AN: Here we are, another chapter.

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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On the best days, thirty one students piled into the one-room schoolhouse, all of them ranging in age from six or seven to at least twenty. On the worst days, Carol could count on only having eight or nine that would show up. Most students came dressed in clothing made from bleached shirting fabric, burlap, and flour bags, and a few came in fancy clothes that Carol knew were bought in town. They were farmer's children and miner's children. Some had parents who managed saloons in town and worked game tables. One was the son of the newspaper man in town.

And all of them were different.

Carol's job ranged from teaching them their lessons throughout the day to correcting their work at night while Daryl worked at some project or another that he'd picked up for the farm. She also tied shoes, wiped noses, broke up scuffles in the yard, and helped with garments that caused an unnecessary amount of trouble in the outhouse.

She was greeted with sleepy faces in the morning and she was seen off in the afternoons with smiles and warm hugs that wrapped all the way around her and warmed her heart.

After she released the children, Carol would often take a bit of time to walk with Jubilee into town. If she had purchases that needed to be made, she made them then. If she didn't, she sometimes browsed in the hardware or the general store and thought about things she might like to purchase for her home in the future—already knowing that anything she said she needed, or even simply wanted, would be something that Daryl supported entirely.

When Evie left town with Joseph to be married, Carol took over the school entirely. She slipped easily into her role and not even the children seemed to have any difficulty with the transition. They seemed to like her—and maybe that was because they sensed that she liked them. Carol enjoyed working with them, and she enjoyed greatly the moments when someone so clearly learned something new. She loved to see the growth in them. She enjoyed the changes that they so clearly underwent.

About town, Carol noticed that another shift took place when she took on the role of teacher in town. Walking along the streets, there were still people who would duck their heads in her presence, redirecting their eyes to the ground around them, but there were many more that would tip their hats or nod at her. Parents of the children she taught would speak to her, even if it was just to wish her a nice day, and they would smile in her direction.

Slowly, it seemed, they were starting to see her as more than the woman who had married a respectable man and, by that marriage, had managed to drag her way out of the shame in which she'd once lived.

But Carol wasn't always entirely sure that their kindness was genuine.

One afternoon, Carol ducked into the general store before she headed back in the direction of the farm. Toby followed her inside—seeming to know that he was welcome there even if he had to remain outside of all other establishments—and Mr. Wagner greeted her before he kneeled down to pet the dog and offer him a treat from behind the counter.

There were several other women in the store—few of which Carol knew by name—and they all looked at her when she entered. She heard the whispers between them, but she ignored the hushed sounds.

"What can I do for you, Carol?" Mr. Wagner asked.

"Coffee," Carol said. "I need coffee. Sugar. Soap. And...eighteen yards of that cotton flannel?"

"Eighteen yards," one of the women commented. She closed the space between herself and Carol. Carol didn't miss the quick head to toe glance that she gave her. "That's quite a bit of cloth."

Carol offered her a smile.

"New linens," Carol said.

"Of cotton flannel?" The woman asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"My husband enjoys it," Carol said. "And what my husband enjoys—I try to give him."

The woman laughed at a joke that apparently only belonged to her because Carol saw no humor in what she'd said. She renewed her smile, though, so she didn't seem entirely outside of the conversation.

"So I've heard," the woman offered.

Carol swallowed. She felt her face grow warm.

"I don't know what you mean," Carol said.

The woman shook her head, but she cast a quick glance in the direction of one of the other women. Carol didn't personally know the woman that was speaking to her, but she'd met the other a few times before when she'd been working in that very store.

"Just that...a woman of your profession must know a lot about satisfying husbands," the woman said. "Your own and, perhaps, others?"

Carol sucked in a breath.

She had a choice. She always had a choice. She could run from her past and try to pretend that it never happened—which she found a ridiculous idea since everyone knew that it had—or she could simply face it. It didn't mean, though, that she didn't have to steady herself to face it in the company of others.

She put the smile on as well as she could.

"Maybe you haven't heard," Carol said, "but my profession now is to be a schoolteacher. Prior it was shopkeep here. For Mr. Wagner."

"And before?" The woman asked.

Carol kept the smile.

"Before shouldn't concern you much," Carol said. "Unless, of course, you're worried that your husband was one of the ones who was seekin' out a companion?"

The woman blanched. For all the blood that Carol felt had run to her cheeks, the woman seemed to have lost twice as much. Carol simply held the woman's gaze and focused on maintaining the smile that she was wearing.

The woman's only response, though, was to stammer out something that came out sounding like nothing at all and to rush out of the store—forgetting entirely that she'd probably come there to make some purchase.

"I'm sorry," Carol heard from behind her. She turned to see the woman whose face she recognized. "About—Emily."

Carol could easily assume that the woman who had rushed out of the door, much like a dog with her tail between her legs, was Emily. She renewed her smile and shook her head.

"Don't be," Carol said. "We all got pasts. And—not ever'body knows what got you where you were. Or where you are."

The woman nodded her head.

"You're Carol Dixon. I'm Alma. Alma O'Brien. You teach my son," the woman said, offering her hand.

Carol smiled sincerely at her this time and shook her hand.

"Phillip," Carol said. Alma nodded. "He's a very bright boy. I suppose that he'd be even brighter if I could figure out how to get him to keep from starin' out the window half the day."

Alma laughed.

"He's always planning his escape," Alma said. "My daughter—Cora? She'll be starting to school with you next year. In the fall. She's a lot quieter than Phillip."

Carol nodded.

"I'll look forward to having her," Carol said. "She'll be a welcomed addition, I'm sure."

"Do you have little ones?" Alma asked.

Carol wondered if the question would ever go away. She wondered if it would ever stop haunting her or if, like her old profession, it would always be there as something she had to face day after day—never knowing when it might show up. She shook her head.

"No," Carol said. "No. Not yet. My husband and I are prayin' for our own, but it hasn't come to pass yet."

Alma visibly looked uncomfortable with such a statement. Every woman that Carol told that she was still waiting looked uncomfortable. It seemed like they suddenly looked at her like she was broken. Like she was lacking in some way.

The smile that Alma offered her as an attempt to cover over her expression wasn't as sincere as the one she'd given to her before.

"I'm sure it'll come to pass," Alma offered. "I was married almost a year and a half before Phillip was born."

"Thank you," Carol told her, not sure what else to say. She was grateful when Mr. Wagner interrupted them by calling her name to catch her attention. He offered her the purchases that she'd made wrapped in brown paper and Carol took out her change purse to count out the money she owed him before she took the large bundle in her hands. She might, then, have escaped the store entirely—walking straight out the door—but Alma blocked her way.

"The cotton flannel is nice," Alma said. "And if you've leftover cloth? You could use it to make blankets and clothes for a little one. It's soft. Gentle on their skin. I've used it for both of mine."

"I don't think I'll have much leftover," Carol said. "But—I'll keep it in mind."

"Even if it's not out of this batch," Alma said. "I'm just—tellin' you what I found was nice for mine. Maybe you'll find it nice for yours. When...when it comes to pass, of course."

"Of course," Carol said. Her stomach churned, but she saw that the woman seemed to genuinely feel bad for what she said. She seemed to be honestly seeking some way to make it better and to make some kind of connection between them that wasn't based on having made Carol feel like a lesser-than human being. Despite the difficulty of the subject, it was a welcome contrast to the behavior of Emily. Carol sucked in a breath and decided to try to extend her own olive branch in the storm. "I'm sure Phillip will be at school tomorrow?"

"He don't hardly miss," Alma offered, letting out a breath like she was relieved to have the subject changed with no show of hard feelings. "Not unless it's harvestin' time."

"Understood," Carol said.

"It's hard when we don't got but the one what's old enough to help out on the farm," Alma said. "Lotta work for my husband until there's more help."

Carol nodded her head.

"I understand that too," Carol said. "Maybe—we could have supper sometime? I'm sure our husbands would have a great deal to talk about."

Alma looked uncomfortable, and Carol immediately regretted having made the offer. Alma shook her head gently from side to side, even if her words didn't match up with the gesture that she might not have meant to make at all.

"We could see about it," Alma said. "I mean—maybe some time when things aren't so busy...it's just that there's so much to do on our farm and the house ain't really set for guests..."

Carol quickly tried to reassure her by extending a hand to touch her on the arm.

"Maybe you could ride out to our farm sometime," Carol said. "Have supper there? We'd be happy to have you. If you've got a mind to come."

Alma seemed a little relieved by that offer. She nodded her head and said something about it being a possibility before Carol took her leave of the woman and took her purchases and her dog with her.

Outside, Carol loaded her purchases into Jubilee's saddle bags while Toby danced around at her feet to get her attention. She glanced down at the dog and shook her head at him.

"I got no treats for you," Carol said. "You had all the treats you get until your supper. There ain't no more."

A sharp whistle pierced through the air and Carol looked around for the source of it, the same as anyone in her vicinity did. It rang out once more and then Carol heard her name being called. She smiled to herself when she saw Daryl walking toward her.

"I'm glad I caught'cha," Daryl said. "Need to borrow ya horse."

"Jubilee?" Carol asked.

Daryl walked around the horse and caught Carol, pulling her into him. She went willingly and offered him the kiss that he sought—only a little embarrassed that everyone around them could see the bold and public show of affection.

"How many damn horses you got?" Daryl teased, still holding her against him for a moment.

Carol laughed at him and freed herself from his hold.

"I didn't mean that, Daryl," Carol said. "Just meant—what'cha need her for?"

"We just got us a wagon," Daryl said.

He was beaming. His smile could hardly be contained. It ran from ear to ear.

The wagon was a large purchase and it was one that he'd been putting off. Hershel had said that he could use his rig whenever he needed it, for however long he might need it, but it was more convenient to have one of their own. It would save a trip to the Greene farm every time they realized a wagon would come in handy. Daryl had been saving up for the wagon for a while—and they more than had enough money for one—but it seemed he'd finally up and made the purchase.

"You bought a wagon?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed and nodded.

"Yep," Daryl said. "Seen you weren't at the schoolhouse. Knew I ain't met you on the road. Figured you come into town. Needed Jubilee. Thought I could take you home in it. If you don't mind ridin' with me."

Carol smiled at him and shook her head.

"Where is it?" Carol asked.

"Down by the livery," Daryl said. "Got Nugget down there already. Figured I'd just walk down here an' see if I couldn't find you. What'cha buy?"

"Not much," Carol said. "Nothin' grand as a wagon. Coffee. Soap. Cloth for linens."

Daryl raised his eyebrows.

"You get some of that soft stuff?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself and nodded. Miss Jo had leftover cotton flannel from making a few items and she'd given Carol what length she had. Carol had made a nightgown out of what was left and Daryl would nearly beg her to wear it so he could cuddle against her and rub his face on the soft cloth like a child nuzzling a blanket. He loved it so much that Carol didn't care whether or not it was the best cloth for making bedlinens. She was going to make it so that Daryl could sleep nested in the soft fabric every night if that was what brought him pleasure.

"Plenty," Carol said. "You're gonna have a bed fit for royalty."

Daryl's cheeks blushed pink.

"I already do," Daryl said. "You wanna ride to the livery or—you set to walk?"

In response, Carol looped her arm through Daryl's and waited while he untied Jubilee and took them all in the direction of where they'd pick up their new wagon. As they walked, Carol leaned her head against Daryl's shoulder. She let Daryl do the work of nodding his head and offering a greeting to every passerby that offered him one. She simply enjoyed being on his arm in the middle of the street.

She couldn't help but notice, though, how many more people seemed to greet them when they were together than greeted her while she was alone.

Her reputation was improving—and she was starting to get a taste of what it was to be a respected member of the town—but she still had a good way to go. She didn't know, honestly, if she'd ever get there entirely. And she wasn't entirely sure if she cared, one way or another.

At the livery, Carol stood holding her purchases and waited while Daryl talked to the stable manager. She waited while Jubilee was hooked up to their new wagon and she waited for the conversation that Daryl wanted to have with the man took place. Then, she accepted Daryl's hand as he offered her help to get onto the seat beside him. She watched him load Toby in the back, along with her purchases and Jubilee's saddle, and she watched as Daryl took his seat and gathered up the reins.

He looked proud enough to crow, sitting up there beside her, driving his brand new rig.

And Carol felt proud of him.

As they rode back to the house, Carol addressed what had happened in the store. Daryl listened to her as she recounted the details, doing nothing more than nodding his head every now and again to make it clear that he was still listening. When he'd heard it all, he finally spoke.

"Some people don't got the sense that God give mud," Daryl said. "They just mad you was a whore an' smart enough to learn their young'uns what they ain't smart enough to learn 'em themselves."

"Doesn't it bother you, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"That people is dull witted?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"That I was a whore," Carol said. "That—if I weren't one? Or if you were married to a woman what weren't one? You'd have a respectable wife."

"I got a respectable wife," Daryl said. "You an educated woman. A schoolteacher. An' you don't give me the run around. Do you?"

Carol frowned at him and he smirked at her.

"You know I don't," Carol said.

"Then I got me a respectable wife," Daryl said. "A sight more respectable than a lotta them."

"I was a whore," Carol said. "You can't ignore that."

"Don't ignore it," Daryl said. "Just don't matter."

"How can you say it don't matter?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Figure a whore ain't nothin' but a woman," Daryl said. "That's all they is. Women. They workin'...same as you an' me. Just they makin' their livin' they own way. They ain't married—or I don't imagine they are. So they ain't makin' a fool a' no man. Just—women."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You oughta know that don't ever'body think that way, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl laughed at her then, and flicked the reins to pick up the speed at which Nugget and Jubilee pulled the wagon back toward their home.

"An' you oughta know by now, Carol, that I don't give one damn what ever'body thinks," Daryl responded.