Timothy cleared his throat from where he leaned against the doorframe. “You’ll be wanting me to spread word through the village, I expect?”
“Yes, please,” Joan said eagerly. “Tell everyone that we’ll be opening tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. All children between the ages of five and twelve are welcome to attend.”
Timothy’s expression grew troubled. “Miss Sinclair, I’ll do as you ask, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I wouldn’t count on a large turnout. Not at first, anyway.”
“Whyever not?” Joan frowned. “Surely parents want their children to have opportunities they never had?”
“It’s not that simple.” Timothy shifted uncomfortably. “Just… don’t get your hopes too high. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I have faith in this community, Mr. Andersen,” Joan said firmly. “Simply inform your neighbors. That’s all I ask.”
Timothy nodded, though the doubt never left his eyes. “As you wish, Miss.”
Joan barely slept that night. She lay awake in the darkness, mentally reviewing her lesson plans, imagining the hall filled with eager young faces, already anticipating the joy of watching children discover the magic of reading their first words.
The next morning was crisp and clear, perfect for a new beginning. Joan’s heart raced with anticipation as she and Victoria approached the hall in their carriage, and she quickened her pace, eager to open the doors and welcome her students.
But when they rounded the corner and the hall came into view, her heart sank.
The square was empty.
No crowds of children with their parents. No curious onlookers. No one at all except Timothy and Percival, who stood awkwardly near the entrance looking distinctly uncomfortable.
Joan felt her excitement curdle into disbelief. She looked up and down the street, certain that she must be mistaken as she came down from the carriage with Victoria.
“Mr. Andersen,” Joan said slowly as she approached, “did you inform the neighbors as I asked?”
“I did, Miss.” Timothy’s weathered face was creased with something that looked like pity. “Spoke to every family with children. Told them about the school, about the free lessons.”
“Then where…” Joan gestured helplessly at the empty square. “Where is everyone?”
Timothy sighed and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I tried to warn you, Miss Sinclair.”
He met her eyes steadily. “You’re a stranger here. A London lady who appeared out of nowhere and started making grand claims about teaching our children. Why would anyone believe you’ll actually follow through?”
The words struck Joan like physical blows. She had been so focused on opening the school, securing the hall, gathering supplies, preparing lessons that she had never stopped toconsider whether anyone would actually trust her enough to attend.
She looked at Victoria, whose face had fallen in disappointment. Then at Percival, who shuffled his feet and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“Victoria,” she said decisively, “I need you to return to Fairfax Manor with Peter for now.”
Victoria blinked in surprise. “What? Joan, I should stay and help?—”
“Please,” Joan interrupted gently. “I need to handle this differently. Trust me.”
Victoria looked as though she wanted to argue, but something in Joan’s expression must have convinced her. She nodded reluctantly and got into the carriage casting worried glances over her shoulder as she went in.
Joan turned to Timothy and Percival. “Mr. Andersen, I have a proposition for you.”
Timothy raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”
“The villagers don’t trust me because I’m a stranger,” Joan said. “But they know you. They trust you. So let’s go talk to them together. You and Percival and me. Let them see that you believein this school enough to bring your own son. Let them ask their questions and voice their concerns.”
Timothy stared at her. Then he looked down at his son, who was gazing up at Joan.
“Well, Percival?” Timothy asked. “What do you think?”
Percival’s face broke into a wide grin. “Yes, Father! Let’s do it!”
