Page 83 of The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Historicals 1)

“I stayed hopeful right up to the end that she would get better.” He spoke lightly, but I could imagine the pain he must feel. “The lives that end after so much suffering—those deaths are the hardest to accept, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of my father.

We continued shuffling along the edge of the pond as the children whirled and dashed around us.

I smiled, remembering Father’s reaction when I’d shown him the acceptance letter from teacher college. “My father was the happiest I’d ever seen him when I was admitted into the teaching program. We didn’t think I’d be able to go because of the tuition. Even so, he told everyone he knew that his daughter was smart enough to get into college.”

“How did you manage the fees?” he asked.

“Someone in our church paid everything. We’ve never known who. He or she was a person like you.”

“You think too much of me,” he said.

“When I heard what this person had done, I vowed to give back by teaching as many children as I could, especially the ones whom the world had already thrown away.”

“Did your father live to see you graduate?”

“No, he died my first quarter.” My voice cracked. I’d come home to find my sister and mother huddled together in our cold front room. He’d died in his sleep. His tired heart, having fought so hard, had simply stopped beating. “My mother took it hard. Before we lost him, she always had this optimism that everything would work out.”

Fiona and Josephine skated up to us, still hand in hand. “Papa. Miss Quinn. Skate with me,” Fiona said.

“I’ll fall down without your papa holding me up,” I said.

“I’ll hold your other hand,” Josephine said. “Fiona can hold Papa’s hand.”

As was usually the case, practical Josephine had it all figured out before the rest of us. The girls parted and each took one of our hands.

“Hold tight,” I told Josephine. “Or you’ll be without a teacher on Monday morning.”

Josephine giggled. “Don’t worry, Miss Quinn. I’ll never let go.”

Together, the four of us inched across the ice laughing, our breath coming out in clouds in the cold air. When we reached the other end of the pond, Cymbeline stood on the ice with her hands on her hips, challenging Isak to a race. Undaunted by losing twice to Viktor, she thought it was a good idea to race his older brother? Our Cymbeline wasn’t one to back away from a competition, even if a fool’s errand.

Isak, cap in hand, politely declined the invitation. “Cymbeline, you’re too little to race me.”

She tore off her hat and stomped her skate on the ice. “That’s stupid.”

“Don’t you see what happened with my brother? You have to race people of your same size.”

“There’s no one my size other than Nora, and she’s a girl.” Cymbeline pointed at Nora, who was skating peacefully with her sisters. “Look at her twirling around like a dancing doll.” They indeed looked like pretty pink-cheeked dolls.

“Cymbie, come skate with us,” Josephine shouted out to her.

For a second, I thought she might refuse. Instead, she grinned and stuck her hat over her curls. “Fine, but I’ll be back,” she said to Isak.

Thank goodness, I thought. Another second and she might have harangued sweet Isak to the point of surrender.

Isak, with an expression of a lamb who avoided slaughter, skated away.

We did one lap all together. The twins joined us, circling around and back.

Poppy shouted out to us as she entered the ice. “I’m here now. Harley and Merry brought me.”

I looked over to see Harley in the process of attaching skates to the bottom of his boots. Merry had already made it to the middle.

Josephine broke away to skate with Poppy.

“Do we need a break?” Alexander asked. “How about a bag of popcorn, Fiona?”