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Carrie bit her lip, then released it. “He needs convincing, that’s all.”
Pearl didn’t doubt her cousin’s sincerity, only her reasoning. Matt hadn’t shown even a spark of interest. “I don’t know.”
“I do,” Carrie insisted. “Matt needs a push.”
Pearl loved her cousin, but she had strong feelings about pushing anyone. Even before the attack, she’d been pressured by Franklin Dean and she’d resented it. She considered sharing her doubts with Carrie, but what did she know about men and courtship? Her perspective was skewed and always would be. Carrie’s instincts had to be better than her own. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Any ideas?”
“Not a one.”
Carrie’s eyes twinkled. “How about a supper party? I could invite a few people over.”
Pearl couldn’t bear the thought. Carrie would invite single men. They’d tease and flirt with her.
“It’s perfect!” Carrie declared. “You’re new in town. The party will be in your honor.”
“No, Carrie. I’m not ready for something like that.”
“Please?” She made a winsome face.
How could Pearl say no? She owed Carrie for the food on her table, the roof over her head. She wanted to say yes, but she croaked with panic. “I’ll think about it.”
“It’ll be great,” Carrie insisted. “It’s just what Matt needs. And you, too!”
Right now, Pearl needed to collect her thoughts. They’d reached the school. Behind the main building she saw a cottage. She tightened her grip on the handle of the carriage. “Is that Miss Marlowe’s house?”
“It is,” Carrie answered. “Isn’t it charming?”
Pearl loved the little house. Ivy climbed the porch railing, and the gabled roof boasted a turret. As they walked up the path with the baby carriage, Miss Marlowe herself came out the door. Pearl saw a woman in her forties with chestnut hair and ivory skin. Petite and wearing a pea-green dress, she looked more like a leprechaun than the founder of a prestigious girls’ academy. Pearl relaxed, but only until the carriage hit a rut and Toby started to fuss.
“Oh dear,” she murmured. If he didn’t settle, she’d have to pick him up. Meeting Miss Marlowe with her son tucked in the carriage would have been challenging. Meeting her with a crying infant in her arms made Pearl shake.
Miss Marlowe greeted them with a wave. “Hello, ladies!”
“Be brave.” Carrie touched her hand. “She’s going to love you.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Carrie shot her a look of confidence. “I’ll still love you, and so will Toby. Don’t be afraid. We’re in this together.”
Pearl squeezed her hand. “Thank you, cousin.”
Carrie waved a greeting to Miss Marlowe. “This is my cousin, Pearl Oliver. We have someone very special for you to meet.”
Thinking of the hair ribbons—a gift to a woman of uncommon courage—Pearl lifted her squawking baby out of the carriage. Mercifully he found his fist and started to suck. As Carrie moved the carriage into a shady spot, Pearl climbed the stairs alone and faced Miss Marlowe.
“This is my son,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell the story now, but I won’t repeat it. A year ago I was attacked by a man I trusted. I was—”
“Oh, child.”
Miss Marlowe’s pale eyes asked questions—the question—and Pearl answered with a nod. The woman touched her cheek, then lowered her hand, leaving a warm spot that felt empty. Pearl’s heart turned to stone. Sympathy didn’t mean Miss Marlowe would approve of her desire to teach.
Carrie joined them on the porch. “We wanted you to know Pearl’s circumstances before the board meeting.”
“Of course.” Miss Marlowe indicated the door. “Come inside, girls. We’ll talk over tea and scones. I made them myself.”
Carrie gave Pearl an encouraging smile. “Miss Marlowe is known for her scones.”
The older woman indicated a cane rocker. “Have a seat, dear. New mothers need their rest. Carrie and I will bring the cups.”
“Thank you,” Pearl managed.
She sat and put the rocker into motion. The rhythm delighted Toby and he kicked for the fun of it. Arching back, he gave her his first-ever smile. Happy tears pushed into Pearl’s eyes. She longed to share the moment with a husband, but her friends would have to do. She’d tell Carrie on the way home, and tonight she’d write to everyone at Swan’s Nest.
Miss Marlowe arrived with the tea service and placed it on a low table. Carrie added a plate of scones and a pot of raspberry jam. After serving the refreshments, Miss Marlowe sat tall on a chair that resembled a throne. She studied Pearl for several seconds. “Let me be frank, dear.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve reviewed your application and am satisfied with your qualifications. Carrie has provided a wonderful reference for you. As for your son, I have no doubt you’ve been victimized. In fact, I greatly admire your forthright handling of the situation. A lesser woman would lie to save face. You chose an honorable path. Not the easy one, mind you. But the right one.”
Pearl’s belly started to unknot. “I did, and I have no regrets.” Toby burrowed his head against her neck. She loved the tickle of his hair.
Carrie cradled the teacup in both hands. “We understand Pearl’s situation will raise eyebrows.”
Miss Marlowe’s eyes twinkled. “I’m quite accustomed to raising eyebrows.”
Carrie grinned. “I think you enjoy it.”
“I do,” the woman declared. “So let’s do some politicking. There are five board members including myself. We need three votes. I should be able to twist my nephew’s arm, but the third vote will be a problem.”
Pearl’s heart soared and crashed in the same breath. She’d earned Miss Marlowe’s support, but she had a fight ahead of her. As Carrie and Miss Marlowe debated the options, Pearl heard references to Chester Gates and Lady Eugenia. Both women thought Lady Eugenia could be persuaded, but that Mr. Gates would be difficult. Carrie named the fifth board member. “What about Jasper Kling?”
Miss Marlowe grimaced. “The man annoys me.”
“Who is he?” Pearl asked.
Carrie set down her cup. “He owns a shop on Dryer Street. I’m not ready to write him off.”
Miss Marlowe wrinkled her brows. “I must admit, I don’t know Jasper well. Why do you think he’ll bend in our direction?”
“He went to church with my parents.”
“I see.” Miss Marlowe sipped her tea. “You’re hoping he’ll respect Pearl’s refusal to lie.”
“Yes.”
“He might.” She set down the cup. “Jasper’s quite determined to build moral character among our girls. Just last week he championed the purchase of McGuffey Readers for the entire school.”
Pearl had fond memories of the textbook. The primer was full of Bible stories, moral tales and lessons for life. If Jasper Kling believed in the principles of truth and honesty, he just might support her. “There’s always hope,” she said to Miss Marlowe. “I’ll have to persuade him at the interview.”
Toby kicked and the women chuckled. Pearl saw envy in Carrie’s eyes and something deeper in Miss Marlowe’s. Maybe regret. The older woman offered the scones. “I’ll speak to the trustees myself. You won’t have to tell your story, but you might have to answer questions.”
“Of course.”
After Pearl took a scone, Miss Marlowe set down the plate. “You have two letters of reference. One from Carrie and one from Reverend Joshua Blue. Do you know anyone in Cheyenne?”
Before Pearl could answer, Carrie told the story of Sarah’s rescue from the freight wagon and Matt’s offer to write a letter.
“Excellent,” Miss Marlowe replied. “A letter from a parent will carry weight. He’s new to Cheyenne, but he’s respected.
Carrie looked at Pearl. “It’s going to work out, cousin. You’ll see.”
Pearl hoped so, but she felt like Sarah alone in the middle of the street staring at a team of mules. Needing to be brave, she thought of the ribbons. Matt belonged to Carrie, but Pearl valued his friendship. Hopefully, his letter would tip the scales in her favor.
Matt didn’t like cooking supper, but he did it for Sarah. He liked washing dishes even less, but it had to be done. As he dumped the scrub basin out the back door, he thought of his little girl tucked in bed, wrapped in the pink quilt she’d clutched all the way from Texas. The blanket no longer reached her toes, but the fabric still held the softness of a mother’s touch.
As he shook the basin dry, he thought of his last chore for the evening. This morning he’d bought stationery and a bottle of ink. All day he’d composed the letter for Pearl in his head, but nothing sounded right. With her interview just two days away, he had to deliver the letter tomorrow. He didn’t regret his offer. He just wished he knew what to say.
He looked at the sunset and thought of her cheeks, flushed pink as she weighed his offer to write the letter. He stared up at the sky, a medium blue that melted into dusk. He thought of the ribbons and felt good that he’d brightened her day. Inspired, he went back into the house, stowed the basin under the counter and fetched the stationery and ink from the shelf where he’d put them out of Sarah’s reach. He sat at the table, smoothed a sheet of paper, uncorked the bottle and lifted the pen. In bold strokes he wrote the date, then added, “To Whom It May Concern.”
He wrinkled his brow.
He scratched his neck.
He’d have been more comfortable throwing a drunk in jail, but he’d made a promise and he’d keep it. He inked the pen and wrote, “It’s my pleasure to provide a letter of reference for Miss Pearl Oliver.”
So far, so good. He dipped the pen again, wiped the excess and described how she’d run in front of the wagon to save Sarah. As the nib scratched against the paper, he relived the rattle of the wagon. He imagined his little girl lying in the mud and Pearl protecting her with her own body.
He owed this woman far more than a letter. Not only had she saved Sarah, she’d restored a sliver of his faith in human beings, even in women with blond hair. Bettina had thrown Sarah to the wolves. Pearl would have died to save her. The thought spurred his hand and he told the story with ease. By the time he finished, he couldn’t imagine anyone not hiring her. In closing, he described her as loyal, honest, dedicated and kind. After the way she’d handled the awkwardness of the ribbons, he believed every word.
He blew the ink dry, then closed his eyes. As he rubbed the kink in his neck, his mind drifted to Jed Jones hanging from a cottonwood tree. Matt had seen men hanged, but he’d never cut one down after three days. He’d lost his breakfast and done his job, but he’d paid a price. The nightmares from Virginia had come back with a new intensity. He hadn’t slept well since then, and he doubted the dreams would settle until he figured out who was behind the recent violence.
His mind wandered until he felt a tug on his sleeve. As he looked down, Sarah leaned her head against his arm. The warmth of her temple passed through the cotton and went straight to his heart. Earlier he’d laced her hair into a single braid. Long and smooth, it gleamed in the lamplight. Thanks to Pearl, he’d gotten the hang of fixing hair. The trick was to pull with a firm hand. Before he’d seen how she did it, he’d worried too much about hurting Sarah’s head.
Dressed in a store-bought nightie, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes. “Daddy, I can’t sleep anymore.”
He draped his arm around her shoulders. With her tiny bones, she reminded him of a baby chick. “You will if you try.”
“I want to hear Cinderella again.”
The week they’d arrived in Cheyenne, he’d bought a storybook with colored pictures for Sarah’s birthday. He’d found it at the fanciest shop in town, and a clerk had told him the story behind it. A Frenchman named Charles Perrault had collected fairy tales in a book called Tales of Mother Goose. Someone else had translated the stories into English, and someone else had drawn pictures that sent Sarah into raptures of delight. She didn’t like the gruesome parts, but she enjoyed the rest. Matt had read Cinderella so many times that he had passages memorized.
“We already had a story,” he said. “It’s bedtime.”
“Pleeeease.”
Whining couldn’t be tolerated. It reminded him of Bettina. “No, Sarah. It’s time to sleep.”
She tried to climb on his lap. Matt picked her up by her underarms and plopped her down on his knee. Rather than march her to bed, he’d play one last game of Horsey, then tuck her in with a kiss on the nose. She liked that.
As he scooted the chair back, Sarah saw the stationery. “What’s that?”
“A letter.”
“Who’s it to?”
“It’s for Miss Pearl.” He wanted Sarah to show respect, so he’d used the “Miss.”
“We’re helping her get a job as a teacher.”
“My teacher?” She wiggled with excitement.
“Maybe.”
Twisting in his lap, she put her hands on his shoulders. The lashes fringing her eyes fluttered upward. “Maybe she could be my mama, too.”
The question didn’t surprise him. Sarah had been talking about mamas since the day she’d seen Pearl. At supper she’d asked him why she didn’t have one anymore. Matt had given the only answer he could manage. Something happened, sweetheart. She had to leave.
What else could he say? I let your mother down and she ran off. She found another man…a better man.
A five-year-old couldn’t fathom such things, but someday Sarah would want to hear the truth. What could he say? That he’d been a rotten husband? The thought turned his stomach. Sarah needed a mother, but there was no reason to think he’d become a better man. Never mind Pearl’s pretty hair and easy manner. Matt had no business noticing her.
“Come on,” he said to Sarah, lifting her as he stood. “You talked me into one more story.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, darlin’.”
He galloped her into the bedroom, tucked her against the feather tick, sat on the stool by her bed and opened Mother Goose. If he angled the book toward the door, enough light came from the hall that he could make out the words. He could also see the picture of Cinderella with her blond curls and blue eyes.
Sarah rolled on her side. “I think she looks like Miss Pearl.”
So did Matt. “A little.”
“A lot.” Sarah folded her hands across her chest. Then she did something Matt had never seen her do. She closed her eyes and mouthed words he couldn’t hear.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m praying.”
Matt had no such inclination, not anymore. A long time ago he’d prayed the prayers and he’d felt relieved of his misdeeds, but not anymore. That boy had turned into a man who had to live with his mistakes. All that remained of his faith were the pangs of guilt that had driven him to work harder than any lawman in Texas. The effort had cost him Bettina, who hadn’t liked playing second fiddle to his badge.
Matt couldn’t change the past, but he could stop others from making the same mistakes. That’s why he’d do anything to protect the innocent…anything except put Sarah at risk.
“Daddy?”
He stumbled back to Sarah’s land of fairy tales. “Yes, darlin’?”
