Chapter Twelve
Self-consciously, Amelia touched the hat perched just so on top of her hair.
It wasn’t particularly modish, but she was thrifty and clever with her few possessions and a quick study with a needle.
She’d livened it up with a jaunty velvet ribbon about the crown that she’d scavenged from the bottom of a rich woman’s discarded petticoat.
She couldn’t begin to explain why she was feeling so nervous—it was only tea with Miss Monroe, after all, who had only shown her kindness. Still, Amelia had gnawed her lip the entire time she’d driven over in the light trap that she used to run errands in town or drive the children about.
Raising a hand to knock on Miss Monroe’s private quarters at the back of the schoolhouse, Amelia let her hand drop again. Part of her was seriously considering turning back around. She shifted from foot to foot, chewing on her lip again.
I can’t leave, that would be even more rude than my staying, Amelia thought. I just know I’m going to use the wrong spoon or lick jelly off my knife, or something else unforgivable.
Now that it had been decided that she was staying, Amelia was extremely conscious of any talk about her.
The other parents had regarded her with curiosity and even hostility, and that was before they knew anything of her past. Surely a dirt-poor girl with no relations and no connections from the barren plains of Kansas was bad enough; if they knew about Dean or the things she’d had to do just to survive, they’d surely shun her.
Or run me out of town, Amelia grimaced to herself.
Miss Monroe, though polite, seemed well-heeled.
As she had charge of the children, her own character was (as was necessary) completely above reproach.
Amelia didn’t want to do anything that might put her off.
She’d worked as a parlor maid at some upscale hotels and had observed the proper etiquette more than a few times.
Of course, it was another thing entirely to actually perform it.
Right, enough of that, Amelia scolded inwardly. You’ve done worse than sit through an awkward tea.
Taking a deep breath and throwing her shoulders back, Amelia lifted her gloved hand and rapped sharply on the wooden door. She took a polite step back, touched the back of her hair one last time, and then folded her hands together demurely below her waist.
The door was flung open, and Miss Monroe was standing there, grinning broadly. “Mrs. Walker,” she greeted her warmly, stepping aside and gesturing her in with one arm. “I’m so delighted you’re here!”
“Thank you,” Amelia replied guardedly. Though she liked what she’d seen of the schoolmistress thus far, Amelia’s shoulders were still tense, as if expecting a blow at any moment.
“I’m just delighted you’ve decided to join me for tea today,” Miss Monroe continued.
She had the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows and wore a ruffled pinafore apron over it.
There was a smudge of flour on her cheek, and her hair was on the verge of escaping its moorings.
“I like to try to find time to meet with all of the mothers—we usually meet on Wednesday afternoons—but I know you’re new in town, and I didn’t want you to feel ambushed.
I know what it’s like to be new; I’m from Pennsylvania, myself,” she chattered on.
Without Amelia quite knowing how, Miss Monroe had taken her by the elbow and guided her deftly further into her private rooms, to a small parlor where there were a few straight-backed chairs.
“And I really wanted to thank you for your help with the children the other night, too. You really are a natural with them. Miss Ruby has been having a tough time of it—I thought for sure she’d left school for good.
I’m so glad you’ve allowed her to come back.
Education is so important for girls, don’t you agree? ”
“Yes,” Amelia managed under the onslaught of perky friendliness. “I know my own life would have been made easier with a good amount of schooling.”
Miss Monroe, who had been laying out the tea service, paused and locked eyes with Amelia. “But you’re so clever! I never would have thought you didn’t have a formal education.”
“I’ve been lucky,” Amelia answered, taking a napkin and draping it across her lap delicately as she’d seen other ladies do. “I’ve managed to pick up quite a bit over the years.”
“Are you very well-traveled then?” Miss Monroe asked. “I confess a good deal of jealousy on that score. There’s just so much of life to see! Where all have you been?”
Amelia let out a laugh, which she hoped came off as breezy. “Oh, here and there,” she said. “Nowhere particularly exciting, I can assure you of that.”
Miss Monroe studied her for a moment, assessing. For all of her cheeriness, there was a cleverness behind her eyes that made Amelia a little uneasy, as if she could work out all of her secrets like a Pinkerton detective. To her relief, Miss Monroe let it slide.
“I confess I have a secret purpose in inviting you here,” she said, perching on the edge of a chair near Amelia. “Well, two, really.”
“Oh?” Amelia asked faintly.
Nodding, Miss Monroe leaned in. “The first is that I have a new recipe for a standing pie crust, and I wish to test it out before serving it to the other mothers. They take their pies very seriously,” she said gravely. “And I thought you’d be… well—”
“A willing test subject?” Amelia supplied, one corner of her mouth lifting wryly.
“No,” Miss Monroe said, shaking her head. “Honest.”
“That I can do,” Amelia said, her smile widening.
Miss Monroe grinned in response. “And the other, well, it’s a bit of a favor, really. Miss Ruby has been working on her straw plaiting during breaks in school, and she’s gotten the other girls interested. The mothers have heard about it as well.”
“Oh, no, I hope I didn’t cause a disturbance—” Amelia began, but Miss Monroe made soothing motions at her.
“Nothing of the sort. In fact, a number of mothers are interested in their daughters learning properly. We haven’t had anyone who could plait straw in town for quite a while.
It would be a good thing for the girls to leave school with a way of supporting themselves, or at least helping their parents to earn a penny or two. ”
“Well, I can certainly agree with that,” Amelia said. She knew all too well what it was like to be thrust out into the world and have to survive on one’s wits. The chances of work for a girl were slim at the best of times.
“Would you be willing to come in and teach them a couple of times a week? It would be after school. You could use one of the rooms here,” Miss Monroe said, leaning forward eagerly again.
“Wait—don’t answer just yet. Take some time to think about it.
Have some pie first!” she said brightly, standing.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Amelia said with another wry grin. “What if your pie is terrible and puts me off forever?”
“Oh, you’re terrible!” Miss Monroe said, tossing her head back and laughing, holding her sides. “Better you tell me now—the school mothers might run me out of town on a rail if I feed them sub-par pie.”
Miss Monroe excused herself to the kitchen, leaving Amelia alone to chuckle quietly to herself.
She looked about the room, noting the plain but well-made furnishings.
The walls were painted a dusty blue, and a framed cameo of a man and woman facing each other hung on the wall.
Other than that, it would have been almost spartan if not for the little touches that made it feel more comfortable: a small pillow here, a needlework sampler tucked into the corner, a small shelf of books.
Miss Monroe reappeared, carrying a pie with a wonderfully tall crust. “I confess it might be a tad old-fashioned. I won’t guarantee the results.
” She set it down gingerly, and Amelia feared briefly for the little table.
“And,” Miss Monroe continued, fishing about in the pocket of her apron, “if it’s terrible, I’ve something to drown our sorrows.
” She produced a small bottle with a dark red liquid.
“A potion to make us forget?” Amelia suggested.
“Nearly,” Miss Monroe said with a mischievous grin. “Strawberry cordial!”
“Why, Miss Monroe,” Amelia said, placing a hand on her chest and batting her eyelashes. “How very wicked of you!”
“Do you think?”
“Oh yes,” Amelia continued. “In fact, it’s so wicked, I don’t think I’ll be able to manage more than two glasses.”
Miss Monroe tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, you really must call me Helen, in that case.”
“Amelia,” she responded. That was the exact moment that she decided that she quite liked this Helen Monroe. It was good to have a friend; Amelia hadn’t realized just how lonely she had been.
They spent a pleasant hour together, sharing stories and building a rapport.
Amelia was startled at one point to realize she was happy, even smiling.
She couldn’t place the last time she had felt this way.
She was glad that she’d come now. The children had been insistent on it, and even Cody had encouraged her to go—it was the first time that he’d shown any kind of interest in her as a person.
Perhaps he’s not entirely an ogre, Amelia mused.
“I’ll do it,” Amelia said abruptly, taking Helen by surprise. “The straw plaiting class, I mean. I’d be happy to teach the girls.”
Helen clapped her hands together once, then laced her fingers together. “Oh, good! The girls will be delighted.”
Amelia flushed slightly with pride. If she was going to stay, she may as well ingratiate herself with the people of Gunnison as best she could. She was preparing to ask Helen about the scheduling when there was a knock on her door.
Helen frowned a little as she stood, a small line appearing between her brows.
“I’m not expecting anyone,” she murmured as she made her way to the door.
Amelia half-turned in her seat to catch a glimpse of who might be there.
She felt a twinge of irrational fear that it was Dean coming to look for her.
It wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d just shown up in a doorway, leering at her.
Stop that, she ordered herself. You’ve had a very pleasant afternoon, and there’s nothing to indicate that Dean has the slightest clue as to where you are. No one has come looking for you.
“Good afternoon, Miss Monroe,” a male voice said. It was vaguely familiar, and Amelia craned her neck around to see who it was.
Standing in the doorway, his hat in hand, was Arthur Ridge, the foreman at the ranch.
Despite his age, he still had a sort of boyish charm, like he was always just a split second away from producing a frog or telling a ribald joke.
He ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair and gave Helen a sincere smile.
“Mr. Ridge,” she returned politely, dipping her head. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Surely, you’ve not come in hope of learning your letters.”
“No, Miss Monroe, I have not, though I’d be happy enough to attend any lesson you might be teaching,” he answered easily. Amelia could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m afraid I’ve been sent to fetch Mrs. Walker home.”
“Have you indeed? Well, here she is,” Helen said, opening the door wider and gesturing toward Amelia.
Amelia stood, laying her napkin on the small table. “Mr. Ridge? Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said, putting one booted foot on the threshold. “It’s just that Mr. Walker has requested that you return home now.” He paused. “For no particular reason,” he added.
Amelia arched a brow at him. “I see. Well, I would remind Mr. Walker that he was the one who insisted all would be well if I accepted Miss Monroe’s kind invitation,” she replied.
She worked hard to keep her tone polite for Helen’s sake, not wishing to embarrass her.
“I also am not in the habit of having Mr. Walker dictate my schedule.”
Mr. Ridge’s easy manner faltered. “Yes, I know, ma’am. He just… he said it was important,” he offered.
Amelia sighed. It seemed that whatever good humor had infected Mr. Walker had been a fleeting illness, and he had recovered his natural propensity for grumpiness. She gave Helen an apologetic look. “I’m terribly sorry about all this.”
Helen released the door and took Amelia’s hands. “No, not at all! I’m certain it must be something important—I don’t think Mr. Ridge would come here on a whim like this.” She glanced at the man in question.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, his grin returning. “I’d take just about any chance to come calling.”
“Mr. Ridge!” Helen said, her cheeks flushing. “It’s a good thing my students aren’t here to witness such a display.” Her words spoke of good manners, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure. Amelia glanced between the two and bit her lip to keep from grinning.
“Well, I’d better be on my way,” Amelia said, sidling for the door.
Helen bid Amelia farewell, promising to exchange ideas for the upcoming lessons. It was a good meeting all in all, and Amelia couldn’t detect any irritation on Helen’s part at the abrupt ending.
The same couldn’t be said for Amelia, however.
She climbed up into the trap and took the reins while Arthur mounted his own horse.
She didn’t like the feeling of being dog-walked back home under supervision.
She especially didn’t like Mr. Walker’s changeable attitude.
She fully expected that whatever crisis had arisen was entirely in his own head.
She clicked to the horse, encouraging it into a lively trot as they turned out onto the road. I swear I will never understand that man, she thought.