Chapter 40
Monday morning came with red skies.
Shakespeare came to mind, particularly “Venus and Adonis” where he lamented that the red skies of morning heralded wrecks to seamen and sorrows to shepherds.
Well, being neither seamen nor shepherd, she did not fret over the poet’s discourse. Instead, she stood on her porch and stared, in awe of the streaks of crimson and rose that swept above Wylder. They looked like ribbons wrapping the town up like one giant Christmas gift.
To those who ventured into the territory, the rugged spot filled with quirky characters provided a new beginning. Life was harsh on the frontier but well worth any difficulties one encountered.
She had arrived in town on the wings of deceit, false promises, and desperation. Certainly, she wasn’t the only one who came here under less-than-honorable circumstances, but she had done her best to do better, and to do right by the place and people who had taken her in.
Finding a home here was a meaningful gift she intended to keep, always.
It might take some doing but she planned on unraveling any remaining bits of false thinking that had traveled with her from South Carolina. She might be a schoolteacher, but she had learned a few lessons of her own since her arrival.
The old ways must remain in the past if she were to have any chance at happiness. Time to leave the horror behind because if she harbored hatred in her heart, the difficult memories she attempted to outrun would doggedly follow her every step. The lesson had been a long time coming.
Red skies. Bright wrappings. New beginnings.
Well, nothing can change as long as I stand here staring out at the world.
Violet walked the short distance to the schoolhouse, glad no snow had fallen overnight. Last Monday’s tumble into her personal snowy nightmare still lived fresh in her mind and she did not want a repeat of that madness anytime soon.
She paused at the stone wishing well in front of the schoolhouse. Running a hand across the cold surface, she considered what her wish might be. In the past she felt silly contemplating the subject. She thought wishes and wells were fine for children but ridiculous for adults.
Now, she did not feel ridiculous.
With one last glance at the pink ribbons in the sky, she faced the sad truth. Her chance to fulfill her deepest wish had come to her, and she had pushed it away. Opportunities like that did not happen more than once in a lifetime.
Lamenting what is lost served no purpose so she turned and walked toward the schoolhouse door. A lot to do before Christmas Eve meant she didn’t have time to waste.
If she were still in Charleston, Mother would say that occupied minds and working hands kept one safe from melancholy. Taking her mother’s long-distance advice to heart, Violet straightened her shoulders and busied herself preparing for the day ahead.
She managed to get the fire in the belly stove up to a steady roar and the space began to warm. It would be midday before the schoolroom felt truly cozy but at least the children wouldn’t shake in their seats during morning lessons.
The day’s lessons would be rudimentary. She couldn’t expect her pupils to concentrate fully on book learning with Christmas looming. There would be time for individualized reading, a drawing lesson, and then she would read some poetry to them which they would discuss.
Discussions about readings brought some of her favorite moments with her pupils. Their talks were lively because she encouraged everyone to participate. Many children lived in homes where children were seen and not heard. So, at school she made sure they were all heard.
The biggest challenge of the morning came with putting her daily quote up on the chalkboard. She wrote with her right hand which was, unfortunately, attached to the broken arm and far from being healed.
She tried writing with the left, but that penmanship was of such poor quality that even her most advanced pupils would not decipher it.
When she heard the front door open and the first footsteps of the morning hit the scuffed wooden floorboards, she still struggled at the chalkboard.
She turned to see who arrived so early on this Monday morning.
Thomas and Alexia Harvey stood by the entrance. They wore uncertain smiles.
Violet went to greet her new pupil.
“Alexia, I am so glad to see you are joining us. Welcome to the Wylder School where we learn all the basics and much, much more.”
A couple of nights of rest, some substantial meals, and warm baths had proved beneficial. Thomas’s daughter looked as shiny as a brand-new silver dollar.
“Thank you, Miss Bloom.” She paused and glanced up at her father. He gave her a barely discernible nod, so she returned her gaze to her new teacher and added, “I am sorry for my behavior when we last met. I was wrong, and I disrespected you, my father, my aunt, and all of Wylder with my words. I hope you will forgive me. I promise to never be that hateful again, ma’am.”
Violet had heard many apologies in her time but none as sincere as this one. She fought the urge to gather the girl into her arms. The child might be put off by such a display. After all, she did not have a mother to lavish attention on her and might not be familiar with such energetic care.
“Apology accepted.” She looked over at the man whose gaze revealed nothing of his own feelings. Then she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “We all do things we regret. And we all hope to find mercy from those we have wronged. It is part of life and it is a lesson for us. Do you know what that lesson is?”
Alexia shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“The life lesson is that we should realize when we are wrongly thinking and search for forgiveness—and perhaps a second chance to behave properly. That is what we are meant to learn. I shall share a secret with you: Adults still work to learn that. It does not end when one is grown, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will remember that.”
“Why don’t you take your coat off? Hang it on one of the hooks over there on the wall. And do you see that last seat in the back row? I’ve assigned that one to you, so you may put your things on that bench.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The girl went to hang her coat.
Violet met Thomas’s gaze.
They met a week ago, but it felt as if she had known him for a lifetime.
It crossed her mind to make her own apology to the man, and hope he forgave as easily as she did. But the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels met their ears.
This was not the time for them to speak.
He looked over at the chalkboard and wrinkled his brow. “I don’t wish to appear impolite, but whatever is that supposed to mean?”
Violet held up her right arm. Lin had wrapped it this morning in a dark blue length of worsted to match the skirt she wore.
“That makes sense. You can’t write with an arm trussed up that way.” He put a hand out, palm up. She still held the chalk between her fingers, but she passed it over to him. “What are you trying to write?”
They went to the front of the room as the door opened and a wave of excited, chattering pupils entered. The children knew to put their outdoor clothing on hooks and take their seats.
He used the rag by the board to wipe away her scrawl. “Well? What shall I write for your schoolroom to ruminate on today?”
“I would appreciate it if you would write a line from Mister Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. It goes like this: ‘There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.’”
When he finished writing he turned to her and winked. “I must admit, I heartily agree with Mister Dickens. Good day, Miss Bloom.”