Chapter Nine

E vangeline woke to the sound of tiny voices, dozens of them, right outside her windows. For a moment she feared she’d overslept. But the church bells had not yet announced the arrival of dawn. She never slept through the church bells. Heavens, she hardly breathed through them.

She was not late. Her students were early.

With no time to struggle with her corset, she pulled on her coat, grateful it was long enough to hide nearly all of her nightgown. She quickly smoothed and braided her hair, tying it in a loop with a length of ribbon. Feeling rather like a vagabond, Evangeline hurried out of her rooms and across the entryway to the front door.

The early morning light illuminated the faces of a handful of children. They sat on rocks, in the dirt. Some leaned against the schoolhouse. A few of the younger children rested with their heads in the laps of the older ones. No one seemed to think it odd that they had arrived before the sun.

Had Evangeline misunderstood? Surely school didn’t begin so early. Why, most of these children had likely not even eaten breakfast yet.

She caught the eye of a young girl, one approaching eleven or twelve years of age, the same age as Lucy. The reminder of her sister struck deep at her heart, but she rallied. Her first day of teaching was no time to fall to pieces.

“Are you all here for school?” Evangeline asked.

The girl answered with what sounded like a haphazard collection of noises, though Evangeline firmly suspected they were words.

“I beg your pardon?”

The girl repeated herself, though Evangeline still couldn’t make sense of the answer.

“One more time, please,” Evangeline requested. “But slowly. I do not hale from this area of the kingdom, and my ears are not yet accustomed to your manner of speaking.”

The girl’s ginger brows pulled low in consternation. When she spoke again, her words were slow and overly pronounced, as if Evangeline didn’t understand English. “We’re come for skoo-il.”

Skoo-il. School. They had, indeed, arrived for school. The day was proving more difficult than she’d imagined; and she hadn’t even started teaching yet.

“Why are you here so early?” she pressed.

“It i’n’t so early as that.”

She sorted that sentence in her head and hoped she understood it correctly.

“Does school always begin before sunrise?” Evangeline asked.

“Tha are t’ teacher. Tha’ll know better’n I.”

Good heavens. Did the people of Smeatley speak a different language? Tha are t’ teacher. That likely translated to “You are the teacher,” though how, precisely, she couldn’t say.

“Will you be coming this early every day?” Perhaps she would fare better with a simple yes or no answer.

The girl nodded. At last, something Evangeline could understand without effort. The words that followed, though, were still a struggle.

Evangeline recognized the word she felt certain meant “school,” as well as “parents” and “factory.” If she was filling in the remainder correctly, the girl was saying that the children came with their parents, who were headed to work at the factory, and were left here to await the start of school. How she hoped she’d guessed right.

“I’ll be but a moment,” she said. “Please tell the other children.”

Another indiscernible answer followed. Perhaps, given time, Evangeline would grow accustomed to this West Yorkshire style of speaking, but for the moment, she was lost. How in heaven’s name was she supposed to teach these children if she could not even understand them?

She posed the question aloud once she had returned inside. The empty room did not answer. Her family, ensconced behind glass, did not either. She, herself, hadn’t any solutions.

Her corset fought her as much as ever. Surely women who hadn’t the means of retaining a lady’s maid still wore corsets. How did they manage? Were they more limber than she or simply more practiced? Perhaps they wore more cooperative corsets.

Her hair neatly, if simply, pinned up, her button-front dress donned, and her boots on and tied, Evangeline stepped from her rooms. While she’d been uncertain ever since learning she was to be a teacher, she found herself even more nervous than she’d expected to be.

I can do this. I must do this. Her future as well as Lucy’s depended upon her success.

As if mocking her, the church bells chose that moment to peal out their greeting to the sun. Evangeline’s heart stopped as that now-hated sound filled the otherwise quiet morning. Each clang reverberated inside her, a full-fisted punch delivered directly to her most tender of emotions.

Gone. Gone.

Its unyielding declaration refused to allow her a single day’s escape from her loss.

Gone. Gone.

The intrusion would stop soon enough if only she waited.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

The onslaught ended, though her heart continued to pound. She could breathe. She could think. She could go on. That was how she would survive: one breath, one thought, one moment at a time.

With one more fortifying lungful of air, she resumed her most proper posture. If she could appear confident, her students would never guess she was utterly overwhelmed.

She stopped in the open doorway, overlooking the front garden. The children were more awake than they’d been when last she’d seen them. A few had taken to chasing each other about the unkempt grass. The same girl Evangeline had spoken to earlier sat patiently near the door.

Evangeline resisted the urge to ask her further questions. She likely had already made herself appear incompetent. She didn’t know how students were called in to school, never having attended one herself. Her governess used to simply call out their names.

“Children.” Her first attempt emerged far too quiet and uncertain. She steeled her resolve and, in a more commanding voice, called out, “Children.”

That captured the attention of most of them in the yard. She gave a quick clap, hoping to gain the notice of the rest. “Come inside,” she instructed. “We’ll begin.”

The responses varied considerably. Some were eager, skipping over and inside. Others appeared resigned or nervous or still half asleep. A few could not possibly have given a less enthusiastic performance as they dragged themselves through the tall grass and inside the schoolhouse.

Evangeline offered each of them a “Good morning” as they passed, regardless of their level of enthusiasm, and motioned them toward the schoolroom. When the last student had entered, she climbed the narrow stairs. She left the exterior door ajar for those students who hadn’t arrived in the wee hours.

The chaos of the front garden had re-created itself in the schoolroom. Children sitting, chatting, running about, testing their balance by walking the length of the benches. How had her governess retained control all those years ago? Evangeline hadn’t the slightest idea.

She assumed her authoritative voice and called out, “Children. Please have a seat on any of the benches where you can find space.” She would organize them later either by families or age or academic level. That last approach might not work, though. The chances were good that none of her pupils, regardless of age, had any previous education. They would all be on the same academic level.

Good heavens, I am in deep water.

She clasped her hands in front of her and surveyed her group of ragamuffins. In many ways they all looked alike: clothes faded, well-worn, and made of sturdy and simple fabrics, hair combed but generally in need of washing, feet bare and thick with the dust of the road. Some of the children were thin—too thin—with sunken eyes. Others at least appeared to be sufficiently fed, though without the rosy glow so common with more well-to-do families.

That observation brought another thought: was she meant to feed them? The school day would last several hours. The children would, no doubt, grow hungry. She hadn’t food enough, nor any idea how to prepare it.

Focus, Evangeline. You’ll do yourself no good by borrowing trouble when you’ve trouble enough.

“First things first,” she said to her students as much as to herself, “I would like to get to know you a little bit. Would the oldest here from each family take turns introducing yourself and your siblings? If you are the only member of your family here, then you need simply tell me about yourself.”

Had that sounded as pathetic as she feared? How could she ever instill in her students any degree of confidence in her teaching skills if she continually displayed to them her lack of ability?

She brought her thoughts back around and addressed the group. “Who is willing to go first?”

The one girl Evangeline had spoken with rose from her seat, apparently volunteering to begin.

Evangeline spoke quickly. “I am newly arrived from Cambridge-shire, and no doubt you have noticed my odd style of speaking.” Their giggles and nods confirmed what she’d suspected: she sounded as strange to them as they did to her. Their response also told her, however, that they understood her far better than she did them. At least communication was working in one direction. “Until I grow more accustomed to your Yorkshire speech, I will ask that you say your words as clearly as you can and even a touch slower than you might otherwise. Can you do that for me?”

No one objected. She hoped that counted as agreement. Eager for information, she uncorked the inkwell, grateful that necessity had been included in the charity basket along with a bit of paper. She dipped her pen in the ink and held it at the ready.

She turned her gaze to the only child standing. “If you will, please tell me your family name and you and your siblings’ Christian names, as well as a little something about your family. Iwould like to know you all better.”

Honestly, she would settle for knowing them at all. The room was full of tiny strangers. How could she know the best way to teach them if she knew nothing about them?

The girl’s long ginger braids draped over her shoulder. “We family name is Crossley. We’ve one sister more who’ll be comin’ t’ school, but she’s a’ we ’ouse as she were feeling poorly.”

She jotted down the family name. One sister more ... feeling poorly . Evangeline felt she’d sorted through the gist of it. She’s a’ we ’ouse, though. That part was indiscernible. The last word was likely “house.”

“I’m Susannah,” the girl continued, poking her chest with her thumb. “This is Billy and John.” She motioned to the two ginger children sitting beside her, each with brighter hair than the last. At least the Crossley family would be easy to spot.

Evangeline added their Christian names to the accounting. “Do you live far from here?”

Susannah shrugged. “Two mile.”

A long walk for so early in the morning. “And do your parents bring you here on their way to the factory?”

“Us aren’t a factory family,” Susannah said. “We live on t’ moor, but we’ve come to town with us brother what works for Mr. McCormick.”

She realized a clue to their manner of speaking, one she hoped would help her understand them more easily. They cut out every sound in the word “the” except for the t . Even more surprising than the fact that Evangeline had sorted out a bit of their language was hearing the sound of her neighbor’s name. “Mr. McCormick?”

“That’s m’self.” Indeed, Mr. McCormick stood in the doorway, looking perplexed. “Is there a reason you’re tossing my name about?”

“One of the Crossley children works for you.”

“That he does.” Mr. McCormick eyed Susannah. “Have you been gossipin’ about me?”

“We’s lot are for it now,” she said, tossing her hands upward in defeat. “I’ll be threaped for this, mark tha, though I’d nowt to do with it.”

Merciful heavens. No matter how closely she listened, Susannah’s words were impossible to understand.

Mr. McCormick seemed able to decipher them. “Hush your worries, lass. I’ve no intention of scolding you.”

Scolding. Something Susannah said had indicated an anticipated scolding. Perhaps the “threaped.”

Mr. McCormick nudged Ronan inside the room. The little boy clutched his carved horse as though his life depended upon it. At first glance Evangeline feared he was angry, but his tightly pulled lips quivered and his brows jutted at sharp angles above eyes that bore the telltale shimmer of unshed tears. The poor child was afraid.

“Have you any place in particular where the lad is meant to sit?” Mr. McCormick asked.

Evangeline shook her head. “Everyone is sitting wherever he or she would like for today.”

Mr. McCormick said something to Ronan, then motioned toward the benches. Ronan didn’t budge. His grip on the wooden horse turned white-knuckle, and his expression grew mutinous, even as his legs began to tremble.

The other children were watching him. Ronan stood firm, clearly determined not to take a seat. Mr. McCormick seemed unsurprised. He sat on the bench nearest his son, leaving enough room on the end for Ronan to join him but without forcing his compliance.

“Go on with your lessons, then,” Mr. McCormick said to Evangeline. “I’ll wait a spell with m’ lad.”

He meant to stay and watch? Though she doubted his decision had anything to do with her, Evangeline found the prospect unnerving. She was doing little more than stumbling her way through her first day. The last thing she wanted or needed was a parent in the audience. Children were more forgiving. At least she hoped they were.

She set her gaze on the child nearest the Crossley siblings. “Would you introduce yourself and your family, please?”

Several times she had to ask the children to repeat themselves. Sometimes that was enough to solve the mystery of their words and odd pronunciations. But more often than not, she simply offered a nod of acknowledgment, having resigned herself to never fully understanding them.

How had she found herself facing such a difficulty? She was a teacher in a county in England. These were not students from far-off lands who’d recently arrived on British soil. They were speaking English, and she could hardly understand them.

In the end, she was able to add five new families to her list of pupils.

The Shaws had two sons and one daughter in attendance. Also attending were the Palmers, who appeared worse off than the others, both in the state of their clothing and the thinness of their bodies. The Sutcliffes were both thin but in better condition than the Palmers. Lastly, little Cecilia Haigh, who’d proven too timid to share anything beyond her name.

She had expected that all of her students had parents who worked at the factory, but that was not the case. The Crossleys raised sheep, in addition to the eldest son being on Mr. McCormick’s bricklaying crew. Mr. Palmer also worked for Mr. McCormick, with Mrs. Palmer taking in sewing. The Sutcliffes were the only factory family, though the Haighs remained a mystery. Perhaps more students were yet to come who would tip the balance in the other direction.

“Ronan,” she said, keeping her tone gentle. “Would you care to introduce yourself to the other children?”

He made no indication of having heard her, though she suspected he had. James had been that way. So much about him had been baffling, but so much had been beautifully endearing. Ronan was still standing, stiff and unmoving. How easily she could picture James doing precisely the same in an uncomfortable situation.

“Allow me to introduce you to the other children,” she said to Ronan, hoping that would be a satisfactory alternative. His father began to stand, no doubt meaning to object, so Evangeline pressed on before he had the chance. “Ronan’s family name is McCormick. He lives not far from here. His father is a brick mason, and Ronan has accompanied him on many of his jobs and, no doubt, has a vast knowledge of bricks and bricklaying. Ronan also whittles. I have seen a dog he is carving, and I did not need him to tell me that it was a dog because he is doing such a fine job with his whittling that I could tell for myself.”

Mr. McCormick lowered himself back down, clearly relieved. Ronan’s expression and posture hadn’t changed in the least. Evangeline hoped that in time he might grow more comfortable.

She addressed the group as a whole. “I look forward to knowing all of you better,” she said. “And I hope there will be more children joining us.” Her hope was not born of eagerness but concern. Why were so few students present if education was required? Were they staying away out of fear of her incompetence? Was there another school of which she was unaware?

“We don’t know owt about thee,” Susannah said.

Owt —Evangeline hadn’t sorted that word yet, though it sounded like the girl wished to know a little about Evangeline. That was a fair request.

She carefully set down her pen. “I was born in a small town called Petersmarch in the county of Cambridgeshire, and I lived there all my life until a few days ago.”

“Does tha have any family?” Susannah’s question was easy to understand despite her heavy accent.

Another piece of the linguistic puzzle clicked into place. What sounded like “tha” was actual the word “thou.” It was not a pronoun she’d generally heard used outside of holy writ or sermons. Knowing the pronunciation of it and its usage, she could make more sense of what was being said. Tha. She repeated the word in her head a few times, hoping to make it more familiar. Tha. Thou.

The look of confusion on every face, including Mr. McCormick’s, told her that she’d allowed her thoughts to wander again.

“I had a mother and father, a brother older than I, and a brother younger.” Speaking of them in the past tense would never grow easy. “I also have a younger sister who currently resides in Leeds.” The simple explanation proved more difficult to make than she’d expected. Evangeline swallowed the sudden thick lump in her throat and forced a smile. “This is my first time in Yorkshire, and I fear I know very little about it. So, for today, Iwill be the pupil and you will be the teachers. I wish for you to teach me about Smeatley and Yorkshire and your lives here.”

She hoped, by doing so, to find her own place in this all too foreign land.