miss. She doesn’t understand gossip and such. Tongues will wag if people find out you and I are seeing each other regularly—even doing something this innocent.”
As he said the words, she felt herself stiffen inside. “I am not one to pay attention to gossips.”
“You are in the minority, then.” He sent her a rueful smile.
The smile hit her directly around the heart, chipping at the ice there. She resisted this. Learning sign language was the right thing to do. And she was not a weak-willed woman, vulnerable to any handsome man. “Mr. Chandler, when does Birdie usually give you your signing instruction?”
He eyed her. “Usually after supper, but if you’re game, why not begin now?”
He had thrown down his gauntlet and she picked it up. She would not be swayed by fear of gossip. “I have time now. I’m expected at my sister’s for supper.”
Mason studied her for a moment and then called over his shoulder, “Birdie! Come inside! Miss Jones wants her first lesson now!”
Emma followed him inside, wondering at how she had ended up doing the exact opposite of what she’d planned. She didn’t think Mason Chandler was manipulative. He’d merely stated the truth about how people might misinterpret this, and that had goaded her. Well, let the gossips enjoy themselves. She had nothing to explain.
However, the ice around her heart had cracked the tiniest bit and that frightened her. I can be with him but not let down my guard. Love is a risk I cannot test again. And then her mind chided, Mason Chandler has not given you the slightest hint that he wants you to reconsider his original proposal, has he? But the words he’d whispered after his fall might hint otherwise. Or not?
Another Saturday morning had come, marking half of September had already passed. Emma dressed in one of her plainer frocks, a faded blue cambric. She wanted to blend in with the ladies coming for their day of sewing and knitting while the men did what was necessary to prepare the school for the coming hard winter. She looked forward to today’s community gathering and could not understand why she felt as if she were carrying some heavy weight. Today would be a congenial day of chatting and doing something charitable and useful. Her mind tried to suggest why the weight hovered over her. She refused to listen.
Bustling about, she opened the schoolroom door. The warming wind wafted in the scent of pine. Then she set a coffee kettle sputtering and perking over the fire in her quarters, releasing its enticing fragrance. Yesterday before the children went home, she had directed them in moving the school benches into a large circle. Then they set up the long tables that would hold the food brought for the cold lunch all the workers would share. With a lift of satisfaction, she walked over the room, making sure everything was spit-shined and in place. Not a speck of dust.
She paused by her neatly organized desk that had been pushed back out of the way. There had been some talk of raising funds to purchase real school desks for the children, but that would be in the future. Emma then dragged out the chairs from her quarters for a few of the grandmothers who would have difficulty sitting on backless benches for hours. But all this busyness didn’t help her keep her mind off Mason Chandler. Of course he would come today. And what of it?
Foolish question. The man was a constant speck in her eye. The three sign language lessons this week had been times of testing. I should not feel this way. Going to his home and learning signs should not affect me. Truer words had never been spoken, but Mason had the power to stir her feelings and cause her to think thoughts she shouldn’t think about the breadth of his shoulders or his deep voice. She would just have to be stronger today. She could not care for a man again. Could not. Not would not.
She shoved away memories and marched around, pushing open the windows and letting more warm September breeze in. She caught a hint of cedar this time. Wagons began creaking into the school yard and families arriving on foot. Emma welcomed their cheery voices and distraction. Soon women crowded the schoolroom, all setting down sewing baskets and knitting bags. Outside the children began playing in the school yard, their happy squeals and shouts causing Emma to smile.
She would not be alone with Mason today. She could keep him at a distance. Though at this resolve a silent sigh eased through her. He hadn’t arrived yet, but she was already straining to hear Mason’s voice. Irritating but true.
Many mothers of her students paused to look at papers that had merited gold stars and which had been pinned to the back wall of the room. Then Sunny Whitmore, the preacher’s wife, entered with her friends, Nan and Ophelia. Everyone noticed but did not comment about the fact that Sunny had loosened her corset stays to their maximum and wore a loose jacket that sought to conceal her condition. The Whitmores were expecting their third child sometime this fall.
Then Charlotte and Birdie burst into the room, the soles of their shoes slapping on the wood floor. “We just wanted to say good morning, Miss Emma!” Birdie announced in her endearing way. Charlotte gifted Emma with one of her rare smiles. Then both girls signed, “Good morning. So glad to see you,” to her and she signed a similar greeting in return.
Everyone near her had paused to watch the exchange of sign language. Emma glanced over Birdie’s head and there was Mason standing squarely in the doorway, motioning for the girls to come out.
“Now, you girls go and play,” Emma said, nodding once toward Mason.
He returned her nod without a hint of a smile.
“Yes, Miss Emma,” Birdie said, and the two hurried out to join the children playing.
Emma turned away and caught many, many speculative glances shifting between her and the girls. She raised her chin and smiled as serenely as she could.
“We heard you were going to Mr. Chandler’s for special lessons,” Mrs. Stanley—the woman with the wobbly wart—said with thick innuendo.
Emma merely glanced at the woman she really tried to like—but couldn’t.
“Someone needs to teach those two little ones how to knit and such. Mr. Chandler can’t do that,” Mrs. Ashford said in a considering tone, and then she sent Emma a pointed glance.
Emma ignored it and was grateful when her sister, who had been unusually silent, said, “I’ve started teaching Lily. I’ll invite Mason’s girls over to join us.”
Emma smiled and moved next to her sister in the circle of women.
Lavina, the song leader each Sunday, said, “Ladies, let us start our workday with prayer.” Lavina prayed for the Lord to bless them as they toiled on the practical gifts and to ensure the items would be a blessing to those who received them.
After the “amen,” the ladies found places on the benches and began taking out yarn and needles or cloth and needle and thread. Several ladies had most of a quilt top done and sat close together, discussing the finer points of their quilt design.
Feeling the uprush of joy at being here with her sister, Emma sat beside Judith and began crocheting a scarf of red yarn. Judith was knitting a pair of matching mittens. Both of them were using pairs of their late mother’s wooden needles. Judith glanced at her and smiled. But something in Judith’s eyes looked worried. Was it just that she and Asa were facing a lean winter? Or something else? Emma regretted she and her sister had not had a moment alone to talk for days. It almost felt
