- •Bittersweet
- •Imogene’s narrow lower lip trembled; she pressed her fingers against it and coughed.
- •Imogene settled back against the seat and tucked the lap robe snug around her waist.
- •Imogene was silent.
- •Imogene ushered them in. “I’d offer you tea or coffee, but my things haven’t been brought from the station yet.”
- •Imogene pointed to the floor.
- •Imogene extended her hand but he didn’t take it, so she tucked it back under her cloak. “I am bigger than most of your bigger boys, Mr. Ebbitt.”
- •It was still light out when they finished supper. Sarah scraped her chair back, poised on its edge for flight. “Can I be excused, Mam? There’s enough light so I can finish with Myrtle.”
- •Imogene’s breath went out of her as though he’d slapped her. She pulled herself up straight and looked down at him. “I am a woman, Sam Ebbitt, and I make my living as a teacher. In school.”
- •Imogene ran down the steps. “Quick, child, run. I can keep up.” She turned to the older woman. “I’ve got to get to her.”
- •Imogene caught sight of Melissa and her mother cowering in the twilight.
- •Imogene mechanically dabbed water from the pail and flicked it onto the inside of her wrist. “Water’s too cool.”
- •Imogene stepped between her and the baby. “What do you mean to do?”
- •Imogene found voice. “Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It took me a moment. You look very different. Hello.”
- •Imogene wrung the cloth with a vicious twist. “This will hurt a little.” She washed the injuries tenderly. “I never knew a willow whip to cut this bad.”
- •Imogene sniffed audibly.
- •Imogene came out of her reverie at the sound of his voice. “No, thank you. I’m fine. A bit chilled. Perhaps you’re right, I’d best take myself home straight away.”
- •Imogene stared at the ruined back; the fine white skin cut to ribbons, black knotted blood puckering the edges of the gashes.
- •Imogene looked from the helpless white fingers to her own blunt, capable hands, and a heavy tiredness blanketed her features. Lying down on the cot by the far wall, she let herself sleep.
- •Imogene penned in reasonable rates under the name of the hotel.
- •Imogene sang softly, an old lullaby imperfectly remembered from childhood.
- •Imogene laughed. “Not many.”
- •Imogene thought for a moment. “Yes.” The one word carried the weight of her life’s worth.
- •Imogene sat like a stone. Her jaw jerked once before she spoke. “Of course.” She was overly loud. “I’ll bring the address by tomorrow, if that would be convenient.”
- •Imogene nodded abruptly. “I understand.” She did not tell Sarah.
- •Imogene hugged her, her cheek pressed against the tangled hair. She held her, thinking. Mam’s letter stared up from the mess of blankets.
- •It was a short letter, filled with warmth and caring. When it was finished, Sarah signed her name, a shaky, spidery hand under Imogene’s sure black strokes.
- •Imogene pressed her hand. “It is good to be out of doors. I think we both had a touch of cabin fever.”
- •Imogene was in high spirits as she loaded the last of their things into the wagon. “Sarah,” she called, “are you ready?”
- •Imogene cut her off. “What do you pay her?”
- •Imogene walked quickly, with long clean strides, and Harland Maydley, with his shorter legs, had to skip every few steps to keep up.
- •It was the first time he had ever called her by her Christian name, and she looked up, startled.
- •Imogene turned to Nate. “Please leave, Mr. Weldrick. Your attentions are not appreciated here.”
- •Imogene stirred her tea.
- •Imogene kissed the golden crown of hair. “Take care of yourself, Sarah. Your love is more than a net under me. It is the tower from which I shout down the world.”
- •Imogene looked at the watch pinned on her bodice. “All right, girls,” she said, turning back to her students, “time is up. Put down your pens.”
- •Imogene swirled around the floor, her feet attending to the calls, her eyes and mind on the darkness beyond the lanterns.
- •Imogene spread her shawl over the rock to protect their dresses. “Sarah, would you be happier married?”
- •Imogene smiled wanly. “Oh dear, I’d hoped to slip away without good-byes. I’m glad I didn’t. We’re leaving Reno, Kate.”
- •Imogene sighed and pushed impatiently back from her desk. “The sheriff is letting Nate Weldrick out of jail this afternoon. Mac told me.”
- •Imogene laughed self-consciously.
- •Imogene smiled at her earnestness.
- •Imogene came to bed after midnight, walking softly so she wouldn’t awaken Sarah if she was sleeping.
- •Imogene shook her head and arranged her skirts around the swaddled coyote so he couldn’t reach her with his teeth.
- •Imogene greeted the passengers as Mac and Noisy busied themselves with the livestock. It wasn’t until after lunch had been served and cleared away that Imogene remembered the coyote pup.
- •Imogene leaned back in her chair, her eyes resting on Mac’s gnarled old face.
- •Inside, the six onlookers howled. David laughed so hard his eyes were wet, and Sarah bounced and murmured “Shh, shh,” between fits of the giggles.
- •In the kitchen, Sarah heard the door bang and called out, “How many for lunch, Imogene?”
- •Imogene laved her face and neck. “You’ve even heated the water. What harm can come to me, with you looking after me?”
- •Imogene snorted. “He expected to sleep and eat here for nothing as a representative of Dizable & Denning.”
- •Imogene caught her hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never felt better. Not in all the years of my life. No one need be sorry for me.”
- •In the morning Lucy would not come down to breakfast, but pleaded illness. “She’s faking so she can stay and make eyes at Mr. Saunders,” the second Wells daughter declared.
- •I all alone beweep my outcast state,
Imogene sang softly, an old lullaby imperfectly remembered from childhood.
Early the next morning, Imogene ate a hasty breakfast and left the hotel. It was clear and cool; the day’s traffic had yet to fill the air with dust. She walked half the length of town, turning off Virginia Street when she reached the Truckee River.
Down the river, about a fifteen-minute walk through the sage from the railway station, a three-story building stood on a knoll, facing south over the Truckee. A fancy cupola graced the top, and there was an ornate, pillared, porticoed entrance. The building was not yet completed; it lacked paint, and the front door was leaning against the stair railing, off its hinges. Piles of dirt and brick took the place of lawn and landscaping.
Impeccably groomed and dressed in a short black jacket over a gray bustled dress, Imogene climbed the knoll, carrying her skirt up out of the dust. The clean, pungent smell of sage was swept up by her trailing skirts to mix with the scent of pine borne down from the mountains.
When she reached the summit, she turned and looked back over the river while she caught her breath. It was an ideal place for a school, within walking distance of town but not crowded around with shops, private homes, and other noisy distractions.
No one came out to greet her and there was no sign of life visible through any of the windows. She climbed the long staircase and rapped on the doorframe. Above it, balanced on the sill, not yet nailed in place, was a brass plaque reading BISHOP WHITAKER’S SCHOOL FOR GIRLS.
Imogene knocked again and called out, “Hello! Excuse me! Hello!”
Her voice echoed through the unfinished building. She stepped inside and called again. The room was spacious and well lighted; sawdust covered the floor, and several of the window sashes were propped against the wall waiting to be installed. The smell of new-cut lumber filled the room. Through the window openings, the river sparkled below the deep blue wall of the Sierra. A shadow fell across the rectangle of sunlight on the floor, and Imogene turned.
“I’m Kate Sills. How do you do.” The woman in the doorway shifted the cardboard box she was carrying to her hip and thrust out her hand in the manner of a man.
Imogene took it. “I’m Imogene Grelznik. There didn’t seem to be anyone here. I apologize for letting myself in. I was told this was to be a school for girls, and my curiosity got the better of my manners.”
“Understandable. This may be the last time you’ll see it so quiet; we’ve forty-five girls coming in October. Do you have a school-aged daughter?”
“I’m a teacher. I just came west…from Philadelphia. I’d like to apply for a position.”
Kate Sills studied her with new interest, and Imogene looked back frankly. Kate was a short woman, squarely built, with a fine, strong head set solidly above broad shoulders. She was thick-middled, in her early forties, with glossy brown hair untouched by gray; she seemed a warm and capable woman.
“I don’t expect you’ve many discipline problems,” Kate said, enjoying Imogene’s towering height.