Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Smeatley, One Year Later

E vangeline.” Lucy’s scolding tone was amply filled with amused exasperation. “You aren’t meant to be moving heavy things.”

She turned toward her sister. “These books are not truly heavy.”

The cheeky tip to Lucy’s head echoed Susannah’s delightful influence. Lucy had once been so easily overwhelmed and intimidated. Now, at nearly fourteen years old, she had grown to be quietly confident and comfortable with who and where she was. “You oughtn’t be carrying those books. Dermot would agree with me.”

“Dermot is not here just now,” Evangeline countered with a laugh.

“I most certainly am here, you stubborn woman.”

Evangeline spun toward the door of the newly finished mill school. Dermot stood one step inside, watching her with a look not terribly unlike the exasperation she had received from her sister.

“The books truly aren’t very heavy,” she insisted.

Dermot shook his head as he crossed to her. “Any complaints, my dear, are to be tossed at the midwife.” He took the books. “’Tis her instructions we’re enforcing, unless you’re hoping this child’ll be born in this schoolhouse tonight.”

Evangeline set her hand atop her telltale middle. “It is a lovely schoolhouse.”

“But it’d be a bit more than your families are expecting tonight.”

Your families. Her pupils’ families truly had become hers. She’d been so lonely and so alone upon arriving in Smeatley. It was home to her in every way now.

“I want so much for them to be as pleased with their new schoolhouse as I am.” Evangeline looked over the largest of the schoolrooms with a pleased but critical eye. She had loved the tiny schoolhouse where she’d first learned to be a teacher, and the building within the mill where she’d been teaching since losing her position as town teacher had been more than adequate. But this space was full of hope and promise.

“How could anyone not be delighted with this?” Lucy looked around the room as well. “Three schoolrooms in one building. A door allowing entrance from within the mill and another from without, so no matter which group the children belong to, they can arrive conveniently. Stoves in all three rooms so no one need be cold during lessons. And this is a school built to last. It is a promise to the people of Smeatley that their children will always matter.”

Evangeline smiled at Dermot. “And it is beautifully and skillfully built.”

Her beloved husband simply nodded with her assessment. Some might dismiss that as arrogance. But anyone who knew him knew that his evaluation of his work was rooted entirely in simple honesty.

“How was our Ronan today?” he asked.

“As good as gold.”

He eyed her rounded middle. “And this other wee’un?”

“Moving about almost constantly.”

Dermot held her gaze. “And how are you faring, then?”

She closed her eyes. “Eager to have the families here. Nervous as well.”

He kissed her forehead. “The feeling outside is much the same.”

“Outside?” She leaned back a bit to look up at him.

His lips twitched. “The factory’s out for the day. Your families are here already.”

“They are?” Her heart dropped. “I was not even there to greet them.”

“Susannah was,” he said. “And Thomas and John came with me from the job. They’re helping their sister see to the gathering. Your families are grand and all.”

From her place straightening slates, Lucy quietly asked, “Thomas is here?”

Dermot managed to keep himself from smiling, but Evangeline knew him far too well not to see the amusement in his face. “He is, lass.”

Managing to look dignified despite the giddiness that quickly enveloped her, Lucy said, “I should go help Susannah.”

“An excellent notion,” Evangeline said.

As soon as her sister was out of the schoolroom, Evangeline quietly laughed. “Poor Thomas. He cannot possibly have missed seeing that Lucy is a bit smitten with him.”

Dermot walked beside Evangeline as they followed the path Lucy had taken. “He’s realized, but he’s too good a soul to cause her embarrassment over it.”

They stepped into the large entry hall, where dozens upon dozens of hooks waited, prepared to hold the small coats that would be hung on them come Monday. This space would be filled with beloved voices, joyous faces, and a momentary reprieve for Smeatley’s children from the weight of the world.

Evangeline peeked into the next schoolroom. It was where Lucy would be teaching the intermediate students, but Ronan had chosen this room to spend the hour during which they’d been preparing the new school to be opened to the Smeatley families.

“Ronan, dear,” she said. “Your papa and I are going outside to greet the families.”

The dear boy didn’t look up from his book, but he did nod a bit. So long as he knew where they were, he had shown himself content to be on his own. That had been a somewhat recent change in him. He was finding more places of comfort and more situations in which he felt at ease.

She watched him a moment, treasuring the knowledge that he was hers to love and look after and watch grow. He was more dear to her every day.

“I know you don’t need telling,” Dermot said quietly, “but the lad loves you too.”

Evangeline leaned against him. “I still find myself amazed at my good fortune. To have found the both of you here. That Ronan allowed me into his life. That you decided to love me in the end, no matter our difficult beginning.”

“Ah, but I loved you long before ‘the end,’ my dear.”

She stepped with Dermot out into the large and well-appointed garden in front of the school. Her grandfather had not immediately understood the importance of such a thing at his mill school, but she had refused to abandon the matter, knowing how much these children, especially those working inside the factory walls, needed to run and play and spend time with grass under their feet and the sun overhead on the days it made an appearance.

When she’d been fighting for this addition to the schoolhouse plans, she’d not even considered the added benefit of a space large enough for gathering the families of her students. Seeing the crowd now, everyone eagerly awaiting the evening’s presentation and the opening of the new school, she was deeply grateful she had been so stubborn.

Dermot set the stack of books on a chair Susannah had earlier placed near the door for that specific purpose, then he walked with Evangeline as she greeted and was greeted by her dear children and their families. All those who had begun with her in the village school had moved to the mill school, and so many others had begun attending afterward. The three rooms of the new schoolhouse could hold more than were currently enrolled, but they would hardly be empty. And, most exciting of all, there was room to grow.

“Ey up, Mrs. McCormick,” Hugo Palmer greeted her.

Her students had struggled for a time to start calling her Mrs. McCormick rather than Miss Blake. It had likely helped that, while working as a teacher, Lucy was known as “Miss Blake.”

He smiled. How much he had warmed to her since his first day as one of her students. “Factory’s out a spell early.”

“It is, but that isn’t a terrible thing for us. The families will have more time for exploring the schoolhouse.”

“Them’ll be proper chuffed. A grand, groncie schoolhouse, it is.” Hugo, for all his insistence early on that he couldn’t imagine the purpose of schooling, had participated in the building project as one of Dermot’s workers and was convinced they would have the most impressive schoolhouse in all of Yorkshire.

With his declaration warming her heart, Evangeline turned to continue her greetings, but her gaze fell on someone unexpected. Someone unwelcome , truth be told.

She had braced herself for the possibility that her aunt would make an appearance, no matter that her uncle had prevented that as much as possible over the past year, but Evangeline had not even considered the possibility that Mr. Garvey would be in attendance that evening.

The shock of seeing him stopped her feet, her mind, perhaps even her heart. Why had he come? What trouble did he intend to cause?

“That man doesn’t seem to know where he’s not wanted,” Dermot said in a low voice.

“Will you be upset if I simply refuse to speak to him?”

“Horrified.”

Evangeline smiled at her darling husband. His dry humor had taken time to understand and recognize, but she depended on it now. She loved it. She loved him .

“I do not believe I owe him any of my time,” she said of their unexpected visitor.

“Not even a moment,” Dermot agreed firmly. “And he has about as much say over this school and your teaching as the moon has over the comings and goings of the sun.”

“Still, if he dares to insult my children . . .” She tipped her chin defiantly.

He set a supportive arm around her. “You’ve a garden full of fierce defenders who’ll not abide an unkind word from him toward any of these little ones or their teachers.”

That was true. The people of Smeatley had proven themselves her friends again and again. And how they loved their children!

“There is no reason for him to be in Smeatley at all.” Evangeline walked a little closer to Dermot as they made their way toward the front of the garden. “The village school has been closed ever since I was dismissed.”

The school board had seen no reason to hire a new teacher when every single student had moved to the mill school, and every family in the village who wanted their children educated had, without exception, indicated they would do the same. Mr. Garvey had undoubtedly thought that he was cleverly punishing a teacher who refused to bow to his demands, but, in the end, he’d been left to explain to those in authority why, under his supervision, the school in Smeatley had collapsed entirely.

Dermot took her hand. “You succeeded grandly where he’d predicted failure. That, I don’t doubt, pricks the man’s pride.”

“Do you suppose he’ll make trouble? It is meant to be such a lovely evening at this new school.”

“And a proud moment for its lovely head teacher.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll keep a weather eye out for any bother he means to make.”

“I do have a rule in this school against fisticuffs.” She gave him a look of mock warning.

He simply shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”

How she adored him. Fate had not always been kind to Evangeline, but in the matter of Dermot McCormick, fate had been astonishingly good to her.

By the time she reached her place in front of the gathering, having spent all day on her feet, all afternoon preparing the schoolhouse, and the past half hour walking among the families, Evangeline was more than ready to sit. The midwife had told her such would be the case in these last remaining weeks before her time came.

“Welcome to our new Mill School,” Evangeline said to the gathered crowd.

Smiles spread over all their faces. Mr. Garvey likely didn’t join in, but Evangeline chose not to look at him.

“Tonight, we will be celebrating our wonderful new school and our wonderful children. On Monday, children, this is where you will come for your lessons.”

Dermot and Evangeline had brought Ronan to the building site every day since the project had begun, helping him grow comfortable with the idea of a new school. He’d needed a lot of time to adjust to school at the temporary location where school had been held since she had been dismissed from the town school. Whether their dear boy would be ready for the transition in two more days, they did not yet know.

“But, first,” she said, “I am delighted to have our children show you how very clever they all are.” She looked to Susannah; her students would be giving their demonstration first.

As Susannah made her way to the front, Evangeline walked to where Dermot stood. Beside him was a chair, and standing next to the chair was Ronan. He gave her his usual small wave, which she returned in the same way.

“The lad’s brought you a chair, my dear,” Dermot whispered.

Ronan had thought to bring it.

“Your feet are tired,” Ronan said. “Chairs are for sitting when one’s feet are tired.”

“That is true.” Evangeline sat. She gave the boy a smile.

He tapped his carved dog against his leg and leaned back against his father. Ronan was a little overwhelmed, which she thought was entirely understandable. There were more people in the garden than he likely ever saw in one place.

“I’m teacher to t’ newest students,” Susannah said, as sure and confident as ever.

In the crowd, the Crossley family beamed with pride. Susannah’s income as an assistant teacher, combined with John’s ability to work half the day for Dermot, plus Thomas’s income as a mason, had kept the family afloat during the difficult winter. Mr. and Mrs. Crossley had found enough odd jobs as well to replace enough of their flock that they could begin again out on the moors.

And, to Evangeline’s utter delight, little Johanna had felt well enough to be at school twice in recent weeks. She would likely never be hale enough to attend every day or even every week, but she was doing better. That alone warmed Evangeline to her very soul.

Johanna stood beside her sister at the front of the gathering amongst the other beginning students. Susannah’s pride was apparent as each and every one of her students shared a bit of reading or ciphering or, in the case of a couple shy souls, simply stood next to their classmates, too timid and nervous to truly take part. But when her own sister read a short passage in her small and fragile voice, Susannah looked ready to burst with the joy of it.

As the Crossleys’ youngest was the last of the group to demonstrate what she’d learned, the moment Johanna finished, the gathering erupted in calls of congratulations. Mr. Crossley swept his little girl up in his arms, kissing her cheek, and, Evangeline felt certain, whispering words of love and delight.

Lucy’s students were next to present. Her timidity at the first demonstration evening a year earlier had been palpable. This time, other than a deep blush when her gaze seemed to accidentally meet Thomas Crossley’s, she was entirely unshaken. Her students did brilliantly and were met with as much approval and enthusiasm as the previous group.

The most advanced students were the last group to present. Earlier that day, Hugo had volunteered to lead his group so Evangeline would not need to be on her feet any longer than necessary. He was still opinionated and outspoken, but he was also an inarguable help when she needed him to be.

There had been four pupils in the most advanced group during their first demonstration evening. There were eight now. And those eight would be reading a story written in Yorkshire speak, as had become tradition at these gatherings.

Evangeline took a breath, her eyes shifting of their own accord to Mr. Garvey. What mischief would he cause when he heard the words they read?

Dermot set a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of understanding and support. He didn’t need to speak; she knew he was well aware of the direction her worries had taken.

Mr. Garvey tensed at the first Yorkshire word her students read. By the time half of them had shared the contents of their slates, his mouth had twisted into a tight knot of disapproval. As the last of the students read, his gaze shifted to her.

A year earlier she would have held her breath or tensed under his harsh glare. But now, she didn’t even bother with a show of indifference, because she was anything but indifferent. She let a smile slowly blossom on her face, one she knew communicated how aware and how grateful she was that he could do absolutely nothing to stop the good she was doing at the Mill School. Her triumphant smile was not something her aunt would have considered appropriate for a lady, but Evangeline didn’t care in the least.

As the crowd’s shouts of delight and pride echoed around the garden, she rose. She didn’t do so as gracefully as she once had, neither did she walk with the same swiftness she used to, but she didn’t mind.

To the gathering, she said, “Thank you all for sharing your children with me. And, children, I am so very proud of all of you. Before everyone begins to explore our beautiful new school, I have one more thing to share with you.”

Other than Dermot and Grandfather, she had told no one about this portion of the evening. She could see she had piqued the curiosity of the gathering.

“So many of you have been wonderfully generous and have told me your stories—be they stories of magic or fairies or legends—and I have been honored to write them down in your own words, precisely as you have told them to me. Our hardworking assistant teachers have written out copies of them, helping us have enough for the students to enjoy. But it wasn’t enough, not for my satisfaction.”

Everyone was watching her raptly.

“Mr. Farr and I have undertaken a project, the result of which he has brought here today from Leeds.”

Evangeline turned to fetch one of the books from the stack Dermot had brought out, but Ronan was already there, standing beside her, holding one out to her.

“The books are for the families to see,” he said quietly.

“Yes, they are,” she whispered, taking the book from him. “Thank you.”

He moved quickly back to his father.

Evangeline held up the book. “We have had your stories printed in a book.”

“In Yorkshire speak?” Mr. Palmer called out, amazement and doubt in his voice.

“In Yorkshire speak,” she confirmed. She looked at Mr. Garvey, still standing near the wall. “In the words and language of Smeatley. A beautiful language that ought never be erased.”

The man had claimed enough of her thoughts and worries. She vowed to pay him no more heed.

“We have copies enough for all three of our classrooms, as well as several that can be borrowed, if students wish, to take home and read to their families.” She held the book to her heart. “These are your stories, and they will not be lost.”

Over the hours that followed, Evangeline heard as much excitement about the books of Yorkshire stories as she did about the new schoolhouse. She had hoped the people of Smeatley would be pleased with both; they were ecstatic.

“You’ve done a fine thing here, Evangeline,” Grandfather said. “I suspect Yorkshire will, in the end, lose much of its unique language in the years to come, but it’ll happen less swiftly in this small corner because of you.”

“I will pray that it doesn’t happen at all,” she said. “But if it does, I hope it happens far less swiftly here.”

Grandfather’s brow pulled a bit as he looked her over. “How are you feeling, Evangeline?”

“Tired,” she admitted with a small laugh. “But also happy.” Her eyes lingered on Dermot not far distant, standing in conversation with Mr. Crossley. “And loved.” Ronan sat on the chair he had brought out for her. Lucy stood with Susannah, smiling broadly. “And grateful.”

“I mean to remain in Smeatley for a fortnight or so,” Grandfather said. “I’m hoping to be here to meet my great-grandchild.”

Evangeline smiled at him. “I would like that very much. And I hope you will join us for supper tomorrow.”

That had become their approach when Grandfather was in Smeatley. Dermot had left it to Evangeline and Lucy to decide if they wished to accept invitations to call at Hillside House. They hadn’t been back since the day the family’s difficult history had been laid bare. Neither Evangeline nor her sister had felt any inclination to return.

“I would very much like to have supper with your family,” Grandfather said. He offered a quick word of farewell and made his way out of the schoolhouse garden. He was not the most expressive of people on more sentimental matters, but she no longer doubted that he loved her and Lucy, and that he had come to love Dermot and Ronan as well.

A moment later, her darling husband, her dear sister, and her beloved little boy were at her side, bundled for the walk home.

Dermot helped her with her coat, smiling softly as he buttoned it for her. “’Tis time we were wandering home, Evangeline, before you’re too weary to keep standing.”

“The Crossleys have said they’ll help Susannah lock up the school,” Lucy said.

Dermot kept an arm around her as they walked home. Lucy and Ronan walked a bit ahead of them, with Ronan waxing long about the moon overhead, an unending stream of facts and observations.

The shattering loneliness of her arrival in Smeatley felt like a lifetime ago. She’d lost all her family in one way or another. She’d had no home. No hope. Now, here she was, surrounded by an abundance of joy.

“Do you remember, Dermot, when we were married—”

“I’ve some recollection.”

She shook her head at his teasing and finished her question. “You said that we were going to build a beautiful life together.”

“I remember.” He squeezed her shoulders even as he held her more tenderly.

With a sigh that came from the very depths of her heart, she said, “I am unspeakably pleased that you were right.”

“So am I, my dear. And grateful beyond words that our life together grows more beautiful every day.”