“Indeed, it is,” he agreed, pushing himself off the wall to follow her in.
“Seems you’ve caught the sun in your hair today,” he added.
“Thank you,” she managed.
Barbara held the door open. “Would you come in for a spell, Mr. Bedwell? There’s still a little time before the children arrive.”
Harvey’s boots thudded against the wooden steps as he obliged.
“Wouldn’t want to be an imposition,” he said.
“Never that,” she assured him, her words simple, yet sincere. “It’s peaceful before the storm.”
He chuckled. “A storm of eager minds, no doubt.”
“Exactly.” She allowed herself a small smile, then caught sight of her reflection in the windowpane—a woman transformed by a dress too fine for everyday wear.
“You look mighty pretty today, Miss Williams,” Harvey remarked. His gaze lingered on her. “Hope you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bedwell.” Barbara felt a flush rise to her cheeks once more. She found him quite attractive as well, but she knew better than to tell him that. “I appreciate your kind words.”
“Where would you have me sit?” he asked, scanning across the array of desks, many carved with the initials of its youthful occupants.
“Anywhere you fancy,” she said, gesturing broadly. “Though I reckon near the window might give you the best view of the outside. You strike me as a man who likes to keep an eye on the horizon.”
“Guess the trail does that to a body,” he replied, settling into a seat by the window with a nod of thanks. “Always looking out for what’s ahead.”
“I remember,” Barbara murmured, thinking how the trail had shaped them all. She’d been lucky to lose no family members, but his mother had been one of the first of their company lost on the way.
Barbara slid the last of her chalk into the tray with a soft clatter, taking a moment to glance at Harvey, who now sat in solemn vigil by the window. The morning sun cast a golden sheen on his dark hair, and he seemed lost in thought.
“Mr. Bedwell,” Barbara began, “I wonder if you might do me a favor.”
He turned, his attention shifting from the outside world to her. “Of course, Miss Williams. Just name it.”
“Would you sit with your brother today?” She motioned toward Tommy’s usual seat—a desk near the front, away from the other children. “Sometimes he gets a bit restless and takes to tossing things at poor Tabitha. It upsets her something fierce.”
“Tabitha Scott? The pastor’s daughter? Tommy does have a wild streak,” Harvey agreed, pushing back the chair with a scrape against the wooden floor. He strode over to the indicated desk. “I reckon I can keep him in check.”
“Thank you.” She offered him a grateful smile, admiring his silent strength.
She could hear the whispers of the children and sense their curious eyes upon her, but all she saw was Harvey.
“Let’s get started with our lessons,” Barbara announced.
“Miss Williams, you’re all fancy today!” little Sally exclaimed, her eyes round with wonder as she tugged at the hem of Barbara’s dress.
Barbara smiled down at Sally. “It’s just a special day, that’s all,” she said.
“Looks like we got us a wedding instead of school,” young Frederick chimed in, and a chorus of giggles rippled through the room. Barbara felt a blush creep up her neck, but she maintained her composure.
“Settle down now,” she chided gently.
When the bell rang for recess, Barbara watched from the doorway as Harvey strode out into the yard, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the morning sun. He was soon swarmed by a gaggle of children, their laughter rising like dust kicked up by a wagon train.
She observed Harvey organize games of tag and relay races, his deep voice guiding and encouraging.
As the children ran and played, they were free from the weight of the journey that had brought them here. In those moments, they were simply children, and Harvey was not a farmer burdened by work. They were all equals.
