move as she struggled to make sense of his words. “Start school tomorrow?” she repeated.
She didn’t want to go to school. What kind of school would there be in such a tiny place? What would they expect her to study and why?
“I know it’s soon, but the students are so glad you’re here. Because it was so difficult to find a qualified teacher, they’ve been out since the term ended last April. They’re eager to get started again.”
Teacher? I’m a teacher?
Oh, dear. Annie bit her lip. Matilda had been a teacher.
“Are you all right, Miss Cunningham?” he said, studying her closely.
She placed her hand on her aching head. No, she was not all right, but she was not going to tell Mr. Sullivan that and destroy her chance to sleep in a bed tonight.
“It’s obvious you’re exhausted. We’ll postpone class until Wednesday so you may rest.”
“That would be nice.”
He handed her into the surrey, touching her arm for a moment to steady her. Then, as she settled herself in the carriage, he smiled at her, a flash of warmth lighting his eyes. Annie quickly looked away. She did not like it when men smiled at her that way. It made her want to run.
“You may have noticed that Trail’s End is not a large town, but the people are friendly.” He got in on the other side of the surrey and snapped the reins over the horses. “This area is beautiful in the spring.”
The carriage was splendid, new and shiny with leather seats. The matched bays trotted in time with each other. Obviously Mr. Sullivan was a wealthy man.
“Where are we going?” Here she sat, in a vehicle with a man she’d never met, heading off to who-knew-where. Curious and frightened, she wished she could have read those letters Matilda had carried in her purse. “Is the ranch far?”
He looked at her again with a puzzled glance. “As I told you in my letter, you’ll live in a room that adjoins the schoolhouse. It’s located just a few minutes from my home and about as far from town.”
The bays frisked along the road. After only a few minutes, he slowed and turned between stone pillars. “This is my ranch, the J bar M.” He pointed at a sign over the drive.
J bar M. Annie carefully studied the sign. “The J bar M,” she said.
In silence, they rode down a smooth dirt drive and turned onto a rougher trace. They traveled only a minute or two before Mr. Sullivan halted the surrey.
“Here we are.” He jumped from the vehicle.
Annie searched both sides of the road until she spotted a stone building on the edge of the clearing, partially hidden by trees.
“Miss 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
