Chapter Twenty-One

A cart approached from behind and Lawrence tightened his grip on Jonathan’s hand. His youngest child always had a tendency to spot danger, which would have been a quality to celebrate if he didn’t always veer toward it with enthusiasm.

Enthusiastic was how Lawrence justified the boy’s behavior to the schoolmistress. Though Mrs. Chantry, who looked down her long nose at his family, preferred to say disruptive .

The cart rolled by, and the wheel hit a puddle, splattering Jonathan’s breeches. The boy stopped to wipe himself, smearing mud over the material.

“You look like a mud pie!” William cried.

“He won’t have to wash his breeches,” Roberta said. “Not now the woman’s here.”

“Roberta, I’ve told you before—you must call her Mama,” Lawrence said.

“Is she our mama?” Jonathan asked.

“She is while she’s staying with us,” Lawrence said. “She’s to keep house, clean, and cook for us. That’s what mothers do.”

“That’s not what Tommie’s mother does,” Roberta said. “Mrs. Chantry says she entertains men. She says she’s a—”

“I don’t care what Mrs. Chantry says!” Jonathan cried. “I like Tommie. He’s nicer than you .” He gave Roberta a push.

“Stop that, you little worm!” Roberta said.

Jonathan poked out his tongue. “I don’t like her.”

“You can’t say that about your sister,” William said. “You have to like her, even if she puts frogs in your bed.”

“I meant her .”

“Mrs. Chantry?” Lawrence asked. “You’re not supposed to like your teacher—just learn from her.”

“No. Her. ”

Ah, well. He could be forgiven for that. Bella wasn’t exactly likeable—more the opposite.

“How long is she staying with us?” Roberta asked.

Until she’s paid her debt.

“What’s a debt, Papa?” Jonathan asked.

Bugger. He’d said that aloud.

“It’s when you have to pay someone back,” Roberta said.

“Like when Bobby put that spider in my bed,” William said. “I paid her back by stuffing a worm down her shirt. Bobby hates worms.”

“I don’t.”

“You do!” William said. “You screamed and called me a bugger.”

“Bugger!” cried Jonathan.

“I beg your pardon, child?” a female voice asked.

They had arrived at the school, where Mrs. Chantry stood at the entrance.

Bugger.

Mrs. Chantry folded her arms and met Lawrence’s gaze. Cold blue eyes stared at him. But unlike Bella’s eyes, which conveyed a spirit begging to be tamed, the teacher’s eyes lacked warmth—as if she existed to suck the joy out of everything.

But, as a teacher, she knew best.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Mrs. Chantry,” Lawrence said, tipping his hat. “Jonathan, apologize at once.”

The boy tightened his grip on Lawrence’s hand. “I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Chantry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Given that you uttered the profanity outside school premises, I’ll let it pass unpunished. But any more such behavior will be dealt with severely.” She shifted her gaze to Roberta and William, before resuming her attention on Lawrence. “That goes for all of you—do you understand?”

“Are you including me in your admonishment?” Lawrence asked.

“Children learn their habits from those whom the Almighty has entrusted with their moral development.”

“Their what ?”

“Parents, Mr. Baxter,” Mrs. Chantry said. “The risk to the child’s moral development is tenfold if one of those parents is absent—particularly if it’s the mother.”

“We have a mother, Mrs. Chantry!” Jonathan cried.

The teacher’s eyes widened.

“I thought you a widower, Mr. Baxter. Have you married again?”

The key to maintaining a story was to stick to the facts as much as possible and avoid questions that couldn’t be answered truthfully.

“I’ve not married again,” Lawrence said. “Bella—” He glanced at the children. “She went missing.”

“She went missing?”

“She’s back home now.”

The teacher drew in a sharp breath, her face morphing into an expression of horror that would have been credible were it not so exaggerated.

“What is the world coming to?” she said. “What makes a woman act in such a manner? I daresay there was a man involved. Some women are weak and fall to temptation.” Then she drew in another sharp breath and arched her eyebrows. “You are married, aren’t you? Otherwise, your children…”

“My children are not bastards, Mrs. Chantry.”

The woman clutched at her breast. “Such unseemly language—and, within sight of the church!”

“I hardly think the church will crumble at a few curses.”

“But your children’s souls are at risk, Mr. Baxter.” Mrs. Chantry gestured to said children. “Get inside unless you want the strap. If your father—or that mother of yours—cannot teach you proper discipline, then I must do it for them.”

The children rushed inside with a clatter of footsteps, as if the devil were on their tail. Or standing in the doorway threatening them with a strap.

“Mrs. Chantry, I—”

“Never fear, Mr. Baxter.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I understand a man often feels the need to curse, for which he repents on a Sunday. But I advise you to take a firmer hand to your wife. A disciplined home is the best environment for impressionable young minds. You must lead by example if your wife’s in need of correction.”

Lawrence touched his cap. He was no match for an educated woman who used fancy words to make her argument. Children needed an education if they were to thrive in a world that punished those born with nothing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chantry,” he said. “I believe my wife already understands the consequences of her behavior.”

Judging by the look of horror in Bella’s eyes as he’d left her with the list of chores ten minutes ago, she understood the consequences, all right.