Three

That evening when she arrived at the Baxter home at the appointed hour, she had second thoughts. Perhaps it would be best to get better acquainted with the children before extending invitations to others to interact with them.

Mr. Baxter opened the door before she had a chance to lift the knocker. “Come in,” he said, almost too eagerly, and Amanda realized he was nearly as nervous as she was. He helped her off with her shawl and hung it on the hall tree while she removed her gloves and hat.

“It is so kind of you to—” she began, but was interrupted by her employer.

“Not at all. Come meet the children.” He placed his hand lightly on her back—a gesture she found shockingly familiar and uncomfortable—and guided her toward the dining room, where a boy and girl were already seated at a table set for four, but with room enough for a dozen or more. The furnishings were heavily carved pieces, clearly meant to impress.

“Good evening,” she said as she looked from one twin to the other and smiled.

They remained seated and sullen, barely glancing her way. From behind her, she heard Mr. Baxter clear his throat, and in unison the twins pushed back their chairs and stood. “Allow me to introduce you. My daughter, Eleanor—Ellie—and my son, Eli. Children, this is Miss Amanda Porterfield.”

Before Amanda could say anything, Mr. Baxter pulled out the chair at the end of the table and waited for her to be seated. Once she was, he walked to the far end of the table and took his place. A woman of about fifty came through a swinging door as if she had been called. She carried a platter of sliced beef surrounded by vegetables and placed it in front of Mr. Baxter.

“This is Mrs. Caldwell, our housekeeper,” Mr. Baxter said. While Mrs. Caldwell returned to the kitchen and brought out a basket of bread cut into thick slices, a dish of pickled peppers, and a pitcher of water, Mr. Baxter served a huge portion of food and passed it to Ellie, who passed it to Amanda.

She prepared to pass it to Eli, but noticed Mrs. Caldwell watching her. The housekeeper shook her head and used only her eyes to convey the message that this was Amanda’s plate, so she set it down and waited. The plate Ellie passed to her brother had twice the portion she’d been served. Ellie’s serving matched Amanda’s.

Once Mrs. Caldwell took the empty platter and left, both Mr. Baxter and Eli attacked their food as if it might be their last meal. Ellie picked at hers, basically rearranging things on her plate, and only taking a bite when her father glanced her way. From the moment Amanda had arrived, it seemed as if everything about the evening was to be rushed.

“Where are you children in school now?” she asked as she cut into meat so tender she needed only her fork.

Both children looked at their father, who finished chewing, dabbed at his mouth with the pristine white napkin, and frowned. “My children are to be in school here with you,” he said. “Did I not make that clear earlier, Miss Porterfield?”

“I had thought—that is, the word ‘tutor’ would imply someone to help them with studies underway at a regular school.”

“Our home is their school. Are you having second thoughts?”

“Not at all.” She tried smiling at the children, but they were not looking at her. Eli was tearing into a slice of bread and using it to sop up whatever food remained on his plate, and Ellie looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. “May I ask where we will conduct our lessons?”

“The library serves adequately, does it not, children?”

Murmurs of assent with no real enthusiasm.

Mr. Baxter pushed his plate away, and Mrs. Caldwell magically appeared to remove it. In fact, she removed all the plates without any regard as to how much food still lay on Ellie’s and Amanda’s.

“My children are behind in their studies, Miss Porterfield. They were coddled by their mother, and that has left them well below the level at which they should be learning. Your job is to bring them up to that level before the end of the term.”

“But that is only six weeks,” Amanda blurted out. “Surely—”

“Miss Porterfield, in the autumn, my children will be attending a boarding school back east where their mother’s family resides.”

It was obvious to Amanda that this was news to the twins. Both heads shot up, and they exchanged a glance of pure horror before once again lowering their eyes as their father explained the plan. “It was always her wish that we return there, but clearly my business will not allow such a move. Therefore, in her memory, I am sending the children. However, they must be prepared to pass the entrance examination.”

“My sympathies for your loss,” Amanda said softly, and she directed her condolences as much to the children as to their father. “I was not much older than you are now, Ellie and Eli, when my father died suddenly.” Both twins looked at her with something approaching interest for the first time since she’d arrived, so she continued, “He was a very special man. I miss him every day, as I am sure you must miss your mother. Perhaps, once we are better acquainted, you will share some memories you have of her.”

She glanced at Mr. Baxter, fully expecting to see an expression of gratitude for her kindness, and instead saw something that approached fury. “It is not for you to speak of my wife with the children or anyone else, Miss Porterfield. If you have quite finished, I will show you the library, and then we can have coffee and pie while we discuss your role in my children’s future.”

“Of course. And perhaps the children and I could—”

“The children are going to their rooms,” Mr. Baxter said. He stood, clearly expecting the twins and Amanda to do the same, and without the slightest word or gesture of affection, he waited for Eli and Ellie to mutter their good nights and leave the room. Once they had, he indicated that Amanda should proceed across the hall to a room where the thick adobe whitewashed walls were lined with bookshelves, and a fire blazed in the hearth that dominated the far corner.

“Please be seated, Miss Porterfield.”

For the next half hour, Amanda endured the man’s tour of the space, directed from his seated position. Here were maps she could have the children study. Over there was a selection of reference books, a dictionary and thesaurus and other tomes. On the far wall she would find a selection of the classics of literature. To either side of the fireplace were shelves filled with books on banking and finance and accounting. His collection certainly rivaled the one her parents had assembled back home on the ranch. She felt a twinge of excitement at the availability of so much fodder for her lessons.

“Is there a section for art and music and…”

Mr. Baxter frowned and then sighed heavily. “Miss Porterfield, you will have no time for frivolity. The children must learn the basics—the fundamentals. They will need drilling from morning to night.”

She looked up at the dark ceiling beamed with rough-hewn cedar and overlaid with aspen saplings. “But surely some breaks for exercise and such are in order,” she protested, and saw that by the look on his face, she was digging her way straight out of a job.

“Young lady, as I have already told you, I have had serious doubts about hiring you, but the fact remains that you are the only possibility, and time is short. Until you have delivered on your assurance that you are up to the job, you should know that other than providing you with room and board at Miss Dooley’s, it is my intent to withhold your actual pay.”

“You can’t do that,” she blurted.

He smiled. “Ah, but I can,” he replied. “Do you wish to take this position or not? If not, then let us put an end to it right now.”

She thought about her earlier joy at the idea of living in a town the size of Tucson on her own. She thought of how her parents had urged her never to back down from a challenge. She thought of those children upstairs being sent off without the dessert that Mrs. Caldwell had brought to the library.

“I will teach your children, sir,” she said firmly. “But I insist on being paid at least a portion of my salary each week. I will have expenses—incidentals.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Porterfield.” Once again he smiled and reached to pour her more coffee.

Amanda stood. “And now, sir, thank you for dinner. I look forward to getting better acquainted with your children when I begin our lessons tomorrow. For now, I will say good night.”

He slowly set the coffeepot back on the heavy silver tray, and she could tell that he was not happy that she had taken control of their meeting. He followed her to the front door where he waited while she retrieved her wrap and gloves. This was a man used to being in charge. He was a man used to deciding when an evening had come to an end. But, Amanda realized, he was also a man who needed her, and that pushed the power to her side of the board—at least for now.

* * *

As his time in Tucson wore on, Seth was beginning to think the information he’d been given about the gang heading that way was wrong. In his canvass of the territory outside town, he’d seen no sign of anything unusual. He’d been looking for evidence that a herd of horses was being driven in from the north. The bank robbers would want fresh horses available for their robbery and getaway. He’d also been looking for places in the outlying areas where the train would have to slow to make a curve, allowing robbers to jump onboard, or where a wagon carrying the payload for the fort would come to a near stop to navigate a sharp bend in the trail.

Although he had identified at least three locations where the robbers might position themselves and make their strike, he’d seen no indication that anyone had rearranged boulders to create a cover, nor had he seen any recent tracks to prove activity in those areas. Unless he could uncover some clue that the Stock brothers and their gang were holed up somewhere outside town, biding their time as they prepared for their next big hit, he probably ought to move on.

But Lilly’s information was rarely wrong, and the Stock gang had gotten a lot smarter about the jobs they pulled. Most of all, the wanted poster he’d seen confirmed his suspicion that his brother Sam had joined the outfit. Seth was determined to get the kid away from the outlaws.

The truth was that Sam ought to be in school. He was only fifteen—big for his age and smarter than most. But he had a wild streak that had shown itself almost before he could mount a pony. He had defied their parents, refusing to attend the local school and declaring he would educate himself. He had done just that, devouring the books that lined the shelves of the family’s library back in Chicago, and finding local transplants from the frontier who were willing to teach him how to ride and handle a rope—and a gun. Their mother had dreamed of the day that her youngest son would become a lawyer or a doctor or start a successful business. But Sam had other ideas. One night he’d left home for good, leaving only a note that said he would write.

He never had. Their mother had begged Seth to track Sam down and bring him home. It was while trying to fulfill that promise that Seth had come to suspect the possibility of his brother having hooked up with the Stock brothers. Hopefully Sam’s role in the gang’s escapades had not gone beyond holding the horses or serving as lookout.

To a certain degree, Seth blamed himself for Sam’s wild streak. He was six years older and so had not been around much to be the kind of influence he might have been. And there was no doubt that his choice of careers had set a poor example for his brother. Seth had gone down a road that his parents never would have imagined for their eldest child. He had refused his father’s offer to take him into the family’s meatpacking business, choosing instead to join Wells Fargo. His mother had been mystified at the decision, even after he had tried to explain that down the road he would have opportunities to move into a well-paying and far less dangerous management position.

“But if you are concealing your identity, how will you ever meet a proper young lady—one you can marry and build a life with?”

In those days, marrying had not really been high on Seth’s list of goals for his future. After over two decades of marriage, it seemed to him that his parents were both bored and boring. They were good people, but their love for each other had never seemed close to the kind of passionate devotion that Seth wanted should he ever marry. Oh, he’d had his share of romances, but in every case but one, the relationship had died from lack of fuel to keep the fire going in his long absences while on a case. The one he’d thought would work out had gone sour for entirely different reasons and had almost cost him his career. It still stung that he had so badly misjudged the woman and her true motives.

All of these thoughts kept Seth alert as he rode out after supper each night to look for campfire smoke, an abandoned miner’s shack that showed signs of occupation, or any evidence of a gang holed up and waiting for their opportunity. This night—like every other night over the last week—had yielded nothing. He stabled his horse and then walked past the saloon, where he could hear raucous laughter and music from a tinny piano. He walked up the deserted street toward the boardinghouse, where a single lamp glowed in the downstairs sitting room window. No doubt Miss Dooley was counting down the seconds until she would lock the front door promptly at eight.

Seth smiled and wondered how shocked she would be to realize that he had figured out a way to come and go any hour of the day or night and would have no trouble gaining entrance to the house. He removed his Stetson and hung it on the top hook of the hall tree.

“Evenin’, Miss Dooley,” he said as he started for the stairs. But he stopped, because Miss Dooley was nowhere in sight. It was Amanda who sat at the small desk, her back to him, her head resting on her folded arms.

Every bone in his body told him to keep climbing those stairs. Told him to go into his room—across the hall from hers—and close the door. Told him not to turn and enter the sitting room and place his hand on her thin shoulder. Not to notice the way her full lips were slightly parted in sleep. Not to look too closely at the perfection of her skin or the way a tendril of her hair fluttered with each breath she took. And definitely not to piggyback on his earlier thoughts about love and romance, or for even one second consider the possibility that a woman like Amanda Porterfield might make a good match for him.

The second he touched her, she jerked awake, her eyes opening wide with surprise. But not alarm. Seth had noticed that not much seemed to alarm Miss Porterfield.

“Sorry, just thought you might want to head to your room,” he said.

She yawned and stretched and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I have to lock the front door,” she said. As she rose from the chair and searched her pockets for the key, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that he recognized as the note he had slipped under her door to warn her about the Baxter kid.

“Miss Dooley had a stomach ailment and wasn’t feeling well, and I promised…” Having completely forgotten about the note slipped under her door earlier that morning, she unfolded the paper and scanned the message, then refolded it and returned it to her pocket. She pulled the key from a second pocket.

Seth held out his hand for the key. “Allow me.”

She hesitated, then placed it in his hand but followed him to the door, as if to be certain he did as he said. He turned the key in the lock, tugged on the door to show that it was indeed secure, and handed back the key. “All safe and sound,” he said as she folded her fingers over the metal.

They both stared at his larger rough hand covering hers before she pulled away and replaced the key in her pocket as she returned to the sitting room. To his surprise, she did not gather her books and papers or make any move to extinguish the lamp. Instead, she sat back down at the desk.

“You’re not going up?” he asked.

“Not yet. I need to… I have some work to finish. Good night, Mr. Grover.”

He had been dismissed, and it rankled him. “Good night, Miss Porterfield,” he grumbled, and prepared to leave the room. But he hesitated before climbing the stairs and looked at her—the way she sat so straight in that chair, with her upswept hair coming down in places where her nap had unsettled it. The way she made no movement to enter any notes in the notebook or turn its pages bothered him.

“That note you just read—was it something to upset you?” He knew exactly what the note said. It was her dismissal that puzzled him.

She grimaced. “It might have helped to read it earlier in the day. It has to do with the Baxter boy. But then, since you were the author of the note, you know what it says.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know…”

She smiled and pointed to the register on Miss Dooley’s writing desk where he had signed his name. “You have distinctive handwriting, Mr. Grover.”

He shrugged, caught. “Ollie said I should warn you.”

“That was kind of him—and you.”

Seth reminded himself that he had a job to do, and getting tangled up in her business was at best a distraction, and at worst could be downright dangerous—for her as well as him. The silence between them felt heavy with unspoken possibilities. He was about to leave the room when she asked, “Where do you go at night?”

He saw it as the invitation he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for—an invitation to return to the room. “Here and there,” he replied as he relaxed into one of the large overstuffed chairs. “What are you working on?” He nodded toward the papers and books spread over the surface of the desk.

She gave him a rueful smile. “I am trying to sort through the record of the children’s work over the last few years. There is a marked difference in their performance since their mother’s death.”

“Isn’t that to be expected?”

“Of course. After my father died, I was inconsolable, and once I learned his death had not been an accident, but rather he’d been murdered, I was so…angry.”

“Have you told Baxter and his children about your father?”

“I mentioned it at dinner, but Mr. Baxter was not pleased, and I suppose he had a point. Perhaps he thought it would appear that I was attempting to compare their pain to my own. And I guess, unintentionally, I was. On the other hand, from what I learned talking to neighbors and shopkeepers today, Mrs. Baxter was ill and died peacefully in her sleep. My father was brutally murdered and…”

“I see what you mean.”

“I do understand the importance of presenting myself in such a way that the children do not see weakness in me. Several people have already commented that I am far too young and…”

“Pretty?” She looked down at her hands, and he knew he’d made her blush. “That’s a compliment, Miss Porterfield,” he added.

“Thank you.” A moment passed during which she pretended intense concentration on the records before her.

“Perhaps I might offer a suggestion or two. After all, I was once a boy that age, and trust me, I caused my teachers many a long night.”

She glanced at him, and he held out his hand for the records she had been comparing. “This really isn’t necessary,” she protested. “In fact, I should…”

“Now, Miss Porterfield, you do not strike me as a person who lives her life based on ‘should.’ My guess is that you’ll just go off to your room and spend a sleepless night trying to work this out, and as my mother used to say, ‘Two heads are better than one.’ It’s important that you maintain the upper hand from the outset, right?”

She nodded.

“And you do wish to make them understand that—pretty or not—you are the one in authority?”

She sighed and then nodded again.

“Very well then.” He eased the papers from her and held them closer to the lamp. “Eli shows an interest in and aptitude for arithmetic both before and after his mother’s death,” he noted. “And the girl…”

“Ellie.”

“Ellie has made her best marks in reading and spelling.” He handed the papers back. “In your shoes, I would play to their strengths—gain their trust by acknowledging their abilities.”

She glanced toward the hallway that led to Miss Dooley’s rooms. “Thank you, Mr. Grover. I’ll give that some consideration.” She picked up a piece of paper from the pile on the desk. Once again, he had been dismissed.

“Seth,” he said softly, even as his mind warned him against getting too familiar. “Okay, Amanda?”

She nodded. “Thank you, Seth.” It was a whisper, and he realized she was exhausted and very close to tears. Clearly, she was working hard to maintain her composure until he went upstairs. He stood, but did not immediately move toward the stairs.

“You are going to do just fine, Amanda Porterfield.”

“You can’t know that,” she replied softly.

“Well, I know that now we’re having normal conversation at meals. We boarders are digesting our food a lot better than we were when we sat there in silence. That was your idea. You were the one who taught us that, and if you can teach a bunch of grown-ups who already think they know everything, I have no doubt you can handle a couple of kids who know next to nothing.”

In his zeal to make her feel better, Seth hadn’t realized his voice had risen until he and Amanda turned at the sound of a door slamming, and then saw Miss Dooley glaring at them as she clutched her robe to her throat. “Miss Porterfield,” she began ominously, ignoring Seth as she focused her wrath on Amanda.

Seth stepped between the two women. “Now, Miss Dooley,” he began, holding up his hands as if to fend off actual blows, “I can explain everything.”

The landlady stepped around him as though he weren’t there and advanced on Amanda. “Young lady, I have entrusted you with the key to my house, and you repay that trust by breaking one of my house rules?”

“I…” Amanda swallowed as she clutched her books and papers to her chest.

“It is all my fault, Miss Dooley,” Seth interrupted. “I was a couple minutes late getting back. Miss Porterfield was reluctant to allow me in—and rightly so. I persuaded her that you would understand. After all, Mr. Taylor is allowed special privileges because of his unusual work schedule and—”

Miss Dooley turned on him. “If you think you can persuade me to hand out keys to anyone who takes a notion to come and go at all hours… Mr. Taylor has employment that requires…”

He saw that he’d had the desired effect on the landlady. She did not think anyone knew she had provided Oliver Taylor with a key to the front door so he could gain entry after the saloon closed and he had finished his cleaning chores sometime before dawn. The fact that she had been caught breaking one of her own rules frustrated her to near speechlessness.

“I do not need a key, Miss Dooley,” he said. “I assure you that tonight was a one-time event and should it occur again, I will spend the night at the livery with my horse. Agreed?”

Miss Dooley scowled, and he saw Amanda use the opportunity to edge her way toward the hallway and stairs. “I’ll say good night then,” she murmured.

“Not so fast, missy. There is still the matter of you having a gentleman caller without a chaperone present—and at this hour, to boot,” Miss Dooley added as the clock struck eight thirty.

Seth laughed. “Now, Miss Dooley, Miss Porterfield and I both reside in your house, so who is calling on who?”

“Whom,” he heard Amanda whisper.

He chose to ignore the correction. “Surely the residents of your house cannot be expected to avoid running into one another from time to time, and it would be impolite not to inquire after their health, or how their evening was going, now wouldn’t it?”

Miss Dooley grimaced, and he noticed that her skin was paler than normal and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Miss Dooley, you clearly are not well, and I am so very sorry to have upset you. Please allow Miss Porterfield to escort you to your room while I go to mine.” He nodded to Amanda, who immediately set her books and the records for the Baxter twins on the stairs and came to the landlady’s aid.

“Let me make you some ginger tea,” she said. “It will ease your stomach. My mother always…”

Seth watched the two women walk down the hall before extinguishing the light, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then making his way up the stairs. He set Amanda’s books and papers outside her door, and once inside his room, he lay on his bed listening for her.

He did not need Miss Dooley to reprimand him. No, once again he reminded himself that his fascination with the teacher—in spite of his determination to have nothing to do with her—would have to stop.

* * *

On her first day with Eli and Ellie Baxter, Amanda brought lessons and exercises to test their knowledge and took Seth’s advice to appeal to their individual interests and strengths. She considered the need for outdoor activity as well, and planned a walk in the intricate desert garden their mother had created on the grounds of the large home.

She felt fully prepared to face the day as she approached the house. But she hesitated when she heard loud voices from within—an argument between Mr. Baxter and his son. Reluctant to have her employer think she had been eavesdropping, she went to the kitchen entrance where the housekeeper was hanging laundry on a line stretched between two saguaro cacti.

“Good morning, Mrs. Caldwell.”

“Good morning, dear. Though since we are both working for the Baxters, perhaps we might be less formal when we are alone?” She wiped her palm on her apron and offered a handshake. “Name’s Kitty.”

Relieved to have found someone in this house who seemed to know how to smile, Amanda returned the handshake. “I’m Amanda.”

She glanced toward the open door leading to the kitchen. The voices were muffled now, but the argument clearly had not been settled. “I thought maybe…”

“Oh, pay no mind to that. That sort of hollering is normal in this house, especially since Mrs. Baxter died—God rest her soul.”

The idea that a child at any age would dare speak to a parent in such a tone was unthinkable to Amanda. Her confidence wavered. If Eli Baxter could shout at his father in such a manner, how on earth did she expect to win his respect?

“Where is Ellie?”

Kitty shrugged. “Lurking about, you can be sure of that. She’s a sneaky one, all right. Last night, after you left, I heard her moving around down in the library where you’ll be holding your sessions. I went out to see what she was doing, and she was breaking all the chalk for the chalkboard Mr. Baxter had installed last week. Crushing it, she was.”

“I see.”

“I was able to keep one piece before she destroyed that as well. I sent her back to bed, and she went. After that I locked the door to the library—opened it this morning when the family was at breakfast.” She pulled a piece of chalk from her apron pocket and handed it to Amanda.

Amanda swallowed hard but realized her mouth had gone dry.

“Ah, Miss Porterfield, there you are.” Mr. Baxter stood in the doorway, a scowl on his face as he squinted into the bright morning light. “Well, come along. The children are waiting, and you have already made me late for my first appointment of the day.” He turned on his heel and marched inside the house.

Kitty gave Amanda a look of sympathy as she followed her employer through the kitchen and on to the library he had shown her the evening before. The sliding doors were closed, and she saw Mr. Baxter frown as he pushed them open.

Because the heavy draperies that covered the windows were drawn, and no lamps had been lit, the room was dark. Amanda was aware of the presence of her students—Eli lounging on top of the large, heavy table that dominated the center of the room, and his sister standing nearby.

To her surprise, Mr. Baxter stood aside to allow her to enter the room. “I will be home at five thirty, Miss Porterfield, and I will expect a full report of your first day.”

Left standing in the doorway alone with the Baxter twins, Amanda set her satchel on the floor, took a deep breath, and strode to the first of three large windows. She pulled the drapes aside, moved to the other two windows and did the same, and suddenly, the room was flooded with light—and her students were shielding their eyes from the brightness.

“That’s better,” she said as she retrieved her satchel and set it on the table, then turned to Eli. “Mr. Baxter, our first lesson of the day will be the proper use of furniture for its intended purpose. This table is our workspace for our lessons. That chair is where you will sit. The one across from you is where your sister will sit.”

“And where will Teacher sit?” Eli asked.

“Teacher will stand,” Amanda replied. She walked to the chalkboard and pretended to look for a piece of chalk. Behind her she heard snickers, but they stopped when she dug into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the chalk Kitty had given her. “Each morning I will post the work to be accomplished for the day. Each afternoon I will post the assignments to be completed that evening.” She listed the lessons she had planned down the left side of the board, then deliberately paused mid-list and looked around the room. She frowned and checked behind a door that led into a small closet.

As she had hoped, her actions, coupled with their curiosity, brought Eli to a standing position. “Looking for something, Teacher?” Eli smirked.

“My name is Miss Porterfield. Please address me properly or stay silent.” She scanned the bookshelves for effect and then opened a cupboard and rummaged through the contents.

“Miss Porterfield,” Ellie said, “Father does not like it when someone looks into closets or drawers without his permission.”

Amanda turned and looked directly at the girl. “How do you know he didn’t give me permission?”

Eli immediately came to his sister’s defense. “Because he just wouldn’t. What is it you need?”

“I was looking for a Bible, Mr. Baxter. I did not see one among the collection when I met with your father last evening. It is customary to begin the day with a reading from the Scriptures, as well as a prayer.”

“We don’t pray,” Ellie murmured.

“And since we don’t go to church, we ain’t got no Bible.” Eli glowered at her.

“That would be ‘We do not have a Bible,’ Mr. Baxter.”

The girl glanced at her brother. “We learned the Lord’s Prayer when we were at regular school,” she said softly.

“Excellent suggestion. You have just earned an extra minute of recess, Miss Baxter. Well done.”

The twins stared at her, and she hoped they could not see that her last statement had been an impulse—one that apparently had worked.

“I don’t get it,” Eli grumbled. “How come she gets…”

“Oh, did I not explain the reward and penalty aspect of our lessons? Well, we will get to that eventually—once I have located a Bible, and we have properly begun our day.” She closed the closet door. “I suppose we might make do with the prayer for today.”

“Mama had a Bible,” Ellie volunteered. “It’s upstairs in the attic with her things. Want me to get it?”

“Not today. For today we will say the prayer and move on to our work. I’ll make sure to bring my Bible tomorrow.” Amanda straightened her posture, bowed her head, and waited for the twins to do the same. Neither moved. “Is there a problem?”

“Ellie offered to bring Mama’s Bible. You forgot to give Ellie her extra time at recess—her reward,” Eli said.

“I did not forget, Mr. Baxter. Not everything in life brings a reward. Some things are done simply to solve a problem. Other things are done out of kindness or a need to set something right.”

Amanda folded her hands in prayer as a reminder and once again bowed her head, taking care to keep her eye on the children. She noticed Ellie followed her example, but Eli stared out the window. “Our Father…” She continued alone until she heard Ellie quietly join her for “…forever and ever. Amen.”

When she looked up, Eli was glaring at her. “Where’s the justice in not giving my sister her reward?” he demanded, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Amanda was definitely making this up as she went along, but so far she had managed to engage both children, and she saw that as a minor victory. “If you and your sister would please be seated, Mr. Baxter, I believe you have identified a topic worthy of discussion.” She waited while Eli flung himself into one of the leather-upholstered straight chairs at the table. Following his lead, Ellie took the place opposite him.

“Very well. Now let us consider the words of the prayer. What does the word ‘hallowed’ mean?”

“Holy?” Ellie guessed. Eli rolled his eyes.

“What else?” Amanda asked, focusing her attention on Eli.

“I don’t know. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m the dumb twin.”

“I refuse to believe that, Mr. Baxter. Any young man who would feel so passionately about his position that he would have the confidence to stand up for his beliefs as you did earlier is not dumb. Perhaps ill-advised, but not dumb.”

His eyes widened. “You were listening?”

“I expect the entire neighborhood could listen. I did not hear the actual words exchanged, but the tone was there, and clearly, you were adamant on your position. However, we have digressed from the topic at hand. What is another possible meaning for the word, Mr. Baxter?”

“I give up. Maybe ‘special’ or…”

Amanda wrote both his and Ellie’s answers on the board. “Now consider the phrase ‘forgive us our trespasses’—what are trespasses?”

“I thought you were going to explain your rewards and penalties system,” Eli complained.

“That will come, Mr. Baxter. Please use the dictionary to find a definition of the word ‘trespass.’”

She pointed to a thick tome resting on a pedestal stand near the window.

To her amazement, he did. She wondered why she had worried at all. These children were hungry for knowledge, hungry to show off what they already knew. She turned to the board and wrote other words from the prayer for them to define. For the first time, she felt hope that she might succeed in teaching them after all. If she could…

“Miss Porterfield?” Eli was standing next to the fireplace, pulling papers and books from her satchel and laying them carefully on top of the cold ashes left from the previous night’s fire.

Amanda swallowed, and instinctively forced herself to remain calm. “What do you think you are doing, Eli?”

“Eli? What happened to Mr. Baxter? I mean, if you refuse to address me appropriately…”

From seemingly out of nowhere, Kitty came storming into the room. “You put those things back in that satchel, young man.”

“Or what?” Eli sneered.

Kitty held up a baseball glove and a butcher knife. “Funny how accidents can happen,” she said calmly. “As for you, little miss,” she continued, turning on Ellie, “don’t think I’m not prepared to tell your father why he’ll be needing to buy more chalk.”

To Amanda’s amazement, neither child protested. Eli stacked the papers and books and dropped them on the table. Ellie looked as if she might actually burst into tears.

Kitty glanced at Amanda and smiled. “Please continue, Miss Porterfield,” she said as she left the room.

With her confidence now shaken, Amanda pointed to the words she’d written on the board. “Please copy these words, and be prepared to give me clear definitions of each when we meet tomorrow. For now, we will explore your skills with numbers.” She wrote four arithmetic problems on the board.

“Mr. Baxter, come forward and solve the first problem,” she said, having decided to make no further reference to the previous incident.

He glared at her again, then pushed himself away from the table, strode toward her, snatched the chalk, and within less than a minute had correctly solved not just the first, but all four problems. He worked so quickly that the chalk broke into halves. He dropped the pieces in the tray, dusted his hands on his trousers, and sat back down. “Do I get my reward? Oh, wait, I didn’t really do anything but solve a problem, did I?”

Things continued to go downhill from there. By the time noon came, Amanda was exhausted and nearly out of ideas for how she might connect with the children so she could actually teach them something. Her thought had been to use this first day to establish how well each of them could read, spell, and solve simple problems in arithmetic. That way she could plan lessons suited to their level. But she had allowed them to distract her from her purpose, and now she felt totally adrift.

Eli Baxter did not return after she accepted the children’s insistence that they be permitted to eat their lunches outside when the weather was nice. Once they were settled on the front porch, Eli asked permission to use the privy, and that was the last Amanda saw of him. Ellie trudged back into the library, but spent the entire afternoon staring out the window, and there seemed to be nothing that Amanda could do to engage her.

Late in the afternoon, Amanda wrote two additional homework assignments on the board. She completed a brief report of the day for Mr. Baxter—omitting the fact that Eli had not returned after lunch—and left the appropriate books and papers the twins would need to complete their homework. She said good-bye to Ellie, who did not respond, and then slipped out the front door.

What had she been thinking to take this job? She was not qualified. She was intelligent and educated, but she clearly had no skills for teaching. Her only possible connection with the children was that she, like them, had suffered the unexpected death of a parent. She understood grief, but was that enough to form a bond? And what if she admitted defeat? That meant going back to the ranch and surrendering her newfound independence.

She squared her shoulders and greeted those she passed on her way back to the boardinghouse. She would make this work. There was too much at stake for her—and the Baxter children—to give up so easily.