She sat on top of the ladder, already seeing her pupils studiously applying themselves at their desks. Katie had finished her sweeping and was sitting on the stool again, her hand against the small of her back.
“I’ve kept you here too long,” Susanna said as she climbed down. “Tell me about the families whose children I will be teaching.”
“I can sum up the families in two words,” Katie said, as she stood up. “High sticklers. They will expect far too much of you.”
“Daunting,” Susanna murmured.
“The children of the garrison are charming enough, but their mothers … They’re another matter.” She lowered her voice. “Remain above reproach and you will have smooth sailing.” She touched Susanna’s sleeve shyly. “I know you will do well.”
Until someone finds out I am not who they think I am, Susanna thought as she closed the door behind them. Joe, please be right. Let nothing come of Emily’s lie.
Joe Randolph glanced at his watch and pocketed it again, pleased with his timing. The ladies stood on the broad porch at Old Bedlam. He had come from the quartermaster storehouse, followed by a dubious private with a long-handled brush.
“I hope you did not mop any floors,” he told Susanna as he joined them on the porch. “You see here Fort Laramie’s answer to a chimney sweep. Go to, lad. Be brave. Come, ladies.”
Katie O’Leary took his arm, but Mrs. Hopkins hung back. “It seems so early to return to quarters,” she murmured.
It’s that difficult there? he thought. “It’s almost time for recall from fatigue,” he told her. “I’ll squire Katie home, and take you to meet your fellow educationist for the enlisted men’s children.”
“I’d like that,” she said, and sat down to wait for him.
Home for Katie was only two doors from Old Bedlam, but he would always be a Virginian, and prone to good manners. “What do you think?” he asked Katie, when he knew the two of them were out of earshot.
“She’s sweet, but there is such sadness in her,” Katie said, as she opened her front door. “I remember how I used to worry about my Jim before every battle, but he always came home. I’d hate to be a widow, and on my own.”
He returned some answer, writhing inside to continue perpetuating a lie to such a kindly woman. He toyed briefly with telling her the truth, but only tipped his hat and thanked her for her time, so generously given.
Mrs. Hopkins was shivering on the porch when he returned to Old Bedlam. “You’d be warmer in Emily’s house,” he said.
“I know, but I’d rather meet the teacher,” she said quickly, then glanced over her shoulder. “The chimney sweep must have found a bird’s nest. He swears better than Stanley.”
So you want to change the subject? he asked himself. They walked across the parade ground to a storehouse by the bakery, where children were coming out. Susanna watched them, and he noted the interest on her intelligent face.
“Where does Fort Laramie find teachers for enlisted men’s children?” she asked.
“From the ranks. It’s fifty cents a day extra duty pay,” he told her. “Sometimes it’s a malingerer wanting to get out of more arduous fatigue detail. I’ve even seen prisoners, clinking about a classroom in chains. Seriously.” He gestured to the open door. “Sometimes we get lucky, as we did with Private Benedict.”
He watched her expression as she stepped into the commissary warehouse, where barrels of victuals lined the walls. The room smelled of raisins and apricots, pungent dried herring, and vinegar. Her smile grew as she saw the blackboard pretty much where Captain Dunklin had so snidely described it, leaning on top of bags of wheat.
“Not fancy,” he said, feeling apologetic.
“No, but I like raisins.”
“You won’t after a winter of nothing but raisins,” he assured her.
Seated at a packing crate desk, Private Benedict looked up as they approached. He was on his feet at attention then, snapping off a smart salute, which Major Randolph returned.
“Private, let me introduce Mrs. Hopkins, teacher for the officers’ children.”
She extended her hand with no reticence, to Joe’s pleasure.
“I’m delighted to meet a fellow teacher,” she told Private Benedict.
“Where’s your classroom, Mrs. Hopkins?”
“A place not nearly as pleasant-smelling as yours,” she said. “It’s that first floor room in Old Bedlam, complete with a chimney probably full of bats or birds, and maybe a ghost or two, if I can believe the corporal of the guard.”
They laughed together, comrades already. With a friend in Katie O’Leary