of Madeleine’s dollar-sized flapjacks and then reminded himself that if Lily Carteret was on the Bar Dot, he was still foreman and she was his responsibility.
“You want to share your plan, uh, Lily?” he asked.
“It’s a small one. I intend to teach Madeleine’s girls how to read and cipher. I’ve never taught anyone anything in my life, but I won’t do it for free. How will I ever get out of here if I do? Perhaps I had better meet the Buxtons.”
“Oliver Buxton is tighter than a water-logged keg,” Jack warned.
“I won’t ask a lot, because I am not highly skilled,” Lily replied in that precise way of hers he was coming to relish. And then she endeared herself forever with a little-girl doubt. “Do you think twenty dollars a month is too much?”
“Think bigger, Lily,” he advised.
“I have no skill as a teacher,” she reminded him.
“At twenty dollars a month, it’s a mighty small plan.”
“I know, but plans can grow, can’t they?”
He saw it again, that same assessing, shrewd look he had noticed on her face when she stood in the open door of the train and surveyed the hand called Wyoming Territory that had been dealt her. He thought of his strangely won ranch, and Bismarck, and understood what she meant.
“Plans certainly can grow. Let’s go meet the boss, and more important, the Mrs. Boss.”
C HAPTER 8
T he plan to teach had made a great deal of sense last night, especially after she checked on her father and stood a long time in his doorway, dismayed at the cozy way he had wrapped his hand around that wine bottle. Almost worse than the confirmation that her father was an alcoholic was the certainty that everyone knew.
“We all know why my father doesn’t make it to dinner or breakfast,” she told the foreman, trying not to inject any self-pity into her voice. “Does he do his job with any skill at all?”
“He must. Buxton hasn’t thrown him off the place yet,” He winced. “That was unkind of me.”
“It was honest,” she said, even as her insides writhed. “My father is a remittance man. He failed in Canada, he failed in India, but his biggest failure was the first one in Barbados, where he . . .” She faltered, finding it difficult to say out loud what she had known for years. “. . . married my mother.”
Jack surprised her by putting his hand on her arm again, this time with enough force to stop her. “Don’t say that!”
“Well, he did. She was the daughter of an apothecary and his slave.”
He didn’t let up the pressure on her arm. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, evidently determined to be as stubborn as she was, drat the man. “Don’t classify yourself as part of a failure.”
“And how am I not?”
His gaze didn’t waver, although he did remove his hand from her arm. “There’s a song out here, Lily: ‘What Was Your Name in the States?’ I’m no singer, but here’s one verse.”
He auditioned several notes as though searching for the right one, but gave up. “If I sing, you’ll bolt for sure. ‘Oh, what was your name in the states?’ ” he said. “ ‘Was it Johnson or Thompson or Bates? Did you murder your wife and fly for your life? Oh, what was your name in the states?’ ”
She didn’t laugh, because she understood what he meant. “Everybody gets a free pass out here?” she asked.
“Everybody,” he assured her. “It’s a good faith thing.”
She wondered how many passes her father had gone through and then decided to believe the man so determined for her to succeed, even after such a brief acquaintance. It was a new feeling. No one had ever taken much interest in her before, and she liked it.
“Very well,” she said, “although I truly do not know a thing about teaching.”
He started her in motion again. “Do you like Chantal and her sister, Amelie? I’ll have to tell you sometime why Amelie is so quiet.”
“Yes, I like them. Who wouldn’t?”
“I’m no teacher, either, but could it
“You want to share your plan, uh, Lily?” he asked.
“It’s a small one. I intend to teach Madeleine’s girls how to read and cipher. I’ve never taught anyone anything in my life, but I won’t do it for free. How will I ever get out of here if I do? Perhaps I had better meet the Buxtons.”
“Oliver Buxton is tighter than a water-logged keg,” Jack warned.
“I won’t ask a lot, because I am not highly skilled,” Lily replied in that precise way of hers he was coming to relish. And then she endeared herself forever with a little-girl doubt. “Do you think twenty dollars a month is too much?”
“Think bigger, Lily,” he advised.
“I have no skill as a teacher,” she reminded him.
“At twenty dollars a month, it’s a mighty small plan.”
“I know, but plans can grow, can’t they?”
He saw it again, that same assessing, shrewd look he had noticed on her face when she stood in the open door of the train and surveyed the hand called Wyoming Territory that had been dealt her. He thought of his strangely won ranch, and Bismarck, and understood what she meant.
“Plans certainly can grow. Let’s go meet the boss, and more important, the Mrs. Boss.”
C HAPTER 8
T he plan to teach had made a great deal of sense last night, especially after she checked on her father and stood a long time in his doorway, dismayed at the cozy way he had wrapped his hand around that wine bottle. Almost worse than the confirmation that her father was an alcoholic was the certainty that everyone knew.
“We all know why my father doesn’t make it to dinner or breakfast,” she told the foreman, trying not to inject any self-pity into her voice. “Does he do his job with any skill at all?”
“He must. Buxton hasn’t thrown him off the place yet,” He winced. “That was unkind of me.”
“It was honest,” she said, even as her insides writhed. “My father is a remittance man. He failed in Canada, he failed in India, but his biggest failure was the first one in Barbados, where he . . .” She faltered, finding it difficult to say out loud what she had known for years. “. . . married my mother.”
Jack surprised her by putting his hand on her arm again, this time with enough force to stop her. “Don’t say that!”
“Well, he did. She was the daughter of an apothecary and his slave.”
He didn’t let up the pressure on her arm. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, evidently determined to be as stubborn as she was, drat the man. “Don’t classify yourself as part of a failure.”
“And how am I not?”
His gaze didn’t waver, although he did remove his hand from her arm. “There’s a song out here, Lily: ‘What Was Your Name in the States?’ I’m no singer, but here’s one verse.”
He auditioned several notes as though searching for the right one, but gave up. “If I sing, you’ll bolt for sure. ‘Oh, what was your name in the states?’ ” he said. “ ‘Was it Johnson or Thompson or Bates? Did you murder your wife and fly for your life? Oh, what was your name in the states?’ ”
She didn’t laugh, because she understood what he meant. “Everybody gets a free pass out here?” she asked.
“Everybody,” he assured her. “It’s a good faith thing.”
She wondered how many passes her father had gone through and then decided to believe the man so determined for her to succeed, even after such a brief acquaintance. It was a new feeling. No one had ever taken much interest in her before, and she liked it.
“Very well,” she said, “although I truly do not know a thing about teaching.”
He started her in motion again. “Do you like Chantal and her sister, Amelie? I’ll have to tell you sometime why Amelie is so quiet.”
“Yes, I like them. Who wouldn’t?”
“I’m no teacher, either, but could it
Similar Books
