Free Courting Miss Amsel by Kim Vogel Sawyer

exhaustion plagued her.
    After teaching all day – and dealing with William Sholes’s persistent shenanigans; what would it take to make the boy settle down and behave? – she lacked energy to carry her through the evening. In hindsight, she wished she had planned the visits for every other evening rather than back to back, which would have given her some time to recuperate in between. But the schedule was set, people expected her – many of whom had insisted on cooking her supper – and she would honor the commitment. Surely she could handle the hectic pace for a mere three weeks. . . .
    She gave the traces a little tug, prompting Mrs. Kinsley’s mare to turn in at the lane leading to the Libolt place. A square log house surrounded on three sides by now-empty fields waited at the end of the dirt lane. With its porch lit by two lanterns and yellow light glowing behind the uncurtained windowpanes, the little house sent out a cheery welcome despite its plain appearance. Gertie seemed to think so, too, because she broke into a trot that closed the distance.
    Edythe set the brake and hopped down. She wrinkled her nose as the ceaseless wind carried the acrid scent of charcoal to her nostrils. Apparently Mr. Libolt, like many of the other farmers around Walnut Hill, had been burning off the stubble in his fields.
    Brushing the travel dust and wrinkles from her full skirt, she stepped onto the porch and lifted her hand to knock on the planked door. But before her knuckles connected with wood, the door swung open and nine-year-old Henry greeted her with a gap-toothed grin. He hollered over his shoulder, “Ma! Schoolmarm’s here!”
    At once, Mrs. Libolt bustled from the stove, where an enticing scent wafted from a large black pot. A toddler trailed beside her, clinging to his mother’s skirts. Mrs. Libolt held her hands out in greeting. “Miss Amsel, come right on in. Henry, close that door tight, now – evening air’s turned cool. Anna, don’t dawdle – finish settin’ that table. Willie, come get Claude before he trips me.”
    The children all bustled to obey. The littlest one wailed when Willie grabbed him around the middle and hauled him to the opposite side of the room, but Mrs. Libolt’s laugh carried over the child’s high-pitched protest. “Young’uns . . . always underfoot.” The woman’s bright smile put Edythe at ease. “We’re proud you come to join us for supper. The children’ve been excited.”
    From the table, Anna chirped, “Mama made biscuits an’ heart stew!”
    Edythe swallowed. “H-heart stew?” Suddenly the aroma didn’t seem quite as pleasant.
    Mrs. Libolt nodded, her smile never dimming. “Oh yes, the heart’s the most tender part of the beef. It’s one of our favorites, an’ when we butchered last weekend, the young’uns insisted I save the heart an’ cook it up for their schoolmarm’s visit.”
    “My . . .” What could she say? “How thoughtful of them.”
    Catching Edythe’s arm, Mrs. Libolt drew her farther into the simple, unadorned room. “You don’t need to stand there by the door. Give Henry your cloak – sure is a pretty one. Don’t see many velvet cloaks around Walnut Hill.” The woman stroked the expanse of red fabric draping over Edythe’s shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ Miz Scheebeck’s got one, but bein’ the mercantile owner’s wife an’ gettin’ a discount from the catalog, she can afford one better’n the rest of us.”
    Edythe, uncertain how to respond, slipped her cloak free and laid it across Henry’s waiting arms. Mrs. Libolt’s gaze followed Henry as he moved to the sitting area of the room and placed the deep red cloak over the back of a chair. The longing in the other woman’s eyes made Edythe feel guilty. She’d chosen her nicest worsted suit and fine velvet cloak out of deference for Mr. Libolt’s position on the town council. Now, looking at the rustic cabin and the woman’s humble calico skirt and muslin shirtwaist, she felt