Montana Rose Read Free Page A

those of anger and resentment.
    A year had passed since Jesse had ridden into the empty ranch yard. After his mother’s death, Tory had, with all the belligerence of a towering eleven-year-old boy, refused to stay with a neighbor and remained in the empty house. A house empty of love, but filled with grudging resentment.
    Jesse shook off the memories as he drove the wagon to the barn and began unhitching the team. Tory was nowhere to be seen. The miles from town were nothing to the young boy. Not for the first time, Jesse felt the winter winds of loneliness sweep through him.

Chapter 4
    Luck was with her, Rose thought . The schoolhouse wasn’t locked. With a great deal of muttering and evil thoughts about tall, lanky, cowboys, she carried her bags up the steps, leaving them in the entry porch. In spite of herself, she was eager to explore where she’d now live and work. For the first time in weeks, the gloom gave way to a ray of hope and excitement. She ventured into the main room. Rows of desks in various sizes lined the room. Blackboards spread along one wall and a potbelly stove held court in one of the corners. In another corner a rope as thick as her fist hung from a hole in the ceiling.
    Rose walked over and squinted up, then smiled as realization dawned on her. A bell was housed in the tall steeple. She could see herself pulling the rope to ring the eager students in at the start of the day, and later, from lunch recess.
    She would wear her best black skirt and white ruffled blouse with the high neck and small pearl buttons marching down the front. Even though they pinched, she’d wear the fashionable boots with the high heels. After all, she was an example to the young girls and to the community. She would be a teacher to be proud of, one people would point out, marveling at the luck of having her teach in Wise River. Rose paused, pondering if she should wear her hair in a bun or braid it, wrapping them as a crown around her head. That decision would take more consideration.
    There was no doubt the children would love her and would greet each day with smiling faces, calling out, “Good Morning, Miss Bush.” Rose was grateful she’d taken back her maiden name. It would not have had the same, lilting sound for them to call out her married name, “Good Morning, Miss Mulligan.” Her laughter bounced from the walls , hollow in the empty room.
    Renewed by the whimsical musings, she continued around the room, stopping to pick up a book lying on a desk, or to tuck a ruler in the shelf under one desktop. Hers would be a tidy classroom, ready for parents or school board members at a moment’s notice. Of course, she’d warn them that, while they were welcome, classwork must not be interrupted. An education was a serious matter, and she would brook no deviation from the learning experience.
    Still caught up in her daydreams, Rose glided over to the teacher’s desk at the front of the room and eased herself in the wooden chair. Scooting it closer, she folded her hands on the desk and scanned the room. As she did, unexpected waves of fear and cold realization assaulted her. All her fanciful wonderings flew out the schoolhouse door.
    The reality was , she was no more a schoolteacher than a farmer’s pig. She had no idea what to expect from her students and, worse yet, no idea what to expect from herself. She could plan what to wear, but she had no idea how to plan a lesson. In a few days, a classroom of boys and girls of all ages would look to her for knowledge. Not only that, but the school board would keep close tabs on the new teacher. Failure was imminent. Rose would fail, and in the process, she would lose the home provided her.
    With a heavy sigh, Rose placed her palms on the desk and pressed up to her feet. Tilting her chin and summoning her courage, she opened the door and stepped into the adjoining room.
    Sunlight streamed through sparkling windowpanes. The spacious room was inviting and clean. She held her