Autumn Dreams Read online

  Autumn Dreams

  Sharon McGregor

  Copyright 2014 Sharon McGregor

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Editing by Jacqueline Hopper

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN-10: 1940099862 ISBN-13: 978-1-940099-86-6

  First Edition, 2014

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: [email protected]

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  DEDICATION

  Autumn Dreams is dedicated to the memory of my aunts, Ethel and Mary, and to all the other teachers of yesteryear who worked in one-room country schools across the prairies. They passed their knowledge on to their pupils in difficult circumstances with passion, determination, love, and infinite patience.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Maggie Lawrence pushed a curling tendril of dark brown hair from her face. She looked around the empty train platform, considering her next move. The train was strangely on time, a possibility her greeter might not have considered. She picked up a suitcase in each hand and sat down on a bench facing the tracks. The day was warm and sunny with a slight breeze to keep things comfortable, a typical late August morning in a 1949 prairie town.

  She had nearly dozed off in the sunshine when she heard a deep voice beside her.

  “Miss Lawrence?”

  She jumped up quickly, knocking one suitcase on its side as she did. “Yes.” It was then she looked up into a set of piercing blue eyes surrounded by a well-tanned face that was set, maybe not in disapproval, but certainly not in welcome.

  Maggie had just barely arrived and already she was on the wrong foot. I wonder what I’ve done now? It was a question she often asked her older sister, Dora, who was usually quick to set her straight on her transgressions.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had a stop to make at the hardware store first.” At least she knew where she ranked in priority. “Is this all?”

  She nodded and he picked up the biggest case. She followed quickly with the smaller one.

  “Mr. Thornhill...” she began.

  “Matthews, actually,” he said. “I’m just standing in.”

  She waited for an explanation that never came. Oh, well. She gave a shrug. At least once she got there she wouldn’t have to cope with him. She hoped the Thornhills were more communicative.

  In the parking area stood a green wagon hitched to a pair of huge black horses. A dark blue sedan sat a few yards farther. I certainly hope he belongs to the car.

  He stared at her with an expression of slight contempt. Was her fear of horses that obvious? Maggie felt great relief as he led her to the car and pushed her cases into the back seat. Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he opened the passenger door for her.

  After one or two comments about the weather, which he answered monosyllabically, she gave up and spent the rest of the ten-mile ride looking at the passing countryside. They turned left on the highway and slowed on the gravel road. She managed a covert sideways glance at her driver, who was concentrating on keeping the car straight on fresh gravel.

  Good-looking, definitely. Even features, a strong, straight nose, sun wrinkles around those striking blue eyes, and a mouth that could have been described as generous, even though its firm set was not. She wondered what had caused those unforgiving lines in such a young man. He couldn’t have been long out of his twenties, perhaps not much older than her own twenty-five years. Perhaps he’d been in the war. That would account for the care lines.

  The road was narrow and sided by grassy ditches that now held water. There must have been a heavy rain recently. The ditches were broken up on both sides by lanes leading into farmyards, each fronted by a mailbox on a post. She felt a sudden tingle and glanced to the side just in time to see her driver’s glance slide away.

  So, Mr. Matthews might disapprove, but he was interested enough in his passenger to give her the once-over when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  They turned a corner and he slowed at the next mailbox. The lane was blocked by a barbed-wire fence with a gate, and he jumped out to open it. He moved smoothly, a man whose muscles did his bidding effortlessly. At the end of the lane, they rounded a corner and came to a stop in front of a two-story, white farmhouse. To the right was a grey, unpainted barn. Dotted around the yard were a garage, a couple of granaries, a clothesline filled with white sheets, and a large woodpile. A red tractor, hitched to a set of harrows, stood beside the garage.

  This was going to be Maggie’s home for the next year.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A woman stood on the doorstep, light brown hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a print housedress with a striped apron. Her smile was welcoming. Maggie liked her at first sight. She couldn’t fail to notice the prominent bulge beneath the striped apron. A small face with a pointed chin peeked out from behind the woman then quickly disappeared from view.

  The woman stepped forward. “Hello, Maggie. I’m Ellen. I hope Marshall didn’t keep you waiting. I know he can lose track of time.”

  Marshall. Now she at least knew his first name.

  “Are you coming in for tea, Marshall?” Ellen asked.

  “No. Sorry, I’ll be in later. I have to fix a hole in the north pasture fence before the cattle find it.” He gave her a brilliant smile, ignored Maggie, and went away whistling.

  Well! He could be friendly when he chose. She must be the problem. But what on earth had she done? Or said? She realized she wasn’t going to be rid of him as she’d thought. He was obviously a presence here at the farm. She wasn’t sure if the idea intrigued her or upset her.

  With Marshall gone, Maggie followed Ellen into the bright, clean kitchen. The pixie face reappeared and the little girl detached herself from her mother, sitting at the end of the table—bright eyes taking everything in.

  “This is Emma,” Ellen said. “She’s just turned six and you’ll be teaching her grade one this year.”

  Emma giggled at this and gave her a quick wave.

  Maggie looked around as Ellen poured the tea. The oblong table, covered with a worn, yellow oilcloth with a pattern of daisies, sat beside a plant-filled window. The wooden chairs—missing the odd rung—were varnished. A cream painted sideboard filled with dishes, a small washstand by the door, and a large cook stove and warming top on the far side of the room completed the furnishings. She took in the rich scent of sweet peas bunched with baby’s breath in a vase. The room was shabby, but it was cheerful and welcoming.

  “Ray is in the backyard, shelling peas for me. He feels awkward, not being able to do much,” Ellen said. Ray was Ellen’s husband, Maggie knew, but the school board had never mentioned Marshall. Where did he fit in?

  Ellen soon enlightened her. “Marshall, my brother, has been helping out on the farm. Ray broke his leg a few days ago and, of course, can’t do much farming with a big cast on. So, Marshall is staying. You probably won’t see a lot of him. He has a sort of bunkhouse set up in the granary behind the house.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about Ray. It must make farming di
fficult.”

  Ellen smiled at that. “Farming is always difficult,” she said. “But we love the life and wouldn’t change it for anything.”

  “I’ll try to help if I can. This is the first time I’ve boarded. My last school had a little teacherage.”

  “I’m afraid our district is lacking some amenities. We’ve boarded the last two teachers. It’s handy here. You have only about a ten-minute walk to the school. Or, in the wintertime, you can take one of the horses. There’s a barn in the schoolyard, and the horses aren’t as busy in winter.”

  “No, thank you.” Maggie shuddered at the thought. “I like to walk.”

  Ellen looked at the living room door where Emma had vanished while chasing a cat. She lowered her voice. “I hope Marshall gave you a pleasant ride out. He’s not usually very talkative, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll second that,” she said a little strongly, then she wished she hadn’t spoken. After all, he was Ellen’s brother.

  “It’s just that he and Stella, that’s the last teacher who taught here—” She broke off when Emma reappeared in the kitchen, clutching a tabby cat that wore a long-suffering expression and lay limp in her arms.

  Darn! Just as she was about to get the dirt on Marshall. Well, maybe she’d find out more when she and Ellen were really alone.

  “I’d better show you the house. Ray and I have the bedroom downstairs, which is a good thing, considering his leg. Upstairs, you and Emma have the two bedrooms. I’m afraid we don’t have an indoor bathroom.”

  “Neither did my last teacherage,” Maggie said, smiling as she followed Ellen up the narrow staircase. Why did talk of plumbing, or lack of it, always make one want to giggle?

  “There is a thunder pot under the bed if you get caught short.”

  Hopefully not. The thunder pot had that name for a reason, and it looked as if her bedroom was right above Ellen and Ray’s. She’d hold out for the outdoor toilet, thank you.

  After showing Maggie her room, Ellen turned to leave. “I’d better get started on supper.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just come down with an appetite in about an hour.” Ellen smiled. “You might want a bit of a rest. The week will start soon enough. Oh, and there’s a pitcher and basin on the dresser over there—warm water in the stove reservoir.”

  “Thanks.” She sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. It was a plain room, but clean and feminine-looking, with a pink curtain fronting the closet and matching curtains on the window. The quilt had a sunbonnet design.

  This would have been the room the last teacher had used—what was her name? Stella, that was it. Maggie was curious about her and about her connection to the taciturn Marshall.

  Oh, well, best get settled.

  She unloaded the contents of her cases into the closet and the three-drawer dresser, placing her ivory-backed brush set on the embroidered doily. A glance into the mirror above the dresser told her that her hair was flying in all directions as usual, and she had a smudge on her left cheek. Had that been there during her drive here?

  Her flyaway hair was the bane of her existence. It was dark brown, thick, and curly, but it always seemed to frizz in the humidity. She was often tempted to cut it short, but knew her mother would have a stroke if she did. Short hair was just not acceptable on a Lawrence woman.

  She should write a letter home, but she thought she’d wait until her first day in the new school was behind her. She pictured her mother reading her letter aloud as her father sat smoking his pipe and Dora did her embroidery in the corner chair. They’d have the radio on, probably listening to Our Miss Brooks or Boston Blackie. She felt a quick pang of homesickness. Her last school had been just outside Greenway but had closed when the few remaining pupils began taking the bus into town. Dora was lucky to teach grade one in Greenway, so she was able to live at home—at least until she married David next spring.

  Maggie had been offered three schools, but this was the closest to home. She’d be able to take the train home for a weekend sometimes, especially if a holiday fell on Monday.

  Her window looked out into the barnyard with its rows of haystacks behind the barn and a clump of trees shielding what looked to be a henhouse. She could see someone moving in the yard.

  It had to be Marshall, back from fence-mending.

  She decided against a quick lie-down, afraid she’d fall asleep. It would be embarrassing to be woken for supper.

  She heard a slight tap on the door and called, “Come in.”

  Emma appeared around the corner, holding the tabby cat. “Mom says I’m not supposed to bother you, but I wanted you to meet Gus.”

  “Gus?”

  “It’s short for Augustus since he was born in August, but we just call him Gus.”

  Maggie stroked the cat gently. He seemed to be a calm, accepting creature, purring contentedly at her touch. Well, now the only family member she had yet to meet was Ray.

  “I’m sorry about your father’s leg,” she said, “How did it happen?”

  “He fell off the barn roof when he was trying to fix it after the storm last week. He’s going to be in a cast for ages. But now we have Uncle Marshall to help out, and I like that. Uncle Marshall is a lot of fun.”

  Not a word Maggie would have used to describe him.

  “You’ll like Uncle Marshall. The last teacher did.”

  Maggie wanted to hear more, but felt a prick of guilt at encouraging gossip from a child, so she changed the subject. Better to hear the story from Ellen.

  “Emma!”

  “That’s Mom calling. I have to set the table for supper. Here, you can have Gus.”

  She dropped the cat on the bed and ran downstairs. Gus gave a shake, but then took a quick lick at his left hip and settled where he was placed—paws tucked in and tail wrapped around his rather chubby frame. He obviously didn’t rely on a diet of field mice.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Maggie arrived downstairs, Ray was already at the table, sipping a cup of tea. He was a tall, wiry man with a thin face, tanned farmer-style. Two wide creases bracketed his mouth. He looked older than Ellen, but that might have been on account of the grey sprinkles in his hair. Ellen introduced them between trips from the stove to the table.

  Ray gave her a thorough examination before saying, “Nice to meet you.” He smiled in a friendly way that signified he found his appraisal satisfying.

  Maggie looked for something to do, but, apparently, they were all ready for supper. Emma squirmed in her chair, wanting to dip into the meal, but she stilled at a warning glance from her mother.

  Then the door opened and Marshall entered, stopping to clean up at the washstand. They bowed for grace as he sat down. Maggie tried to avoid his eyes, but it was difficult as he sat right across from her. Emma, beside her, kept up a steady stream of chatter, and Marshall responded in a gently teasing way. Apparently, he felt affection for his niece, and his sister, too. He talked openly with Ray as well.

  So, for some reason, Maggie was the only one he disliked, and he’d disliked her on sight. What could he have heard about her beforehand that would cause such a reaction? She decided the only way to find out was to confront him directly, but she had to get him alone first.

  “We’ll all be going to church in the morning. Would you like to come?” Ellen asked her.

  Maggie would have preferred to have a day to explore her surroundings, but didn’t see any way of politely refusing. “Of course. I’d love to.”

  “Then I’ll show you around the school. We can walk home afterward.”

  That would make going worthwhile. Maggie was glad she’d said yes to Ellen’s invitation. She would have plenty of time later to explore her new home.

  * * *

  Maggie awoke before dawn and knew the second cup of coffee after dinner was not a habit she should cultivate. She tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use.

  Ignoring the thunder pot, which she had already decided was a no-go,
she wrapped her housecoat around herself and slipped on her scruffy pink slippers. She crept down the stairs one at a time, trying to avoid tell-tale creaks.

  Once outside, she could see the outhouse silhouetted against a bright moon. She didn’t linger any longer than she had to, closing the door gently behind her. As she stumbled up the path to the house, she could see a light coming from Marshall’s room in the granary. She knew farmers were early risers, but this was ridiculous.

  Back inside the house, she found she wasn’t the only early bird. Emma had slipped into her room while she was gone.

  “Where were you?” she asked. Maggie thought she might have been crying.

  “I had to visit the outhouse.”

  “Oh. Can I sleep with you? I had a dream and woke up. I think there’s a monster under my bed.”

  “Nonsense.” Maggie wanted to let her stay but knew that could cause problems later. Instead, she said, “Let’s go look for this monster. I have a flashlight.”

  They knelt and looked under Emma’s bed. “See? No monsters.”

  “They’ll come back when you go away.”

  “No, they won’t. Just a minute, I know what to do.” Finding inspiration, she grabbed a few mints from a bowl in her room and said to Emma, “Look, I have some monster guard. Put these under your bed and they’ll keep them away—just like bug spray.”

  Emma looked at them suspiciously. “They look like peppermints to me.”

  “So do mothballs, but they keep the moths away, don’t they?”

  Emma suddenly smiled and jumped into bed. “Tuck me in?”

  Maggie obliged and within a few seconds Emma was asleep. Maggie wasn’t so lucky, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

  She felt a gentle thump at the foot of her bed and guessed Gus was looking for a soft place to sleep. She wondered how he got in and out of the house, and figured he must have an arrangement of sorts with Ellen.

  It wasn’t long before she heard Ellen starting the cook-stove below. It didn’t matter how warm the day would get, the stove would be hard at work with not only meals, but also breads and pies.