“Harold Bunter,” the man said. He hadn’t removed his hat. “I come to press my case to you, Missy.”
Rigid as a fence post, he was a big man, well over six feet tall, with a ruddy face and a broken front tooth. He stood too close and she backed up. “Excuse me?”
“Time’s a-wasting, Missy. I’ve got until December to find my bride, and I hear you’re a hard worker helping at your father’s inn. He don’t serve spirits, only beer and wine, so I guess you’re a teetotaler, which is good for me. And you must have common sense or the board wouldn’t have hired ya. So I’ll court ya proper-like, but we both know the end result. Glad to see you’re punctual too, getting here long before the babes arrive. I think an August wedding would be fine, don’t you?”
“Mr. Bunter, I am working here. I’m sure you understand the need for my full attention to be given to preparing for my students. Your offer is generous, of course, but I can’t entertain it today and likely not tomorrow or the next day either.”
“I’ll give you time. Until August, like I said.”
“I’m barely of age, Mr. Bunter.” Holy cow chips. What was the man thinking?
“You’re almost nineteen. Many a girl at fourteen is marrying in these parts.”
It bothered her that he knew her age. It was true that young girls were being handed over by their parents to willing men to help expand their farms and be extra hands. She prayed that some of those girls found love in the process. “You’ve done your homework, Mr. Bunter.”
“I know how to woo a woman.” When he grinned, that broken tooth gaped at her.
“Oh, I see another early bird may have arrived.” She looked beyond him to the misty dawn. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get to work and make my students welcome.” She’d looked out through the open door and hadn’t seen anyone but hoped she had distracted Mr. Bunter enough for him to at least stop talking about marriage.
“I’ll come back after class and we can confer more,” he said. “That’s a good educated word, isn’t it—‘confer’? My farm’s not too far away, so I can get here easy. I know all the board members. They can vouch for me. I’ll let ’em know they’ll need to be looking for a new schoolmarm, as they won’t let a married woman work out, you know. A woman’s place is in the house.”
She turned back to him. “Mr. Bunter, I’m sure you’re a very fine citizen and your farm is very fine too. But I’m new to the territory, I’ve just begun my job, and I really can’t think about marriage at this time. With you or anyone. So please don’t speak for me to the board.”
“Now, don’t get too frazzled, Missy. I can wait. I got ’til December for my year to be up. Only April now.”
“Mr. Bunter, you’re not listening to me.” Am I being too rude? No, I must be firm. “I am not interested in marriage—to anyone at this time. So please, spread your charms to another missy, as you’ll be wasting your time with this one.”
He took a step closer, inhaled deeply through his nose like he was trying to inhale her. She moved back. Her heart pounded like a butter churn. He was big and could hurt her if he chose to. She shouldn’t give him any fuel for his fire by suggesting they would discuss it later. That would only lead him on. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do. “Let’s talk about it over the weekend,” she said. “I’ll do my homework too. And find out about you.”
“Good for you, Missy. I’ll come by your father’s inn on Saturday. We can confer then. I’ll be sure to tell the board about what a loyal teacher you are, not wanting to mix pleasure with work.” He grinned, showing a mouth of tobacco-stained teeth, touched his hat brim, turned his back to her, and clomped down the steps.
She’d deal with him on Saturday. She couldn’t think about it now. She took a deep breath, inhaling the new-lumber scent of the building and the desks.
Before she’d returned to her chair, more step noise, and a man’s voice, singing. “Holy cow chips,” she said out loud. She stood to confront Mr. Bunter once again.
But instead a small child appeared, holding the hand of a tall man with sky-blue eyes and curly hair that matched the child’s, with just a hint of ginger to the brown. He’d been the singer. He removed his hat and nodded to her. “Ben Duniway, ma’am.”
“And this is . . . ?”
“Josie. It’s her first day.”
“Welcome, Josie. I’m Miss Scott. How old are you, sweetie?”
“I’m six. We’re having a sister or brother. Momma said she could tell me which it is when I got home. I guess she went to town to pick it up.”
“That’s lovely.”
“Her mother would have brought her, but she’s, uh, feeling poorly today.”
“Yes, I can see how she might be.” To the child, she said, “Would you like to put your lunch pail on the entry shelf?”
“Uncle Ben bringed me. He and Momma are sister and brother. Like I’m gonna be.”
“Ah,” Jenny said.
“I see you’ve already met Harold,” Ben said. “Courting, is he?”
Jenny felt her face grow warm. “He might call it that. I wouldn’t.”
“Discouraging him could be a full-time occupation. He’s made many a proposal, and I hear he’s getting desperate to find a wife before his year is up.” He let Josie’s hand loose, and the child stood beside him, a thumb in her mouth, lunch pail in her other hand, her eyes moving back and forth between the adults. “I brought a slate for Josie. Figured you might be short.”
“Thank you, Mr. Duniway.”
He removed the chalkboard from his loose shirt.
“I appreciate that thoughtfulness. Josie, would you like to pick one of the front desks? You’ll sit with another student, but since you’re early, you get first choice. After you put your pail away.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” She scampered to the entry.
“If you need a rescuer from Harold, let me know,” Ben said. “He can be as cantankerous as a green broke horse. And for the record, not that you’ve asked, I’ve got my 320 acres and didn’t need a woman’s 160 acres to make it so. When I come courting, it’ll be for the woman’s heart and not her land.”
“You’re right, I didn’t ask.”
“But you don’t mind knowing, now do you?” His grin slid across his attractive face, and she felt a glow inside.
I believe he’s flirting. She’d keep this professional. “I’m an educator, Mr. Duniway, a seeker of information for its own sake,” she said. “One never knows when one will need it to advance a cause or carve a path forward.”
He grinned as he put his hat back on. “I’ll be back at three to bring you home, Josie. You be good now and mind Miss Scott.”
“I will.” The child reached up to him, and he squatted down to let her wrap her arms around his neck. Children like him. And he bent to them, didn’t stand above them. That was a good sign. “Bye, Unc,” Josie said.
“Don’t forget to sing when you leave to go outside,” Ben told her as he stood and brushed the top of her head with his wide hands. Two honey-colored pigtails poked out on either side of her head.
“I won’t,” she said.
He turned back to Jenny. “Singing when they face the world is a good way to calm the stomach wiggles. There’s lots of them when you’re a child.”
“And when you’re a grown-up too,” Jenny said.
“Indeed.”
He replaced his hat and headed out, singing a song Jenny didn’t recognize, about “seeing Nellie home.” It was a happy tune, and Josie giggled as she skipped her way past Jenny and found a front desk. Jenny watched as the man patted her horse’s neck and checked her grain bag. Jenny had her mount at the hitching post where other children’s ponies would soon be tied. Her horse nickered to him. Animals and children like him. He turned and waved at her and she blushed. He had known she’d be watching, the scamp.
She witnessed horses and their child riders coming up the trail, dismounting and tying their animals to the post, filling grain bags, then walking up the stairs.
She was the queen of her domain here, and as she greeted each child, she felt a lifting of her spirit. She didn’t know if her joy came from this being her first day as a teacher or if the meeting of Ben Duniway played a part. She couldn’t be sure. She just hoped he wasn’t a diversion on her map to independence.