4

Jed propped open one door to his shop with a heavy rock and directed Griffin to do the same on the other side.

Griffin lifted the stone and dropped it heavily. Then he pushed it with his foot so it butted up to the wood. He stepped inside. “It’s dark in here.”

“Supposed to be.” Jed grabbed one of his canvas aprons from a hook on the wall and put it on.

Griffin scanned the walls lined with chains, fire pokers, pronged forks, branding irons, and countless S hooks. He picked up a metal stake propped against the wall and examined it. “Why’s that?”

“So I can see the color of the iron when it’s hot.” He tied his apron tight. “And don’t touch anything until I tell you.”

Griffin rolled his eyes and placed the stake somewhat close to where he found it. He looked down at the dirt floor and ran his toes into the fine powder. “How late we stayin’?”

“Until the sun goes down. Can’t work without daylight.” Griffin’s heavy brows contorted, and Jed anticipated his thoughts. “Winter is less work. Days are shorter. And farmers and ranchers aren’t as in need of my services. So until sunset, the work is endless.”

“Don’t have to travel far to get to work. Just right next door. That’s a good thing, at least.” Griffin moved against the far wall, picked up a scythe by the handle, turned it in his palm, and then put it back down. That time he found the correct place.

Jed cleared his throat. “We’ll pick up the other two at the end of school and then return to the shop. I let you sleep in today, but tomorrow you’ll walk them to and from school until they can get there on their own.”

“They lived on the streets.” Griffin moved about the perimeter, fingering items hanging on the wall. “I’m sure they’ll survive walking out in the country.”

Jed grabbed another apron off the hook and tossed it toward him. “Put this on.”

Griffin snatched the apron in midair and threw the straps over his head. With exaggerated movements, he tied the strings around his back.

Jed opened the door to the back closet and pulled a pair of old work boots off the shelf. He extended them toward Griffin. “Here.”

Griffin pushed them aside. “I don’t wear shoes.”

“First spark that lands on your foot will make you wish you had.” Jed dropped the boots on the dirt floor in front of him. “If they don’t fit we’ll get you another set from someplace.”

Jed got the fire started.

Griffin continued to pick up things and fiddle with them.

“Come around here. You’re going to pump the bellows.”

Griffin picked up the shoes and carried them through the gated partition that separated the customers from the work area.

“An apprentice makes nails. Lots of them. Every day. But until I say so you’ll do nothing but watch.”

“That’s what I am? An apprentice?”

Jed pressed his lips together and murmured a positive reply.

“For how long?”

“Seven years.”

Griffin stepped back. “What?” His voice snapped.

“That’s what’s on the papers you signed.”

The boy pointed a finger at Jed’s chest. “You expect me to live with you and work here? In the middle of nowhere? For seven years?”

Jed didn’t laugh but found the comment amusing. “Central Texas isn’t the middle of nowhere. Neither is Sheldon.” But he understood how it could seem that way coming from New York. “And I’m doing you a favor.”

“How do you figure that? In seven years I’ll be almost twenty-five. Half my life will be over.”

Jed had thought that too at the age of twelve. So did his mother. Sending her oldest boy off about tore her up, but she wanted him to have a better life than she could give him. And that started with mastering a skill.

“You’ll be learning a trade. And a good one.”

“Pounding iron from sunup to sundown? When you supposed to rest?”

“Sunday. That was yesterday.” Jed picked up a shovel propped against the wall. “A town cannot survive without a blacksmith. Every farmer. Every rancher. Any decent man with a home and family has iron that needs welding or repairing. It’ll be well worth every sore shoulder.”

Griffin paused. His mind seemed to take it all in. “How much you gonna pay me? Cuz I plan to spend it how I see fit.”

“Not a hay penny. You’re getting something more valuable. Experience.” Jed looked down at Griffin’s bare feet. “For now, you observe. Think about the fire, my hammer, and the way I turn the iron changes its shape.”

Griffin slipped his foot into the shoes but didn’t tie the laces. Except for when he pumped the bellows, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t speak. Every once in a while, he’d open his mouth but then clamp it shut. His gaze stayed glued on Jed’s every movement. After a while, his arms released to his side and he sighed heavily.

Jed had learned that boredom could be a good thing. Routine taught patience. Patience taught precision. The lad would do well to learn those things. And the earlier the better.

After more than fifteen years of heating metal, fire still mesmerized Jed.

Neither said a word until the first customer strode into the shop more than an hour later.

Paxton Hubbard propped his arms on the wooden partition. He wasn’t much older than Thomas but weighed twice as much. What he lacked in brains he made up in size. His pa was a good-for-nothing scoundrel, working at the livery for his uncle whenever the cupboards were bare. Then he’d go back to whittling on the porch and smoking cigars while his wife took in ironing and mending to put food on the table.

“Ma sent me to see if you can fix this here ladle and skillet.” He pulled some coins out of his pocket and laid them on the flat rail. “Here’s what we got. And she sent some eggs. Pa said he’d bring you a hen later in the week after we skin one.”

Your Pa said that before. “Leave that and the money. Come by before dark.”

Paxton saw Griffin. He scanned the length of his body, his head turning to the side to take everything in. “Who’s this?”

Jed stuck the S hook he’d finished in the tub of cool water. He knew what mischievous thoughts wormed inside the boy’s brain. “I’ll see you at the end of the day.”

Paxton grinned at Griffin. The lad’s mood was rarely ever good, so Jed actually saw Paxton’s teeth for the first time.

“Best get back to your family,” Jed’s voice lowered a notch.

Paxton didn’t move.

Jed stared him down until he grudgingly left.

Griffin walked over to the railing, scooted the coins into one hand, and opened his palm toward Jed. “A nickel and three pennies.” Then he opened the flour sack. “And five eggs.”

More than last time. “That’s a family you want to stay away from.”

Griffin tucked the change into the front pocket of his pants and set the flour sack and eggs gently inside a bucket on the far side of the work table. “I bet he don’t bring that chicken.”

Jed chuckled. Griffin might be rebellious, but he had a good sense of character. If he could tough it out, he might turn out all right.

~*~

A small object flew through the air and skidded across the schoolhouse floor. Most likely something light from the plinking sound.

Grace stood from having knelt next to Cora’s desk.

Leisel Hooten covered his mouth in a pitiful attempt to conceal laughter.

Dorsey Crump ducked his head, but Grace spotted his crafty grin.

A choir of giggles rippled behind them.

Thomas looked at her from the second row with disappointed eyes and then at Josiah, who sat in the chair directly in front of him. He had written his numbers one through six in order but reversed the three and the five.

Grace tapped Cora’s desk. “Keep trying on your own, and I’ll be back to check.”

She moved toward Leisel’s desk. His smirk lessened but didn’t erase. She picked up his slate and pointed to the third and fourth math problems. “Check your figures again, Leisel. Distraction causes mistakes. You must need more practice. Do these over again and when you finish, I’ll look it over.”

Leisel’s shoulders slumped. A frown replaced his smugness.

The room grew silent.

Grace moved toward Dorsey; her boots stepped lightly on the plank floor. “How about you?”

His face paled considerably. This boy was a follower. Unfortunately, Leisel wasn’t the best choice for a leader.

“You seem to have trouble concentrating too.”

Millie Todd scrunched low in her seat and stretched her legs in front of her. Then she dragged her foot across the floor. She reached down and picked up an object beneath her shoes and extended her hand to Grace.

The piping on Millie’s dress had frayed around the collar and hem. Singed marks splattered her sleeves. The gray, light-weight fabric had faded from years of use. Thin, fine hair hung past her shoulders. The ends were ratted as if they hadn’t been brushed for weeks. “They were throwing these at the orphan boys, Miss Cantrell.” Millie released a pebble into Grace’s hand. “Especially the one with the scar. I saw ’em.”

Orphans? That explained why Edith didn’t know about the boys living with Mr. Green. “Thank you, Millie.”

“You didn’t see me do nothin’.” Leisel murmured from a row behind Millie.

“What makes you think she was referring to you?”

Leisel’s face hardened, and his eyes grew cold.

Grace crossed her arms. “Perhaps it wasn’t you.”

Millie raised her hand to speak.

Grace lifted an opened palm to silence her. “Maybe someone else knows.” The small rock rested in her hand. She scanned the oldest children in the back of the room and made her way forward. Silence. Made a person think. Then squirm. Awkward tension held the room. She had their attention. “Several of you laughed. You must have seen something that made you do so.”

An older boy gave a skittish look around the room. A couple of girls stared straight ahead, but their eyes lacked the empathy Millie’s held. In contrast, they sparkled. Yet another boy snarled as he drummed his fingers.

Grace’s throat constricted. When she was a child, disappointing Miss Mullins back in Grover would cease the thought of haughty behavior with all but a few unruly students. Grace needed that power. Had she already been a failure on her first day?

They don’t know you. A voice whispered in her spirit.

Could she earn their love and respect? Although Grace lacked confidence with adults, she loved a challenge with children. She gave the class the next half hour to finish their arithmetic. As each one finished, she quietly told them to contemplate what kind of person enjoys making fun of others. Finally, Grace dismissed them for recess.

The staring bothered her. And the whispering. Did the children know how cruel they acted? And if they did, would that change their behavior?

From the dusty window she could see them playing. She would need to clean the glass. A circle of boys played marbles in the shade of a large sycamore. Another group hit a round stone with a wooden slat. Giggles and chatter floated through breezy air. All seemed content. Except for two small boys.

Josiah sat on an overturned log at the end of the play area. Tousled, light blond hair shimmered in the sunlight. He had hardly spoken a word, even when called upon.

Thomas crouched beside him and drew in the dirt with a stick.

Not to be accepted was the ugliest of feelings that hurt from the inside. Something no one deserved.

Grace’s heart filled with love for her students, every one of them. And with God’s guidance she’d do her best to make sure they’d know that. With every ounce of vigor she could muster, they’d feel her acceptance. And never doubt it. Just as she’d felt her mother’s.

How sad that Josiah and Thomas didn’t have that acceptance already. Perhaps Mr. Green needed a little straightening out.

~*~

Days went by that Grace didn’t have time to sit for a cup of tea after supper. Her chores at the schoolhouse kept her occupied for an hour or two after the children left, but today she had caught up with her lessons and only had the floors to sweep before she could leave. Chamomile with a sprig of peppermint would make a nice ending to her long day. The walk through town on the way home gave her time to contemplate tomorrow.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cantrell.” The store owner stood in front of his haberdasher’s shop, one hand in the pocket of his expensive trousers, the other resting inside the lapel of a double-breasted vest. She had met him once at the general mercantile many weeks ago. A very memorable fellow. He held his posture as if someone should be taking a photograph. She had forgotten his name but heard he was widower after losing his wife and their expected child.

He stepped toward the edge of the boardwalk. “Children behaving for you all right?”

“It’s going well.” Her pace quickened. “Need to get home for dinner.”

His gaze was still on her. The last few Sundays at church he had stared at her. The man did nothing overtly wrong, but his presence made her somehow uncomfortable. She prayed he wouldn’t follow.

Ahead stood the painted white house. And next to it the blacksmith shop. A wood sign in the shape of an anvil hung over the doorframe. A crowd of men stood in the waiting area. The plink of a hammer drifted through one small, opened window.

One man in a tattered and faded cotton shirt smoked a pipe while he rested on a wooden bench. A small child darted from around the corner of the shop, his fingers covered in dirt. He cupped his hands and showed the man on the bench whatever he held. The man leaned forward for a closer look, a puff of smoke released and curled upward. The lad coughed and turned his head to the side. Then he rotated his arm as a black, wooly caterpillar crawled around his wrist. He giggled and his small frame shook.

The caterpillar must’ve fallen, for the boy dropped to his knees and searched through the high clover. He looked up as Grace walked by. Wyatt Darringer, the only other first grader besides Josiah. He saw Grace and ran toward the road. “Miss Cantrell, come see what I found.” He darted back, searched for a moment, and picked up the caterpillar. “Look, it tickles.”

The man behind him pointed to the ground underneath a large, shady oak. “Wyatt.” The boy turned to the man. “Grab you that there stick and put him on that.”

Wyatt twirled the stick with the critter’s movements, so it didn’t fall off but kept rolling around.

“Hello.” Grace readjusted her bonnet as it blew forward with the slight breeze. “I’m Miss Cantrell, the new school teacher. I gather Wyatt is your son?”

The man tilted his head. “You could say that. His father was killed in the war when he was just a little thing.”

Wyatt didn’t flinch but kept his nose glued to the newly found treasure’s movements.

“I got two others girls at home you’ll be schoolin’ in a year or two. Wyatt’s mama is expectin’ another come this spring.”

“Wyatt is a delightful student. Clever. Observant. Very much wants to please.”

The man lifted his eyebrows.

Wyatt placed the stick on a large rock and watched the critter worm its way toward the edge. He turned to his guardian and pointed to Grace. “She used to live in Kansas, Pa. She got to ride on a real train to get here.”

“This boy loves trains. All he talks about. Loves to watch that train come in and hear that whistle.”

“She asked us to bring books to school from home, Pa, so we can read them there.”

“I hope that’s all right. And only if you have some you can spare. The school supply is rather short,” Grace explained.

Wyatt ran his finger along the caterpillar’s fuzzy hairs. “Can I take that one book Uncle Gilbert used to read us?”

“Might as well. Gilbert don’t read much anymore. Eyes are too bad. But I bet you couldn’t read it.”

Wyatt straightened. “Well, not now. But I know my letters and most of the sounds. Miss Cantrell said she’s gonna teach me to read.”

“Schoolin’ is nonsense. Me and his ma can’t read, and we get along all right. But she thinks the kids need a few years of grammar school in them first.”

Although Wyatt’s father’s opinion wasn’t uncommon, Grace believed education would provide opportunities for children.

“Chester Darringer.” A stern voice resounded from inside the shop.

Wyatt’s father used a cane to pull himself up. An older lad exited from the door in the back of the shop, holding a wide scoop shovel and a pitch fork. He rested the tools on the ground, still holding one in each hand. “That’ll be a dollar twenty-five.” The worker wore a felted tan hat that concealed the top of his face. When he angled his head, she recognized him as Griffin—the older boy she’d met at church last Sunday.

Mr. Darringer reached for the handle of the pitchfork.

Griffin pulled the tools back. “I said that’d be a buck twenty-five.”

He opened his hands. “Tell Big Jed I’ll meet up with him one day next week.”

Griffin shook his head. “Can’t do that. This here is a business this man’s runnin’. We can’t be doing hard labor for free. Surely you can understand that. You don’t look like the type of man to do something for someone for nothin’. So don’t be asking us to do the same.”

Mr. Darringer lifted his hand toward Griffin, his finger crooked like it had been injured in an accident. “I don’t know you, boy. You must be new around here.”

“Do you have the money or not?”

Wyatt’s face paled.

Mr. Green stepped out the same back door Griffin had exited from. A heavy apron covered his rust-colored shirt and beige trousers. He walked toward them. Two other men waiting inside emerged as well. Most likely they were concerned about the ruckus taking place.

“Well, good afternoon, Jed.” Mr. Darringer placed his hands on his hips. “This boy workin’ for you? Because I’ve never been spoken to so rudely.”

Griffin turned his head and spat on the ground.

“What’s the problem?” Jed asked.

Mr. Darringer opened his mouth to speak but Griffin’s voice silenced him. “This man ain’t got no money, so I don’t see fit to give him his tools back.”

“Jed, I’ll pay you. I always do. Once I make another delivery or two. Corn crops been light this year with the lack of rain we’ve had.”

“That’ll be all right.” Griffin nodded smugly. “I’ll keep your tools in a safe place until you get back.”

“Griffin.” Jed spoke calmly but with authority. “Hand him the tools.”

Griffin’s head jerked toward Mr. Green. His jaw visibly tightened. He looked back at Mr. Darringer, paused, and then turned the wooden handles in his hands.

Wyatt inched closer and put his hand in the crook of his father’s elbow.

The other men watched without speaking.

Griffin let the tools fall to the ground.

Jed gestured toward his house. “Go home and take the two others with you.”

Wyatt picked up both tools and handed them to his father.

Mr. Darringer dragged them as he and Wyatt hobbled down the dirt path.

Griffin jerked his hat off and walked away.

Thomas grabbed Josiah’s hand. “Mr. Green doesn’t like us in there.” Both of them followed Griffin toward the house. Josiah stopped abruptly, turned around, and waved at Grace.

Grace smiled, even as his acknowledgment tickled her heart. She hadn’t taken more than a step when she halted and looked back.

Mr. Green stood in the same spot. His eyes rested on her face.

She lifted her chin and made sure there was no trace of a smile on her lips.

Mr. Green tugged on the brim of his hat, then returned to his shop.

His two other customers trailed behind him asking him about the chaos.

Mr. Jed Green was the caretaker of two of her precious students, so the first chance she got, Grace would make sure to find out about him.