Jane Perrine - Second Chance Bride

The children kept their eyes on her, probably expecting her to do more than just stand on the platform in front of the classroom. Annie forced herself to say something. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

A slender girl with dark, tightly braided hair stood in the front row to Annie’s left. Like all the girls, she wore a long-waisted dress with a lace flounce and black boots. A few covered their dresses with Mother Hubbard aprons.

“I’m Martha Norton. I’m in the seventh grade.” Martha nodded at a plump young woman with her dark hair pulled into braids with far less perfection. “This is Ida Johnson. She’s in the seventh grade also. We help the younger children,” she added proudly with a lift of her chin.

“Thank you, Martha and Ida.” In her mind, Annie repeated the names as she smiled at both girls.

Two boys stood in the second row on Annie’s right. Boys on the right, girls on the left—they had arranged themselves that way as soon as they entered the classroom.

“I’m Frederick Meyer,” said a boy with short blond hair. He wore what seemed to be the boys’ uniform: a round-necked shirt in plaid or stripes with trousers that stopped just past the knees and boots. “This is Samuel Johnson,” he said, introducing the boy next to him. “And that’s Rose Tripp.” He pointed at the redheaded girl.

After the other children introduced themselves, Annie said, “We’re short three students this morning.”

“The Bryan Brothers,” Martha said. “You won’t see much of them, Miss Cunningham. They have to help on the farm. When they come, they’re usually late. Wilber misses a lot. He’s almost sixteen and his father doesn’t see any reason why—”

“Thank you for all that information, Martha. We’ll welcome them back when they are able to return.” She paused and looked around the class. “I need to tell you something else.” Annie pointed at her right arm. “Children, you may have heard I was in an accident on the way here.”

They all nodded.

“Because I hurt my arm, I’ll be unable to write for several days. I’ve been practicing with my left hand and am not very good, so you’ll all have to help me.”

They nodded again.

An hour later, Annie was enjoying listening to the buzz of activity in the classroom as the students worked together.

“A, B, C, D,” chanted the first and second graders while Martha and Ida held up slates with those letters written in strong, firm strokes.

Annie stood behind the group and studied the lesson with much more interest than any of the students, willing herself to pick up everything the older students taught the younger ones. She traced the letters on the palm of her hand, attaching sounds to the memory of the letters she’d practiced, hoping she would remember them that evening.

She looked over Martha’s shoulder as the girl gave math problems to the fourth graders and watched the students write the numbers, studying how they formed them on their slates. She’d practice them that evening, as well. By the time Lucia came to help with lunch at noon, Annie had learned a great deal.

The children had brought their lunches to school in pails, and they sat outside in the warm October sun to eat with their friends.

Lucia brought plates for both Elizabeth and Annie. “I’ll bring you lunch every day,” she said. “And I’ll wash your clothing as I have for all the teachers. I noticed when I put another blanket in your room that there is a dress soaking. Is that the one you were wearing when you were injured?”

Annie nodded.

“Then I’ll clean and launder it, as well.”

“Thank you.” Annie felt so spoiled. To show her appreciation, she’d buy Lucia something when she was paid. If she was still here. If she got paid at all.

After lunch, the boys kicked a ball around while the girls tossed hoops to each other, laughing and shouting. Fascinated by their energy and joyful abandon, Annie watched from a bench by the clearing.

When the children came back into school at one o’clock, she glanced at the watch and wondered what she would do with them for another ninety minutes. How would she fill the time? She’d already taught them everything she knew. Almost everything.

“Children, do you want to sing?”

The girls nodded; the boys shook their heads. Annie laughed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the songs her mother had taught her, deciding which ones the children would enjoy.

“White wings, they never grow weary,” she began. When she finished the chorus, she opened her eyes to see rapt expressions on the students’ faces—even the boys.

Elizabeth and Ida smiled and clapped, and Martha said, “Oh, Miss Cunningham, that was so beautiful. Please sing more.”

“I’ll sing again, but this time, you have to sing with me.”

Although the boys grumbled, they joined in. She taught them all to sing the chorus and had begun to teach some harmony on the verses when she looked up to see John Sullivan at the door. He wore an odd expression, a mixture of admiration and surprise.

“Miss Cunningham.” He nodded at her. “Children.” They nodded back at him.

“I came by to pick up Elizabeth and to ask how your first day of teaching went. When I approached the school, I heard your wonderful music.” He nodded. “I wasn’t aware singing was one of your talents.”

“Thank you. The children seemed to enjoy it.”

“You didn’t mention your musical ability in your letter of application.”

“I didn’t realize it would be of interest.” She smiled and turned toward the students. “Children, you may go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eight of the students grabbed their lunch pails and dashed from the building while Elizabeth ran to her father and held her arms out. He reached down to pick her up and envelop her in a hug, his expression softening.

Annie titled her head to watch the two, the love between the often stern banker and his daughter obvious.

“Miss Cunningham is a wonderful teacher. She’s really good at math,” Elizabeth said, and grimaced, her lips turned down.

“Not your favorite subject,” he said.

“No, but it was all right. And we helped her write because of her arm, you know.”

“Yes, sweetheart, we’re sorry about her arm.” John gently placed her back on the ground. “Would you please go read for a few minutes? I need to talk with Miss Cunningham.”

Oh, dear.

“Thank you for coming by,” Annie said. “The day went well, I believe. We got to know each other, and I began to measure the levels of each child in mathematics and reading.”

“After I heard you singing, I couldn’t help but wonder—do you play the piano or organ?”

Annie looked around the schoolroom, in case she’d missed such an instrument in her post-accident fog, but there was none. “I play the piano and have played the organ, but I don’t read music. If someone sings the melody for me, I can play anything.”

“A most talented young woman. I’m sure Reverend Thompson would like to talk to you. We’re in need of an organist at church.”

At church? Annie playing the organ in a church? Oh, no. She didn’t think so. She shouldn’t even be inside a church let alone to help in the service. No, she wasn’t fit for that.

“I don’t think I should. Thank you, but I’d need to practice and wouldn’t like to take time away from the children or from preparing their lessons.”

“We have both a piano and a fine organ in our house. You may practice there. Perhaps you could even teach Elizabeth a few tunes. Of course, the church pays only a pittance. It may not be worth your time.”

She glanced up at John. She wanted to tell him that money was not the problem, but she could hardly explain the real reason for her reluctance. “It’s not the money at all. I just thought—the children. I’m so new, and I do have responsibilities here.”