Chapter Two

Linc closed the door with far more restraint than he imagined he possessed. What gave the uppity schoolteacher the right to sashay onto his land and criticize him? He was doing the best he could. Besides being both mother and father to the girls, he had a herd to take care of and milk twice a day, get the girls ready for school, pack their lunch pails, and get supper on the table.

Her finger-pointing had hit its mark. He had all he could do to see they were dressed, let alone who hadn't wiped breakfast off their face or combed their hair. At least she hadn't entered the house.

Clothes hung on the line that stretched from one corner of the kitchen to the other. But with the freezing temperatures and snow already covering the ground, the clothes would freeze before they dried.

"Papa?" Violet looked at him from where she sat at the table, reading a book, worry clouding her brown eyes, so much like her mother's. "What did Miss Claire want?"

Linc sat down next to her, brushing her tawny-colored hair away from her face, Claire McAllister's words still bruising his heart. "She came to remind me about the Christmas pageant." He winced, trying to hide the disappointment in himself for speaking a half-truth. But he'd rather bear the burden of regret rather than tell the girls the real reason for her visit.

Rachel squeezed onto the bench beside her sister. Other than her blond hair, his oldest daughter looked like her mother as well. Both were a constant reminder of his past. "You're coming to the pageant, Papa?"

"And to the Christmas Dance?" Rachel put in hurriedly. "Miss Claire's been teaching us how to dance. Watch us, Papa." She pulled Violet off the bench and Linc schooled his features when she bowed to her sister's curtsey. Humming a tune, they clasped their arms and moved a step forward or backward, then took a step to the side, and finally a step to close their feet together. Surprisingly, they only stumbled once.

"Miss Claire says it's a box step," Rachel declared. "Cuz you make a box with your feet."

Daisy bounced on her toes with excitement. "Dance with me, Papa. Please, please, please!" As excited as she appeared, she fisted her hands at her waist when he went to swing her into his arm. "No, Papa," she admonished, "Miss Claire says boys hafta bow when girls curtsey."

Unable to hold back a smile when he spied true joy instead of anxiety in his youngest daughter's eyes, Linc bowed at the waist. "May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Daisy?"

Daisy executed a wobbly curtsey and then giggled when Linc swept her up into his arms.

Dancing around the table made Linc realize for the first time in quite a while that this is how life should be with his girls. Hard work, of course, but time for laughter, joy, and just being a family. There was no doubt he was struggling without the help of his mother and sister. But tomorrow, and all the days to come, will be different. He'd see to it.

"Exchange partners." Rachel's commanding voice was just another facet of her personality. As the oldest, taking charge came naturally to her…many times, however, she was too bossy.

Daisy shinnied down his body. Once her feet touched the floor, she and Rachel exchanged positions. "Miss Claire says exchanging partners gives everyone a chance to dance with someone new," Rachel explained, placing her stockinged feet atop Linc's boots.

As if on cue, Rachel started humming a tune Linc soon recognized as Silent Night . He swallowed hard and looked up to the ceiling. Memories of his late wife singing the tune to Rachel on her first Christmas Eve nearly had him fleeing the room. But Rachel's question stopped him cold.

"Papa? Who are you gonna dance with at the party?"

Linc let out a small cough. "Well, I wasn't thinking on dancing…just watching folks and maybe snagging a cookie or two." Lord, he couldn't recall the last time he danced with a woman. It was probably a year or two before his Katie died in a buggy accident.

Violet and Daisy stopped dancing. "Oh, you have to dance, Papa!" Violet told him. "Miss Claire says it won't be fun if folks are just standing around twiddlin' their thumbs." She paused a moment then snapped her fingers. "I know…you could dance with Miss Claire. She doesn't have a fella."

Daisy nodded her head in agreement. "I heard Caleb Winston's mama call her a spinner…that means she doesn't have a fella like Rachel said."

"Spinster." As soon as Linc corrected Daisy's version of the label the gossips in town had attached to the school teacher, her image filled his thoughts. He may not have met her formally until she set foot on his property, but he'd become aware of her in church. How could anyone not notice her? Though most of her hair was hidden beneath a bonnet, he could tell it glistened like polished mahogany. Her face had an interesting, well-modeled appearance, with a soft color in her temptingly curved lips, and green eyes with dark, sweeping lashes. She was tall, with a sturdy figure and curves that could easily fit a man's hands.

With that last thought, Linc felt the tips of his ears growing hot. Thunder and tarnation! What was wrong with him? He had no business entertaining thoughts of the busybody schoolteacher. He would see to it the girls would be presentable for school. He'd go to the Christmas pageant, and the dance for his girls' sake, but he'd be hanged if he'd dance with Claire McAllister.

"Good morning, friends." Claire welcomed each of her students as they lined up and stepped into the schoolhouse. Despite the snow that had fallen on Friday, what little remained provided fodder for some of the more spirited boys to make snowballs and pelt one another as they raced toward the steps.

"Charlie Winston, get down from there," she shouted to the boy climbing the outhouse window to gather more snow. Charlie and his brother Caleb were just two of the livelier boys in school. She had all she could do with them when the weather was fine, but when snow fell, they were positively rambunctious. And if Amos Syphers' complaint of rheumatism rang true, they were in for a cold and snowy winter.

She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. But for now, the school day had started. Just as she rang the bell for the last time, she caught sight of three small figures running toward the school. As they came closer, she recognized the Wyse girls. She understood they lived farther from town than some of the other students and was willing to give them some leeway. Through one or two conversations with Betsy Wyse, Linc's sister, and a stand-in teacher, she learned his wife had passed. Betsy didn't share the particulars or when she'd died nor did Claire pry further. Perhaps Linc was still grieving or perhaps he was angry because he'd been left with three little girls to care for in her absence.

Her optimistic mood disappeared altogether when they came near enough for her to take in every detail of their disheveled appearance. All three girls looked as if they'd rolled around with Mr. Halvorsen's pigs at the edge of town. Daisy's red knitted hat looked brown from so much mud, and their cheeks were smeared with streaks of what looked like berry jam. Their hair was matted and littered with pieces of straw as if they had slept in a barn.

For the present, she tamped down her irritation with their father and decided the girls were her priority. Once that was accomplished, she'd investigate why he lied to her about sending them to school in even worse shape than before. Especially when she went to offer her help.

But not only did he not want your help, he slammed the door in your face , a little voice taunted. Uncharacteristically, she'd backed down and left without another word to him. Yet, her fears were nothing in comparison to the three sweet, blue-eyed girls standing in front of her.

"Into the cloakroom, ladies." Discreetly, she guided them into the space where they hung their outerwear and away from prying eyes and hurtful remarks.

She removed Daisy's hat before sticking her head inside the classroom. "Friends, please find your seats. Harriet and Susannah, please help the youngest child practice writing their numbers. Everyone else, please copy down this week's spelling words on your slates."

Hearing the shuffling and murmured voices, she didn't need to look behind her to know they were complying with her directions. "Now, as for you three, let's get you cleaned up."

"Are we very dirty?" Violet asked.

Claire didn't believe in lying. Yet, she couldn't tell the girls the truth. "Not so very bad, Violet. Stay right here while I get a rag and the bucket of water."

"Oh," came Violet's reply, as she cast an eye toward her older sister.

Claire returned with a handful of rags and the bucket of water saved to put out any sparks that might erupt from the wood stove. "Care to tell me what happened?" She directed her question and her energies to Daisy who seemed to be the dirtiest of them all. "Did you fall into the mud on your way to school?"

Daisy looked at her sisters as if asking permission to speak. "Yes. I mean I fell into a puddle last night when we were playing near the barn."

Last night? The angrier she got at Linc Wyse, the harder she worked at removing the caked-on mud. These sweet girls had not washed before going to sleep last night. No wonder their clothes smelled ripe.

But mixed in with the scents of dirt and sugary jam was a trace of soap and water. Maybe Linc did see to the washing up. If he had, that would explain the clean aroma. Maybe there was something more to the situation. Yet, she could hardly make another trek out to his house and confront him until she witnessed an obvious change in the girls' appearance.

But there was another reason she wouldn't go. She had taken one look into those blue eyes of his and her pulse had skittered alarmingly. Unfortunately, she couldn't explain why, nor did she want to, any more than she wanted to think about the seemingly perpetual scowl on his face. She had no intention of returning to the Wyse ranch.

What she could do, however, was to attend to the girls when they showed up in the morning. She'd make sure the water bucket was filled and the rags were clean and dried. Besides cleaning the smudges from their face and tidying their hair, she'd offer up a prayer to the Lord for His protection for the girls.

She'd offer up a prayer for Lincoln Wyse as well. Of course, she reckoned The Almighty might have to work overtime to pull off this miracle.

As the days wore on, the girls continued to come to school in the same unkempt condition. With the help of two of the older girls in school, Claire continued to wash their faces, remove stains from their clothes using a damp rag, and grew more upset with Linc Wyse.

"You're not mad at Papa, are you, Miss Claire?" Violet asked as Claire worked a stain on Daisy's bodice. Hearing the anxiety in her voice, Claire realized she was using more force than necessary. Each day it appeared the girls were more rumpled than the day before. Dirt stained their clothes, hands, and faces. In addition to their outward appearance, they had only one sandwich to split between the three of them. As was her custom, Claire made an extra sandwich or two for those students whose families struggled to feed them.

"Why would I be mad at your father?"

Violet shrugged. "Because he doesn't wash our faces."

"Or our clothes," added Daisy.

Rachel put a finger to her lips. "Hush up."

Claire swallowed hard and bit back tears. It was apparent the girls and their father needed more than a litany of prayers.

She needed to step in with a plan. And quickly.

Watch yourself, Claire McAllister, her sister's voice warned. You tend to jump in with both feet and suddenly you're over your head.

"Since Mama died, Papa's done what he can. ‘Course Auntie Betts and Nana help some."

Violet's sweet smile tugged at Claire's heartstrings. Here in the West, prolonged grieving didn't do anyone any good. Stock needed tending, farms needed cultivating, and children needed looking after. "I'm certain your papa is doing the best he can."

Claire continued cleaning the stain on Daisy's dress but with far gentler strokes. The collar on Rachel's dress had streaks of jam on both sides.

Well, at least they had breakfast, and hopefully their lunchpails held a sandwich for each of them. If not, Claire had packed two extra sandwiches, apples, and three small squares of gingerbread in her satchel. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

With a final perusal, Claire accepted a hug from each girl, guided them to their seats, and started teaching.