The Teacher's Star

early October, she’d been on pins and needles waiting for the contact to come. At the very least, she thought someone would visit to ask for information about her fellow passenger.
Nothing!
Not sure what to do, Delia had tucked the paper she’d signed into her small trunk along with the envelope she needed to deliver to Jessup’s contact. Her silver star was pinned between the bands of her petticoats. She always wore at least two.
At first, she’d suspected Paps might be the marshal. He seemed to know everything happening in the small town. Also, he had a way of studying people that fit with her idea of a lawman.
Each time Delia wanted to take out the envelope and read its contents, she reminded herself that she was, really, only the courier. She didn’t have the training or desire to be a true marshal.
Then rumors of rustlers filtered through town. That was about the same time that the cobbler’s wagon began to make regular visits to Belle.
A shiver of revulsion ran through her. Just the thought of Jubal Yarborough, the cobbler, brought ripples of disgust cascading across her skin.
Yarborough—she refused to call him Jubal, as he’d asked her to—quickly made his interest in her clear. Even in front of the townspeople. He’d followed her in Mr. Stewart’s store and even tried to sit with her at church. Of course, that had been the only time he’d attended.
She’d risen from the pew as if a spring was loaded into her bustle and hurried to sit with the Pettigrew sisters. No school teacher needed rumors about her reputation.
Thinking about rumors brought to mind the man who’d just left. Roland Anderson had to be Rol Anders. The change in name was hardly deceptive. Seems he should have tried harder to hide his identity. Especially if he really was involved in the cattle thefts.
He hadn’t tried very hard to disguise himself. Did that mean he was simply an innocent man with a badly behaved daughter?
Imagining the man brought shivers to her. Not revulsion, like with the cobbler. No, Roland Anderson definitely drew her and that made her even more angry with him. No marshal should be attracted to a potential criminal.
Still, she wasn’t a true marshal. Tonight, especially, she was only a desperate and lonely woman who didn’t know what to do.

Chapter 3
Over the lonely weekend, Delia cringed at every unexpected noise outside. She’d only left her rooms for her usual shopping trip. Even then, she hadn’t lingered anywhere.
The rest of the day on Saturday, she waited for the sheriff to visit. After all, surely Yarborough would swear out a complaint against her for attacking him with the scissors. She feared going to the sheriff to report Yarborough’s attempted rape. It would only allow Yarborough to broadcast what he’d figured out about her.
Once during that lonely weekend, she’d stared into her hand mirror, searching. What had the man seen that betrayed Delia’s mixed blood?
In Normal School, Delia had easily passed as white. Truly, she had more white ancestors than she did ones of color. So many of the grandmothers in her line had been fathered by white men. Almost always, the men had been the husbands of women who would be considered half-sisters to her ancestors, that is if the perspective of society had been different.
Delia’s own father had been the husband of a woman who shared a father with Maisey. The woman had been gifted Maisey Perkins as a wedding gift. A gift her husband had exploited.
Before Delia’s birth, the family moved up river to Missouri. It was there that the man truly became a Christian. Conviction and guilt led him to gifting freedom to Maisey and her baby.
This was only a story to Delia. She’d never met the man. While in Springfield, she’d sighted him once. Curious, she’d stood outside his home, waiting for him to emerge. It had been enough to see his blonde head from a distance.
She didn’t need to meet him, had only wanted to see him from a distance. To her mind, Maisey Perkins was her only parent. Delia neither needed nor wanted a father in her life.
Monday came with no visit from the sheriff. Evidently, Jubal Yarborough no more wanted to involve the law than her. Returning to the classroom routine that day came as a relief.
Enid Anderson’s behavior was also a relief. Gone was the disruptive hellion. In her place sat a neat, quiet girl. She sulked and participated only when forced, but nonetheless she was well-behaved and diligent. A model student compared to the previous months.
True to his word, Roland Anderson stopped in to visit during the week. On Wednesday, after the last student left, he marched Enid back into the building. Stopping in front of her desk, he indicated for Delia to remain seated.
“Just stopping by to be sure you’ve seen a change in my girl.” His dark eyes held a merry glimmer, like he knew a secret.
Delia smiled. “Yes, indeed. Enid is working to become the top in her class. Such a delight to have her with me each day.”
At those words, the little girl scowled and tried to twist out from under her father’s hand. He tenderly tightened his grip, holding her in place. Then he hunkered down in front of his daughter.
“Makes me proud to hear that. Glad Miss Perkins is seeing the sweet girl that I’ve always known.” He rubbed a finger of his free hand down his daughter’s cheek as he spoke. The girl leaned into that finger, reinforcing what Delia suspected. Enid Anderson obviously craved her father’s attention and love.
Delia’s admiration for the man must have been plain in her eyes. When the little girl looked at her, Enid’s expression held a calculating look. It was one that Delia had seen often before the girl pulled