In fact, she had lived most of her life in a neighboring town a few counties over. She grew up there. Went to school there. Buried her parents there. But Green Lake had call for a school teacher, and still a tender youth in her early twenties she decided to answer that call.
She'd found a quaint little home on Woodbury Avenue, about half a block south of Louis Smith's tailor shop. It was small, but just enough for a young single woman. She had been sold the minute she walked into the kitchen and saw the pristine lake, lined with flowering peach trees, outside her kitchen window.
She'd spent much of the previous day unpacking boxes and shuffling around furniture. She had help from Mrs. Grayson's two teenage boys, Dennis and Jonathan, for a good portion of the day, but she honestly preferred doing much of the organizing and unpacking herself. She was a slight woman, but not weak by anyone's standards. Besides, it wasn't until after the boys had left, in the cool evening hours when she felt need to light her oil lamp, that she felt comfortable kneeling in front of her bookshelf and unpacking her precious paperbacks. She proudly displayed her finely bound publications of Thoreau, Longfellow, Poe and Tennyson, Dickens and Hans Christian Andersen, Dumas and Melville. But tucked behind them, in a dim little corner, stood quite the collection of nickel books on characters such as Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and Doc Holliday.
Today, however, her cleaning and organizing efforts were focussed more on the pitiful little schoolhouse located on the edge of town. It looked like little more than a shed, a shamble of a place, but it would have to do. Already there were at least half a dozen young ones running about, chattering excitedly and trying to help Miss Katherine get things cleaned up and put away. Johnny Walker had already asked her to marry him not once, but twice, and she kindly had to decline and ask him to dust the windowsills instead. Kate Winslow was beside herself that she shared the same name with the new schoolteacher, and Jenny Louis was eager to demonstrate her skill at memorizing her multiplication tables.
Miss Katherine was all smiles as her new students busied themselves with unpacking boxes full of books and pencils and paper and chalk, excited to see each new item as they came upon it and found the perfect place to stow it. There was a squat bookshelf on the east side of the room, large enough for maybe fifty books or so, and Katherine had decided to start a small library of good literature for the children to read and take home with them if they chose. Timothy Lisbon had skipped down the lane alongside Katherine as she made, not one, but two trips to her own small library to cart books into the schoolhouse. He would carry a small stack of books back to the schoolhouse, and wait for Katherine to arrive, arms brimming with her own healthy stack, and help her load them into the small shelving unit.
On her last trip to the schoolhouse she carried a much larger armful of books than she had before. They climbed up her chest, all the way past her chin, so that she could only sneak glances around the tower of publications to see where she was headed. She carefully scaled the steps to the schoolhouse, grateful that the door had been left open as the children cleaned, and carefully sought out Timothy's help.
However, the room she was in was not what she had expected...
.
She'd found a quaint little home on Woodbury Avenue, about half a block south of Louis Smith's tailor shop. It was small, but just enough for a young single woman. She had been sold the minute she walked into the kitchen and saw the pristine lake, lined with flowering peach trees, outside her kitchen window.
She'd spent much of the previous day unpacking boxes and shuffling around furniture. She had help from Mrs. Grayson's two teenage boys, Dennis and Jonathan, for a good portion of the day, but she honestly preferred doing much of the organizing and unpacking herself. She was a slight woman, but not weak by anyone's standards. Besides, it wasn't until after the boys had left, in the cool evening hours when she felt need to light her oil lamp, that she felt comfortable kneeling in front of her bookshelf and unpacking her precious paperbacks. She proudly displayed her finely bound publications of Thoreau, Longfellow, Poe and Tennyson, Dickens and Hans Christian Andersen, Dumas and Melville. But tucked behind them, in a dim little corner, stood quite the collection of nickel books on characters such as Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and Doc Holliday.
Today, however, her cleaning and organizing efforts were focussed more on the pitiful little schoolhouse located on the edge of town. It looked like little more than a shed, a shamble of a place, but it would have to do. Already there were at least half a dozen young ones running about, chattering excitedly and trying to help Miss Katherine get things cleaned up and put away. Johnny Walker had already asked her to marry him not once, but twice, and she kindly had to decline and ask him to dust the windowsills instead. Kate Winslow was beside herself that she shared the same name with the new schoolteacher, and Jenny Louis was eager to demonstrate her skill at memorizing her multiplication tables.
Miss Katherine was all smiles as her new students busied themselves with unpacking boxes full of books and pencils and paper and chalk, excited to see each new item as they came upon it and found the perfect place to stow it. There was a squat bookshelf on the east side of the room, large enough for maybe fifty books or so, and Katherine had decided to start a small library of good literature for the children to read and take home with them if they chose. Timothy Lisbon had skipped down the lane alongside Katherine as she made, not one, but two trips to her own small library to cart books into the schoolhouse. He would carry a small stack of books back to the schoolhouse, and wait for Katherine to arrive, arms brimming with her own healthy stack, and help her load them into the small shelving unit.
On her last trip to the schoolhouse she carried a much larger armful of books than she had before. They climbed up her chest, all the way past her chin, so that she could only sneak glances around the tower of publications to see where she was headed. She carefully scaled the steps to the schoolhouse, grateful that the door had been left open as the children cleaned, and carefully sought out Timothy's help.
However, the room she was in was not what she had expected...
.
