Page 79 of The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Historicals 1)

“They’ll withstand our winters,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Or the English one, that is.”

“I’ll take them, please. And throw in a pound of candies for our skating party, Miss Martha.”

“Yes, Lord Barnes.” Martha smiled politely before scurrying over to the candy bin.

When everything was packaged up, I bade them good day and walked over to the Olofssons’ tailor shop. I removed my hat while stomping the snow from my boots onto the small rug they kept at the entrance so as not to track any mud or water into the tidy, dry shop.

Near the front window, Mr. Olofsson hunched over his sewing machine working on a pair of trousers. The top of his balding head shone in the sunlight that filtered through the glass. Mrs. Olofsson cut a piece of fabric behind the counter.

I said hello as they looked up from their work. “Good morning,” Mr. Olofsson said in this thick Swedish accent. He was a slight man with sleepy blue eyes and a gentle smile, and his profession had given him stooped shoulders.

“Have you been busy?” I asked.

“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Olofsson placed her hands over her plump pink cheeks. “We are happy.” She was as round as her husband was thin. They shared the same thick accent and sweet disposition.

“I’d like you to make a woman’s coat,” I said. “But I don’t have the measurements because it’s a surprise.”

“Who is it for?” Mr. Olofsson asked. “If I know them, I can figure size.”

“Miss Cooper,” I said, mumbling.

“Did you say Miss Cooper? The teacher?’ Mrs. Olofsson asked.

“Yes. Her coat’s too thin and worn for this climate,” I said as my neck went hot.

“Say no more,” Mrs. Olofsson said with a knowing wink.

This would be out by lunchtime. Lord Barnes was ordering a coat for the lovely Miss Cooper. Did you know she’s living at the house?

“Give me a few days,” Mr. Olofsson said. “I’ll make it beautiful for our pretty teacher.”

I escaped finally to the crisp, cold afternoon with the distinct feeling that the whole town would know my heart by nightfall.

When I walked in the house, it was quiet. Too quiet. I wondered what everyone was up to and hoped they hadn’t caused Miss Cooper too much trouble. To my surprise, they were all in the library. Miss Cooper sat on one end of the couch reading out loud from a novel. Josephine was in her favorite chair knitting something out of a bright blue yarn. Cymbeline and Flynn were sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace playing checkers. Theo and Fiona snuggled in my leather chair. I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. How could one man be so blessed?

I set my packages on one of the tables. Fiona caught sight of me and wriggled off the chair to hurl herself into my arms. Miss Cooper ceased reading and set the book aside as the other children called out to me.

“What did you bring, Papa?” Cymbeline asked. “Is it for me?”

“No, you wicked girl,” I said. “They’re for Miss Quinn.”

“For me?” she asked. “What have I done to deserve gifts?”

I set the two boxes containing the skates, boots, gloves, and stockings expertly tied with bows by Mrs. Johnson into Fiona’s arms. “Take them to Miss Quinn, please.”

“Yes, Papa

. I love packages.” Fiona walked with the boxes held out in front of her as if presenting the crown to the king of England, then placed them on Miss Cooper’s lap.

“Open them, open them, Miss Quinn,” Cymbeline said as she rose from the floor to go sit next to her on the couch.

Miss Cooper untied the string of the box containing the new boots, gloves, and stockings. She gasped as she lifted the lid. “What have you done? These are too much.”

“You’ll need sturdier boots for the rest of this winter. The almanac says we’re in for more blizzards.”

“These are so pretty, though. I won’t be able to wear them for fear of ruining them.”

“You’ll wear them,” I said. “Or risk my wrath.”