Jack paced back and forth outside the one-room schoolhouse, waiting for school to end. It was Friday, and as he glanced in the schoolhouse window, he saw with a smile that the children were casting frequent, wistful glances at the clock on the corner of the teacher's desk, eager for the first week of school to close, and the weekend to begin.
He was dressed in clean trousers and a clean shirt, having spent all day Thursday at the river washing his accumulation of dirty apparel. Then, while the articles of clothing were drying in the sun, he had sought out a secluded section of the river, peeled off his clothes, jumped in and scrubbed himself clean. The water was cold, and his body was shaking uncontrollably and his teeth were chattering by the time he had completed the task, but he had felt refreshed and invigorated, and, best of all, he did not have to empty a tub of dirty water when he was finished.
Now, he was waiting for school to end so he could speak privately to the teacher regarding a matter that he would normally have taken to Marie, but since he had reached the conclusion that the doctor's mind was preoccupied with the corporal's infatuation with his new love interest, he decided to approach Grace Upton, a real teacher, with his problem.
Finally, the door burst open, and Jack watched with amusement as the children poured from the building in a stampede. He decided it was fortunate for him that he had not been standing in front of the door at that moment, or he would have trampled. Once in the yard, they ran or skipped with glee, scattering toward their own homes. When it was safe, he climbed the steps and entered the school.
He paused in the doorway to remove his hat, and looked around curiously. Having never been on the inside of a real schoolhouse before, the unique sights were new to him, but his inexperience with the subject prevented him from realizing that the small school was ill-equipped in comparison to larger schools back east.
Before him stood two rows of desks with a center aisle between them, all facing the larger teacher's desk at the opposite end of the room. There were several blackboards on the walls, and beneath them were bookshelves containing various volumes of primers, spellers, and sums.
Grace Upton stood at the blackboard behind her desk, erasing the most recent lesson from the board, while an unfortunate lad stood facing the corner, waiting to be dismissed. When she remained unaware of his presence, Jack cleared his throat to attract her attention.
She turned around, and smiled when she saw him. "Why, Marshal Craddock. Good afternoon."
"Afternoon, ma'am." Gesturing toward the door with his hat, he added, "I nearly got caught in that stampede, there. I would've hated to have to arrest 'em for assaulting a U.S. Marshal!"
She laughed, pleasantly. "They are so full of energy, and eager for the weekend." She paused to look at him, approvingly. His hair and clothes were clean, and he had finally shaved the stubble from his face, leaving the mustache that he had trimmed neatly. "Is there something I can do for you, Marshal?"
He glanced at the youth in the corner, reluctant to speak in front of the child.
She followed his gaze, and the somewhat startled expression on her face indicated that she had temporarily forgotten about the boy. "Timothy, you may go home, now."
Timothy turned from the corner, and raced toward the door. Jack caught him by the arm, and glared down at him. "You been misbehavin' there, Timmy?"
Timmy stared up at the marshal's stern countenance, and swallowed hard. Grace was surprised by the expression of awe she saw on the child's face. He could not seem to find his voice, so he nodded, meekly.
"You mind what yer teacher says, you hear me?" Jack instructed. "I don't wanna hear 'bout you givin' Miss Upton no grief."
"Yessir," Timmy whispered.
"Now, I want you to apologize to yer teacher," he told him.
"Yessir." Looking at the teacher, he said, meely, "I'm sorry, Miss Upton. It won't happen again."
"You see that it don't," Jack told him. He then released his arm, and the boy snatched his books from his desk and made a hasty escape through the door. Jack turned back to the teacher, and she saw that his brown eyes were twinkling with amusement. "I don't think you'll be havin' no more trouble from him."
"You seem to have a natural way with children," she said, then felt a stab of regret that she had spoken of it, recalling that Clive had told her that Jack had fathered a child that had been lost to murder.
Jack appeared to take no offense to her thoughtless comment. "Me 'n youngins get along jus' fine. They know where to tow the line."
"So, what brings you by?" she asked.
"I was wonderin' if you might do me a favor," he said, then hesitated, embarrassed. Indicating the letter that was clutched in his hands, he continued, "Miss Upton, I got this here letter from a boy who used to live here, Willie Haddon. Me 'n Willie, well, we was good friends, and ever since he went off to live in Paris with his pa, he and I have been writin' back 'n forth, keepin' in touch. I never had much formal learnin', and if you can spare a few minutes, I was wonderin' if you might help me to write back to him. I don't have too much trouble with the small words, but he's using some mighty big and fancy words in here, and I'm afraid I don't know what they all mean, so I don't know how to answer them."
All her previous impressions regarding Jack Craddock melted away as she observed the earnest expression on his face, a handsome face, she suddenly realized. He had set aside his pride to ask her help with his lack of education, something that must have been difficult to do, and she felt honored that he had confided in her. "It would be my pleasure, Marshal." She glanced at the clock. "However, I'm meeting Clive in a few minutes. He's going to teach me to ride, and then we're having dinner, but I want to be home early to grade some papers, so if you could come by my house about seven thirty, we'll get to work on that letter."
He nodded his agreement. "I appreciate that, Miss Upton. I"ll be there."
She watched him as he made his departure, thinking once again that there was much more to Marshal Craddock than met the eye.
Iris Metzger was sweeping her back porch at seven o'clock when Corporal Bennett escorted Grace Upton home from dinner. He stayed only a few minutes, then made his way back toward his own residence, speaking a polite greeting to the older woman, who watched with approval. Corporal Bennett was a fine, upstanding young man, Iris thought, responding in kind to his greeting. He always had the teacher home at a decent hour, and made his departure in a respectable amount of time. He was obviously well brought up, knew the boundaries of proper behavior, and abided by them.
Completing her chores with the broom, Iris went back inside her house to wash her family's dishes, then, as she carried the basin to the back door and emptied it in the grass, she saw Marshal Craddock striding across the lawn to the teacher's house.
With a curious frown, noticing that it was nearly dark, Iris watched as the marshal walked right up to the teacher's door and knocked. A moment later, the young teacher opened the door, and admitted him into her home. Obviously, he was expected and welcome.
Iris cocked her head, almost beside herself with curiosity. This was an interesting turn of events! She wondered if Corporal Bennett knew about this meeting with the young teacher.
Unaware that his arrival had been met with intense scrutiny by the nearest neighbor, Jack stepped into Grace's home, and removed his hat.
"I don't have a coat rack or a hat rack or anything like that," Grace explained. "but they supplied me with these pegs beside the door. I've been hanging my shawl there, so I guess that is what they're there for."
He hung his hat on one of the pegs beside her shawl. "I guess yer used to more fancy trappin's back east," he said.
"We always kept our wraps in a wardrobe during the summer, and on a coat rack in the winter." She observed him quietly, noticing the weariness in his dark eyes. "You look tired."
"Oh, I'm all right," he told her. He did not add that he had not slept too well the last couple of nights, ever since the shooting that had almost claimed his life. Changing the subject, he said, "You must miss yer home and family."
She felt a twinge in her heart at the reminder of her family back east. "It's getting better," she said. "I missed them terribly at first, but Clive has been a good friend, and he's helped me --" She stopped, a blush creeping into her cheeks.
Jack smiled. "Clive's a good man."
"Yes, he is," she agreed. "I don't know him that well, yet. I've only been here a week, but he seems so nice and helpful. I know my uncle told him to keep an eye out for me, though, so I don't really know how much of it is duty, and how much is real friendship."
"Well, I know he enjoys yer company," Jack offered.
Her eyes brightened. "He does? He told you that?"
"Yup."
Her heart soared with joy, but she tried not to let her exuberance show too much. It would not be proper for a young lady to show too much interest in a man. Turning away from him, she gestured toward the desk against the opposite wall, eager to change the subject. "Why don't you have a seat, and we'll take a look at that letter."
Jack sat down at the desk, and spread the crumpled letter on the smooth surface before him, then removed his reading glasses from their protective cover, and put them on. "I can see distance really well, but I can't see up close so good any more," he explained. "I need these to read." Indicating the letter, he said, "You can read it, if you like," he said. "There ain't nuthin' in it that shouldn't be seen."
She was not eager to read his personal mail, although she was very curious about this boy that Lucy had spoken so much about. Moving a lamp to the desk for light, she said, "Well, most people don't like to read other people's letters simply because it isn't polite to invade someone else's privacy, but I guess maybe I should at least see the parts that you're having trouble with."
"Well, there's words scattered throughout that I can't make out, but, " he pointed with his finger, "This here's the part that's givin' me the most trouble."
Grace read the portion indicated, and smiled. "It's no wonder you're having trouble with them, Marshal. These are French words." She pointed to one of the words on the paper. "Like here, he's telling you about a sightseeing tour he went on to the Louvre." Anticipating his next question, she added, "It used to be a Royal palace before it was converted into a museum. There are many beautiful works of art there."
He looked up, detecting the wistfullness in her voice. "Have you ever been there?"
"No," she sighed. "I would love to go there, but it's a very long trip, and costs a great deal of money. I'd bet that Doctor Dumont has been there, though."
He nodded. "I s'pect she probably has. Maybe I shoulda asked her to help me."
"That's all right, Marshal. I know a few words of French. I'm sure I can help you with them."
For the next few minutes, Grace went over the letter with Jack, pronouncing each difficult word and explaining its meaning. Many were famous buildings and locations in Paris, places Jack had never heard of. He listened intently as she described each one, repeating them, and committing them to memory. He would need to remember them so he could respond to them in his letter to Willie.
"I think I can write that letter, now," he told her, gratefully. He started to get up to leave, but she stopped him.
"Why don't you stay here and write it. I have some papers to grade, and I can do that in the kitchen while you write in here. That way, I'll be close if you need any help. When you're finished, I can proof read it for you."
"You sure you wouldn't mind?" he asked.
"Not at all. Now, you just sit right there and feel free to use my pencil. There's a stack of paper right there, too. Help yourself."
"Much obliged," he said.
Collecting her notebook filled with a week's worth of schoolwork, she went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, and began to grade her student's papers. She could hear the ticking of her mother's clock on the mantle in the front room in the intense quiet of the house. Occasionally, she heard the marshal mumble the thoughts he was putting on paper in his letter to the boy in Paris that she had never met, but had heard a great deal about from Lucy, who frequently spoke of him.
Pausing in her work, she twirled her grading pencil in her fingers, thinking about Jack Craddock's softer side. She had never imagined that this seasoned lawman, brusque, almost crude in his manners and appearance, could love a child so deeply. If he could love someone else's child so much, she could only imagine how much he had loved his own daughter. Idly, she wondered why he had never remarried and started another family.
Quickly, she dismissed the thoughts as none of her business. Taking up her pencil again, she returned to the huge pile of school paper that had stacked up over the last few days. Silently, she scolded herself for procrastinating. The task would be much easier if done daily, but she had been spending so much time laterly with Clive that she was having difficulty devoting the time necessary to accomplish these tedious tasks. She vowed to do better. The children in her care deserved her dedication, and she was determined to give them that. She would be a good teacher, and her parents would be proud of her.
Concentrating intently on her work, she was unaware of how much time had passed when she finally put away the final page in her notebook and closed the cover, but the weariness in her eyes insisted that it was very late. Yawning, she glanced toward the window. It was very dark outside. Rising from the table, she blew out the lantern and moved into the front room.
When she saw the marshal, she nearly jumped from fright. He had been so quiet that she had forgotten he was there. His letter finally complete, he had moved from the desk to the sofa, apparently intending to rest his eyes for a few moments. Instead, his body had slid down so far that he was almost reclining, and he had fallen asleep there. His legs were crossed at the ankles, his arms resting on the cushions beside him.
She hesitated, indecisively, wondering what she should do. Common sense told her that she should wake him up and send him home, for it would be unseemly for an unmarried woman to allow a man to sleep overnight in her home, but her compassion advised that he was obviously very tired, and that interrupting his rest would rob him of much needed sleep.
"Marshal?" she asked, tentatively, in a quiet voice. She hoped he was merely dozing, and that her voice would rouse him.
He did not move, nor acknowledge her voice in any way.
"Oh, dear," she lamented. As the pampered daughter of prominent parents, she had never faced the difficulties of the decision-making process. Until she had left Hamilton only weeks earlier, her parents had always made complicated decisions for her. This was the first time she had lived on her own, and was faced with the prospect of making all her decisions herself. What would her mother do in a similar situation?
She shook her head, negatively. Her mother was in Hamilton, and she was discovering that the rules of propriety were a little different out here in the wilderness. Bordertown was progressive in many areas; it even had a lady doctor, virtually unheard of in the east. Her house was outside the boundary of town. No one would likely even know if she simply allowed him to sleep on her sofa.
Her decision finally made, she went into her bedroom and located an extra blanket, which she carried back to the front room. Laying it temporarily on the desk, she very carefully eased the marshal's head and shoulders down onto one end of the sofa, and lifted his legs onto the other end. He stirred slightly, but did not waken.
She hesitated, gazing at his scuffed, well-worn boots, then rejected the idea of removing them, for the procedure would almost certainly wake him up. Unfolding the blanket, she covered him with it, then carried the lantern with her as she returned to her bedroom and closed the door.
Unknown to Grace, Iris Metzger was still seated at her window, where she had been perched all evening, watching the teacher's house. She had made it her civic responsibility to make certain that the marshal left the house at a decent hour. She was still watching when the lights went out, and Jack Craddock had not yet departed.
Jack awakened hours later, and he knew without even opening his eyes that he was not in his own bed on his own comfortable, well-worn mattress. He was curled up on his side on a thin cushion, his spine pressed against the backrest, indicating that he had been sleeping on someone's sofa. Somewhere in the room, he could hear the monotonous ticking of a clock.
Opening his eyes, he raised his head to view his surroundings in the moonlight that streamed through the window. For a moment, he felt disoriented, unable to determine where he was. The room was unfamiliar to him.
Then he remembered: He had gone to the teacher's house for some help on his letter to Willie. He had obviously fallen asleep, and Miss Upton had chosen to throw a blanket over him rather than wake him up.
Tossing back the blanket, he sat up on the sofa, struggling to bring himself fully awake. He was groggy, but as his mind returned to full wakefulness, he shifted his attention to the clock on the mantle. Squinting in the moonlight, he could just make out the hands on the face of the instrument.
Three thirty!
He knew he must leave before dawn arrived. He could not be seen leaving her house, or risk causing serious damage to her reputation. The repercussions would be devastating, and that would not be a good way to repay her kindness.
He stood up, pressing one hand to his aching back and groaning softly as his stiff muscles protested the movement. As quietly as he could, he fetched his letter from the desk, put on his hat, and opened the door.
There, he hesitated, taking the time to peer through the darkness, paying particular attention to the Metzger house at the other end of the yard. Mrs. Metzger was a notorious gossip, and if anyone was likely to spread unkind rumors, it would be her.
The Metzger house was dark, as were all the other buildings in the vicinity. Not a soul was in sight.
Deeming it safe, he slipped outside and pulled the door closed behind him.
Unseen by him, the widow Metzger was still at her window, concealed by the darkness of the room behind her, and she rose up eagerly when she saw the marshal make his exit through the front door. She was exhausted by her night's vigil, but dutifully considered it a necessary inconvenience. She could always sleep later. It was more important to verify that the marshal and the teacher, two respected positions in the community, were involved in promiscuous behavior. In her mind, the verification of that fact had just stepped outside, apparently believing that he had carried out his escapade wihout being observed.
Keeping a wary eye on the nearby buildings, Jack slapped his hat on his head, and walked briskly toward his own cabin just off the main street, believing there had been no harm done by his carelessness.
GO TO CHAPTER ELEVEN