Chapter Five

Following her eventful afternoon with the rat, the fistfight and the intimate moments with Jim, Catherine spent a routine evening at the McPhersons’ guiding Caleb through his homework, one of the bonuses for the family hosting the teacher. She explained the parts of a sentence while Caleb’s leg jiggled beneath the table. She could feel how much he’d rather be anyplace besides studying nouns and verbs.

“But, Miss Johnson, how can ‘sitting’ be an action? There’s nothing happening.”

“Yes, but it’s still something a person does, like running, eating or crying. Understand?”

On the other side of the table, Marlene snorted, saying without words, Of course, he doesn’t get it.

“Shut up!” Caleb glared.

“Caleb, mind your tongue!” Mrs. McPherson spoke from across the living room where she sat with the baby on her lap.

There was a knock on the door and Mr. McPherson went to answer it.

Intent on finding a way to explain prepositional phrases that Caleb would understand, Catherine didn’t look up until the sound of men’s voices grew loud. She looked toward the front door. Mr. McPherson’s back blocked the man he was speaking to. When he shifted to the side, Catherine caught her breath. The visitor was the man who’d dragged Jim behind his horse. There was a sleepy droop to his eyelids and the hunch of his shoulders gave him the looming aspect of a vulture. Beside him was the bushy-bearded man who had helped him.

What in the world were they doing here? Was it connected with her intervention on Jim’s behalf the other day? She rose from her seat, heart pounding.

Mr. McPherson shouted at the men and pushed the leader toward the door. The man’s scowl suggested he’d like to hit the farmer, but he and his partner left without incident. McPherson slammed the door behind him and stalked into the living room.

“What is it?” Mrs. McPherson picked up the rattle Baby Constance had dropped.

“We’ll discuss it later.” Her husband nodded at the twins.

Catherine’s stomach clenched. Had she somehow brought trouble to the McPhersons?

The children were sent to get ready for bed, and when they were out of earshot, Mr. McPherson revealed the reason for the visit.

“Grant Karak bought the note on our property. The man owns half the town and now he’s got the damn bank in his back pocket. Pardon my language, Miss Johnson.”

“What does he want?” Mrs. McPherson bounced the fretful baby on her knees. “Is he taking our land?”

He shook his head. “The farmers will be little more than sharecroppers by the time he’s bought us all out. He’ll own us. We’ll have to harvest our wheat, take it to his mill and sell through him. We’ll be forced to accept whatever he says is fair whether it’s the going rate or not. Karak even has a hand in the railroad. He’s got us coming and going.”

Not knowing what else to say, Catherine murmured that she was sorry and withdrew to her bedroom to give the McPhersons privacy. She felt like a drain on the family’s already strained resources since supplying meals was part of a host family’s responsibility. With this new development, she was even happier that she’d be moving to the Albrights’ by the weekend.

As she lay in bed, she thought about the McPhersons’ troubles for a while, but her mind inevitably returned to Jim and what had almost happened that afternoon. A kiss. She couldn’t deny it had trembled in the air between them. All she’d had to do was lean down and take it.

It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s lips pressed against hers. During her long engagement to Howard, they’d held hands, shared kisses, and just before he’d shipped out, she’d even allowed him to touch her breasts. They’d had so little time together, snatches of private moments in gardens during dances or afternoons walking in the park and necking on a particular bench beneath a willow tree. But oh, how she’d savored the memory of each precious moment in the many lonely hours without him.

When Howard was at sea, she’d dreamed of their future, not only sharing a house and having children, but of the intimate things they would do together as man and wife. She couldn’t wait for him to return, couldn’t wait to take the next step and feel his hands touching her everywhere. In the dark of night, she’d touched herself between her legs, a place a lady wasn’t supposed to acknowledge, while she tried to imagine what intercourse would be like. She pictured Howard’s deep blue eyes and easy smile and the way he looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman on earth. She loved him so much.

Then the news arrived about the explosion of the Maine in the Cuban harbor. A dreamy lethargy fell over Catherine as she waited to find out if Howard was among the dead. She was in a trance and so certain he’d somehow, miraculously, be all right that she was hardly worried. When Howard’s parents came to inform her of the confirmation of his death, she wouldn’t believe it at first. It was inconceivable that she would never see him again, never feel his arms around her, hear his warm laugh or his deep voice whispering secrets in her ear.

Dry-eyed days drifted past and it had taken months for his death to seep into her consciousness. At last she woke from her trance and exploded into tears and anger.

Catherine sighed, remembering that dark time, and rolled over to stare at the gray square of window above her bed. Howard was in the past now. She could cherish memories of him without crushing pain bearing down on her chest. And now, for the first time since losing him, she felt the stirring of interest in a man, the undeniable pull inside that brought her thoughts back to Jim again and again.

How could this have happened? Why couldn’t she be attracted to Nathan Scott or Charles Van Hausen, or any other suitable candidate for her affections? What in the world drew her to Jim Kinney, and what had possessed her to run her fingers through his glossy, dark hair, practically encouraging him to kiss her?

There must be no more nonsense between them, no lingering looks or touches. She was teaching him to read so he could better relate to a hearing world. That was all. She would maintain distance no matter what her wayward body might feel.

* * * *

The next day at school passed fairly quickly, despite Catherine repeatedly checking the time on her watch. The clock face was set in gold filigree and hung suspended from a chain pinned to her bodice. It was a present from her parents on her college graduation. She smiled, remembering her father’s words as he presented it to her.

He’d rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I know you’ll be successful at teaching. You have a natural gift for it. I used to look in on you when you were a child with your dolls set up in rows and you’d teach them all the lessons you were learning at school.”

Catherine hadn’t corrected his impression that she was a born teacher. Actually she’d played school because she enjoyed ordering her dolls around and punishing them when they were naughty or didn’t do their lessons. There were the younger brothers and sisters she’d never had.

Only an hour of school to go! She looked up from her watch to find Jennie Albright watching her. It wouldn’t do to appear as if she was as anxious as the students for school to be over. Catherine rose to walk up and down the rows, helping any child having difficulties.

Three thirty finally came and the class was released. Chattering and laughing, the children left the building. For a moment, Catherine relaxed in her chair and simply breathed. She enjoyed her pupils, the funny things the little ones said and the tentative opinions the older ones expressed, but it was good to be alone at last.

After a bit, she went to the wash basin in the corner and primped in front of the little mirror hanging above it, tucking stray strands of hair into her coiffure. Today she wore her hair in the Gibson girl roll, in vogue back east, but a little too fancy for a town like Broughton. Usually, she wore a simple bun or French twist, but today she’d taken the time to pin her hair in the elaborate, loose chignon which illustrator Charles Gibson’s models had made popular.

After powdering the shine from her nose and cheeks, she bit her lips to simulate the rouge she dare not wear in Broughton for fear of earning the Christian ladies’ disapproval. She tugged on the wide shoulders of her sleeves, puffing them out, and smiled at her reflection.

A knock at the door set her stomach fluttering. It didn’t occur to her that Jim hadn’t knocked yesterday until the door opened and Mrs. Albright entered. Disappointment and irritation swelled inside her, but she covered it with a smile and went to greet her soon-to-be hostess.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Albright. How are you?”

“Good day, Miss Johnson.” The portly woman’s gaze swept the room, including the small cloakroom, as though searching for something. “I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

“Very well. Can I help you? Jennie is doing well in all her subjects. I’m very pleased with her progress.”

“I’m not here about my daughter. Or, to put it more precisely, I am, but not because of her schoolwork. I heard today from Mrs. Van Hausen that you’ve taken it upon yourself to tutor poor Jim Kinney.”

Catherine’s mild irritation grew to severe annoyance coupled with apprehension. “Yes, I’m helping Mr. Kinney with his reading.”

Mrs. Albright raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s wise? A single woman spending time alone with a man doesn’t set a very good example for the young people in her care.”

“Mrs. Albright, I’m simply teaching him. There’s nothing unseemly about the situation.” Her voice was tight despite her attempt to remain composed.

“Yes, of course. Your character is not in question, my dear.” Mrs. Albright shifted her large handbag and reached for Catherine’s hand, taking it in both of hers. “It was most admirable of you to step in and defend the man from those drunken miscreants and it’s admirable that you want to help him better himself, but the appearance is the problem, as well as the fact that Mr. Kinney might misunderstand your intentions. Can he even learn to read? I thought he was slow-witted.”

“Not at all. Merely deaf. He never attended school, but he already understands the rudiments of reading and is making quick progress. All he needs is someone to guide him. I hope to help Mr. Kinney better understand the people around him. Communication can only benefit us all. Don’t you agree?” She adopted the tone she used with her students when they were argumentative, speaking briskly to show she’d tolerate no nonsense.

“Of course. I’m sure your heart is in the right place, Miss Johnson, but it’s the idea of an un-chaperoned woman alone with—”

“I appreciate your concerns, but I assure you there’s no reason to worry.” Catherine sucked in a breath to cool the heat rushing to her cheeks. She would soon be living with the Albrights and shouldn’t make an enemy of this woman. It might be prudent to ask her to stay and observe Jim’s lesson as a chaperone, but her presence was the last thing Catherine wanted.

Just then the door opened and Jim walked in. He paused at the threshold, looking from Catherine to Rowena Albright. If he was surprised, he hid it, keeping his expression neutral and nodding a greeting at both of them.

Goodness, the schoolhouse has become a popular place these past few days. Nervous laughter threatened and Catherine suppressed it.

“Come in, Mr. Kinney.”

Mrs. Albright looked at the book and slate Jim carried, then at Catherine. “Very well, Miss Johnson, but please consider my words. We may discuss this again.” With that she swept out of the room, and the door closed behind her.

Jim raised his eyebrow at Catherine.

“Nothing.” She erased Mrs. Albright’s visit with a wave of her hand. There was no need to bring up the woman’s talk about impropriety, especially since there was an undeniable element of truth in her words. “Let’s begin.”

Today there was a sense of formality between them as they both politely pretended the previous day’s events hadn’t happened and concentrated solely on reading and writing. Catherine refrained from meeting his eyes as much as possible, instead making herself understood on paper. He was so ready to learn that by the end of their hour together he was already able to write simple sentences with short words. It was as if he’d been waiting in a darkened room, the door cracked to let in a shaft of light, and she had thrown it the rest of the way open. His comprehension was immediate and Catherine barely needed to explain anything. He could practically lead himself through the McGuffey primer she’d given him.

As he bent over, copying words on paper, his hair falling over his forehead and curling at his shirt collar. She longed to touch it again. His lips shaped words he recognized from years of seeing other people make them, and it struck her as amazing he could do that with no sound to connect to the shape. His understanding was phenomenal.

Catherine started as she realized she’d been staring at him far too long. Checking her watch, she touched his shoulder, and when he looked up, she told him their time was over. There’d been no touching of lips or throat today and she planned to keep it that way. When the signing book from Aunt Lydia arrived, they would learn to communicate that way.

Jim collected his books, but before he left he reached into his pocket and held out his hand to her.

“What is it?”

He placed several coins on her palm, his fingers tickling as they brushed against her.

“Oh, no!” She shook her head. “You don’t have to pay me. I want to teach you. It’s no bother.”

He frowned and closed his hand when she tried to give the money back. Perhaps it was his pride or maybe his way of demonstrating that he, too, knew their relationship must remain professional. Either way, Catherine had no choice but to accept the payment. “Thank you.”

Jim stepped toward the door, hesitated and turned back. Once more he withdrew his hand from his pocket, closed in a fist around something.

“Please, you’ve given me enough,” she protested.

He uncurled his fingers to reveal a small wooden object. It was a carved animal like the ones on his dresser, a plump, miniature cat curled in a lazy ball.

“Oh!” Catherine held out her hand, accepting his offering. “It’s so sweet! Look at its tiny face!” Cradling the cat, still warm from Jim’s hand, she examined the details and stroked its smooth back with a fingertip.

She smiled at Jim and he smiled too. It took all her willpower not to throw her arms around his neck and hug him. Fighting back the sudden urge, she quickly dropped her gaze from Jim’s dark eyes to the cat. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it.”

He lifted a hand in farewell and left the schoolhouse.

When the door closed behind him, Catherine continued looking at the tiny cat in her hand. She held it up to her nose and inhaled the scent of wood, still fresh from the carving. This wasn’t from his collection, but something made especially for her and quickly, too. She pictured him sitting up late at night, whittling by the light of an oil lamp.

His offer of money had declared their arrangement business, but his little gift put it right back in the realm of friendship and maybe something more.