Chapter Twenty-six

T he next few days passed in a blur. Evangeline spent the school hours practicing with her students as they read aloud and solved mathematical questions. She wanted them to feel confident when they were asked to display their knowledge for her grandfather. She had heard them and their parents speak of Mr. Farr in hushed whispers, filled with both awe and apprehension.

What would they think if they knew she was his granddaughter? She hoped it would not change their view of her, but she feared it would. She had rankled at first when Aunt Barton had demanded that she keep her connection to them a secret, but seeing the change in her students at the idea of Mr. Farr’s arrival made clear the wisdom of that condition.

Her evenings were spent cleaning her living quarters, the schoolroom, the entryway. She scrubbed every surface until her back ached and her fingers refused to straighten. The gardener at Hillside House allowed her the use of a large pair of sharp trimmers. Though her work was inexpert, she managed to cut back the overgrown hedge, ensuring that passage in and out of the schoolyard would not involve an altercation with the shrubbery.

She dropped into her bed the night before her grandfather’s visit utterly exhausted yet found that sleep eluded her. She had not seen her grandfather in several years; he’d not even come for the funerals. What would she say to him? Was she permitted to acknowledge their relationship in private, or was she to maintain the formalities at all times? And suppose he was entirely unimpressed with her progress and her work?

What if he agreed with Mr. Garvey’s assessment regarding the children’s language and demanded her compliance? Grandfather had the ability to prevent her from being with Lucy. The thought pierced her with such pain that she feared the ache it left behind would never leave her.

Her sister did not write to her often, and the letters she did send were brief and unhappy. Life was difficult in Smeatley; Evangeline would not deny that. But life was difficult everywhere. No one ought to be required to face it alone.

Grandfather was cruel to keep them apart. If only she knew the right words to make him see that. He was not a man of sentiment. Rational arguments would go much further. Unfortunately, effective debating was not a topic generally covered in the education the upper classes deemed appropriate for girls. She was intelligent, and her position was sound. She was simply unsure of her ability to present that position in a way that would ring true in the mind of a man of business.

She had heard Dermot make just such an argument when proposing his building project to Uncle Barton. He knew the proper means of doing so. Surely he would help her.

Of course, that help required that he visit her, something he’d not done since the very personal, very tender moment they’d shared. Her pulse picked up pace at the thought of how he’d held her hand so gently and kissed her fingers. It was seared in her memory, hovering in a close corner of her mind, sliding into her consciousness during periods of quiet reflection and momentary distraction. Dermot, who had seemed so unapproachable all those weeks ago, who had pushed her so firmly aside and treated her to such a cold welcome when she’d first arrived, had kept her near him and had looked at her with such warmth.

Was that how love generally happened: by surprise? She didn’t know when her feelings for him had turned so tender, only that they had, and she could not imagine ever being indifferent to him again. His pointed absence these past days had riddled those new and sensitive feelings with doubt. He was not the sort of person to treat a woman’s affections with insincerity; she knew that much of him. She simply could not say whether or not those sincere feelings ran as deeply as hers did.

Time would tell, but the waiting was difficult. The weight of it remained as the morning dawned, as her children arrived, and as they waited on tenterhooks for the arrival of judgment. Dermot came earlier than usual, Ronan, clearly bathed and dressed in his best clothes, sleepily following along beside him.

With the children extra alert, little could pass between them. They stood at an inarguably proper distance. He smiled a touch awkwardly. She felt certain she blushed.

“Will you be coming by at the usual time this evening to take Ronan home?”

“I will be, and I’ll wish to hear how Mr. Farr’s visit went.” He hadn’t forgotten. Of course he hadn’t. Dermot McCormick, for all his bluster and standoffishness, was thoughtful in a way few others were.

“I know he will be visiting your building site today,” she said. “I hope you will tell me how that goes.”

“I will.” He dipped his head and made as if to leave, but turned back. Stepping a bit closer and lowering his voice, he said, “Keep your chin up, my dear. You’ve every right to be proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”

Those words remained with her throughout the morning as the children continued their practicing. She listened with new ears to their reading and their mathematics and heard confidence in their voices. They had learned and grown and blossomed. Though much of that credit belonged to the children for the hard work they had put in, she felt a measure of satisfaction at the role she had played in their accomplishments.

Grandfather would see that. She knew he would. She hoped he would.

Fate exercised its typical cruelty. Grandfather arrived, her aunt with him, just as the children were to adjourn for their daily tea. Hunger combined with weariness and anxiety would not make the coming task any easier.

Still, she held herself with dignity and grace. “Welcome, Mr. Farr,” she greeted, offering a curtsey.

He made a noise of acknowledgment and plodded into the room. The children rose respectfully and waited, still and quiet, for further instruction.

“Children,” she said, “please greet Mr. Farr, the head of the school board.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Farr.”

Grandfather gave them the same indiscernible response he’d given her. She hoped he would be more articulate moving forward. How was she to know if he approved of her work if he never said anything?

“Be seated, children.”

They obeyed, but sat in near terror, watching the new arrival. Mr. Garvey had been greeted with wary uncertainty. Mr. Farr was feared.

Looking at her grandfather, she could well remember responding that same way to him when she was as young as her students and he would come to visit. His thick brows, now snowy white, jutted at angry angles over his piercing eyes. His mouth was forever pulled in stern lines. Age had not stooped him in the least. His was a broad and intimidating bearing. Had she not, on occasion, seen moments of kindness between him and her mother, she might have still been afraid of him. He was not overly friendly, nor did she deceive herself into believing his was a soft heart. She simply knew he was not the cold man he too often appeared to be.

“The students are eager to show you what they have learned,” Evangeline said. “They wish to read for you and answer some mathematical questions.”

Her aunt crossed to Grandfather’s side and, in a conspiratorial voice loud enough for all to hear, explained, “Mr. Garvey objected to this performance style of reporting. He, of course, preferred that the students demonstrate abilities rather than memorization.”

Aunt Barton would not ruin this for them all. Too much depended upon it.

“Mrs. Barton,” Evangeline said. “Today’s visit is for the benefit of the head of the school board, not for you. Kindly step aside and allow me to do my job and Mr. Farr to do his.”

“Did you hear that?” Aunt Barton asked her father in feigned tones of shock.

“I did, and it happens I agree with her.”

Her aunt’s pretended shock turned genuine. “Well.”

Grandfather took little notice. “I want to hear what the students have learned.”

This was the moment. Nervousness tiptoed over her.

“Who would like to go first?” she asked the children, praying someone would volunteer.

Hugo stood. “I will.”

Hugo. Defiant, difficult Hugo. He looked directly at the man all the children were afraid of and didn’t flinch. Bless the dear boy.

“This is Hugo Palmer. He is one of our older students and has been attending for nearly seven weeks.”

Grandfather nodded. “I want to hear him read.”

Evangeline gave Hugo the paper the more advanced students had been studying. Hugo took it and, without hesitation or the slightest show of nervousness, read the simple but pleasant poem. She watched her grandfather out of the corner of her eye. His expression didn’t change in the least.

Hugo finished and waited, holding himself with palpable pride.

“Can you write?” Grandfather asked.

“Aye. Us spelling is not grand, but Miss Blake is teaching we to write better.”

Aunt Barton scoffed from the corner. “Miss Blake certainly hasn’t taught you to speak better.”

Evangeline pushed down the hurt of that declaration and focused, instead, on Hugo, intent on intervening should he grow combative at the insult. But the boy held himself with dignity.

“I’m not interested in how he speaks,” Grandfather said. “Iwant to know what he’s learned.”

Relief replaced some of Evangeline’s worries. Her grandfather was brusque, but he was showing himself to be fair as well. There was no guarantee he would not eventually require her to teach them to speak differently, but for now he was focused on what they had learned.

“Can you do any deciphering?” he asked Hugo.

“Aye.”

Grandfather stepped closer to the boy. “If I were to order ten pounds of wool and needed to divide them evenly between two mills, how much wool would each mill receive?”

That was a more complicated question than she’d prepared the students to answer. “We have not delved into division yet,” she told her grandfather.

“I doubt Mr. Farr has come to hear your excuses,” Aunt Barton interjected.

“Enough, Bertha,” Grandfather said. “Have you an answer, boy?”

“Five pound to each mill, sir.”

Evangeline clasped her hands together and let her smile blossom.

“Well done, Hugo Palmer.” Grandfather looked at Evangeline. “I’d like to hear more.”

“This is Susannah Crossley. She wishes to one day be a teacher herself.”

Grandfather nodded his approval. “This world needs young people with ambition.” To Evangeline, he said, “Has the girl done any teaching?”

“Yes. She helps instruct the younger students.”

Aunt Barton sneered again. “What, then, are you being paid to do?”

“Bertha.” Grandfather’s tone had only turned more stern.

Susannah kept her composure, though she showed some signs of strain. Evangeline moved to stand beside the girl, hoping her presence would offer some strength. “Perhaps Mr. Farr would like to see you work with the little ones.”

“I would.” Grandfather stood in front of the class and watched, still showing no signs of pleasure.

Susannah made a wonderful showing, guiding the youngest children through their letters and numbers. He asked questions of several other students. He listened as they read, looked over the words they wrote on their slates. No matter Grandfather’s impression—though she felt nearly certain it was positive—Evangeline was inordinately proud of them all.

The school hours ended, and Grandfather was still there. The children rushed off, even those awaiting the return of their parents from the mill. She could hear them outside, running and laughing and letting out the energy they’d built up during a day of being stuck indoors.

Evangeline straightened the classroom, gathering slates and papers, sliding the benches back into place. Grandfather stood at the windows overlooking the back garden, not the front where the children played. He had not told her what he thought of her teaching or the children’s progress. Aunt Barton had not offered her thoughts either, though the flash in her eyes told its own story.

“You are welcome to stay up here as long as you’d like,” Evangeline told them both. “I need to go downstairs and prepare my evening meal.”

Grandfather kept his gaze on the window. “You mentioned in your letter that you’ve learned to cook.”

“I have. And clean and sew. I wash my own clothes. I trim the hedges. I look after thirty children every day. I go to market for my food. I manage my finances.” Deciding she had pushed her luck enough, she finished by saying, “I will be downstairs.”

Only when she reached the landing below did she begin to breathe again. She pressed her open palm to her racing heart. The students had done well. She had kept her composure, more or less. All she could do now was wait.

Cecilia Haigh slipped in through the front door, watching her uncertainly.

“Is something the matter, sweetie?”

Her voice as quiet as ever, she asked, “Will Mr. Farr let thee still be t’ teacher?”

Evangeline hunched down in front of her. She took the girl’s hands in hers. “I believe he will. You all did so wonderfully today.”

Cecilia’s gaze dropped. “I were too scared to read for ’im. I’m sorry.”

Evangeline hugged her. “Do not be sorry, Cecilia. I know how well you read, and I am so pleased with you.”

Oh, how Evangeline hoped her words weren’t overly confident, that Grandfather truly would allow her to continue being their teacher.

Cecilia pulled back and, with a quick smile, ran outside. She was still quiet, but she’d made friends with the other children.

Evangeline stood as Grandfather began his descent from the school-room.

“The children seem to like you,” he said.

“The feeling is mutual.”

He studied her. No doubt he was attempting to decide what he thought of her and her work. She had grown quite weary of being constantly evaluated, but if continued judgment meant she could have Lucy in Smeatley with her and continue teaching her students, she would endure it for the remainder of her grand-father’s visit.

“I do need to begin my meal preparations,” she reminded him. “And one of my students remains here until suppertime, so I need to look after him. His father, actually, is overseeing the building of the mill workers’ housing.”

“McCormick?” Grandfather rocked back and forth on his heels. “He’s doing good work. Manages his crews with a firm hand. They all respect him despite his origins.”

Despite his origins. How often did people hold that against him? Being Irish was a liability in England. As was being a woman at the mercy of her relatives’ decisions about her future.

“Once McCormick claims his child, come by your aunt and uncle’s home for supper this evening,” he said.

“Are you certain they will permit it?”

Grandfather pulled his coat from the hook on the wall near the exterior door. “I am your grandfather. If I wish for you to join us for a meal, no one will deny me that request.”

At the top of the stairs, Aunt Barton watched her. Though she had been the recipient of many of her aunt’s cold scowls, the one she received in that moment was utterly frigid. Her presence at dinner that evening might not be denied, but she felt certain she would not be the least bit welcome.