“That’s quite a number of books for one lady,” he remarked as he bent to collect more of them.
Her blue eyes seared his face when she looked up at him. “Ladies enjoy reading too.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Besides, these aren’t for me.” She slapped another book onto the stack growing in his hands. “They’re for my pupils.”
“Your pupils?” Cole replied dumbly. He couldn’t imagine what she meant.
“Yes, the children who will be attending my school.”
“You’re a schoolteacher?” He wished he could speak without sounding as if he were surprised by every word she said.
“Yes . . . Or, well, I will be. Once the schoolhouse is open.” Her voice softened as she set two more books onto the stack he held.
She spoke as if teaching school was the most wonderful way to occupy her time. Cole couldn’t imagine trying to wrangle a room full of children, half of whom wanted to be elsewhere, and spending his days pretending as if arithmetic and long, dusty poems were the most exciting things in the world.
“I see,” he said, even though he didn’t at all.
She added another book onto the stack and stood, extending her arms for the books.
“I’ll carry these for you,” he said. “Lest you drop them in something worse than the dust on the sidewalk.”
Miss Scott narrowed her eyes, and Cole could have laughed. She looked every inch the irritated schoolteacher with that expression.
She didn’t drop her hands. “I don’t need your help.”
“You do. Where is this schoolhouse of yours?” He began walking in case she tried to pry the books from his hands.
Miss Scott scurried to join him. “I really could do this on my own.”
When he said nothing else, she finally sighed—as loudly as possible—and pointed straight ahead. “It’s on Second Street, in the old hat shop.”
“What’s in these books?” Cole said, trying to keep the breathlessness from his voice. The stack of books in his arms weighed more than Miss Scott herself, and he wondered how she’d gotten them as far as she had.
“All sorts of things,” she said. “Mrs. Payne at the library is lending them to me until we can order proper schoolbooks. There’s one on geography, one about American history, two different books to teach numbers, one on botany . . . That one on top is a book of poetry.”
Cole made a face over the books.
“You don’t care for poetry?”
“Can’t say as I do. It never made much sense to me, going on about something with frilly words when plainer speech would suffice.”
“Hmm.” She made the sound in such a way that Cole couldn’t tell if she was casting judgment upon him or trying to figure out how to convince him of poetry’s worth.
“What made you want to teach school?” he asked as they turned onto Second Street.
“I’ve always wanted to, ever since I was a child attending school myself. I simply adored my teacher. And I love children. When the drought came, and people began leaving town, the school closed. A few folks tried to start little schools here and there, but none lasted. Now that new folks are coming to town, there are more children, and, well . . . We need a school. The children of Last Chance deserve an education, and I’ve always wanted to teach, and—” She stopped speaking abruptly, and Cole wondered what it was she’d been about to say.
He didn’t have time to think about it, though, because Miss Scott stopped in front of an empty storefront.
“This is the school,” she said, smiling at the abandoned-looking building as if it were a steel tycoon’s mansion.
Cole waited a moment for her to open the door, but Miss Scott continued looking at the building in reverence. Finally, he gave in to his aching arms and said, “Could we go inside?”
“Oh!” Miss Scott looked at the stack of books as if she’d forgotten about them. “Yes, of course.” She pulled a key from a pocket sewn into her dress and inserted it into the lock. After a moment, she pushed the door open and stood back to let him in.
Cole turned, searching for a place to set the books down. There wasn’t a table in sight, only some desks that were half coated in dust along with what looked like several hat racks. He opted for setting half the books on one desk and half on another. The rest of the building appeared cleaner than the desks, and Cole felt certain Miss Scott had spent many an hour in here with a dust rag, water, and soap.
