Hello lovelies. Several people have asked and yes, this story is told entirely in diary format. Bella does recount one very important conversation but that's it. Many thanks to Beachcomberlc for her help and friendship. I would be lost without her. She said I was mean for leaving this chapter as a cliffhanger but I know you'll forgive me, eventually.
I'm just putting the finishing touches on the next chapter of Uncredited.
Thank you for reading.
Chapter 4
Dear Diary,
With the end of my first week of teaching behind me, I feel so very accomplished. Despite Mother's doubts, I feel I am made for teaching. My darling students are so very lovely and I feel such pride when I see in their eyes that they understand what I am trying to teach them. A few are much more proficient in French than I am; there are several who speak a third, or even fourth language. I hadn't expected that. The older students help the younger ones. They are very aware of the current political climate and world events, and are able to present valid and salient points when we discuss history. They are proficiently versed in local industry. As a writing exercise, I set them an essay to detail their fathers' professions. I was shocked to read a great deal about forestry and mining, as well as game hunting. There is still much I can teach them, but I feel there is a great deal I can learn from them as well. I am so very humbled and delighted.
Dear Diary,
The sole damper on my perfect first week as a teacher will be, of course, Sunday night dinner with Constable Masen. I was so tired I fell asleep in my supper Friday night. Saturday, I ran errands for Esme and myself while Dr. Cullen came to look in on her. Truth be told, I left the house as quickly as I could, knowing he was coming to see her. She was angry before I left, and hours later when I returned she was still livid. I hadn't seen such ire in a woman since I told my mother I was going to normal school. I gather Dr. Cullen is for Esme as Constable Masen is for me; a thorn in the side. Or a thorn in another part of a person. I have yet to meet the man, however, the rest of the town sings his praises. He's an older gentleman and has been caring for the town for over twenty years. Dr. Call, his partner, is younger and not quite as well regarded. Scuttlebutt about the good young doctor is that he wants to employ new practices and methods Dr. Cullen doesn't. For a fairly new town, they are rather reluctant to embrace change, in my opinion. They, the townspeople, are kind and friendly with me so far. I have to wonder if there is something else about this Dr. Call that rubs them the wrong way, or if it is just harder for him to fit in due to the intimate nature of his profession as opposed to mine. Perhaps I will make a bit of a study of it. Mother would be ever so pleased if I were to marry a doctor. I have no intentions of returning home with a husband, especially one that would please Mother.
At dinner, Constable Masen was quiet, as his aunt said he would be. He was slow to smile, but quick to eat. It was as if he knew when his aunt was about to ask him a question and he stuffed his face ahead of it so as not to have to answer. Other times, he seemed to ruminate over the question for longer than I felt necessary before answering in short sentences or single word utterances. I would wonder, if he had not passed the rigours of the RCMP academy, if perhaps the good Constable was a mite slow-witted.
Dear Diary,
Do you know why I am so angry, dear diary? I'll tell you. I am angry because I'm tired. I'm tired because I spent the better part of last night soaking and scrubbing gravy from my good dress. My best dress. The white one with the red flowers, china silk and expensive. That dress. I fear it is ruined forever. I'm still fuming over his half-hearted apology. He hissed like a massasauga rattlesnake until he blurted out an apology. Not that I have come to expect anything from this rude man, but surely more than 'Sorry' before he ran out of the house. Esme fussed and flitted about after he'd slipped and poured the sauce on my shoulder but the good constable ran off like a thief or a guilty child. I have a mind to write to my father to get his commission revoked.
Dear Diary,
I ran into Constable Masen in town today. He tipped his hat and nodded. He called me Miss Buh-buh-buh before clearing his throat. I couldn't tell if it was deliberate on his part or if he genuinely struggled with forming my name. I refused to acknowledge him. It made me feel petty, but I was glad I did it. It was outside the doctor's office and by the time I'd walked to the post office, I looked back to see what my snub had done to him. There was a blonde hanging all over him. Not a natural blonde, either, I could tell. The shade of her hair smacked of lemon juice lightener. I'm glad I couldn't see his face. I've seen it enough in my dreams lately. Now that I have the full measure of the man, I can concentrate on my teaching and the children.
Dear Diary,
I feel so free now that I have hardened my heart towards Constable Masen. It will be a comfort to me to not have to try to impress him or engage him in conversation over dinner when he attends. I can treat him no better and no worse than I would any of Esme's guests. I've barely even noticed his presence around town as of late. I almost mentioned as much to him when I found him in line behind me at the post office. I'd written a long letter to Father and quick notes to both Mother, Rosalie and Alice. The letter to Father included a sizeable list of items the school needs. I was happy to get Esme's approval of the list prior to sending it. I am fairly certain he will agree to all my requests, although the typewriter may cause him to balk. I don't think it's a great expense, but Father might, especially in concert with everything else I requested. While I feel my students deserve all the extras I can give them, I'm not so certain Father will agree. If I were there in person to plead my case, and tear up for emphasis, I believe he'd spring forth the funds. Oh well, if he doesn't agree I'll just have to telephone him and beg.
Dear Diary,
Constable Masen came to my classroom today, upon request of the school board to discuss safety with the children. I was aware someone from the detachment would be arriving, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be the difficult Constable Masen. When I let him in the schoolhouse he struggled with even saying Good Morning to me politely. Much to my surprise, he was wonderful with the children. He wore his formal dress red serge tunic, those tall shiny boots and the black trousers fit tightly to the knee, the jodhpurs. I'm loath to admit, I found his trousers quite distracting, dear diary. The way they balloon out at the thigh and then the long scarlet tunic and thick brown belt. The picture of him is a giddy girl's ideal. Some girls dream of American cowboys, Persian sheiks, Roman gladiators and the lot, but a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer should rank within those ideals as a glamorous figure of a man. If only, oh dear diary, if only that fine specimen of manhood was not housed within odious Constable Masen. If I didn't know him, I'd harbour a passion for him. But I do know him and the knowing of him turns my blood cold.
He gave the children a sensible talk, let them all try on his wide-brimmed hat and touch the livery on his tunic. He answered every question they had, even the silly ones like his breakfast preference. Then he accompanied them all outside and introduced them to his horse. I held back. I've always been a bit afraid of horses. I like them fine pulling a carriage, but up close to such a large animal, I become nervous. Constable Masen lifted some of the younger children and let them stroke the horse's mane and nose. The beast was well tempered and the horse was well-behaved as well.
P.S. Constable Masen didn't stutter once when addressing the children. I wonder what that means.
Oh dear, Dear Diary.
You'll never guess the day I've had. The tumult and terror. I almost died and went to meet my Maker. I was saved in the nick of time by none other than Constable Masen himself. Oh Diary, I have been so wrong about him. He's not aloof and detached, but painfully shy and hiding the most heart-rending stammer. My esteem of him has tripled, nay, quadrupled. I'll have to see if Father can get him a Commendation from Ottawa. I'll tell you more, but Esme is running a bath for me and Dr. Cullen is on his way for an examination. I hope that a tincture using Esme's good apple brandy is one of his prescriptions for me. My hand is still shaking. I doubt I'll be able to read this later.
An: I feel you should be reading MeteorOnAMoonlessNight, Knicnort3, and Highlanderprincess.