Sare,” she parroted. Sam smiled down on the little moon face thrust out between the layers of wool.
“You got more sense than the rest of ’em together, don’t you, Missy?”
Gracie beamed. “Can I drive, Mr. Ebbitt?” She smiled coyly up at him.
“Come on.” He held his arm up and she ducked under it to stand between his knees. Sam eyed Sarah and her mother for a moment. “Mind your manners, Sarah, you’re gettin’ to be more’n a little girl. Don’t dally in late.” He called to the horses, and the wagon lurched forward.
Margaret Tolstonadge firmed her generous mouth into a tight circle. “That man!” she huffed as he rolled out of hearing. “Always bossing everybody.” Sarah was pulling at her fitted coat, plucking it away from her chest. “Stop your fussing,” Margaret said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“He makes me embarrassed,” Sarah mumbled.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She tugged Sarah’s jacket straight. “He’s paying you a compliment. Noticing that you’re becoming a young lady.”
“I don’t see why he goes and spoils Gracie the way he does. She’s such a priss already.”
“Little Miss Green-Eyes.” Mam smiled knowingly and Sarah sniffed. Margaret tucked her daughter’s fine hair back behind her ears. “Come on, let’s meet your new schoolteacher.”
Carrying the basket between them, they made their way carefully up the muddy path. At the door, Mrs. Tolstonadge took the basket and turned back the cover to give the contents a quick inventory. “Let’s knock,” she said and set the basket down to rap on the door.
“Mam, she’s thrown her bed out!” Sarah exclaimed, pointing at the mattress crumpled near the corner of the cabin. The door opened and Imogene loomed large on the top step, filling the doorway. Sarah snatched her hand behind her and stepped back involuntarily.
Mrs. Tolstonadge sucked in her breath.
“You are my first callers. Won’t you come in?” The schoolteacher stepped aside and gestured graciously.
Margaret recovered herself. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, I’m the one that’s come on you unannounced. I’m Mrs. Emmanuel Tolstonadge. Margaret.” She extended her plump hand. “And this is my oldest girl, Sarah Mary.” She nudged Sarah. “Hon?” Sarah broke off staring and curtsied, rocking the basket dangerously. “And you,” Mrs. Tolstonadge finished with an air of triumph, “are the new schoolmistress.”
Imogene ushered them in. “I’d offer you tea or coffee, but my things haven’t been brought from the station yet.”
“We can’t stay anyway,” Margaret assured her. “We just wanted to bring you a little welcome gift and see if you’d join us for church.”
“I’d like that. Excuse me a moment.” Imogene went into the bedroom and shook out her traveling cloak.
“Mam, she’s a giantess,” Sarah whispered.
“You hush.” Margaret looked around at the greasy walls and black ceiling. Leaning to her right, she peered into the kitchen. Imogene came back in a rumpled but presentable cloak, and Mam straightened up. “Miss Grelznik, this place is a mess. I’m ashamed of us. I’ll get some of the women and we’ll get it cleaned up for you. My sons will see to the repairs.” Mam looked past her into the bedroom at the bare cot. “Where on earth did you sleep?”
Imogene pointed to the floor.
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Tolstonadge clucked her tongue.
The church bells rang again. “We’re late! Sarah, get your coat.” She made a little dash at her daughter. “Oh. You have it on.” Mrs. Tolstonadge fluttered her hands over her ample bosom. “Emmanuel is always telling me what a fool I am. Sometimes I think he’s right.”
Without a veil of darkness, the town lost much of its charm. The buildings that lined the main street had a sorry air of neglect and poverty. There were no sidewalks and unfenced dirt ran down to the rut that served as a rain gutter. The yards were devoid of any growth but trees. Trees bordered the street, the forest creeping to the very edge of the town, and where there weren’t trees there were stumps. The generation before had fought back the forest and won. To the west of the town, behind the schoolhouse, a meadow swept up a long low hill to a crest of oaks, withered autumn leaves brown against the hard blue of the sky.
At the opposite end of the main street, as it turned south to the railroad station, stood the church, neatly painted, with a steeple bell. Two oversized wooden doors were set squarely in the front, with a high, rectangular window to either side.
The three women walked far to one side of the main street, where the morning traffic hadn’t churned up the mud. Sarah skipped lightly ahead. The sun turned the strands of hair that escaped her hood to silver and gold. Margaret trudged over the uneven ground with difficulty, puffing huge clouds of steam in her exertion. Imogene kept beside her, ready at her elbow to steady her. Margaret smiled up at her as they gained the church steps. “You’ll see-last night’s storm took a lot of the leaves but in summer when they come out the houses all but disappear. It’s a nice little town.”
The service had already begun. Mam took Sarah’s hand as they crept in and stood behind the last pew. The minister stopped the sermon to glare at them, and the congregation craned their necks around. Emmanuel Tolstonadge, a short spare man, with a head as round as an orange, sat with his son Walter on one side and the top of his youngest daughter’s head just visible over the back of the pew on the other. Sam Ebbitt sat stolidly at the end, facing front, Gracie close beside him. David was not with them. Emmanuel frowned at his wife and daughter, pressing his mouth together like a seamstress holding pins, and his face grew red-the flush creeping up from his collar until his bald head was beet-colored. Neither Sarah nor Margaret would meet his eye. Imogene stepped out in front of them and walked up the aisle. She smiled at the minister, inclining her head slightly in apology, and nodded a greeting to Joseph Cogswell. Sarah fell in behind her and, like a duckling carried safely in the wake of its mother, glided into the pew beside her. Mam scooted in next to Sarah, still avoiding her husband’s gaze.
A pale, thick woman seated next to Joseph Cogswell sniffed audibly, and a pretty girl with a full figure and the apple cheeks of a child waved at Sarah. Sarah waved back and mouthed, “Hello, Karen,” soundlessly.
Three hours later the congregation broke for lunch. People spilled out, easing their cramped legs and backs, the children making it as far as the wide double doors before dropping their Sunday manners to run shouting into the open. The patches of mud drew the children like bees to pots of honey. Women unpacked baskets of food, and people stood around the tailgates of the wagons, eating and talking.
After lunch, people gathered around the Tolstonadge wagon to meet Imogene. Mr. Cogswell welcomed her again and Karen curtsied, dropping her skirts into the mire. Judith Cogswell stood stonily until her husband nudged her elbow, then she took a deep breath through her nose and acknowledged the introduction.
“Don’t you mind Judith,” Mam said as Mrs. Cogswell left several paces in front of her husband. “She doesn’t have much use for her own sex.”
“What are you two gossiping about?” Sam asked as he joined them. “Mrs. Beard and Mrs. Thomas have got some cocoa in the church kitchen to warm folks before afternoon service.” He pulled out a turnip watch. “Better go now.”
Mam introduced him to Imogene and he looked at her without apparent interest as he pocketed his watch. “Hope you can handle the bigger boys. I don’t mind telling you I was against hiring a female. Still am. Some of those farmboys are just plain mean.”
Imogene extended her hand but he didn’t take it, so she tucked it back under her cloak. “I am bigger than most of your bigger boys, Mr. Ebbitt.”
Mrs. Tolstonadge laid her hand on his sleeve. “Sam, where’s David?”
“Seems he hasn’t time for church.”
“Did he and Emmanuel quarrel after we left? He tells you.”
“David’s no concern of mine, Margaret. I got shet of him seven years ago. I said he was trouble then and I say it now. I’ll get nothing but a thick finger for stirring. Leave me out.”
“Please, Sam, did they fight?” Margaret was whispering.
“They did.”
A fat woman with unkempt hair and dirty nails called to them from the side door of the church. “Last call for hot cocoa!” The woman bustled herself out of sight and was replaced by a younger, thinner, dirtier version of
