Healing Sarah Read online

  Other Books By Lorin Grace

  American Homespun Series

  Waking Lucy

  Reforming Elizabeth

  Remembering Anna

  Friday Night Art Society

  Mending Fences

  Mending Christmas

  Mending Walls ~ Spring 2018

  Cover photos: Deposit Photos by: nature78, angelnnov, and hydromet s

  Cover & interior photos: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Public Domain Photos

  Cover Design © 2018 and formatting by LJP Creative

  Edits by Eschler Editing

  Published by Currant Creek Press

  North Logan, Utah

  Healing Sarah © 2018 by Lorin Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and dialogue in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  First printing: March 2018

  AISN:

  For Grandma Eileen—I love you forever.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Epilogue

  Historical Notes

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  There are not enough ways to thank those who helped me bring about this book. Huge thanks to Tammy and family for letting me crash at her home while I conducted research in the Boston Area. A special thanks to Kristen Hollenbeck who gave me a personal tour of the Brandford College memorabilia room. (I want to tell more stories about the college!) Also to the patient librarians in the special collections at Haverhill and Amsbury libraries.

  I have been blessed with several author friends to guide me. Thank you Emily, Sally, and Cindy, whose ideas, critiques and daily advice keep me going.

  Thanks also to Michele at Eschler Editing for the edits (any mistakes left in this book are not her fault). Nor are my excellent proof readers to be blamed. Especially Nanette who scours each book for errors. Thank you!

  My family, for sharing their home with the fictional characters who often got fed better than they did. And my husband who encouraged me every crazy step of the way, and who is my example for every love story I dream up. The real one is better.

  And to my Father in Heaven for putting these wonderful people, and any I may have forgotten to mention, in my life. I am grateful for every experience and blessing I have been granted to form my life.

  One

  Massachusetts, May 1816

  A fake cough came from the corner of the classroom. Sarah set the cloth down, leaving half the verse from James on the board, and consulted the watch she wore about her neck. Ten more minutes would be painful for both of them. And, unlike her other students, she would be seeing Benjamin often over the summer as well as in the years to come.

  She tapped Benjamin Wilson on the shoulder and held out her hand. The eight-year-old took off the cone-shaped cap he wore, and his blond hair stuck up in all directions. “I had hoped we could complete the last day without you ending up in the corner. Tell your parents I’ll be by to talk to them on Sunday.”

  “But, Aunt Sarah—”

  She frowned to remind him of his place.

  He lowered his head but kept his eyes on her. “I mean, Miss Marden, it’s the last day of school.”

  She set the hat on the shelf. “Good, then it shall give you plenty of time to think before fall term. Mr. Stanworth is not going to be as lenient.”

  Benjamin shifted from foot to foot. “Must you tell?”

  “Not if you tell your parents first.” By now he should know that the tale of his classroom woes would reach Lucy’s and Samuel’s ears long before he reached home. His twin rarely wasted time recounting the injustices received at the hand of her brother.

  Head hung low, the boy started to shuffle out the door but turned and rushed back to Sara, flinging his arms around her waist. “Please don’t tell, Aunt Sarah. Pa promised to take me down to Boston.”

  “All the more reason to be honest, then.”

  “But what if he gives me a lashing?”

  “Benjamin Samuel Wilson, you know as well as I do that your father has never given any of his children a lashing in his life. More likely you’ll be asked to clean the chicken coup.” Sarah patted his head. “Hurry on now. It looks like a storm is coming. Your brother and sisters are probably most of the way home by now.”

  Benjamin gave her a final squeeze before running out the door. Sarah let out a sigh. At least none of her sister’s children would be in her classroom this fall. Benjamin and Bessie would be the last for the next few years.

  Even without her niece and nephew, the year had been more difficult than the previous three combined. The last two weeks of April had been enough to almost convince her to give up teaching altogether. The other teachers had the same problem in their classrooms. They all blamed the rash of poor behavior on the unseasonably cool weather following a mild winter that had area farmers fretting over the possibility of a second year of drought.

  The tap of Miriam Dawes’s patents sounded in the hallway dividing the four-room school. The petite blonde poked her head in the doorway. “Well, I am done. I don’t think I shall miss it.” The smile on her face reflected that of the male students who were escaping school anticipating a summer without books.

  Sarah took a moment to admire the golden hues of her colleague’s dress. Perhaps someday she should give up her browns and grays for more colorful clothing. “Why would you miss this? George is a handsome man, and by all reports, Ohio will be a wonderful place to start your life and family.”

  Half the color drained from Miriam’s face. “Oh, Sarah, I am so scared. In a week I’ll be Mrs. Wells, and in less than three months I’ll be living in a place I’ve never seen.”

  Sarah walked to the doorway and embraced the young woman. “Ohio does seem far away, but with New York’s proposed canals connecting to the Great Lakes, travel will be ever so much faster in just a few years. You can come visit your family and bring all your children. Just stop by the school to see me.”

  Miriam took a steadying breath and stepped back. “Thank you, but I am sure you will have a family of your own by then. I really must go—so much to do before the wedding, and mother gave me instructions to pick up more thread. I thought the sewing was finished. I can’t believe there is anything left to sew.” The patter of the first raindrops on the window drew Miriam’s attention. “I hope it doesn’t rain on Tuesday. Can
you still help mother clean up afterward? Parmelia informed me she couldn’t help just before she left. Today of all days! I warned the board not to hire her.”

  Sarah avoided discussing the under-teacher who would take Miriam’s place next year. “You know I will. You’d better hurry before the storm gets worse.”

  “This has to be the coldest spring of my life. I’ll end up wearing my pelisse during the ceremony, and no one will see the dress we made. It is so pretty! I can’t wait to show you.” Miriam pulled the long coat tighter and hurried out of the building.

  Sarah stood in the center of the vacant classroom. Here and there a scrap of paper or bit of chalk pencil cluttered the floor. Most likely the same lay hidden in the shelves of the now-empty desks. Cleaning now would save her the trip back in the morning. She should have required her students to scrub down the room before they left, like Miss Dawes. But this group of students would be likely to start the sort of mischief that ended with her maps being soaked and one of the smaller girls facedown in a puddle. The minimal sweeping and dusting her students had completed was halfhearted at best and still required her to set Benjamin in the corner for putting a spider in Bessie’s hair.

  Retrieving a bucket and armful of dustrags, Sarah set about cleaning her room. She tied an apron around her waist and tucked her skirts up several inches to keep from getting any mop water on the hem.

  The top of the chalkboard was out of reach. If only she had her sister’s height! Making use of one of the student benches, she climbed up to remove the alphabet she had so neatly chalked along the top last fall. Sarah had just cleaned the J off when she heard heavy footfalls in the hallway.

  Sarah stretched to reach for the K.

  A deep male voice called from the doorway. “Excuse me, miss?”

  The bench tipped, and before Sarah hit the floor, she caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered stranger. Had she not been concentrating on angling her body to miss the bucket, several words in addition to handsome would have crossed her mind.

  She failed to dodge the bucket and found herself sitting in a puddle of water—and staring up into the softest brown eyes that crinkled at the edges as if their owner were stifling a laugh. His lips refused to smile, although she sensed they wanted to.

  The stranger extended a hand. “My apologies. I did not intend to startle you, Miss—”

  “Miss Marden! What are you doing?” Preceptor Colburn rushed into the room.

  Biting back a groan, Sarah took the offered hand and stood carefully, keeping her wet back to the wall.

  Mr. Colburn advanced, his face red, his eyes focused on—

  Her ankles!

  Sarah yanked her tangled skirts out of the apron ties.

  “Miss Marden, there are strict rules about entertaining gentlemen inside the classroom.”

  The stranger interjected. “It is my fault, sir. I simply meant to inquire about the whereabouts of my sister, and I am afraid I startled Miss Marden as she diligently cleaned her room.”

  Mr. Colburn looked at the half-cleaned boards and puddle. “Did you not hear? The boys in Mr. Stanworth’s upper class will be coming in next week to scrub down the entire building as punishment for putting gunpowder in the stove.” He shook his head and turned to the stranger. “Made quite a clatter and upset the entire school for several minutes. Claimed they wanted to make firecrackers.”

  Sarah squelched the desire to roll her eyes. Minutes? More like hours. The boys in her class had discovered that the sound of a primer dropping on the floor elicited a scream or two from the girls. At least the older boys had been given an appropriate punishment. Too bad she hadn’t known about the cleaning crew earlier. It would have saved her dress.

  Mr. Colburn’s attention rested on the young man. “Now, who were you looking for?”

  “My sister, Miss Miriam Dawes.”

  “Timmy?” Sarah covered her mouth, hoping neither man had heard her whisper. But from their stares, she could tell they had.

  The younger man recovered first and held out his hand to the principal. “Dr. Timison Dawes. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  The short, pudgy man pumped Tim’s arm up and down. “Dr. Dawes, I believe your sister has left for the day. Or, rather, left for good, with her getting married. The board shouldn’t hire women. They are always leaving.” The man looked again at the puddle Sarah stood in. “Well, Miss Marden, clean the floor, and I’ll see you in two weeks. At least I never have to worry about replacing you.”

  Sarah felt the color drain from her face. It stung to admit she had no better prospects than to work at the school for years to come. Hearing someone say it out loud ripped open the wound.

  Water dripped from her dress, forming a pool at her feet. The dress clung where it shouldn’t. Waiting for the men to leave before she went in search of a mop was the wisest course of action.

  Both men stood silently. Mr. Colburn must be waiting for her to respond. “I’ll get it cleaned immediately, sir. And please remember, I am not teaching summer term. With so few enrolled, you asked Miss Page to teach the lower grades.”

  “I wish you had taken the post.” The preceptor grumbled as he left the room.

  Timmy—he was much too old to be called Timmy—remained. “Tell me where the mop is kept.”

  “No need. I’ll get it. Miriam told me she needed to pick up some thread. She is most likely still at Swanson’s. If you hurry, you can catch her.”

  The grin he gave her threatened to buckle her knees and land her back on the damp floor. “Knowing my sister, I don’t need to hurry as she will be chatting with someone. Now, where is the mop?”

  “There is a closet at the end of the hall.” She hoped he would be gone long enough that she could fix the dress where it clung to her posterior.

  Sarah stared at his retreating form. It had been almost a decade since she had seen him, and those shoulders hadn’t been broad back then. Sarah reined in her thoughts. This was Timmy, who had smelled of barn cats and earned more than one black eye from the Wilson brothers for trying to steal a kiss from her behind the school, the church, and on one occasion the outhouse. He definitely didn’t smell of barn cats anymore.

  This would not do. In a week he would go back to where ever he lived and she would return to … nothing.

  Two

  Tim found the closet easily enough. The symmetrical layout of the four-room school left few options. Though the school was four times the size of the school he’d attended with Sarah, memories of standing in corners and writing lines for teasing the girls flooded his mind.

  His heart had stopped when he’d seen Sarah cleaning her board. She hadn’t grown an inch taller in the years since he had seen her last. He wondered how many of her students could see over the top of her head. He had never achieved the height of the Wilson boys, so her size suited him.

  Sarah. A spinster? The last time his mother had mentioned Sarah in a letter, her banns to one of the Wilson boys had been posted … Mark? The preceptor had addressed her as “Miss,” though, so she wasn’t one of the many war widows, although she wore gray. Choice or mourning? Why hadn’t Miriam or his mother ever told him? They had written him letters about every unattached woman on the North Shore but had left Sarah out.

  He returned to Sarah’s classroom with the mop, pausing at the door. Sarah stood behind her desk, attempting to ring the water from her dress. Tim doubted she was aware of how nicely the dress outlined her silhouette. He knocked the mop handle against the doorway and pretended to be more focused on the implement than on her.

  Sarah jumped and turned to face him, color infusing her cheeks. “Thank you for getting the mop.” She held out her hand.

  Instead of giving it to her, Tim crossed the room and started to clean up the puddle.

  “You don’t need to clean my mess. You should go find Miri
am.” Sarah scooted closer, keeping her back to the wall. Had it not been so many years, he would be tempted to laugh.

  Water splashed in the bucket as he wrung out the mop. “Why don’t you gather your things, and I’ll give you a ride home. As I remember, it is a ways out to the farm. Did you bring a cloak or something?”

  Sarah walked backward to the far corner and retrieved her pelisse. “I don’t live with my sister anymore. I live with Mrs. Emma Wilson. Her house is less than a mile from here, and I can walk.”

  “But would it be wise? It’s raining, and you are already soaked through.”

  Sarah fastened the brass buttons of her pelisse. “What of your sister?”

  “We’ll stop and see if she is at the store. They aren’t expecting me until tomorrow, so Miriam won’t be looking for me.” Mother would send someone around to bring her home, in any case.

  Home. Tim thought of the large house with the view of the Merrimack River. It had never felt like home after his father died and his mother remarried. Perhaps it would now that she was widowed.

  Sarah pulled a ledger out of her desk and added it to a pile of books. “Miriam hasn’t seen you for years. You really should go home.”

  Tim paused to survey his cleaning. Not bad for an army doctor. “If you are afraid I will try something to earn me a black eye, I’ve learned my lesson.” The last time he had tried to steal a kiss was fifteen and a half years ago. Sarah had new birthday ribbons. It was her eighth birthday. In five separate visits, Samuel, Joe, John, Daniel, and Mark Wilson had all let him know in very certain terms that Sarah was not for him. Driving the point home, Mark’s right fist had connected more than once with Tim’s nose and eye to make sure Tim understood.