"Rosemary. Hey, Rosemary!"
Hearing Joe's hissed whisper made me look up from where I had been packing my things. It amazed me how many things I had amassed in just over a month with the Cartwrights. Hop-Sing had found a smallish trunk for me to pack it all in for the trip to the schoolhouse. I would be making the move the following morning and then taking over teaching on Monday.
"Rosemary, over here!"
My eyes finally located Joe leaning in through the window. "Joe, what are you doing?" I asked as I pushed myself to my feet.
He flashed his cocky grin at me. "Come outside, and don't tell anyone."
Then, he was gone as quickly as he had come. Puzzled, I hurried to the door and stepped out. It took a few moments before I spotted him waving at me from the corner of the building. Frowning, I lifted my skirts to hurry after him.
Grinning from ear to ear, Joe led me away from the house. "Joe, where are you taking me?"
Even as I asked, Joe spun to face me. "Right here."
It was well cleared area. On the opposite edge stood a row of turned over buckets, and on those buckets were glass bottles and tin cans. Confused, I raised an eyebrow at Joe. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm going to teach you how to shoot."
"What?"
Nodding eagerly, Joe pulled his pistol out of holster and brought it to me. "We'll do the pistol and a rifle, just so you know how they both feel," he said. "I figured if you knew how to defend yourself, you might feel a bit safer."
Reaching over, he put the pistol in my hand. The weight surprised me for a moment. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Why do you doubt me?" he asked with a wounded expression on his face.
"Does the rest of the family know about this?" From the way he hemmed and hawed, I knew he hadn't. "Is that you brought me all the way out here?"
"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Now let me show you what to do."
Undeterred by my hesitancy, Joe not only showed how to aim but the best grip to have on the handle. Before he would let me shoot, he explained every part of the gun and demonstrated how to load the pistol. We were out there for well over an hour before he stepped back to let me take aim at the targets he had set up.
Five shots, and I didn't even come close to hitting my target. "Well, it's not the worst shooting I've seen," Joe commented as he considered the targets. "You just need practice."
"Or maybe the best I can hope for is scaring intruders off."
"Maybe you'll do better with a rifle," he suggested going to where he had rested the weapon against a tree. "It's the same principle, just a little heavier."
"Joseph!"
Although Ben's indignation was directed at my current teacher, I flinched and spun around. Hastily, Joe snatched his pistol from my hands and slipped it into his holster. "Hey, Pa," he said brightly as he turned. "What are you doing out here?"
"I think the question is what are you two doing out here?"
Joe's immediate response of "Nothing!" only raised Ben's eyebrow.
"Rosemary, do you have a different answer for me?"
For a moment, I wobbled between siding with Joe and denying everything, especially since Joe was sending a desperate look at me. In the long run, though, I had to be honest and hope to play it off. "Joe was teaching me how to shoot and defend myself," I said brightly. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it."
"I see."
Unsurprisingly, Joe's expression turned sour. "I figured it would help Rosemary feel safe out at the schoolhouse," he said, struggling to sound as unconcerned as I had. "After all, the marshal only promised a deputy would ride by when he could."
Twisting my face into a grimace, I glared at him. I did not need to be reminded. "And you were just trying to help," Ben said slowly.
"Exactly!"
We both just stood there, waiting while Ben looked from Joe to me and then back at Joe. "Next time, Joseph, warn us ahead of time when you decide to do some shooting practice," he finally said. "We thought you had come across a rustler or some thief."
With that, Ben turned and walked away. Joe blinked and then picked up the rifle. "Ok. Well, let's see how you do with a rifle," he said. He put it in my hands. "The same principle applies. Don't jerk or pull on the trigger. Squeeze it gently."
As I brought the rifle up and braced it against my shoulder, I wished Ben had not been quite so understanding about the whole thing.
Being left at the schoolhouse left me more emotional than I thought it would. Hoss carried my belongings while Joe and Adam scouted around the yard to make sure there was no one out there. Ben patted my shoulder and tried to assure me that all would be well. Far too soon, at least to my thinking, they left me.
Trying to hold myself together, I put my things in their proper places: boots under my bed, clothes hanging on the right nails and my mother's tea cup on a shelf where it wouldn't be harmed in any way. The task didn't take me long at all. Pots, pans, and dishes had been provided by the town, along with a pantry full of food. From there, I moved to acquaint myself with my classroom.
It was slightly larger than the classrooms I was used to seeing in San Francisco, which made sense. After all, every grade would be in one room, instead of being divided up. Somehow, I would have to keep all my students busy at once.
I ran my hands over the books, relieved to see the familiar spines of the McGuffey readers. These I knew well and was confident I could teach them. Miss Jones left me a detailed explanation of her methods, expanding on the points she had told me in person, and I found myself getting confused. Shaking my head, I set it aside and hoped I would be forgiving for trying my own style.
As the sun began to set, I retreated to my own part of the schoolhouse. Hop-Sing had made up a picnic basket for me so that I wouldn't need to cook. There was so much I imagined I would have no need to cook all weekend, a fact I regretted as it would have given me something to do.
Sleep did not come easily that night. Though I knew I had locked the door securely and the windows would not open without making enough noise to wake the dead, I was still uneasy. I kept the pistol Joe had given to me under my pillow and whenever I woke with a start, it was what I reached for.
Thus, I started off Saturday feeling exhausted. With nothing pressing, I decided to give the floors a good scrubbing. I spent hours on my hands and knees washing the floors of my section and the classroom. Bucket after bucket of dirty water had to be dumped out as I worked, and when I sat back on my heels I was certain the floors had never looked better.
"A job well done miss."
The guttural voice came from behind me and my back stiffened. "Thank you," I answered as calmly as I could. My eyes went to where I had left the pistol on the teacher's desk. I had started out keeping it right by me but as the task had stretched on, I had forgotten about it. How I wished I had kept better track of it!
"Are you out here all alone?" There was an eagerness to the man's voice that made my skin crawl. Even if I didn't know the crimes he had committed, I would not have trusted him.
"No," I flat out lied. Joe had promised to come by after he finished his chores for the day. Squinting at the shadows and trying to figure out what hour it was, I fervently hoped he would be coming soon. "My brothers will be here soon."
"Your brothers, huh?" The man chuckled. "That would be impressive given that I heard around town that you ain't got no family."
That taunt angered me. "You seem to know a great deal about me, mister," I said, forcing myself to stand up. Curling my fingers around the bucket handle, I turned and faced the man who had killed my father. Whatever he had to say in answer was lost on me as I studied him.
There was nothing extraordinary about him. He was about six foot tall, and his clothes were all one color: dirt. His hair was an oily black, evidence that he hadn't seen a bar of soap in a long time. But what really made me shudder was the expression in his brown eyes and the way they roved over me.
He fully intended on having his way with me.
The Rosemary I was before I had lost my father would have been frozen with fear but not this time. I had saved myself in the wilderness, and I would do so again. Determined, I raised my chin. "Please leave."
"Now that ain't very nice, Miss Teacher," he said, laughing again. "Ain't you supposed to teach your students by setting the example?"
"My students are children, you are not." I readied myself to rush for the pistol.
If anything, his grin widened. "And neither are you. I think you and I could have a good time together. The name's Mack Jonson. Why don't you tell me yours?""
As hard as I could, I flung the bucket, water and all, at him. As he yelled, I spun and bolted through the doorway. I could hear him right behind me as I slipped on the wet boards. My hand touched the polished wood of the pistol handle when my attacker grabbed me around the waist. I screamed as he jerked me away from the desk.
"A guy might be offended by your hospitality, missy," he snarled, his face inches from mine. Dirty water dripped from his chin and nose. He threw me onto the floor and tossed his worn hat aside.