Very suddenly the warm weather turned cold and rainy. One morning I awoke to a cloudy, dark sky, a cold wind and rain like ice water. Even in my snug little house I shivered as I dressed. I could hardly believe that a day could be so drastically different from the one just preceding. it. I decided that my schoolroom must have a fire—the first one yet needed. At least we were well stocked for wood, thanks to Carl.
As I looked at the sky, I was glad that it was Friday. Maybe by Monday we’d have our sunshine back again.
I built my own fire and put on my coffeepot. The hungry flames began to lick at the wood quickly, and the warmth was soon spilling out into the room. As I looked at the dismal day, I wondered how many of my students would venture forth. I wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d stayed home.
I decided to do everything that was necessary before leaving the house so that once I had crossed to the schoolhouse in the rain I could stay there.
With this in mind, I cared for my daily grooming, almost gasping for breath as I washed in the cold water; I breakfasted, had my morning Bible reading, and tidied my two small rooms. Before I left I banked my fire the way that Lars had shown me and then bundled myself up tightly in my coat, tied a scarf on my head, and dashed for the school.
It was cold in the room, all right, but I still had plenty of time to take the chill from the air before my students arrived.
I threw aside my coat and went to work on laying the fire-wood. My hands were already numb with the cold and dampness. I got the paper and kindling ready to light but, though I searched everywhere that a matchbox might be, I found none. I buttoned on my coat, donned my damp scarf, and dashed back through the rain to the teacherage for some matches. In my haste as I returned to the school, I stepped into a big puddle and splashed muddy water up my leg. Undaunted, I ran on and, once inside, threw off my coat and dripping scarf and went to work on the fire again. I had no problem getting the kindling to accept the flame and soon a brisk fire was begging greedily for more fuel; also, soon the room was beginning to fill with blue woodsmoke. I opened the door of the stove and peered in. Smoke puffed out and stung my eyes. I slammed the door shut. Maybe it will take just a few moments to begin to draw, I thought, thinking of my father’s words concerning our fireplace at home.
The minutes passed by, and the stove did not draw; it only seemed to blow—billows of choking smoke filled the classroom.
I poked and fussed with the fire, but it only increased my coughing and watering eyes and got soot and ashes all over my hands and clothing. Determining that the only way to save my room from total disaster was to drench the fire, I picked up the pail of water. I was about to heave it into the stove when the school door opened and there stood Wynn Delaney. I gasped, choked, and began another fit of coughing.
Without speaking he crossed to me, took the pail from my hands and set it back on its shelf. Then he moved on to the stove.
“These country school stoves can be contrary things,” he stated matter-of factly as he flipped some metal lever on the stove pipe and another on the stove itself. Then he walked purposefully to the windows and began to open them one by one. After the last one had been flung wide, he returned and picked up my coat.
“I have a few minutes,” he offered. “Why don’t I stay and tend the fire while you go on home and freshen up. It’ll be a good forty minutes before any students appear.”
He held my coat for me, and I shrugged into it without speaking. I fled from the building in embarrassment at being discovered in such a predicament. What a mess I was! I had soot streaks up my arms and even across my cheek. My legs and dress were splattered with mud, my shoes were soggy, and my hair was tumbling down. I eyed the clock as I scrubbed and changed but I did not hurry. I even had a second cup of coffee, feeling a bit like a child stealing from the cookie jar. I then slowly and deliberately picked my way across the yard to the schoolhouse, skirting all of the deeper puddles. By the time I reached the school, most of the smoke had cleared, and the room was beginning to warm with the cheerily burning—and smokeless—fire. My benefactor was still there.
In spite of my embarrassment, my sense of humor held me in good stead, at least in measure.
“I want to thank you,” I began, “for rescuing the school-house. We nearly went up in smoke.”
When he saw that I could laugh at myself, his eyes began to twinkle, but he was too kind to tease me.
“Someone,” he said, placing all the blame on an unknown and unseen “someone,” “left the damper completely closed.” He stepped over to the stove and turned the damper lever slightly. “When the fire gets going well, you can turn it—like this—to slow it down some; but to start with, it should always be turned upright, like this.”
I nodded, berating myself for not thinking of dampers. He didn’t remark about my folly, though, but went on, “I must warn you, though, don’t ever use a full pail of water to douse a fire in a stove like this. It can be very dangerous—and at best, very messy. The water forces the ashes, some of them carrying live sparks, to blow out through the stove door.”
A mental image of the forcefully splashing water, the flying ashes and soot made me thankful that he had come in when he did.
“If you must quench a fire,” he continued, “gently pour on water, a dipperful at a time, working your way over the flames. Remember, too, it doesn’t take long for an iron stove to heat; a sudden change in temperature might even split the metal.”
I nodded meekly, feeling that I had just been given a fatherly lecture on fires.
“Never did hold to this business of a young woman teacher having to care for her own fire,” he remarked, as though to himself. I cringed inwardly as I imagined him at some future meeting of the parents in the community, taking his stand to argue that young women teachers had no business caring for the fire in the classroom.
I quickly assured him, “It’ll be fine, now that I know how it operates.”
He threw two more good-sized chunks of wood on the flames, closed the door of the stove and straightened to his full height. I saw his eyes fall to my hands, and I became more self-conscious and nervous. Was he noticing that my hands showed I was not used to manual work of any kind? Was he checking to see if they were losing their cared-for look under the rigors of work in a country school?
I moved to a window.
“Do you suppose we can close them now?” I asked in an effort to direct his attention elsewhere.
“Certainly,” and he moved to the nearest one.
I looked around my room and as soon as the last window had been closed, I turned to him.
“I do want to thank you—and I will remember to check the damper. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have lessons to prepare.”
He smiled slightly and reached for his hat. It was strange, this feeling I had. I knew instinctively that he was the kind of man who would be worthy of anyone’s friendship, especially since he was a long-time friend of Jonathan’s; yet I felt that I dared not encourage a friendship of any kind. I had never felt such a barrier, or rather the need for such a barrier, with a man before. Perhaps I feared lest he somehow was aware of my attraction to him before I had realized that he was a married man. Perhaps if I met his wife I would be able to feel differently. But for now I held myself stiffly at a distance.
“I stopped to let you know that Phillip won’t be attending class today. He has a cold, and his mother has decided not to send him out in the rain.”
At the words “his mother,” I backed away a step farther from the man who spoke to me.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I managed. “I do hope that it will not be serious.”
“I’m sure that it won’t. You know children. They can be back racing about in an hour’s time. Mothers take a little longer to recuperate from a child’s illness.” He grinned.
“Yes,” I answered. “I guess so.”
“I’ll be coming back this way sometime between three and four. Lydia would like me to pick up Phillip’s work so that he won’t fall behind his classmates. She’ll go over the lesson with him at home—if that’s not too much trouble for you.”
“No—no, of course not. I’ll have it ready for you when you come by.”
He smiled again, nodded slightly and left, his hat still in his hand. I turned to my blackboard, trying hard to concentrate on the lessons that I had to prepare. I dreaded the day ahead, for I knew that at its end I must see him again. I wished that I could keep Lars with me, to send him out to meet this man and hand him the required lessons. Of course I knew that I couldn’t do that. Lars was needed at home and, anyway, I would not hold any student for such a foolish and personal reason. With time and effort I would get over my silly feelings and accept the man as Jon’s married male friend—nothing more. He had never behaved as other than a perfect gentleman in my presence.
To my amazement, all of my students except Phillip and Andy appeared for class. In fact, the total number that day was swelled, for the three older boys who had been working in the harvest fields were released because of the rain and attended classes for the first time.
It soon became apparent, much to my consternation and embarrassment, that it was the young schoolmarm, rather than the lessons, who had brought them; they were not much younger than I and took every opportunity to tease and flirt a bit. I felt my cheeks flush several times during the day and was thankful when this awkward school day was finally over.
Immediately, I set to work in preparing the material for Phillip’s home lessons. I did not want Mr. Delaney to be required to stand around waiting for them.
The students had not been gone long and I had just finished my hurried preparations when his knock sounded on the schoolroom door.
I gave him the packet, which he tucked inside his jacket to protect it from the rain, and then I dismissed him—rather curtly, I’m afraid.
“I must get home and tend to my fire,” I told him, and hurried into my coat as I said the words. I made sure that I stood far enough away from him that he couldn’t offer assistance.
He looked at me, then out the window, then at my flimsy shoes.
“I could take you across on my horse,” he offered as I moved toward the door.
I stopped in mid-stride. What a perfectly ridiculous idea! And how does he propose to do that? He must have read my shock.
“It’s knee-deep out there in places.”
Anger took hold of me now. I forgot to think of him as Jon’s friend and thought of him only as some woman’s husband.
I inwardly fumed. Here he is, wanting to transport me home on his horse. How would he do that—fling me across its back, or carry me in his arms?
“I’ll manage,” I declared, and he didn’t argue further. He left with Phillip’s homework, and in frustration I stamped about the classroom, putting away books, erasing the blackboard and shoving desks into line.
At length I calmed down and went out to face the storm, careful to close the classroom door tightly behind me.
As the cold rain whipped into my face, I became more clear-headed. I reminded myself that Mr. Delaney was a long-time friend of my brother Jonathan. His offer to deliver me home on his horse was a simple courtesy—out of a desire to care for the helpless young sister of a man whom he considered almost a brother; his thoughtful offer was nothing more than that. I felt better having sorted it out in my thinking. Perhaps Lydia Delaney’s husband merely was overly helpful, and she need have no worries after all. I put the whole thing from mind and began to plan a comfortable and restful evening.
Mr. Delaney had been right—the water was deep. By the time I reached my door my shoes were ruined, my skirts were covered with muddy water, and my spirits were as soggy as my wet-to-the-knees hose.
But I refused to mope about for the evening. My little ritual with teacup, familiar chair, and a favorite Dickens story went a long way toward improving my outlook.