Edwina

Chapter 42

  “I don’t like porridge.” The child’s voice irritated Edwina first thing the next morning.

  “I don’t either. Let’s ask Mrs. Gillespie to make us pancakes.”

  “Griddle cakes?” The child’s eyes widened. “Are they flat and you pour syrup on them?”

  “Yes. You ask.” The little nose turned up. Edwina felt a game coming on.

  “No, you ask. Mrs. Gillespie will like it better if you ask. She doesn’t know me.”

  “Yes, she does.” Paige hesitated.

  “No really, she doesn’t. I’ve just arrived, and Mrs. Gillespie has known you much longer.”

  The little face changed countenance several times. Edwina could see her mind working.

  “No, I don’t want to.”

  “Okay, no problem. We’ll eat porridge.”

  “No.”

  “Then what shall we do?” Edwina tossed her hands up and feigned alarm.

  “I’m a wee lass. I do not know.” The little arms folded across her narrow chest.

  “I’m an American, and I’m not from your country.”

  “I’m a Scot. My daddy’s a Scot, and my mommy was an American.”

  “I see.” Edwina gazed nonchalantly around the room. “See there, we are all related.”

  “No we are not. Everybody is not related. Especially Mrs. Rudeski. She was from Russia. And I hated her.”

  “Ah, so do you hate everybody?”

  “No, just her.”

  “I see.”

  “My father said she was not a good teacher.”

  “Oh.”

  “I won’t eat,” Paige said, shoving away her bowl.

  “Me either. Let’s go to class.” The child’s eyes widened again. Surprisingly, Paige rose from her chair and stood waiting. Edwina took the clue and said, “We will choose a class-room today.” Evidently the child knew to obey her father. As soon as class was mentioned, she seemed to change her attitude.

  “I’d like it out of doors.”

  Edwina raised her eyebrows and stuck her finger on her chin, thinking.

  “Okay,” she said. “Where are your paper supplies and pencils?”

  “In here.” The child ran, and Edwina caught up to her. She hadn’t even had a tour of the house, so she was at loose ends. Which she did not like. Order was her forte, and she would have it today, without firing a single shot.

  “Oh, what a large room you have.” Edwina knew she stood in the child’s bedroom.

  “It’s too little. I like the grass and hills better.”

  “All right. Gather your papers, and we shall be off then.”

  The child covered a small smile. Her new teacher had yielded.

  Edwina stopped to pick up paper and pen from her room. They would not be outdoors long.

  “Where is your favorite place to study, Paige?”

  “Mrs. Rudeski called me Miss Dunnegin.”

  “I shall call you Paige,” Edwina stated flatly. Surprising, even to her, the child shrugged. After what seemed like a half mile, the child flopped on the ground beneath a huge tree.

  “Finally. I thought we’d never get here.”

  “You Americans don’t get enough exercise.” Well, informative little gal, wasn’t she? Edwina’s breathing finally stabilized, and she took a seat on the grass next to the child.

  “Take out your paper.”

  The child obeyed instantly. “Do you know your letters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, write them down.” While she wrote, Edwina listed several ideas for the remainder of the day. She’d find out where the child stood and go from there. But first she wanted to know how she fared as a little girl.

  Several minutes later, Paige handed her the paper she worked on. The wind caught it and sent it flying. Before she could say a word, two little legs had run to retrieve the paper.

  Edwina pulled strands of hair from across her face for the umpteenth time. They would have their first day of class outdoors after all. She gazed at the neat row of letters. Every one perfectly formed. Two little smudge marks remained where she’d erased and rewritten.

  The thought sliced through her brain, Hope I can stay one step ahead of her.

  “Now what?” Came the child-like voice out of the wind.

  “Well, how about numbers?”

  “I can go to one hundred,” she said smartly. “My father says I am a quick lass.”

  “I bet he’s very proud of you, Paige.”

  She shrugged small shoulders and leaned over the paper held to her knees with small hands.

  The afternoon passed quick enough. After letters and numbers, Edwina allowed her charge to play. To do anything she wished. She observed her movements and made notes.

  Child loves to run. Too serious. Very smart. Sad. Lonely. Not quite five years old.

  Very much like my own childhood, she thought as the wind played in her hair.

  Edwina jotted a few notes down. She wanted to start an itinerary with play each day first, then work. It was obvious the child was spirited and used to getting her way, yet was aware of her abilities. She should be riding horses, playing with dolls, and putting puzzles together.

  A call sounded through the wind, like someone yelling down a steel pipe.

  “Dinner.” Paige ran toward her, grabbed her papers, then ran—but not toward the house.

  Edwina gathered her things, then waited to see how far she would run. Was she playing a game of getaway? Edwina started toward the house, the wind wrapping her skirt around her legs making it difficult to walk. Lesson one: never wear a full skirt out of doors on the Scottish hillsides.

  “Where is the lass?” Mrs. Gillespie espied her coming.

  “Isn’t she here?”

  “No. She’s up to her shenanigans again,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “I’ll go for her,” Edwina offered.

  “She won’t come, lass. She’ll barely come for her Rose. Heads to the barn and insists on talking to her lamb, she does.”

  “I’ll set the plates then?”

  “Nay, that’ll be my duty.” Twenty minutes later, the table set, dinner past due,

  Edwina thought to take matters in her own hands. Surely an adult could make a child come to dinner. She went to her room and threw her pink sweater over her shoulders after changing into jeans and headed outdoors to find the child.

  The barn sat on a small knoll. A worn dirt path divided the grass leading to the ancient outbuilding.

  “Lass, ye need to come to dinner,” she called out using the familiar word.

  No response. She stepped inside the black hole. Sunlight filtered through the weathered boards above. Dust particles danced. The smell of animals and hay assaulted her nose. Never once in her life had she been inside a barn.

  “Come, lass. Mrs. Gillespie waits dinner for us.”

  “I don’t care. I want to pet Silsee.”

  “Who is Silsee?”

  “She’s my very own lamb.”

  “Ah, she is a pretty one.” Edwina knelt down. “She is?”

  “Yes, don’t you think so?” Paige didn’t answer. She was still pouting. “Think your lamb wants you to come and eat?” Edwina

  tried gently. “No, she doesn’t.” The child raised her voice. “I’d be about warming your backside, if your father—”

  She stopped. “I’ll tell if you do.”

  “I’ll tell your father if you don’t come in this house and eat, Paige Dunnegin,” she spoke calmly yet with a firm voice, standing and walking gingerly, watching her step, as she passed each stable of lambs. One stuck its nose out, but frightened at her approach, ran and hid.

  That had not worked—the child hadn’t moved a muscle. Perhaps a bit of kindness would do better.

  “Why do they run and hide?”

  “They’re scared of you,” Paige said quietly. “I see. Are they always afraid? Your little lamb sits on your lap.”

  “Silsee is her na
me, Paige reminded her. She’s mine and only mine.”

  “Silsee. What a beautiful name. Is it Scottish?”

  “No. I made it up.”

  “Well, I like it. Will Silsee let me touch her or only you?”

  “Only me.”

  “Okay, I don’t want to scare her. Do you think she’s hungry? She’s been sitting there a long, long time.”

  Paige looked up. Edwina knew she was considering her comment.

  “She might want her mommy too.” Edwina could have kicked herself.

  “Like me?” Paige whined.

  “Yes, like you,” Edwina said softly, kneeling next to the child. “Your lamb will run to find her mommy, if you let her go.”

  Paige’s arms opened, and she let the animal go. It stood and toddled away.

  “Well, that was nice of you.”

  “It wasn’t nice. I just wanted her to have her mommy.” Edwina cringed, then headed for the door. Paige followed.