Miss Mannerly

"Miss Mannerly, you must do something."

"Your Honor, perhaps you can help me, then."

"And how may I help you?" He asks, as if it might be slightly beneath him to give help to someone, rather than expecting it from them.

"That I know of, there is no law, city ordinance or other directive that makes it a requirement he be in school." Miss Mannerly is careful of the way she expresses herself, she is, after all, merely the teacher, not a city leader.

"Well, there should be", he announces indignantly. "This town pays for you to teach our children and that young man should be in school. Why, he can barely speak our language."

"Yes perhaps something should be done, but it is not my responsibility to see it so."

"Then I will do something about it", he announces and stands, places his hat on his head and leave the schoolhouse, intent upon stirring someone to do something about a young boy who has never set one foot inside the community school. Of course, he expects to sit back and watch the actions others perform, while he takes a portion of the credit for being a forward looking citizen.

"And when you have done so, I will be happy to have him in school."

The Judge, as he is called, because he was once on a judicial bench in another place at a much earlier time, stomps out of the small building where Miss Mannerly holds school for the local students, during those parts of the year, when the children can be spared by their parents from farm or other chores, for a modest education. The young woman returns to looking at the mathematical calculations of two of the older students and contemplates, once again, that if her mother had married a man with a less polite name, she might not have been expected to be quite so pleasant to the Judge. If, for instance, she were able to introduce herself as Miss Hellfire or Miss Damnation, she could swear or curse, on those occasions when a curse word is eminently suitable.

As Miss Mannerly walks down the small hill and along the main street, to Henderson's Boarding House, she is so engrossed in her thoughts that she is not looking where she is going and runs into Mister Adams, or would have done so had he not stopped her by grabbing both of her upper arms.

"Mary Ann?"

"Oh, hello, Peter, how are you today?"

"I'm fine, but you seem to be in deep contemplation of a very serious matter."

"I am, Peter. I'm planning the next session's lessons."

Unable to involve her in a conversation, beyond her request for some printed worksheets, Peter Adams finally says, "Good night, Mary Ann."

Mumbling to herself as she walks away, "It is Marion, Marion, do you hear, it is not Mary Ann". The only word she permits herself to say aloud, although she says it under her breath, is "Idiot." And hopes anyone who hears her will think she is talking to herself.

****

The next morning, Marion Mannerly walks sedately, all the way to the other end of town, passing a small carpenter's shop, with its most prominent display item, a hand rubbed, beautiful grained, wooden coffin propped against the outside wall of his shop, beside the door. "Mr. Abernathy", she says, indicating the coffin "that is certainly beautiful woodwork."

"Why thank you, Miss Marion."

She thinks to herself, it is most unfortunate that one of the few people in this whole town, who can say her name correctly, specializes in building coffins. It is additionally unfortunate, that he is at least fifty or may even be sixty years old. Because of the newspaper's error with her name, when the article was written about the school re-opening after a new teacher was hired, to everyone she is Mary Ann Mannerly (Miss). During the first few days she was in town, she told people of the error, but few actually paid much attention.

When she enters the general store in search of a ribbon to replace one on her good petticoat, which broke this morning, Peter Adams approaches her. "Good morning Mary Ann. When you have completed your shopping, I have some papers for you to look at, to see if I have done as you requested."

"Peter, thank you, I had not expected you to do them so quickly. After all you have other customers to please."

"Oh, but you are indeed a special customer. Shall I expect you before I close at noon?"

"Yes, I have at least one additional stop after this and I will be along shortly."

"Very well, see you then." And he walks off down the wooden walk gaily humming.

"I think he's sweet on you, Miss Mannerly."

Choosing to ignore that comment, Marion says, "Good morning Mistress Babbitt. I am in need of two yards of wide ribbon, preferably white."

"You don't think Mister Adams is sweet on you?"

"I do not know him well enough to give you a good opinion on that matter."

"Well, I know him and I think he is sweet on you."

Try as hard as she can, she cannot muster a blush and if ever one was called for, now is the time. It would prevent her from needing to voice a response, and instead she asks if there are any new bolts of cloth. Colder weather is approaching and she would like to make a new cloak with a hood, to wear back and forth to the school on cold mornings.

Mistress Babbitt shows her two bolts of wool, one is navy blue which will probably fade every time it is washed, and the other is a very dark red, which will also fade. If she purchases enough of one for the outside and enough of the other for the lining of her cloak, the colors will certainly bleed onto each other and look old, worn, and faded before winter is over, and if they get wet while she is wearing the cloak, which is a certainty, they may bleed onto her dress under the cloak and she will look simply awful. But it seems these are the only choices, so she asks for enough from each bolt for her cloak and thread to match, please.

Adding an additional stop for her morning is now a necessity. She can take care of her own laundry needs, for the most part, but this is going to be a more difficult task that she can handle at the boarding house. She walks to the other end of town and goes behind the stable to speak to the Chinese man who operates a combination bath house and laundry. She wonders, not for the first time, who has taken a bath in the wash water used to clean the occasional piece of clothing she brings for Mister Chin to launder, but goes inside anyway.

"Good morning, Mister Chin."

"Ah, teacher lady." Although Mister Chin speaks English very well, he continues to act the part of a simple Chinese immigrant, when she knows, for a fact, he was born in San Francisco and ventured east to find a drier climate.

"I need some help. I want to make a fully lined cloak and the only wool cloth Mistress Babbitt had is dark blue and dark red. I am afraid the colors will bleed every time they are washed and then bleed onto each other as I wear the cloak from and to school and stain my dresses and skirts. Can you suggest a solution or should the material be boiled?"

"Chin fix for teacher lady. Chin piss."

"I beg your pardon?"

Looking about to make sure no one else can hear him he says, "In Scotland, when the women wove their clan tartans, they poured hot fresh human urine on the tartan material and pulled and stomped the material to set the colors and give them a waterproof quality. After treatment the material would often be put into a river to allow a great deal of water to flush the urine out and then it is laundered. After this treatment the colors might fade gradually over many years use, as will any material with use, but not nearly to the extent they would if they were not treated."

Unlike some other people, Marion is not shocked at his explanation. "How wonderful it is, that we can still use some of the old methods. Civilization may not be lost, after all. So, can you treat this wool for me?"

He reverts to what is expected of him and says, "Chin fix, seven day, you come back."

Now, if the bank will finally give her this month's salary, even though it is due to her on the first of the month and is now nearly the middle of the month, she will have completed all of her errands and can go see about her worksheets.

"Good morning, Mister Hanson. And may I have my salary today?"

"Why yes, Miss Mannerly, I have just enough, that is, if you care to make a deposit to your account."

He opens his desk drawer and removes an envelope and hands it to her. Then he stands and goes behind the teller's cage and takes the money back, except for the few dollars she puts into her purse.

Teach a few months and off for the summer. Teach a few months and off for the winter. Working this way fills just over six months and she was told to expect eight. So, being paid six months pay is not what she expected, but there are so few places for her to spend money, that she has managed to save some, only because she cannot find anything to purchase.

As she walks out of the bank, the sheriff across the street tips his hat to her and she raises her hand and calls a friendly good morning to him. He is such a quiet, solemn man, seldom saying more than two or three words at a time. She has seen him on the street almost every time she is near any of the local businesses. She wonders if he spends all of his time outdoors or if he sits in his office for part of each day. Several other shop keepers or shoppers stop to say a few words or simply wave as she walks toward the newspaper, a few inquiring about their child's progress in school.

Across the counter from her, Peter Adams shows her the papers he has printed, spreading them about to show her. She is surprised, "Peter, this is exactly what I need. Thank you, so much."

"I have something else that may help, too. Just a minute, let me go get it." He steps away from his side of the counter and goes to a desk in the corner, which is covered with past issues, stacks of paper and customer orders. When he returns, he lays a very broad point calligraphy pen on the counter and a small bottle of ink.

"Oh, how smart you are", Marion says.

"Mary Ann, I must caution you. This is not India ink, or ink you might expect to use with a letter writing instrument. It is much denser and thicker. If you get it on your clothing, it may not come out and there is the devil of a time getting it off your skin." He turns his hand palm upward and shows her his fingers and hand and the ground in ink that stains them.

"Do you ever wear gloves?"

"The problem with gloves is you are more likely to be clumsy and make an even larger mess. No, I do not. I heard of a printer who, this is a little delicate, took sheep intestines, much like you would use for sausage stuffing and he made coverings for his fingers. Although it worked well for him, I doubt it would help much in the long run. About the only thing I have found that helps somewhat, is to use a good hand cream, or lard if necessary, rub it into your skin well, helps with making your skin soft, too", and he picks up one of her hands so she can see how soft his hand is, but he does not let go, even when she politely tires to remove her hand. Before he lets her hand go he asks, "Mary Ann, would you like to join me in a picnic lunch today? I have a buggy and the lunch is already in the buggy."

Stumbling around for some excuse, Marion says, "Peter, I do not think it would ... I am trying to be polite .... I am in a very vulnerable position here ... Oh, I hope you understand."

He tries to cover for his blundering and says, "Perhaps we might go to that big tree in the school yard, and eat our lunch there. It is in full view of most of the street and you would feel better about it that way."

"Yes, that is much better. Please, before you plan another outing, such as this, you might ask me first", Marian smiles, when she would much prefer to scream at the man for the awkward position he has placed her in.

"Yes, I had thought to do that, but this was such a spur of the moment thing after I saw you this morning, that I stopped at the café and ordered lunch."

And Marion is not the least bit convinced that he is not lying through his teeth. He has planned this for a week or more and the encounter this morning was not chance and how is she going to tell this man that she is not the least interested in his attention? Besides him, the man who owns both the saloon and the stable approached her, along with the widower father of one of her students and one of the sheriff's occasional deputies. What is with all the men? That's just it, there are all these men, and no women. And every one of the men want only one thing, a wife.

So, much as she dreads what will be said of her, all over town, before the lunch is even unpacked, she tells Peter she will walk to the school, and he can bring the buggy and the lunch later, after he closes the newspaper shop for the day. And then, as an afterthought adds that after lunch she will need to stay at the school to complete some work for the next week's classes. Then she thinks to herself, and he absolutely cannot stay with her and take her back to the boarding house.

She still wishes she had arranged with a friend to send her a letter every week or so and she could pretend the letters are from a beau, so she would not be having this problem. If this happens again, she may as well leave town. She may loose two students as it is, the son of the widowed father and his brother's daughter. What a mess. It is no fun being twenty-two, single, in a town where more than half the men are single and she is not looking for a husband. She wants to earn a little money, go on a trip, and then go to another town and do the same again until she finds a place where she would really like to live. Only then will she consider being "courted" by a man.

The picnic lunch is really good and she did develop quite an appetite walking from one end of town to the other and thankfully Peter was smart enough to bring a jar of sweet tea, for each of them, wrapped in a wet cloth that when left in the breeze cools even more. The tea is very good and she was beginning to get thirsty, but would not stop until she had all of her errands finished.

However, about the time they are just finishing their meal, the Sheriff rides up, stopping near the quilt where she and Peter Adams are sitting. After getting off his horse and approaching, he removes his hat and says, "Miss Mannerly, I hate to disturb you. I noticed you are at the school today when Mister Adams brought you some lunch. But I have a situation I would like a little help with, if you do not mind?"

"Certainly, Sheriff, what is it?" Marion looks up at him.

As he pulls an envelope out of his pocket, he asks, "Ma'am do you read French?"

"Yes, I do", she answers. "I am by no means an expert, but I can try. What do you have?"

"Well, I ... I tell you what. I'll just go into the school until you have finished your lunch and then you can help me. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes, I just need to help Mister Adams pack up the basket and I will be right with you." Then she adds to herself that she may fall at his knees in thanks for getting her out of such a mess.

When Peter, packed lunch basket in hand, is on his way back to town, Marion goes into the school house and walks to the front of the room, where the Sheriff sits in one of the front seats, which has no desktop. "Now, Sheriff, how can I help you?"

"Oh, I was just telling a little story. Thought I'd help you out a little. If you wish that I not interfere, you would have thought of something, I am sure."

She stands and looks at the man, not a bad looking man, by the way. Somewhat older than she is, but still what is politely called, "a fine figure of a man." And without meaning to, she bursts into laughter, while he grins and she falls down to sit in the front seat in the next row. When she can finally talk, she says, "Oh, you are a wonderful man." While he blushes, she adds, "I was just thinking to myself that I should fall at your knees in thanks for you getting me out of such a mess." Which statement she follows by an explanation of the chance meeting earlier with Peter and his hand holding invitation to a picnic and her dread of the consequences of the picnic, no matter what she tried.

"Well," he drawls out the word, "I have seen him watching you and I was a little afraid he would try to "put his brand on you" as the western expression is used. If I have stepped on your toes or caused you to miss a nice afternoon with a suitor, I apologize."

"No no, no apology is needed, but you do have my thanks. You don't really have a letter in French, do you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But it is from my Aunt and not something I need translated."

She tries not to show her surprise, but doesn't quite manage it, "You... you read French."

Feigning a western drawl, he says, "Aw shucks ma'am, ain't all us cowmen so dumb, as you might expect."

She tries to cover for her blunder and says, "No, that is not what I meant" and decides she really should be honest, "I am sorry, yes it was what I meant and I apologize for thinking you were nothing more than a simple sheriff."

"Well, as to that, I am rather simple. But perhaps not as uneducated as I try to appear", he smiles easily, but the smile is quickly gone again.

"Then why do you? Why do you try to appear uneducated?"

"Oh, I guess it has more to do with the people here, than it does with me. I need to be trusted, you see. I do not believe people want to be, or are, comfortable trusting someone who might know more than they do. I may not be saying it in a way you can easily understand, but I believe you know what I mean, perhaps from your own experience."

"Sheriff ... you know, I don't even know your name."

"Miss MARION Mannerly, may I introduce myself, I am Richard Harold Robertson, the Third, by the way. But you may call me Richard or Dick as most of the people around here do, although I would really prefer you use Richard."

Marion holds out her hand, "I am pleased to meet you Richard. And once again, thank you."

He shakes her hand gently and says, "Now if I may be a little familiar and call you Marion, I will see you home."

"Yes, I would like that."

As they walk down the hill, with Richard leading his horse, he says, "You know this is a very small town, so please do not think I watch you all the time, but I saw you coming out of Mister Chin's laundry. Does he talk to you?"

"Oh, so you know, too", she turns to look at him.

Richard looks up at the sky and says, "It is a really pretty day, is it not. The sky is so clear. I think you are the only other person in town he trusts enough to talk to, other than me. We play chess."

"Which one of you is the better player?" she asks.

"Licks my butt every time, pardon my language", he responds, and then adds, "Then he cackles like a mad chicken."

She cannot help herself, as they near the boarding house she is once again laughing for the sheer joy of not needing to pretend with at least one person in this town. Richard chuckles a little too, but also looks around to see who might be watching.

At the front gate, he stops for a moment and says, "See you in church in the morning, Marion."

"Yes, Richard, I will see you in church, too. Thank you for seeing me home."

As he walks away, he stops and turns to ask, "Marion, do you play chess?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I'm not very good."

"That is wonderful. If you don't mind, I would like to play you a game or two of chess. Then I won't feel so bad about loosing all the time to Mister Chin."

"Oh, that sounds good, and perhaps I can practice and get a little better. I've always heard that practice improves your skill."

"I sure hope so. I cannot leave this town until I beat that little cackling Chin."

****

After church, several townspeople are standing around talking when Peter Adams comes to stand beside Marion. She managed to sit between two older women in church this morning, which deprived him of sitting beside her as he has done on several other Sundays. She thinks she has a way to show some distance between herself and him and tries a simple greeting, "Good morning, Mister Adams."