Chapters (241)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Whatever Tomorrow Brings
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- The Taylor and Donovan Families1871
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- sixty
- sixty-one
- epilogue
- Dedication
- The Taylor and Donovan Families—1871
- Prologue
- one
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- forty-four
- epilogue
- Sean Donovan
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Visalia and Santa Rosa Families—1876
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- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Dedication
- Willits and Santa Rosa Families—1881
- Dear Marcail
- prologue
- one
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- fifty-eight
- fifty-nine
- sixty
- epilogue
- Books by Lori Wick
- About the Author
Willits was larger now, and the last houses on that end of town were within sight of the school. Still, a small group of trees on the towns side of the school gave it a very distinct feeling of isolation. Marcail spotted one small farmhouse in the distance, but she asked no questions concerning the owner. She was much too captivated with her first glance at the small house into which Mr. Flynn was now leading her.
Mr. Flynn did not tarry. Only five minutes passed before Marcail saw him to the front door, waved to him after he was back in his buggy, and shut the door. She turned back to the room, her hands going to her mouth, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. This was her house, her own little home! And some 50 feet away was the schoolhouse where she would start work on Monday.
Marcails gaze roamed the room with pleasure. It couldnt have been more perfect if shed designed it herself. The main room of the house was spacious, with a kitchen in one corner. The one doorway led to a small bedroom. It was a house intended for one person, holding only two kitchen chairs at the table and a rocking chair near the stove.
Marcail moved into the bedroom. The bed she found was very small, but then so was she, making her feel that everything was all the more perfect. The curtains on the window and the quilt on the bed were both a soft, sky-blue plaid.
After throwing the curtains back to let in the sunlight, she went to work unpacking her single bag. She hung her other two dresses and put her undergarments in the drawers of the small dressing table. Her entire outer wardrobe consisted of three dressesone brown, one dark blue, and the black one she was wearing.
She set a few of her personal books on the nightstand, and put the others on the bed to be taken to the school. A picture of her mother as a young girl went on the dressing table, as did a picture of herself and her siblings taken in Santa Rosa. Marcail smiled at the homey touches.
She stopped before the mirror that hung opposite the bed to check her hair. She was not accustomed to wearing it up because of its length and thickness, but her hairstyle and the dark-colored clothing were all a part of the stipulations set down in her contract.
The last item Marcail removed from her bag was her Bible. She sat on the bed and held it in her arms, and then prayed aloud in the stillness of her home.