Courting Miss Amsel by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

her tired gaze skyward and loosened her grip on Gert’s traces; the reliable mare knew the way to town. “At least,” she muttered to the dusky sky, “I didn’t have to eat that heart stew. . . .” Then she laughed at her own expense. Such a meager reason to be thankful, but a meager reason was better than none.
    Sighing again, she gave the traces a little flick. “You’re lollygagging, Gertie – I need to get back.” A stack of papers required grading, and she needed to plan the means of demonstrating the geographical landscapes of the United States. Would river clay be suitable for molding mountains? She could already hear Mr. Libolt’s snort of displeasure when he found out his children were playing with clay in the classroom.
    “I will not allow that man’s shortsightedness to prevent me from being the very best teacher I can be!” Saying the words aloud heartened her. Education gave power, and as long as she was the schoolmarm of Walnut Hill, she would empower her students to think expansively.
    But as she looked ahead to tomorrow’s meeting with yet another farm family, her resolve wavered. What would she do if the local farmers banded together in support of Hank Libolt’s feelings about appropriate subjects for the town’s students?
    As much as she disliked the thought, her beliefs about the fundamentals of education might create dissension – and cost her a job she couldn’t afford to lose.

Chapter
NINE
    “Miz Kinsley’s wagon’s comin’, Uncle Joel! I see it!”
    Johnny’s shout carried through the closed front door, startling Joel. Here we go . . . His belly churned. He gave the tabletop one more swish with his palm in case he’d missed a crumb or two earlier and then smoothed the front of his shirt. Yep, it was still neatly tucked into his britches. After a quick glance around the cabin’s main room, he pulled in a breath of fortification. Nothing fancy to offer the new teacher, but she’d see the real Joel Townsend. He hoped he measured up. Why he needed to measure up he couldn’t explain – not even to himself. He just knew it was important that Miss Amsel not think ill of him or his boys.
    He stepped out onto the porch. Johnny and Robert stood on their tiptoes with their arms dangling over the roughhewn top bar of the porch railing. They’d fidgeted all through supper, eager to be excused to watch for their teacher. Even though the evening air had turned cool, Joel had let them wait on the porch rather than stay penned up inside. Miss Amsel had surely wormed her way into his nephews’ affections.
    “See there?” Johnny pointed as the wagon rolled through the gate. “Miss Amsel – an’ Miz Kinsley, too.” He puckered his face. “Why’d Miz Kinsley come, you reckon?”
    Robert bounced on his heels. “Maybe she brought us more cookies!”
    “You haven’t even finished the ones she gave you Sunday.”
    “Only ’cause you wouldn’t let me,” the boy replied, sending Joel an impish grin.
    Joel laughed, but his laughter died when the wagon reached the yard and the boys rushed out to greet the schoolmarm. Her smile, although aimed at Johnny and Robert, warmed him from the distance of twenty feet. If she turned it at him at close range, he just might melt.
    Knock it off, Townsend. You’re actin’ like a moonstruck boy.
    Joel moved to the wide opening between the rails and held his hand out to Mrs. Kinsley. She took hold, and he hefted her onto the porch. It didn’t take much effort – there wasn’t a whole lot to Miz Kinsley in size. But what she lacked in size she made up for in spunk.
    As soon as he’d let her go, she set her hands on her hips. “When’re you gonna put a step out here so’s a person doesn’t have to get winded climbin’ on up?”
    Her words sounded like a challenge, but Joel heard the teasing note beneath the brusque tone. “The boys an’ me just give a hop, but I reckon it’s not so easy for you ladies with your skirts.”
    Miss Amsel and