d succumbed to whooping cough.
The older woman's eyes glistened. “I’m afraid this will have to be the boys’ last lesson.
It’s Mr. Altucher’s business.” Mrs. Altucher dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“There have been setbacks. He made some foolish decisions.” She pressed her lips together, obviously holding back more condemnation of her husband.
So relieved the bad news wasn’t about the boys’ health, Ivy almost didn’t follow the rest of the woman’s words.
“We must economize, and....” Mrs. Altucher spread her hands helplessly. “We’re letting some servants go. Cutting out…. Well, luxuries must be sacrificed.”
Luxuries. Ivy wanted to argue that Latin wasn’t a luxury—that education was the foundation upon which young men built their futures.
She wanted to say that Henrick had a gift for languages, that sweet Fritz’s struggles meant he simply learned differently than most. She wanted to offer to tutor them for free, to keep coming three times a week just to see their faces light up when a difficult concept finally clicked into place.
But she couldn’t. If word got out that she offered free lessons, she’d be inundated with requests, and she only had a small allotment of time for her secret tutoring.
She needed to be paid, for every penny of her hidden savings meant she could someday escape her father’s house.
“I understand.” Ivy’s voice came out smaller than she intended.
“These are difficult times for many families.”
“I only hope we don’t have to sell the house.” Mrs. Altucher squeezed her hand. “You’ve been wonderful with the boys. They’ve learned so much. Their teachers are pleased with their progress. I only wish....” She lowered her arms.
Ivy knew what she wished. The same thing Ivy wished—that circumstances were different, that money was plentiful. That women’s choices weren’t controlled by fathers and husbands. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, she scolded herself. “Shall I give them their final lesson?”
“Please. I haven’t told them yet. I thought...perhaps you might know the best way.”
Ivy didn’t know the best way. She wasn’t sure there was a best way to tell two boys who’d come to love learning that their tutoring sessions were ending.
But she nodded and followed the maid to the study, where Henrick and Fritz waited with their slates and their eager faces and their complete ignorance of what was about to change.
She taught them for two hours, pouring everything she had into the lesson. She used her bag of beans to help Fritz master the subjunctive mood, arranging them in patterns on the table until his eyes lit with understanding.
She challenged Henrick with a passage from Cicero that made him frown with concentration, then grin with triumph when he worked out the translation. She laughed at their jokes and praised their efforts and pretended that her heart wasn’t breaking.
When the lesson ended, she reached across the table and took their hands in hers. “I have to tell you something,” she said softly. “This will be our last tutoring session.”
Fritz’s lower lip trembled. “But why? Did we do something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart. You’ve done everything right.
Both of you.” She squeezed their hands. “Sometimes, circumstances change, and we have to adapt. But that doesn’t mean you should stop learning.
Practice your declensions. Read your Latin primers.
And remember,” she tapped Fritz’s forehead, “everything I’ve taught you is in here now. No one can take that away.”
Henrick, old enough to understand more than his brother, gave her a solemn nod. “We won’t forget, Miss Jackson.”
“I know you won’t.” She fought to keep the clench of her heart from showing on her face.
She said her goodbyes to Mrs. Altucher, accepted the final payment pressed into her hand, and stepped out into the February cold.
The walk home stretched before her, gray and endless.
Ivy pulled her coat tighter, but the chill that seeped into her bones had little to do with the weather.
She’d lost her only pupils. Her secret savings, carefully hoarded over months of tutoring, would only stretch so far.
And a long line of families seeking female Latin tutors didn’t exactly exist.
What am I going to do now?
The question circled in her mind, round and round, without settling on any answers.
Ivy stopped walking and found herself standing before a newsstand, the papers rustling in the bitter wind. Her eyes, blurred with unshed tears, drifted across the headlines almost without seeing them.
The word MONTANA caught her eye, conjuring images of vast blue skies and snow-capped mountains, of a world utterly unlike the cramped, gray streets of New York. She placed a hand over her pocket, hearing the crackle of paper.
Ivy walked on, thinking of Mr. Rees’s job offer.
This time, she pondered the positives—of a special child who needed patience and kindness.
Of a position where she’d be valued. A generous salary, more than she’d make as a teacher here, which would allow her to build savings.
And, best of all, where she’d be with her dear Cora.
Sweetwater Springs, Montana.
For the first time in months, Ivy felt something flutter in her chest.
Hope.
Once she’d removed her outerwear, made her way to her bedroom, and avoided her sister and mother, Ivy took a seat at her small desk.
She peered into the cheap porkpie ink bottle, checking to see if it held enough ink.
She had to provide her own ink and paper, but, occasionally, if she ran out, she took some of her father’s—not enough for him to notice, but enough to finish whatever she was writing—usually a letter to Cora, but sometimes lesson plans or notes to herself about her pupils.
Taking a pen, paper, envelopes, and a wiper from a drawer, she dipped her pen into the inkwell, took a breath, and began to carefully write.
Dear Mr. Rees,
After some thought, I have decided to accept your offer to travel to Sweetwater Springs for the position of governess to your daughter.
I understand you wish for a private life.
The truth is, even in the midst of bustling New York, my life is very restricted, especially since the Misses Colliers moved to Sweetwater Springs.
I spend most of my time in household tasks, some in study and reading for pleasure, and the tutoring I do.
Prior to Cora’s moving, I spent most of my free time with her.
Her visits to Three Bend Lake will provide me with enough social congress.
Before I depart, could I have your permission to purchase some books and teaching aids for Jewel? I don’t mind using my own money, and you can reimburse me. I will be able to depart at whatever date you think best.
Sincerely,
Ivy Jackson
As soon as she finished the letter to Mr. Rees, she pulled over another sheet of paper and began to write to Cora, not even bothering with a salutation nor with particularly elegant copperplate.
All right, Cora, what scheme of yours have you ensnared me in now?
The Altuchers decided to economize. There went the last of my tutoring students, making me vulnerable to your plotting.
So in a moment of weakness, I wrote Mr. Rees that I’d accept the job of governess he offered—the one I know you put him up to.
So spill, my best friend. You’ve briefly mentioned him and Jewel, but now I want more details.
And, although I know everything you brought to Sweetwater Springs, now that you’ve been there for over five months, what else do you recommend I bring with me?
My harp, of course. My books. My teaching materials.
I can make some more letters for Jewel and bring enough scraps of fabric to create the whole alphabet.
Mr. Rees wrote that all the correspondence needs to go through you, which seems a cumbersome way to arrange things. But since he’s paying me fifty dollars a month, I’m inclined to bend to his wishes. Fifty dollars! And room and board. I’ll be able to save quite a lot!
I suppose I should thank you, and, indeed, I am grateful. But I’m also frightened to take such a big step. (And I wish it were a mere big step instead of a long journey halfway across the country). Any tips for surviving the train trip with my virtue and sanity intact?
Your soon-to-be-seen, Ivy
A knock on her door heralded her sister. “Enter.”
Katie stuck her head inside, her brow wrinkled, hazel eyes anxious. “Mama’s awake and wants to talk to you. She thought the crust was too hard on the bread you baked today.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. Papa doesn’t notice what I cook and bake, and Mama complains about what I cook and bake.
In that moment, Ivy knew she’d made the right choice to leave.
Papa would be forced to hire a servant or servants because Katie didn’t have the skills or the time to manage the household.
Her new employer might be exacting like either one of her parents or in an entirely new way.
But she’d worry about what he was like when she was in Sweetwater Springs.