Page 27 of The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Historicals 1)

“Have laps to sit on.”

My eyes stung. I tightened my hold on her. “Yes, this is what mamas do.”

“It’s nice.”

“I agree.”

Cymbeline unfolded her arms and jutted out her chin. “I’m not a baby like Fiona. I don’t need a lap.”

I smiled down at her. “If you ever do, mine is available.”

She narrowed her eyes, inspecting me as if I were a liar.

Lord Barnes joined us then, taking the place next to me. “Everything shipshape?” he asked with a pointed glance at Fiona.

“Yes indeed,” I said. “Fiona just needed a snuggle.”

“Hi, Papa,” Fiona said.

“Hello there.” He kissed the top of her head, coming so near I breathed in the scent of him, shaving soap and the outdoors. When he drew back, our eyes caught and held for a moment longer than they should. We were in church. I’d known him for less than twenty-four hours. His friend had been murdered. Yet all I could think of was naming the exact color of his green eyes. Emerson Pass and Lord Barnes were going to lead me straight to hell.

Pastor Lind’s sermon was blessedly short. Not that I heard most of it, what with the warm child on my lap and her father inches from me smelling delicious and having to give Flynn a stern stare for all his fidgeting. Afterward, we went out to the fresh air, and Lord Barnes introduced me to the Johnsons, who owned the dry goods store. Anna and Sven Johnson had two daughters who would be my students, named Martha and Elsa. Anna Johnson was tall with golden hair and a wide smile. She shook my hand with a firm grip. “We’re grateful you’ve come to the wilderness. You let me know if you need anything at all. I’ve been here amongst all these men for too long.” I suspected she could do a man’s work on the farm or field and not break a sweat.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Five years or so,” she said. “We came from Minnesota. My girls went to school there. Since then, I’ve done my best to teach them myself. They’re both keen to learn, and Martha would like to be a teacher someday.”

Sven had jet-black hair and broad shoulders. He spoke with a Swedish accent and was too shy to meet my eyes.

I was introduced to Pastor Lind and his wife, Pamela, next. Slightly plump and pink-cheeked, Pamela glowed from within.

“Oh, dear me, you’re a pretty one,” Pamela said. “No wonder Lord Barnes has you staying at the house.”

“Thank you,” I said, with a self-conscious giggle.

“Come inside for a moment so we can talk.” Pamela took my arm and we strolled back into the church. “Simon told me about poor Mr. Cole. I hope you won’t be too concerned. This isn’t typical.”

“It’s a terrible thing,” I said. “Did he tell you about the gunshots that spooked the horses?”

“He did. How’s your head?”

“Much better,” I said. “Other than my embarrassment at causing so much trouble, I’m fully recovered.”

Pamela led me over to a pew, where we sat. “I can’t believe this has happened. We have fights in town from the men who drink too much, but nothing like this.”

“Was he a very good friend to Lord Barnes?”

“Samuel was the type who kept to himself, but if he had a friend, it was Alexander.” She fiddled with the brooch at her neck. “He was very loyal to Samuel, even when things were heated here in town over Rachel.”

“What about Rachel?”

“Oh, you haven’t met her?”

I shook my head.

“She’s brown-skinned,” Pamela said. “And you know how people can make such a fuss.”

This truth smacked into me hard. Samuel had been married to a black woman. Making a fuss was certainly one way to put it. Mixed marriages were illegal back east. I’d assumed they were here as well. “Were they married?”