Chapter 1 
Chapter 1 All Caroline Parker could think was that her right little toe ached inside her best boot. When Mrs. Wickham had summoned her to the office, Caroline made sure she wore her best. She kept her shoulders squared and her chin up as Mrs. Wickham continued speaking. She sat straight in the chair, facing Mrs. Wickham at her desk.
The older woman’s voice held an even tone punctuated by the regular tick-tock of the cuckoo clock on the wall.
A new sound tickled Caroline’s ears—a fly, buzzing at a nearby windowpane.
Listen to her or you’ll miss something important, and if Mrs. Wickham dislikes anything, it is having to repeat herself.
Caroline’s mind fought to focus even as her eyes stung. A lady should not be given to tears, not at a time like this. Tears ought to be saved for the privacy of her room. Her resolve won, and the tears dissipated before they overwhelmed her eyes.
“I hope you understand, Miss Parker,” Mrs. Wickham was saying. “It was not a decision I came to easily, nor lightly.”
Caroline nodded. “I do understand.” She wanted to reach for the handkerchief in her pocket but resisted the urge. She had work to do before the term began and students returned to the academy.
Mrs. Wickham rose from behind her mahogany desk and moved to stand directly in front of Caroline. She tilted her head.
“Caroline, you are more like a member of my family than a teacher on my payroll. I assure you, your position is secure. I realize that others, including you, expected me to select you as my replacement this summer.”
“I’m very happy here at Wickham Academy. I’ve always considered teaching to be my calling, and I’m very grateful for your seeing my potential years ago, when I thought I knew so much but really knew so little.” Caroline ceased her words before a croak could betray her.
Mrs. Wickham, the owner and headmistress of Wickham Academy, had operated the school in Northampton for more than two decades after teaching school herself for more than ten years. When she married Mr. Wickham, he had indulged his wife by opening the school for young ladies.
Caroline had applied for an open position eight years ago, fresh out of her teacher training with her certificate, and felt like she’d walked into a home she’d never known existed. The position had helped her family in nearby Holyoke and put some money in her pocket. She lived simply, and happily. As other teachers left for other positions, Caroline stayed on and the years crept by, a succession of bright moments, uncertainty, long days, and triumphant accomplishments of her students.
With the soft brushing of her skirt on the handwoven carpet beneath their feet, Mrs. Wickham continued her journey to the window and the frantic fly. She raised the window and the fly escaped to its freedom.
“That, my dear Caroline, is the mark of a good teacher, realizing there is still something to learn.” Mrs. Wickham stopped herself. “No, a great teacher.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wickham.” Even as she wrestled with disappointment, Caroline’s cheeks flushed with pride.
“You may go now.”
Caroline rose to her feet, and her toe pinged yet again inside her boot. She made a swift yet dignified retreat from the headmistress’s office and entered the hallway with its long shadows of the morning. Somehow she found her way to her room in the ladies’ dormitory, which, thankfully, was empty. The three summer boarding students were at a picnic with one of the town girls who attended the academy during the year.
The three girls would likely return by suppertime, full of exciting stories about their day, which Caroline would listen to. She’d never experienced the life that most of them had, a life free from want and worry about food on the table and whether enough of Papa’s wages would remain to pay the rent.
A breeze wafted through the window, and Caroline took a seat in the soft chair she kept facing her window. Its cushioned comfort took away some of the shock from Mrs. Wickham’s announcement.
She’d found the chair discarded in the hall one day, likely headed for the curb, and Mrs. Wickham had permitted her to keep it. Caroline had covered the chair with a pretty pink cotton, replacing the drab oatmeal fabric. The result had been an unusual bit of upholstery, but she liked it. She spent time there reading a favorite book, or writing a letter on her small lap desk, or using her watercolor kit to paint the maple trees outside as the seasons changed.
There would be no announcement that Caroline would take over as headmistress of Wickham’s. She kept repeating the main point of the conversation she’d just had with Mrs. Wickham.
Disappointed? Yes, of course she was.
Her mama’s words came back to her.
“If you get knocked down and it hurts, cry for a moment, but don’t lie there in the dirt. Pop back up and show ’em you’ve got some fight in you.”
Caroline raised her chin. She’d let herself cry for a moment, but she wouldn’t be down for long. A new school year would be starting soon, and she had students who needed her. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help them, not at all.
Plus, Mrs. Wickham hadn’t said Caroline would never be headmistress. She said she wouldn’t be naming a replacement now. But that didn’t mean never. So, Caroline told herself, there was still a chance.
She scanned the bright morning outside and watched a male figure, clad in a suit, striding purposefully along the path that wound through the buildings of the academy. She didn’t recognize him. A new teacher, perhaps? There had been male teachers at the academy who worked under Mrs. Wickham’s watchful eye. None had stayed long.
Perhaps it was a young father, seeking information about enrolling a new student. But then, if the man was a parent, where was the mother?
Caroline decided to forgo thoughts of whoever the man was and, instead, see to her mending. Tomorrow was Sunday, and she had plans to dine with her best friend, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s family, who lived in town. The time away from the academy would be good.
Stephen Mason knew if he bungled this moment with Aunt Marjorie, it could very well be his last great opportunity to make something of himself.
The old lady had terrified him when he was younger, with her tall frame, sharp features, and narrow-eyed look.
This morning, while she poured tea in her office, she didn’t look so tall, nor her features so sharp. Her narrow-eyed gaze held kindness when she looked in his direction.
“You certainly have accomplished much in your almost thirty years,” Aunt Marjorie mused aloud. “Working your way to Europe, then back again. Then out west, I understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Marjorie.” He hoped she wouldn’t pry as to how he’d occupied himself. He took a sip of tea.
“A professional gambler of sorts, from what I hear?”
He nearly choked on his sip of tea. “Was. I was.”
Was, until he’d lost everything, then ended up with two black eyes after getting in a fistfight and being accused of stealing a horse. He’d borrowed the horse—it had simply been a misunderstanding after imbibing more liquor than he ought. Everything had worked out, just as it always had. Yet the brush with jail time and worse had made him head home again, broke and disgraced. His family had shown him grace, but none of their money. What little he had now was everything he’d earned for himself.
Silence hung between them. He knew this kind of silence, the one during a poker game when another player was deciding whether to raise or fold.
Of course, Aunt Marjorie would raise, and he’d have to meet whatever she asked in order to stay.
He wanted—no, needed—whatever she was offering him. His throat tickled, so he cleared it.
“Yet here you are.”
“Here I am, because you asked me to come.”
She looked over her spectacles at him. “So, when you are under my employ, you will keep a strict curfew. No venturing out after sunset, and you will attend church on Sundays. You will not frequent billiard halls nor other establishments which could besmirch the name of Wickham Academy. We have a reputation to uphold in our city.”
He nodded. “Understood, Aunt Marjorie. I have no desire to go to any of those places, and I’m well aware of the good name the academy holds here in western Massachusetts.”
“You will reside in the guest room in my private residence, of course, and take your meals there as well, along with me.” She strolled the room, her footsteps muffled on the carpet. “Every third weekend, you may leave the premises, but you are expected to maintain the same decorum as if you were here.”
“Understood.” He nodded again.
“As I explained in my letter, I require a mathematics teacher, along with an assistant. You have big shoes to fill, and at the school year’s end, I am considering retiring from running the school altogether.” She turned to face him.
“Retiring? Does that mean you plan to close the school?”
“No, certainly not! I mean to find a replacement to run the academy without me. I have plans to travel. It’s been a long time since I last did, and I would like to enjoy some of the days I have left on this earth, without having to mind a calendar.”
Stephen tugged at his tie. Running the academy as the headmaster? This was more than he imagined. He was grateful for the teaching job, but headmaster?
“I see your hesitation.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “If you don’t wish to consider a headmaster position, I do have someone else in mind.”
“I see. And who might that be?”
“Miss Caroline Parker. She has taught here for many years and has proven herself to be an excellent teacher and a fine example of how a lady ought to conduct herself.”
“Part of the woodwork now, is she?” The woman was probably an old maid, getting on in years. “Well, why don’t you just hire her then, and be done with it?”
The edge to his voice surprised even him. His words weren’t the way to gain her respect and confidence in him.
Then her chuckle surprised him further, a merry sound to his ears and entirely unexpected, coming from the elderly woman. “You remind me so much of Mr. Wickham, with that manner of speaking. Very well, we shall see who will run this academy at the end of the school year. Whether it is you or Miss Parker, I will be the winner either way.”