The eye of every student in the small schoolroom fastened on his stump. Daniel cleared his throat. “No, I lost my arm in a later battle.”
Clara poured a glass of water and brought it to him, apology weeping from her eyes. “I’m all right,” he whispered.
She clasped her hands together and faced her students. “Class, please give a warm welcome to our guest today, Captain Daniel Tuttle.”
“Are you going to tell us about that battle?” Tommy persisted.
“No.” That boy must be one of the ones Clara had warned him about. “I only wanted to remind us all that men—and women”—he glanced at Clara, who gave him a small smile—”came to the New World seeking freedom. They were prepared to fight, and die if need be, to defend it.”
He studied the assembly. Young Libby had the beak nose of the Whitsons. Others, all freckles and smiles, hailed from the Frisk family. A few of his younger relatives were in attendance, as well. Others he didn’t recognize.
“When did your families come to Maple Notch?”
Dates ranged from 1763—when the town was first settled, at the end of the French and Indian War—to as recently as 1862, when the Beatons had taken over the pastorate of the church.
“If you count the French and Indian War, which ended just before my great-grandparents came here, the men of Maple Notch have been involved in five wars.” He lifted up one finger. “My great-grandfathers fought in that first war and earned the land they built their farms on. They won the land from the French and made Vermont an English colony.
“ ‘Tweren’t but a dozen years later that we were fighting again.” He lifted his second finger. “My great-uncle died at the second battle of Fort Ticonderoga, fighting so we could be a free country.”
He saw several children, especially among the lads, squirming in the seats, bursting to speak. He recognized a hawk-nosed lad. “I’d guess you’re a Whitson.” Something triggered in his mind, and he set it aside for later.
“Yes, sir, Nicholas Whitson. My great-granddaddy fought in the Revolutionary War.”
Cries of “mine, too!” rang across the room, and he nodded. “And that’s why we’re here today, and we have a flag with thirty-five stars—including the thirteen states who claimed to have left our country.” He lifted his third finger. “Britain didn’t want to let us go. So we ended up fighting them again in 1812. My father fought in that war.”
He looked at the flag, the same patriotic fervor swelling in his breast that had led him to enlist when they still thought the war would be over by Christmas. If he had to do it all over again, he would. “And now here we are, fighting another battle to prove all men are created equal. Even if their skin is a different color. I went off to fight. A lot of men from Vermont did. Yes, I lost my arm, but I consider myself fortunate. Other men, men I considered my friends, lost their lives.”
He walked behind a diorama a previous class had erected to illustrate the crossing of the Delaware River by George Washington. “All those battles you study about? People like me, your fathers, uncles, and grandfathers fought in them. We fought because we believed freedom was worth dying for. And some of you may well do the same.”
As fast as the words had come to him, they left, and he stopped. “And I guess that’s all I have to say.”
He looked at Clara, who returned his gaze with an amazement that made her eyes even larger than her glasses normally did.
The children stood and clapped while Clara stayed rooted to her spot. When at last they stopped and the silence grew uncomfortable, she joined him in front of the class. “Thank you for reminding us of the price that has been paid so that we may remain free. You have given us a lot to think about. And now, class, we must say good-bye.”
She began clapping again, and the children joined in, quieter this time. Her eyes strayed to the back door. He had been so focused on her face, on the lights dancing across the planes of her cheeks below the rims of her glasses, that he hadn’t noticed the door opening. Dixon stood there, gesturing for his attention.
Daniel headed for the back, shaking hands as he walked down the aisle. Dixon leaned close to his ear and lowered his voice. “They’ve hit the bank again.”
Clara had followed Daniel to offer him her thanks, so she heard Dixon’s announcement. She hoped the clapping kept the news from the children. She bent forward. “My prayers go with you,” she whispered.
“Your brother is safe,” Dixon assured her before he left.
She took a deep breath and turned around. “And now, class, here is what I want you to do.” The wind blew at her back as Daniel departed with Dixon, leaving her cold and alone and a little afraid.
The Lord is with you, she reminded herself. Don’t be afraid. The children depended on her. Even young Tommy Tooms, who towered at least half a foot taller than she did and hadn’t finished growing.
“I have an assignment for you to complete by tomorrow.”
Groans erupted around the classroom.
“I think you’ll like this one. I want you to talk with your fathers—”
Anna Preston’s face fell, and Clara remembered her father had died before she was born.
“Or uncles or grandfathers about your family’s history with the army and navy. Your mothers may know the stories, too. Like Captain Tuttle’s family, most of your families have sacrificed to make us free. I’ll leave a note for Miss Stone, so she will know what we have been doing.” If Clara taught tomorrow, she’d write up the stories in a blank book.
Time for morning recess had come, but Clara hesitated to let the children outside with the commotion of more bank robbers on the loose. If only she could go and find out what had happened herself. The hours until the end of school would drag by. Perhaps Mrs. Beaton could spell her at lunch, and she could take a break.
The children glanced to the windows, expecting their recess.
“Before we take recess this morning, I want to start our lessons.” She assigned some of the students the math examples on the board; the oldest she gave the task of using their spelling words in a sentence. “Remember you will be judged for penmanship as well as spelling.” She brought the youngest ones forward with her.
Later, while the children donned their cloaks, Clara checked outside the building. Discovering all was quiet, she led the children down a short trail to a dell she remembered from childhood. They had behaved so well during the extended session, she allowed them a few extra minutes to run out their energy.
Poor Daniel. He had spoken so bravely about the war, and now, once again, he faced an enemy. She filled the minutes with prayers for him, for his safety, for the apprehension of the men responsible for the robbery.
The children returned to the schoolhouse in good spirits, and she rotated the assignments. Before they started, she said, “I have another special treat in store for you today. If you finish your work in time, I’m going to read one of my very favorite stories at the end of school.”
She took the middle group through the McGuffy Readers while the little ones practiced spelling words. She challenged them to think of as many words that had a long O as they could. “The one who spells the most correctly will get a special prize.” She smiled at them. They nudged each other and set to work. The oldest ones outlined the second chapter of their history book and discussed a group project to teach it to the rest of the school.
At last, lunchtime came, and Mrs. Beaton arrived so that Clara could have a break. She grabbed her lunch sack and headed outside. Ordinary quiet sounds greeted her, as if nothing evil could assault her town. But it had. She cut across the common at her fastest pace, eager to see Lewis. Dixon had said he wasn’t hurt, but he could be suffering even if he didn’t receive a scratch.
Why had the robbers struck a second time? At least the St. Albans raid made some kind of twisted sense. To Clara’s way of thinking, this second robbery confirmed Confederates didn’t rob the Bailey Bank, but rather locals intent on mischief.
Finding the bank door locked, Clara knocked at the entrance. Mr. Simeon himself came to the door. “Miss Farley, please come in. We’ve been expecting you, although I wasn’t sure when you’d be able to get away.”
“Thank you. I can’t stay very long.” She slipped past him into the obscurity of the cavernous room. A light gleamed beneath a door at the far side of the building.
“This way.” Simeon led her around the obstacles in the way and opened the door. Lewis, a little pale, waved when he saw her. She rushed to his side and hugged him.
“I’m fine, Clara.” He managed a weak smile.
She sensed his embarrassment and let him go. “What happened?”
“I … had to answer a call of nature.” His face reddened deeper than a ripe tomato.
“Don’t let him say that. He was our hero.” Simeon took his seat behind his desk. “When he saw the horses outside, he came in the back way to warn us. They grabbed him and held the pistol to his temple.” The banker sounded as proud as if he were boasting about his own son. “Not that we needed any encouragement. No man’s life is worth any amount of money.” He lowered his voice, although who he thought would hear him in the enclosed room, she couldn’t guess. “We transferred money from one of our other accounts to help cover the losses. Now … now.” He shook his head.
“He thinks one of us must have tipped off the robbers, since no one but bank employees knew about the transfer.” Lewis shrugged his shoulders. “If you think I did it, just look at my sister’s face. She didn’t expect this. I didn’t even tell her about your plans.”
“It’s awful.” Miss Simington, an older woman who had worked at the bank for as long as Clara could remember, twisted her handkerchief in her hands. “We’re questioning each other when we need to stand together.”
“Now, Eunice, I think you at least should stay home until this—danger—has passed.” Simeon patted her hand like an affectionate older brother.
“But I’ve opened the bank every Thursday morning for the past twenty years, while you have your breakfast meeting with your directors. It’s my job.” She sniffed back tears. “Will we open for business tomorrow?”
From the glances over the poor woman’s head, Clara guessed the question had been asked and answered before. “You have a lot to discuss, and I need to get back to the school.” She wished she could have seen Daniel as well, but he must have left to chase the robbers. “I am praying for all of you.”
Lewis escorted her through the dark lobby to the front door. In privacy, he hugged her to the bone. “I was scared I would never see you again.” He grasped her hands. “Wait for me before you go home. I don’t want you wandering the roads alone.”
“That does seem the wisest course.” Leaving, she waved to him as she walked across the common as she had thousands of times before. She wished Daniel could escort her home. Shame on you, Clara Farley. So what if he had expressed extra interest in her over the past few days? The responsibility for the safety of all of Maple Notch weighed on his shoulders.
Daniel and Dixon stopped at the bridge that crossed the river to his family’s farm before continuing on the road down to Burlington. “You go on ahead to the other side.” He motioned for his companion to continue.
The signs outside the bank had suggested the robbers split up when they left the bank. Daniel and Dixon had followed the clearest trail, headed west. His other deputies went after the other trails.
The robbers started on the main road, but soon their horses’ hoofprints became obscured in the heavy traffic that passed along the road. He and Dixon scoured the sides of the road for any signs that the robbers might have headed into the woods. All that effort only resulted in lost time. People had crossed and crisscrossed this part of town so often over the past hundred years that it would take a mind reader to interpret the signs.
The people of Maple Notch might have named an ex-soldier as their constable, but he was no expert in detection. Give Daniel a target, and he could shoot with deadly aim. He used to be real handy in a fistfight, too, but he had yet to figure out how to make up for his missing arm. He couldn’t think of a solid reason they had hired him. As soon as he had finished the six months they had offered him, he’d have to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t cut out to be a policeman.
Below him, water rippled over rocks, a gentle October flow. The river could cover a multitude of sins when it came to escape. He nosed around the bushes that hid the bank, checking for any broken stems or torn leaves that might suggest horses had left the road to cross the riverbed.
He heard the clip-clop of hooves on the bridge, and Dixon emerged. Daniel looked at him, but Dixon shook his head. “No luck.”
The wind stirred, and Daniel heard an unexpected sound that made him think of another possibility. “Hold on a minute while I check something.” He approached the bank and crouched down to peer under the bridge, but it was too dark to make out anything. He’d have to get underneath and check it out.
“Let me.” Dixon came alongside, but Daniel shook his head. A stubborn streak a mile wide wouldn’t let him admit he couldn’t still do the things he had done before the war. He might not have two hands to grab on to outcroppings anymore, but he was taller now than he had been as a boy. He sat down and wiggled forward as far as possible before he jumped. His left arm flailed helplessly at the bank during the short drop. He couldn’t seem to stop those involuntary reflexes.
“Are you all right?” Dixon’s voice trailed after Daniel, but he didn’t answer. He dropped to his belly and crawled forward, keeping out of sight of the dark underbelly of the bridge. With about two yards to go, he stopped moving, listening for movement. This close, the water sounded louder, a small whirlpool circling where it pushed past the pylons. A lone woodpecker knocked against a nearby tree.
Wood creaked overhead. Daniel tensed, watching for movement. None came, and he decided it must have been the wind whistling through cracks in the floor of the bridge. The next time he went to the farm, he’d tell Hiram the bridge needed some repair.
Daniel crept closer, coming up on his knees and grabbing his pistol as he prepared to expose himself to anyone who might be lurking. Silently he counted three, two, one and plunged ahead, weapon pointed straight ahead. A raccoon ran past him, chattering about the disruption, dropping his prize on his way past. No other life forms greeted him.
The small round object the raccoon had dropped gleamed like a drop of sunlight on the ground, and Daniel’s heart beat faster. Raccoons liked to collect shiny things. Taking a stick, he cleared the space around the object until its outlines became clear: one bright gold coin.
He let out a low whistle. He couldn’t prove this coin belonged to the bank batch, of course. But he’d guess he could search every person in town that day and not a one of them would have gold on his person. Once he pocketed the gold piece, he studied the area underneath the bridge for other signs of the robbers’ passage. The bridge had become a favorite spot for people for all kinds of reasons. Town frolics found their way there year round.
As a boy, he had hidden under the bridge, waiting for courting couples to pass by. People called it the “kissing bridge,” claiming if a man took his time crossing it, he could steal two kisses from his gal. Deep gray eyes hidden behind thin glass frames swam into Daniel’s mind, and he imagined her lips soft beneath his.
He chased the thought away. He didn’t discover anything else, but he’d bet his bottom dollar that the robbers had passed overhead. He crawled from beneath the bridge and stared up the bank.
Dixon stood there, rope ready in his hands. “Thought you could use this to help you get up.” That was Dixon, helping Daniel without making him feel helpless. He grabbed the rope with his good arm, found his footing, and managed to scramble up the bank.
As soon as Daniel crowned the top, a wide grin broke out on his face. “Look what the raccoon found for us,” he said as he took the hankie out of his pocket and unwrapped the coin.
Dixon held the coin up to the light and pinged it with his finger. “That’s the real thing, all right.”
In the bright noon sunshine, Daniel saw fluff caught in the ridges of the coin. “Be careful with that. It’s probably just the sack the robber carried it in, but I’ll check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He pocketed the coin again. “Come on. They went over the bridge.”
In the half light of the bridge, Daniel couldn’t see any details. “I’ll have to come back with a light. I’ll borrow a lantern from Hiram when we come back.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “If we had come straight ahead instead of stopping for every bent twig, we might have caught them here.”
“You did what you thought was best,” Dixon said. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Daniel’s attention snagged on a much-marked spot on the wall: the courting plank. Nearly every couple in Maple Notch carved their initials there, ever since his parents had started the tradition when his father had built the bridge. His grandparents were there, too, carved when the plank was still a tree growing in the woods. He came from a proud lineage, but what would they think if they could see the mess he had made of the robbery?
Clara would say they wouldn’t have done any better. They were ordinary people, not ancient Greek gods. He smiled to himself at the thought. Forget mythology. Neither did they have the wisdom of Solomon nor the strength of Samson.
Maybe lunch at his brother Hiram’s house would help him figure out the next step.
“ ‘He loved his country as no other man has loved her; but no man deserved less at her hands.’ ” Clara closed the pages of the magazine. Young Libby had tears in her eyes, and no one spoke a word.
The children had held Clara to her promise. When they finished early, she pulled out the December issue of the Atlantic Monthly to the opening pages. The anonymous story “The Man without a Country” affected her class the same way it had touched her when she read it for the first time. Philip Nolan, the man condemned to live with his outburst that “I wish I may never hear of the United States again,” became both the most pitiable and noblest of patriots before his death.
“One more thing.”
Around the classroom, groans erupted.
“I am going to ask Miss Stone to give you extra credit if you bring back an essay about all the reasons why you love the United States.” She smiled. “You are dismissed.”
The children piled out of the classroom quickly, all except one. Libby crept close to her. “Can I find that story in a book? ‘Cause I know I can’t borrow your magazine.”
Clara shook her head. “As far as I know, it’s only been published in this magazine.” She looked at the pages she held in her hand and debated. Did she dare let go of them long enough for Libby to copy the story? She knew from sad experience that lending a book often meant she would never see it again.
She looked into the girl’s bright eyes and burned with purpose to see this girl expand her knowledge. “I must hold on to this copy for future classes, but I will write out the story and give it to you.” She tapped the magazine against her chin. “I may even be able to get a copy from one of my friends.”
“You would do that for me?” Libby’s feet danced with excitement.
“I would.” Clara thought of Daniel’s practice of reading from the Bible morning and evening before he would read anything else. “But I want you to promise me something.”
“What is it?” Libby looked like she would run to St. Albans and back.
“Promise me you’ll read your Bible every day. We both love a good story, but only God’s words will last forever.”
“I will do that. Thank you, Miss Farley!” Libby made it as far as the door before she turned around again. “I like Miss Stone, but I wish you were our teacher.”
Clara hoped she would teach Libby again someday, at her own school. From the door, she watched her students scatter to the four winds. Should she have dismissed them with robbers about? Surely the criminals wouldn’t harm innocent children.
The bank hours usually ended half an hour after school let out, but Clara didn’t know about today, with the robbery. She would copy the story for Libby while she waited after she walked around the town green. At her school, she would move as many classes into outdoor learning experiences as she could.
She had circled the green once when Lewis headed in her direction from the road leading to their house. She moved to meet him. “Did they let you leave early?”
Lewis nodded. “Mr. Tuttle said there wasn’t anything left worth guarding, so I might as well go home. He looked pretty discouraged.”
A stone settled in Clara’s heart. Did this latest development mean he had lost his depositors’ money?
“You didn’t have to come back for me. You could have sent a message, and I would have found another way home.”
“No.” He smiled at her. “I am taking you out to dinner tonight. You’ve put in a hard day with those young critters and deserve to relax.”
“Where did you get the money to pay for a meal?”
“I’m a working man now.” He cocked his thumbs on his shoulders.
“You should keep that money.”
“Clara.” He sounded exasperated. “You take care of me all the time. Let me do something for you for once.” In that moment, he looked just like Papa, and her heart melted.
“Very well. This one time.” She accepted his arm and walked with him to the café.