Joseph Cogswell was of medium build, about forty, with sandy blond hair liberally mixed with gray.

“Good to see you, Jackson. Storm slowed me up.” He turned to Imogene. He had a friendly, lived-in face. “You must be Miss Grelznik. How do you do?” He took his hat off. “We’re pleased to have a teacher come out here. Especially one that Will Utterback thinks so highly of.”

“Mr. Utterback is a generous man. Thank you,” Imogene returned.

They took her suitcases and escorted her to Joseph’s shay. He clucked softly and the horse jerked the carriage wheels free of the mud. The wind had dropped off and stars showed in patches as the storm blew to the south.

Imogene settled back against the seat and tucked the lap robe snug around her waist.

Calliope showed quaint and pretty in the night. The grime of coal dust and poverty was covered in darkness, and lamplight was warm in the windows. They drove toward the center of town. To the right stood the mansions of the mine owners: great imperious homes in the Victorian style, partially hidden by a thick screen of trees. The big homes gave way to smaller ones and then to the few shops that served the town. At the very end of the main street were two identical buildings, squat and dark, like sister boxcars stranded too far from the tracks.

Joseph pointed with his whip handle. “That’s the school and the schoolmaster’s house.” He looked at Imogene’s dismayed countenance. “Teachers here have been of a rougher cut before now. We get subscription fellows mostly, they stay about a year or so. This last one quit blacksmithing and was going to do teaching full time. Looked like he’d be staying a while, so we got together a school board and put him on salary, but he cut himself chopping wood and died of blood poisoning before he could collect his first pay.”

They reached the twin buildings and, clucking to steady the horse, Mr. Cogswell hauled back on the reins. He climbed down and unstrapped Imogene’s suitcases from the shallow baggage shelf on the back of the shay. “We’ll get the rest of your things brought over from the station in the morning. They came in a week ago Sunday.” As he handed her down from the carriage, Imogene looked at the blank, rickety visage of the schoolmaster’s house, and her mouth thinned to a frown.