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of relationship."
    "I was just showing my gratitude," he protested.
    "I know what you were doing," she said.
    He looked into her eyes.  She looked at him as though she could see into his soul, and her stare made him uncomfortable.
    "Yes, well, I thank you for helping me."
    "You're welcome.  Now, we have a meeting at the school this afternoon.  I want you to wear your navy blue silk suit with a tie, not a cravat, and the plain black shoes I bought you.  We want to show them that you are a serious young man and despite the fact that you don't have a teaching certificate, which you will obtain in the future, of course, you are more than capable of teaching art.  Bring some of your drawings with you, and maybe write something down about artists in France."
    "Do you really think these bourgeois peasants will want to hire me?"
    "Be careful, Pierre .  These are your neighbors now.  You'd better change your attitude if you want to live here."
    "But surely you feel the same way about them."
    "No, I don't.  I rather like the people of this town, and I suggest you form an attachment to them as well.  You need their approval, whether you like it or not, and if you don't get this job because you can't humble yourself, then I may have to ask you to leave my carriage house."
    Margaret's stare was hard, and Pierre felt anger rising in his chest, but he remained calm.
    "Of course, Margaret, I will do as you ask."
    "Good.  It's nice to know we understand each other."
    Margaret rang the bell she kept by her place at the table, and Ginny, the kitchen maid, appeared at her side.
    "Yes, ma'am," she said.
    "Bring Mr. Rousseau his breakfast, Ginny."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    Ginny quickly returned to the kitchen while Margaret rose from the table.
    "You won't sit with me while I eat?" he said.
    "I've things to attend to.  I'm sure you will be fine, Pierre."
    He watched Margaret walk away.  She was an enigma to him; a woman immune to his charms.  He didn't know how to act around her, and didn't trust her, either, but he would stay here as long as he could; he would even work as a teacher if he had to, to stay in this fine house.  This is where Jean-Pierre Renault, who now went by the name Pierre Rousseau, belonged, and if he played his cards right, he would own this house one day.

Chapter 8
    Summer, 1895
    John Liberty was sitting on his porch railing waiting for Hannah to come outside.  He wanted to tell her his news, but wasn't sure how she'd react.  He'd been putting it off for a week now, and since he would be leaving for school tomorrow, it just couldn't wait any longer.
    He heard the front door to Hannah's house open and close, then he saw her strawberry blonde hair, made into one long braid down her back.  She also had a straw hat on her head.  She turned and saw him sitting on the railing and smiled.  Hannah had just turned fifteen, and John got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he saw her.  There was something about her eyes and the contour of her face, or maybe it was her smile.  John couldn't understand why she affected him this way, but since turning seventeen, he was having trouble understanding anything anymore.
    "Hi, John!" she said.
    She waved and smiled at him as she walked across the porch.
    Good , he thought, she's in a good mood.
    He got off the railing and went to meet her on the sidewalk.
    "Have you been waiting for me, John Liberty?"
    "Naw, I was just watching Mavis Bartles walking with Jenny Frye."
    He was pleased when he saw the flash of anger cross her face.
    "Well, then, I guess you won't be walking to town with me.  I wouldn't want to take you away from Mavis and Jenny ."
    She walked away from him as quickly as she could, but he followed close behind.
    "Actually, Hannah, I have to talk to you."
    She didn't respond, but kept walking.
    "Come on, Hannah, please slow down."
    She slowed down a bit so he could come up alongside her, but she kept her eyes looking ahead.
    "Remember when my father