Free Montana Rose by Deann Smallwood

Macon’s rod wielding rules. But hadn’t she solved this? Hadn’t she shown him that was a thing of the past?
    “Does anyone know where Tory goes when he leaves here?”
    Timmy raised his hand, and at Rose’s nod, he said, “Tory goes to the woods. He stays there all the time.”
    “Thank you, Timmy and Amanda.” Resolutely, she picked up a book from the desk. She’d just been handed another problem on her too full plate. A problem best shoved aside for another day. Perhaps tomorrow would be different. Perhaps tomorrow Tory would stay the day. Yes, and perhaps cows would fly.
    Putting a smile on her face, Rose said, “Now, let’s start our reading time. Who would like to go first?”

Chapter 13
    Saturday, blessed Saturday. Rose shifted in the bed, stretching her body, reveling in the fact that today she needn’t be up preparing for another day in the classroom. Today, she could lie in bed and do nothing. She could go for a long walk, she could borrow Wisteria’s horse and buggy and go for a drive, maybe even a picnic, she could —t he list was endless.
    Laying there, she reviewed the past week. It had been a week of small successes. Mid-week, she had introduced her plan of bringing alive the history of everyday objects, starting with the kerosene lamp.
    “Students,” she said to the waiting class. “Do you know what this is?”
    “Sure,” one of the boys replied. “A lamp.”
    “Yes, you’re partially right. But what kind of lamp is it?”
    Heads turned, seeking the answer from each other.
    Rose gave the class several minutes and when nothing came forth, she said, “It’s a kerosene lamp.”
    Several grins followed the pronouncement. “We knew that, Miss Bush. We just thought you had some special kinda lamp there.”
    “Well, it is special. We have the luxury of the kerosene lamp because of Mr. Abraham Gesner. Mr. Gesner distilled coal and produced a clear liquid. Mr., or we should say Dr. Gesner, was both a geologist and medical doctor.” Rose hesitated before continuing. There wasn’t a sound in the room. Even Tory was giving her his full attention.
    “Dr. Gesner poured the liquid into an oil lamp with an absorbent wick. He then lit the lamp and guess what?”
    A hand in the back of the room rose.
    “Yes?”
    “The lamp worked?”
    “It sure did. It gave off a beautiful, pale yellow flame. He named the liquid kerosene, which means wax oil. Some of you may know it by another name — coal oil.”
    Heads nodded and hands shot up.
    “I know all about coal oil. Once my dad cut his hand, and he put coal oil in the cut.”
    “What happened?”
    “The cut healed,” the boy said importantly.
    “My grandma uses it for her arthritis. She mixes it with fat then rubs it on. It sure stinks.”
    “I’ll bet it does,” Rose laughed.
    “Yeah,” another voice piped up, “and you can mix fat and coal oil together, tie it in a dishtowel, and then wrap that around your throat. ‘Course you get big red blisters if you leave it on too long.”
    The enthusiasm was infectious as child after child raised their hand and contributed. All except Willy. He appeared totally disinterested.
    “Ma makes us take a lick of molasses to coat our tongue. Then we wash down a spoonful of kerosene.”
    “Whatever for?” Rose couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice.
    “Throat infection.”
    The home remedies seemed endless. The students weren’t the only ones that had learned something today.
    “Please clear off your desks and let’s get ready for an art project. Oil lanterns were used many, many years ago in temples.”
    Willy’s hand shot up.
    “You shouldn’t be telling us about them things, Miss Bush. God wouldn’t like us talking about heathen religions.”
    God, or your mother? But to Willy, they were probably one and the same.
    “Willy, I hear your concern, but I intend to continue with the lesson. Thank you for your input.”
    Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. There was no doubt Willy would