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Dearest Lady Parker,
I hope you will be pleased to know that I received the highest marks on my essay. Professor Lind told Mrs. Reid that mine was the finest he’s ever read! I know I have you to thank for that. I wish you might attend Mr. Lind’s classes with me, as you would so enjoy the discussions . . .
Esther glanced longingly out the second-floor window for another glimpse at the autumn sky. Though she had yet to venture anywhere in a carriage in the month and a half she’d been at Bedford, she found her frequent walks enjoyable—much more so than her mathematics tutoring sessions. With reluctance she forced her feet down the corridor toward Professor Hughes’ classroom. She knocked twice, then pushed open the door as she’d been instructed to do previously.
“Good afternoon, Prof—” Her greeting cut off abruptly at the sight of the man before her—not portly Professor Hughes, but tall Professor Lind. He looked up from the textbook he had been studying and smiled.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sessions. I assume you’re here for tutoring.”
She nodded but made no move to come farther into the room. She must be mistaken about the time of day, or perhaps had confused the date. As if further proof of her error she noted that Katherine, the other student who received tutoring with her, wasn’t here.
Professor Lind answered her unspoken question. “Professor Hughes has, unfortunately, had to leave us temporarily. His wife has become ill, and her doctors advised that he move her to a better climate as soon as possible. He will not be returning to us this semester.”
“Oh.” Once again Esther’s tongue seemed bound in Professor Lind’s presence. What was she to do now? Professor Hughes’ tutoring hadn’t exactly been helping her improve her marks or her understanding of the subject, but she had hoped he might pass her anyway, given her continued efforts.
“The other professors and I will be covering his classes until we can find a more suitable replacement.” Professor Lind closed the textbook—a math book—pushed it aside, and beckoned her to come in. “He showed me where you left off. I’ve just gone over the material myself as a quick refresher.”
Esther raised her brows at this. If she’d believed she was in trouble with mathematics before, she suspected her situation had just taken a turn for the worse. How was a teacher of literature supposed to help her understand complex algebraic equations?
Holding in a sigh, she walked into the room, then slid into the nearest seat. Professor Lind rose from his and went to the board, which already held a row of the most recent problems she’d been struggling with. He stepped to the side, so she might better see.
“It always helped me to think of solving for x—or whatever variable is being sought—as a mystery that required a precise path to be solved. One misstep, and I take the wrong direction and inevitably give the wrong answer. I’ve gone over your assignments and have concluded where, and quite likely why, your missteps are occurring.”
Esther’s face warmed with something akin to shame. Surely Professor Lind would know her for the imposter she was. She hadn’t cared so much what Professor Hughes believed of her. But Mr. Lind had praised her work and made her feel as if she might actually belong here. To have him realize how incapable she was made her want to cry. And that made her furious. Why should she care what he thought—what any man thought?
“Miss Sessions?” He was looking at her oddly, and she realized she’d been staring blankly at the wall behind him, and perhaps even gaping at him while her mind revolved through numerous emotions.
She pursed her lips and sat up straighter. “I’m sorry, Professor. Please continue.”
“If at any point in my explanations you feel lost, you must let me know. Algebra can seem like a foreign language to one unacquainted with it.”
Did he know of her struggles learning French as well? Esther gave a weak nod, and he began again.
“Following the correct path can be difficult if one does not know the right way to proceed. I suspect you’ve never been shown the order which must be followed when tackling problems of this sort.”
Esther soon found Professor Lind’s voice and explanation nearly as mesmerizing as she did during his other lectures. He started at the very beginning, breaking each problem down, showing her step by step which must be solved first, second, and so on. She’d had no idea that the order in which she worked the sums and products and dividends was so terribly important. He helped her understand coefficients and reviewed the various rules for multiplication and division, yet she was not made to feel inferior. On the contrary, he praised her as she was able to repeat steps back to him and explain each of the seemingly simple, yet important mathematical properties.
An hour passed quickly, and Professor Lind continued, though the bell for luncheon rang. He made no move to leave, and Esther found she didn’t want to either. A new kind of excitement was building in her, a confidence she hadn’t experienced before—akin to the way she felt in his literature class. She could do this!
When, at last, Professor Lind invited her to the board to work the problems herself, she felt eager to test her abilities. He handed her the chalk, his fingers brushing hers. Their eyes met, and her heartbeat escalated—not in fear, her usual response to any man’s proximity, but with some other, unfamiliar, pleasant sensation.
It was gratitude, she quickly decided. She felt good in his presence because she was so grateful for his help.
She turned to the board and tried to focus her attention on the first problem. After a moment her concentration returned, and she spent the next several minutes carefully following the steps he had outlined. She worked each problem slowly, rechecking her work at every step, all the while aware of Professor Lind a short distance away, leaning against the desk, arms folded across his middle, as he watched her.
Esther had finished only two of the lengthy problems when her hand began its familiar ache. Writing on the chalkboard proved even more difficult than writing on paper. She placed the chalk on the tray and paused to massage her hand before proceeding to the next problem.
“Let’s see how you’ve done.” Professor Lind pushed off the desk and moved closer. “Describe to me each step you took and why you took it.”
Esther hadn’t expected this. Professor Hughes merely checked her work and—most often—told her she was wrong, followed by a confusing explanation as to why. She began with the first problem, rethinking each step and verbalizing. When she’d finished some minutes later—without being interrupted by Professor Lind—she paused, waiting nervously to hear she was wrong. It took courage to turn to meet his gaze. She desperately wanted to please him, to repay his inexplicable faith in her. Yet another new, and wholly unexpected, feeling.
He beamed at her, his smile making his already pleasant face even more so. “Excellent.”
Relief fluttered within her, an almost ethereal joy. Esther returned his smile with one of her own. No one had ever proclaimed her mathematical abilities were anything close to excellent. Hopeless and remedial were the terms she’d heard most recently from Professor Hughes.
She went through the steps to the next problem and found that answer correct as well.
“I believe you’ve got it,” Professor Lind said, sounding genuinely excited—perhaps as much for himself that he had been able to teach her.
She wondered if he was nervous at all, taking over Professor Hughes’ classes.
“I’ll work the other two now.” Esther faced the board and picked up the chalk, gripping it awkwardly, as her finger had stiffened and refused to curve as it should.
“Allow me.” Professor Lind’s hand again brushed hers briefly, and he took the chalk from her. “You tell me what to do, and I will write it down.”
Heat rose in Esther’s cheeks—whether from his unexpected touch or her shame over her disfigured hand, she wasn’t certain. She clasped it behind her and faced the board.
Her voice wobbled a bit when she spoke. “We’ll begin with the numbers in the parentheses. First, seven squared becomes forty-nine. Subtract fifteen from that, and you get thirty-four.”
He wrote the answer as she’d instructed. “You figure numbers quickly for one with little mathematical experience.”
“I’ve been doing sums in my head for a long time,” Esther said. “Since I was a little girl working—” She stopped abruptly, too late realizing she had just given herself away.
“In a factory?” Professor Lind turned from the board to look at her.
She nodded. What would he think of her now?
“Is that where your hand was injured?” His gaze dropped to her arm.
Esther nodded but did not offer more. She’d embarrassed herself enough already.
“It pains you when you write.” It was not a question, but a statement. He had noticed.
Esther frowned, concerned there were other idiosyncrasies about herself that she’d also not hidden as well as she’d believed. Oddly, he didn’t seem bothered to know he was teaching a woman who’d spent her life in poverty. A fragile stem of trust bridged between them.
“My finger was nearly crushed when I was seven years old. It was never treated properly and did not heal well.”
“May I look at it?”
Esther hesitated. She did not often dwell on her bent finger, except to be grateful that she still had a finger at all. Still, exposing its ugliness—the disfiguring, hardened flesh that mounded between her second and third knuckles—for examination to an acquaintance, and a man no less, brought a different sort of discomfort.
“Please,” he added. “I promise to be gentle. I am curious to know if there is something that might be done to improve its function and lessen your pain.”
With reluctance Esther surrendered her hand. He took it in both of his, tracing his finger gently along the scar before probing at the bone beneath. His hands were warm, his touch gentle, as promised. A wave of sensation swept from where his fingers touched her skin to her other senses, threatening her balance.
His head, bent close, showed off the perfectly styled wave she’d noticed the night they met. He smelled pleasant, perhaps of some cologne. And his eyes, when they looked up at hers, were a piercing blue that seemed to reach within her, crumbling the carefully constructed walls that his previous kindnesses had nearly breached.
“Have you ever had a physician examine it?”
Esther held back a bitter laugh. “No. The harm was done by the time I began work for Lady Parker—or she might have thought of it, kind as she’s been to me. She had my wrist set when it was broken.” Esther held out her other arm as she withdrew her hand from his. “It healed well.”
“How was your wrist broken?” Professor Lind lifted his gaze to hers.
“My brother twisted it. He didn’t intend to do that much harm.”
“Yet he did mean to harm you?” Professor Lind’s voice held reproach.
“He meant to have the only piece of bread in the house. We were both hungry, and hunger does odd things to people.” Though not nearly so bad as what alcohol did. “Silas was merely following our father’s example—doing what men do.” She heard the chill and censure in her voice, and felt it as it sped through her veins to her heart. She froze, staring up at Professor Lind, at once realizing their proximity and that they were alone. What kind of fool was she, trusting him with her past? And worse, with her person? Who knew but that he had arranged for Katherine to not be here today so they would be alone.
Esther stepped back suddenly, then turned and rushed around the other side of the desk. She collected her books and hurried toward the door. “The time for my tutoring session has passed. Thank you, Professor.”
“Esther—”
Hand on the doorknob, she stopped. Had he just—
“Forgive my use of your given name, Miss Sessions. I only meant to get your attention, to assure you that not all men are like those in your family. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. My only wish is to help my pupils achieve success.”
Her hand drooped on the knob. She wanted to believe his words, to feel both safe and relieved. How grand it would be to return to Professor Lind and his kindness, to the way she’d felt just moments before. At the least, she ought to express appropriate gratitude for all he had done for her. He had helped her so much today, far more than Professor Hughes.
But fear anchored Esther in place. For all his apparent goodness and sincerity, Professor Lind was a man. And life had taught her that men must not be trusted.
“Thank you for your help, Professor,” she managed, then twisted the knob and opened the door, leaving him alone, as she had found him.