Chapter Four

"Daisy, stop fidgeting." Violet grabbed onto her sister's thin upper arms and turned her to face her before smearing dirt along her cheekbones. "We have to make it look like you fell in the mud again."

Making a face that resembled their father's frown these days, Daisy pouted. "Why do I have to be the one who always looks like she fell in the mud?"

"Because you're the littlest, and everyone knows littlest girls always get in the most trouble," Violet said. She sifted her hands through a pile of dirt, then reluctantly dusted them down the bodice of the dress.

"Miss Claire is barely gonna notice that little bit of dirt on your dress. Add more, Violet."

Rachel fisted her hands on her hips in much the same manner as Mama did when she'd been upset with them. It reminded her, too, of the way her father always looked since Mama died. Nana and Auntie Betts, also. Everyone she knew, except Miss Claire, was always grumpy these days.

"Is that better?" Violet opened her coat wide, showing off a heavier film of dirt.

Like Daisy, she looked at Rachel for approval. It was hard being the oldest but that was her duty, and Mama had taught her well. Without being asked to, she shouldered that responsibility since the accident that claimed her Mama's life. For a long time, Nana and Auntie Betts came by and took care of them a few days a week. But one day they stopped coming, and when Rachel asked Papa, he said they went to take care of Uncle Matt's wife when she had a baby.

It was after Papa told her he needed her help with milking the cows and taking care of the girls that she came up with a plan to get her father a wife and a mother for her and her sisters. And she knew exactly who she wanted for the job.

Miss Claire was smart, and pretty, and she smelled good, too, like the lilac bushes in Nana's garden. And she liked to read stories about princesses.

Rachel didn't know how her plan would work until Daisy accidentally slipped on a patch of ice after the first snowstorm on their way to school. When they arrived late, and Miss Claire began to fuss at Daisy's dress, she figured that a little more dirt on each of their dresses would get their teacher's attention. Then she'd have to come out to the house to speak with Papa. He'd see how pretty she was, then they'd get married and live happily ever after like the princess in the storybooks.

"Am I dirty enough, Rachel?" Violet pirouetted so her big sister could look at her from every angle.

"Smear some of that jelly on your face," Rachel suggested, watching until Violet was done. "That should do it."

"I want some jelly on my face, too." Daisy hopped from one foot to the other waiting for Rachel to add a smear of jelly around her mouth.

Rachel could hear her mother's voice about wasting food. But it couldn't be helped. She was running out of ideas to get Miss Claire to come to the house. Besides, their teacher expected them to be short a sandwich or two.

She gave her sisters a once-over nod of approval before she untied the bow Pa had fastened to her single braid this morning and let the tails droop. She loosened the plaits, pulling out random strands before covering her head with a knitted cap. She hated that he'd worked so hard to make her appear neat and clean. But she believed playing a trick on Pa was the only way to get him and Miss Claire together.

"Rachel, look!" Violet's voice wobbled as she pointed to the woman standing on the top step of the schoolhouse.

"Auntie Betts!" Daisy broke into a run before Rachel could snatch her back. Lord, please don't let her blab anything to Auntie Betts. She knew, however, that her youngest sister couldn't keep a secret, and even if she did, her aunt wouldn't stop until she pulled every bit of information out of her.

"What's she doing here?" Violet whispered. "Pa didn't say anything about her and Nana coming back from Uncle Matt's house."

"Maybe Miss Claire is sick." Even as she said the words aloud, Rachel felt sick herself. She had the worst feeling her plan was unraveling faster than a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Maybe they could go home. Or hide in the woods until school was over.

But it was too late. Auntie Betts had already seen them, and besides, by the way she was standing over Daisy with her hands on her hips, Daisy had most likely already spoiled the plan.

"Rachel, Violet. Get a move on, ladies. We need to have a chat before school starts."

Having no other choice, Rachel and Violet trudged toward their aunt.

"What in the name of all that's holy happened to the three of you? And the truth if you please."

"We fell?" Rachel answered, uncertainty in her voice.

"All three of you?...into a crock of strawberry jam? Good one, Rachel Susannah Wyse. One of you better start talking."

Rachel swallowed hard and nodded. She would bear the brunt of her aunt's scolding. As the eldest, that was her responsibility. She would tell the lie and then add a litany of prayers for forgiveness during her evening devotionals.

"It could've happened." Hopefully, Violet lifted her eyebrows.

Rachel pinched her sister's upper arm through her coat.

"What did you do that for?" Violet massaged her arm and glared at her older sister.

Exasperated, Auntie Betts shook her head. "You've wasted enough time today. Go into the cloakroom and remove your coats. I'll bring a bucket and a rag so you can wash your face."

Rachel recognized the look of annoyance on her aunt's face. Pa often wore the same look. But their efforts weren't for their aunt; they were for their teacher.

"Take your seats, girls," she ordered, once they were reasonably rid of the jelly smears and dirt. "We'll talk about this after school."

It was bad enough all their classmates were staring and whispering as they dragged their feet to their seats. But soon Pa would know, and there was nothing they could do about that.

Linc came out of the barn, blinking against the glare of the snow. Though overcast and gray, it was still darker in the barn. He had just bolted the barn door after the last milking of the day when he heard the creaking sound of a wagon taking the turn into the yard.

He felt a smile stretch across his face. His sister was driving the wagon, and that could only mean she and his mother were back in Crystal Creek. Dare he get his hopes up? Had she come to help him get their lives back in order? It had been a long stretch without either of them. Never would he take Betsy or their mother's help for granted.

A frown replaced his smile when he watched his girls clamber down from the wagon bench and race into the house without barely acknowledging him. He reached his sister just as her foot touched the wheel hub. Gathering her skirts, she jumped clear of the wagon.

"Welcome back," he greeted, adding a kiss to her cheek after a quick hug. "How are things at Fort Riley with my two nephews?" He tried to keep his hopes in check. It wouldn't do to let his little sister know how desperate he was for her help. "Did Mother survive the trip and all the excitement?"

"Everyone's fine. Matt and Ellen send their love. Mother didn't arrive home with me. She stopped off in Harmony to visit with Nana and Aunt Rose and the family." Betsy's normally sunny disposition was absent. "Aren't you the least bit interested in why I brought the girls home from school today, Linc?"

Linc shook his head. "I figured you met them along the way and gave them a ride." He noticed her pinched features. "From that look on your face I'd say either you sucked on a lemon on your way out here or you've got something on your mind."

"Indeed I do. Your daughters came to school this morning looking like they wrestled with the Halvorsen's pigs," she said, not mincing words.

Linc whipped off his gloves and smacked them against the nearest spoke on the wagon wheel. Aside from his experiences during the war, he'd never come this close to violence. He let out a frustrated breath. He didn't need his sister taking a cue from Claire McAllister. "I've seen to the girls' washing myself each morning and made sure their clothes were clean before they left for school. It's just so hard keeping up with the chores, the girls…everything."

Betsy put a hand on his chest. "No one knows more than me and Mother how much you're struggling, Linc. And there's something else."

"I imagine you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not." Linc swallowed hard, trying to tamp down his anger. At twenty-five, Betsy was ten years younger than him. Often she'd resort to mischief by trying to scare him. She'd been trying that tactic for so long that he'd gotten accustomed to her pranks. Maybe one day he'd give in, but not today.

"Claire McAllister is under the weather today. Mr. Sullivan asked me to take over her classes for the day," she said referring to the head of the school board.

"And?" He didn't know what Miss McAllister's illness had to do with him or the girls.

"Well, when they arrived—late, mind you—they had mud on their overshoes, their coat sleeves, and their mittens. Not to mention a ring of jam around their mouths. Though I know you are not an expert at styling their hair, they looked especially unkempt."

Unkempt? Wasn't that the same word Miss McAllister used to describe the girls the day she came to visit? "As hopeless as you think I am, I would never let the girls leave the house looking like that."

While he took after their mother, Betsy was the image of their father, with light brown hair, and identical dimples that framed both sides of her mouth. Her soft grey eyes, also inherited from their father, reflected a note of sympathy. "Katie's been gone a year, Linc. I'm just concerned that you seem to be getting worse instead of climbing out from under the grief you're feeling."

"I'm fine," he shot back. He'd lost track of how many times he repeated those same words to himself. Every time he thought he was moving forward, catching up on chores, something would set him back.

Something…or rather someone like Claire McAllister.

He knew he couldn't keep it up. Either he needed to hire a ranch hand to help with the milking or a housekeeper to see to the house and the girls. Or a wife.

He shook away the thought. He didn't feel he was ready to take another walk down the aisle.

"If you're as fine as you say, why did the girls come to school looking unkempt?"

A vision of the nosy schoolteacher popped into his thoughts when he heard that word again. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "But you can be sure I intend to find out."

"Supper's ready, girls," Linc called out.

Supper, such as it was, consisted of shook-up eggs, a ham steak charred around the edges, a jar of his mother's canned peaches, and the last of a loaf of two-day-old bread.

He watched the girls file into the kitchen and take their seats at the scarred oak table. Rachel and Violet appeared as if some looming calamity was on the horizon.

Linc remained quiet, bidding his time as the girls settled in and bowed their heads. Quietly, they offered thanks for the food before them, then helped themselves to the food.

"You didn't say much when you got home. Anything special happen at school?"

"Auntie Betts was our teacher." Daisy's smile revealed her missing two front teeth.

"You don't say?" Linc cut a slice of bread, buttered it, and handed it to his youngest daughter.

"Yup, I do say." Daisy nodded her head emphatically. She rocked from side to side in her seat, and Linc knew she was swinging her legs. His youngest was never still for very long. "Auntie said Miss Claire was under the weather." She stopped rocking and looked at Linc. "What does that mean, Papa?"

Linc bit into his slice of bread, swallowed, and then took a sip of leftover coffee before answering. "It means she was sick." A funny pang pierced his heart after giving Daisy an explanation. It was un-Christian to take delight in another's illness…even if it was the prickly schoolteacher.

"We didn't talk about much ‘cept ‘bout blackberry jam."

"Blackberry jam?"

"Yup—ouch!" Daisy pulled a face at Rachel.

Linc hid a smile behind the rim of his cup when Rachel glared at Daisy. Lively and high-spirited, his daughters were challenging at any given time. But he wouldn't want them any other way. "Papa wants to know about school work, silly. Not blackberry jam."

"You didn't have to kick me." Daisy puckered her brow.

"Apologize to your sister, Rachel."

"But I didn't kick her."

Her protest was ignored. "Rachel."

"Sorry, Daisy," said Rachel, but Linc noticed that Violet remained silent. Perhaps his oldest hadn't been the culprit after all.

"Violet?"

"Sorry, Daisy," Violet mumbled, her chin touching her chest.

"Good. Now I'm asking again, did anything interesting happen at school?" Linc looked at each of them in order of their birth.

"No, sir," they answered in unison.

His girls remained tight-lipped. But he knew none of them could keep a secret for any length of time. And if their downcast eyes and glum faces were any indication, one or all of them would confess before too long.

"Papa? Can I talk with you?"

Linc looked up from the newspaper, adjusting his spectacles so he could see Rachel. Spectacles . He hated wearing them but he had no choice. Age was catching up with him and the spectacles were just another sign of getting older.

"Kind of late for you to still be up, isn't it?"

She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear before she took a few cautious steps further into the room. "I couldn't sleep."

"Got something on your mind?" Linc folded the Overland Monthly in half and gave his daughter his full attention. He'd finish reading the latest installment of Bret Harte's "The Luck of Roaring Camp" another time.

"I've done something wrong and it's been botherin' me since supper."

"And you need to get it off your chest, is that it?"

Rachel nodded and came closer, stopping at the footstool. "It's about…Miss Claire…well, not exactly." Suddenly, she lifted her chin and looked directly at him. "Me, Violet, and Daisy got dirty on purpose on the way to school."

Linc leaned back, laced his fingers together, and rested them on his solid middle. "Why would you want to do something like that? And what does Miss Claire have to do with it?"

Rachel's bravado seemed to droop as did her shoulders, but she persevered. "I thought if we got dirty enough, Miss Claire would come out to talk with you…again. Then maybe you'd notice that she's nice and pretty and kind."

Oh, he'd noticed all right.

"And if she kept coming, you'd see what a good wife she'd make for you."

Linc ran a hand through his hair and sat up. "Rachel, it's not your job to find me a wife." He grimaced. Saying the words aloud made them sound more desperate than he imagined. Maybe they needed a mother more than he needed a wife.

"I know it was wrong, Papa. I'm sorry."

"Someone else needs your apology besides me."

Rachel nodded. "Miss Claire."

"Miss Claire," he confirmed. "And what of your sisters? What part did they play in this plot?"

Rachel was quick to absolve Daisy and Violet of all guilt. "None, Papa. They did what I told them to do."

"So you were the ringleader?"

"Yes, sir."

Linc pursed his lips pretending to weigh the consequences of the girls' actions. When in reality, he was holding back a smile. He may not know how to properly tie a bow or neatly plait their hair, but he was raising honorable, upright Christian girls. "Before classes begin tomorrow, you and your sisters will tell Miss Claire what you've been up to and apologize. Have I made myself clear?"

Relieved, Rachel nodded. "That's it?"

"For the time being." He lifted his feet from the footstool and stood up. "Time for bed."

"Yes, sir." She turned and headed for the stairs to the sleeping loft. She had one foot on the bottom rung when she stopped "I'm sorry, Papa."

His voice softened. "I know you are. Goodnight, Rachel Mouse."

Rachel's forlorn expression transformed into a sweet smile when she heard Linc call her by the pet name he'd given her.

With this simple phrase, his oldest daughter knew all was right with her world again.

Yet, as Linc watched her go, he couldn't help but feel differently about his world. His girls had gone to great lengths, even to the point of telling a lie—white though it might be—to secure a wife for him. And he couldn't help thinking about something else.

His girls weren't the only ones who owed Claire McAllister an apology.