Samantha couldn’t remember the schoolroom being more crowded for a Friday Night Social. Enterprising men had moved some of the benches from the church so families would have a place to sit. Older children stood against the wall. Master Jarrod sat at his desk. Usually the schoolhouse was as tidy as Mrs. T’s house, except for Master Jarrod’s desk. Slates, primers, a giant hourglass, and all kinds of homemade gifts called the top of his desk home. Today only the bell occupied space. In contrast, the mud from the townsfolks’ boots marred the floor. Reticules, baby blankets, and even a few dried beef droppings decorated the floor. The Bunks occupied the dried beef corner. They tended to leave a trail wherever they ate. More than once, Samantha had swept the mercantile floor after the Bunk brothers vacated. She figured Master Jarrod would rather not cross the river-rat brothers, otherwise the two men would have already seen the ruler rap their knuckles, and the dried beef would be long gone.
Master Jarrod reminded Samantha of a stork. She felt a bit guilty about the comparison, especially since the only reason she knew what a stork looked like was from a quick peek at one of the teacher’s personal books.
Mrs. T darted from one end of the schoolhouse to the other. She whispered in Charlotte Warner’s ear, glanced out the window, and nervously fingered the teacher’s bell. She had put together tonight’s April gathering. During the winter months, the church tried to organize a few social events to break up the monotony.
A fire roared in the stove. Samantha was warm, but not from the fire. Wedged between Millie Sanderson and Martin, Samantha felt firmly buffeted from the faint chill sent by the early April wind. For a moment, as Millie scooted closer to make room for another latecomer, Samantha wondered where Clara was. Surely not at home sewing? Clara would leave for New York in two weeks, and for the last few days all she talked about were relatives and the excitement of visiting.
The cuff of Martin’s sleeve brushed Samantha’s wrist. Startled, she looked up. Martin smiled and took her hand. This wasn’t the first time she’d attended a social with Martin. Before Mama’s illness, and when he was in town, he’d often squired her around town. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken her hand either.
It was the first time the gesture made her start. It used to make her tingle.
Looking around the schoolroom, she noticed that only Roy Schmidt, the banker, wore clothes of the same quality as Martin. Pride? Is that what she felt when regarding Martin’s ruffled shirts? He’d taken off his frock. He sported the only silk damask vest in the room.
Samantha straightened the skirt of her blue cotton dress. It had fit perfectly when Mama tailored it, but after putting on the mourning black, Samantha lost weight. She wondered if Martin noticed that her sleeves had the fullness a bit too high. Fashion changed quickly, or so Cecilia had reminded her as they dressed for the evening’s event.
Leaning forward, Samantha searched for her father. There he was, sitting near the front, with his arm protectively around his new wife. Clothes didn’t matter to Silas Thomasohn; family did; Cecilia did.
“Stop letting her bother you,” Martin whispered.
Samantha took her hand out from under his. Was she that obvious? “I’m not.”
“I’ve listened to you recite that ‘obey your parents’ Scripture at least ten times during the last week.”
“It’s helping.”
“You know what comes after verse one, don’t you?”
Samantha’s brow wrinkled. She should know it.
Martin didn’t give her a chance to think. “Fathers, provoke not your children.”
It did give her pause, but she shook her head. “Oh, Martin, that has nothing to do with what’s bothering me.”
“Used to be, you stared at me during our evenings. I don’t think you’ve looked at me even once this evening.”
“That’s not true.”
Master Jarrod chose that moment to ring the bell.
Once everyone had quieted down, Reverend Tidewell started the evening with a prayer. Mrs. T nodded from her perch by the window. The school door burst open, and an outrageously tall man ducked in. He was padded with what looked like, Samantha squinted, quilt stuffing. As he scuffled up the aisle, she noticed the coffee cans tied to his shoes. They must be made of rock, she thought, to hold Tyson Walker up. The blacksmith easily outweighed and outstood every man in town, including the Stahl brothers, who’d towered over everyone until Ty moved to town. Briefly, she wondered why he wasn’t home with Betsy helping take care of Greta.
He turned once he reached the front of the room and boomed, “I hear tell this town is tired of winter. Is that true? I said, is THAT TRUE? Well, the same thing happened over in Michigan in ’26. So I let out a hot breath, melted that snow quicker than you could say Jehoshaphat. The townspeople were mighty obliged, especially when they realized that the melting water formed one of the Great Lakes.”
The school door opened again. After being surprised by such a “tall” entrance, Samantha expected to see something big enter. Big was correct, but blue was a better description. Unless she missed her guess, the blanket the mystery guest wore came straight from Mrs. T’s bed. The horns were made from two of Doc’s hearing aides. Children laughed and scrambled out of the way. Samantha noticed the Larkin children, minus Greta, in the corner. That explained why Ty was there. Betsy probably told him it was important for the young ones to have some fun.
As the unconvincing ox clumsily moved up the aisle, its head swung right and left. Samantha’s eyes caught sight of Ole Babe, and she felt tingles go down her arm.
Jacob Stahl.
He’d taken to dropping by the store regularly and not just to purchase dry goods. Yet he didn’t ask her father for permission to court as Martin had. No, instead he told her what nursing he wanted her to do over at Betsy’s. And because Samantha loved Betsy, she obeyed. And she pretended she didn’t want him to wink again.
Martin leaned over and whispered in Samantha’s ear. “An improvement in the sawbones’ wardrobe, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ah,” cried Paul Bunyan, saving Samantha from having to answer. “My trusted friend, Babe.”
Jacob snorted and pawed at the ground. His ragged boots, a Stahl brothers’ hand-me-down, did not make oxenlike noises. Children giggled, and parents smiled indulgently. Checking the schoolroom for Jacob’s parents, Samantha located them in the back row. They didn’t usually come to town for socials, thinking them frivolous. Jacob’s mother had a smile on her face. The first Samantha had seen.
“He looks a bit ridiculous,” Martin whispered in her ear.
“Hush,” she whispered back. She wasn’t about to tell Martin that betwixt the two men, Jacob came out the winner in more ways than one.
The blanket added more heat than Jacob needed. Sweat pooled at the back of his neck and ran down his spine. Perhaps he should dress Greta up in the getup and see if it helped. Before coming to the social, they’d practiced their act in front of Betsy, Mr. Larkin, and Greta.
Not even a smile came from the child.
It was easier dealing with Mrs. Cullen over in Taylorville. During his first visit, she’d been in denial over her illness. Now she was angry. Anger sometimes cured people, to Jacob’s way of thinking. They decided to get better by sheer will power, and it worked. Jacob knew prayer had a lot to do with it. Greta had prayer, but it surely looked like God was calling her home.
Jacob had no speaking lines, unless snorting counted. From beneath Mrs. T’s blanket, he could watch as the audience oohed and aahed at Ty’s monolog. As Ole Babe, Jacob pretended to move a mountain—Brady Forbes in disguise; danced with a hurricane—Shane Gerhard in disguise; and gave the sheriff’s young son a ride. Just as Tyson ordered a tornado—Benjamin Melvin’s role—the schoolhouse door burst open, and Mr. Larkin rushed in. One look said it all. Without missing a beat, Brady ducked under the blanket and took over Jacob’s role. Jacob moved down the crowded aisle, grabbed his doctor bag and coat, and followed Greta’s father to the wagon.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Mr. Larkin’s face had a gray cast to it. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook.
Jacob started to answer what he considered a silly question, but then a soft voice came from behind him.
“I might be able to help.”
Samantha clutched her coat to her neck. Jacob helped her into the wagon and scooted in beside her. Reaching behind the bench, he grabbed the blanket to tuck around them, although he didn’t feel the cold.
“Tell me what’s changed,” Jacob ordered.
“Her lips turned blue, as blue as that blanket you were wearing.”
“Go faster,” Jacob urged.