He’d probably be forced to attend next week, but at least he’d be among a larger group where he might be able to avoid Evangeline. “Thank you for thinking of me,” he said to Susanna. “We poor bachelors depend on the kindness of our married friends to keep us fed.”
She crossed her arms and tapped one foot on the hard-packed dirt road. “Very well. Next week, then. And I can count on you to keep an eye on Evangeline as she begins work at the library tomorrow?” Her expression held that private meaning she was so good at. Only a few people knew about the Christmas village, and this younger Northam couple was not among them.
“Yes, ma’am.” He was sunk as surely as if he’d stepped into quicksand. He’d never be able to escape Susanna Northam’s matchmaking. And now he couldn’t avoid Evangeline, the woman who’d irreparably broken his heart and made him determined never to give it to another.
* * *
Early Monday morning, the little family waved goodbye to Nate as he rode off toward the hills to the south. While Wes, the trusted cowhand he’d left behind to tend chores, hitched up the buggy, Susanna and Evangeline prepared the children for school.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you into town?” Susanna finished washing the last breakfast dish and handed it to Lizzie to dry.
“I’d much rather you spend the time cutting out the children’s new clothes so I can help you sew them this evening.” Evangeline tugged on her leather driving gloves. After dropping off the children at school, she would be starting her first day as the town’s new librarian.
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to see a certain sheriff again.” Susanna still hadn’t let up on her matchmaking. She sniffed dramatically. “Your lovely gardenia perfume is sure to attract his attention. Why, it must have cost you a small fortune. Well worth it, I’d say.”
“You know better than that. Don’t you remember when our mothers taught us to make our own perfume one summer? It’s much less expensive.” She ignored her cousin’s suggestion about wearing the perfume for Justice’s sake. It was the fragrance she always wore, a reminder of the better parts of her old life, nothing more.
Their dinner pails packed with sandwiches and apples, the children donned their jackets and climbed into the buggy, all except two-year-old Frankie, who cried over being left behind with his mother.
The breeze blew brisk and chilly, but the sky was a rich blue shade. Evangeline gazed west across the San Luis Valley at the San Juan Mountains, then east to the Sangre de Cristo Range. If not for her fears of being dragged back to New Orleans, she could relax and enjoy this beautiful country.
“Let’s sing.” Isabelle didn’t wait for agreement, but broke into “Boys and girls all sing this song, Hoo-rah, Hoo-rah. Girls grow pretty and boys grow strong. Oh, hoo-rah ray. Goin’ to eat my peas, Goin’ to eat my ham. Gonna eat biscuits with butter and jam. Oh, hoo-rah ray.”
The others joined in, and Gerard and Natty tried to out “hoo-rah” each other in the silly folk song. They fell into giggles, bringing joy to Evangeline’s heart. By the time they reached the one-story clapboard schoolhouse in town, they were making up their own verses, most of them nonsense.
She tied the lead rope to the hitching post and escorted the children inside. The school had three classes, two grades in each one. Natty and Isabelle scampered off to the first and second grade room, and Lizzie to her third and fourth grade room. Evangeline was left to escort Gerard to join the fifth and sixth graders. She recognized the teacher, Miss Prinn, from church, and the sturdy middle-aged woman welcomed Gerard.
“You may sit here.” She indicated an empty seat in the second row.
All happy songs forgotten, Gerard looked around furtively, as though searching for a way to escape. The other children eyed him with friendly curiosity.
“He will be fine, Mrs. Benoit.” Miss Prinn gave Evangeline a severe look, dismissing her.
“Yes, of course.”
With a library to organize, she subdued her maternal worries and drove to the mercantile. There, Mrs. Winsted helped her load four wooden boxes of books into the buggy.
“I’d send Homer over to help you, but he’s unloading a new shipment of merchandise.” The woman brushed gray hairs back from her face. “Can you manage?”
“Yes, thank you.” At the least, she could carry a few books into the library at a time.
The short trip down the street and around the corner onto Center Avenue brought her to the library. Seeing the sign brought an unexpected thrill to her heart. She’d already planned how to organize the books.
After unlocking the door, she went to fetch the first box of books. She tried to lift it, but it proved too heavy. The wind whipped her lightweight skirt and petticoats around, adding a struggle for modesty to her concerns. Her black straw hat chose that moment to fly away, headed straight for the fountain.
“Oh, bother.” Planning to give chase, she misjudged how far she’d slid the box off the back of the buggy and it teetered, spilling books onto the ground. Some fell open, and their pages fluttered wildly in the wind. She gasped. What a horrible way to begin her new job. Kneeling to check for damage, she shook grit from the precious tomes.
“Ma’am, I believe this is yours.” Justice stood tall above her and handed her the wayward hat.
Her heart seemed to stop beating. Yet still she lived. “Thank you.” She clutched the hat in one hand and continued picking up books with the other.
“Let me help you.” He didn’t wait for an answer but knelt and joined her efforts. “You go on inside. I’ll bring them in.”
“Well—”
Again, he didn’t wait for her, but stood and grasped her elbow, then gently pulled her to her feet. “Permit me to assist you, Mrs. Benoit.” His formal address and tone did little to comfort her, and he looked down at her with a courteous but uninterested expression.
“Thank you.” She grabbed her small dinner hamper and a pail of cleaning supplies and hurried inside the building. After setting the basket on her desk, she rubbed her arm where he’d touched her. Such a firm grip. And yet, what should have been a reassuring gesture only made her nervous. Surely no criminal could escape his grasp.
As she propped the door open so he could enter at will, she noticed how easily he lifted the first heavy box and gave herself permission to admire his strength. After all, she supposed a sheriff should be strong.
Such admiring ruminations would not get her work done, so she turned her attention to the shelves. If she organized the books as planned, they’d fill less than a fourth of the dark-stained pine planks. Too bad she must keep her location a secret or she might consider writing to potential benefactors for donations. In the meantime, she already knew she wanted her desk closer to the window so she could catch all possible daylight.
She shoved the heavy oak desk, or rather, shoved at it. The beautifully carved monstrosity refused to budge.
“I’ll do that as soon as I bring in the last box.” Justice set his load down and returned to the buggy for another.
The final remnants of the happy energy that had infused her earlier disappeared. She’d be foolish to turn down his help, but from his
