He glanced at her, puzzled, but began to read. “The agreement says that you will receive the sum of thirty-two dollars per month and lodging during the school term.”
Thirty-two dollars a month! Oh, my, it’s a fortune! She could save it to live on when she had to leave, if she lasted a month. She could buy a ticket to another destination, she could buy a good dinner and…oh, she could buy shoes that fit!
He continued. “You will teach for six months per year for three years, with four holidays each year. If you wish,” he said, glancing up at her, as if gauging her understanding, “you may sponsor an extra term in the spring. When school is not in session, you may live in the building for the sum of three dollars a month if you clean the schoolhouse.”
“All right.”
“You agree to arrive by the fifteenth of October—well, you’re already here, so that point is moot. Next, you will not associate with people of low degree, who drink alcohol, use tobacco or play cards.”
She nodded again. She didn’t plan to do any of those things or associate with anyone who did.
“You agree to go to meetings of the school committee when you are needed.”
“Of course.”
“You are not to marry while you are in the employ of the school.”
“I have no intention of marrying.” She had no need for a man, gentle or not.
“You are expected to be a member of and contribute your knowledge to the Trail’s End Literary Society.”
Oh, dear, what did that mean? Well, it was too late to balk now. “Yes, sir.”
“You will attend church every Sunday, and prayer meetings, as well.”
She couldn’t do that. Although Matilda would go to church, Annie wasn’t good enough—not nearly good enough—to frequent God’s house.
“Miss Cunningham?”
She looked up to see him scrutinizing her, eyebrow raised. “Of course.”
“Fine.” He smiled. “You have met my daughter, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, she’s a lovely child.”
“She and I will pick you up Sunday morning.” He glanced back at the papers he held. “Finally, the contract lists your duties. You will start the stove on cold mornings, you will help students with their lunches and have them clean up afterward, you will sweep and mop the classroom every evening and you will teach all classes to a level deemed acceptable to the school board at the end of each term.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She nodded. “I’m glad you reminded me of those duties. Lighting the stove will be difficult with the injury to my arm. Could someone help me?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t consider that. I’ll send Ramon down in the morning to light it until you are able.”
“What time does school start?”
“As I told you yesterday, at seven-thirty. Out at two-thirty. Many students help with chores on the farms in the morning and after school. They may arrive late or have to leave early.”
“Of course.” She nodded as if she remembered that.
He placed the paper back in his case as he stood, contemplating her solemnly. “You have come to us highly recommended. Your references state you are a woman of high moral character.”
She nodded again and vowed to be exactly that kind of a woman, if God would just teach her to read and write overnight.
“We hope you will do better than the previous teacher. She was an incurably giddy young woman who ran off to marry a young farmer after teaching for only three months. I hope you don’t anticipate doing that.”
“No, sir. I’m not the least bit giddy,” she answered truthfully.
“I’m sorry Amanda and I bothered you.” His eyes rested on her face for a moment before he glanced away. “As I said, I feared you might have forgotten some of these points and wished to make sure that we were in agreement before school began.”
“Thank you. That accident—” She pressed her hand against her temple, which still throbbed.
“John.” Amanda approached them. “It’s getting late. I’m sure my father’s getting hungry. You know what a bear he can be when he doesn’t eat on time.”
Annie smiled at Amanda’s description of her father.
“You are quite beautiful when you smile,” Amanda said. “Oh, my, I’ve done it again.” She lifted her shoulders and bit her lip. “It sounds as if I think you are not beautiful when you don’t smile. I didn’t mean that at all. Just that you are even prettier then.” A dimple appeared in Amanda’s lovely ivory cheek. “It was wonderful to meet you, Matilda. I shall see you again very soon, I’m sure.” She moved toward the door with a rustling swirl of her skirt. “Come, John. I have no desire to face my father when he’s hungry.”
He glanced at Amanda with affection, then looked back at Annie. “I believe everything is in order for tomorrow. Ramon will come down to light the stove, and I’ll ask his wife, Lucia, to help with the lunches until you are used to the routine and your wounds have healed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.” She rose as he took the other woman’s arm and turned to leave.
But Amanda hadn’t finished. She pulled on Mr. Sullivan’s arm. “John, I cannot agree with this ‘Mr. Sullivan’ and ‘Miss Cunningham’ nonsense. You’re going to be working so closely together and the three of us are going to be such good friends.” She turned to Annie. “You must call him John and he should call you Matilda.” She nodded decisively, as if she had taken care of the entire problem.
“But that wouldn’t be proper,” Annie said.
Mr. Sullivan turned toward Annie with an amused smile. “You’ll learn that Amanda is not at all proper.”
“John!” Amanda protested.
“But she is headstrong and stubborn and won’t let this go until we agree with her decision.”
“Well, yes, that is true.” Amanda nodded. “You might both as well do what I’ve asked.”
“But I feel most uncomfortable…” Annie objected.
“Miss Cunningham,” John began, then paused as he mentally changed her name. “Matilda, you might as well give in. Amanda will push until she gets her way. And she always gets her way.”
Amanda smiled smugly.
“Yes, sir,” Annie said, then forced herself to add, “John.” Although the use of his first name seemed much too familiar, it didn’t feel as odd as she’d thought.
“There.” Amanda clapped her pretty little hands. “Now we are all friends.” She waved and pulled John toward the door. “Excuse us. We must hurry or my father will have started to eat the furniture.”
Annie stood in the doorway, watching through the rapidly falling dusk as John assisted Amanda into the surrey, holding her elbow as if she were precious porcelain. Amanda accepted his care as her due, then waved at Annie as the vehicle moved toward the ranch house.
Amanda was a lovely woman. Oh, Annie wished they could be friends, as Amanda seemed to think they could. She easily pictured Amanda having a friendship with Matilda, but not with Annie. Annie felt stuck between her two identities as she closed the door and walked between the tables in the schoolroom. She was no longer just Annie MacAllister, and she wasn’t entirely Matilda Cunningham, either.
John had seemed solemn and judgmental—just a little—but he’d been concerned for her. An odd combination, but she hoped it meant he