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panting, certain the woman noticed the tiny beads of sweat she felt on her forehead.
    “Mr. Wentworth and his class are here. For their lesson on pioneers.”
    “Mr. Who?” Tori swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand then took a sip from the water bottle she’d propped by the door when she started.
    “Mr. Wentworth. He’s the third grade teacher at the elementary school.”
    Her assistant’s words finally broke through the mind-numbing exhaustion of the past few hours. “And he’s here ? With his class?”
    “Yes, Miss Sinclair. All sixteen of them.”
    Sixteen?
    “He said he made an appointment to bring them every Friday for the next month. It’s part of their library unit.”
    “An appointment?”
    “Yes, Miss Sinclair. Only I didn’t know because—”
    “The appointment book disappeared,” Tori finished as she lowered her face into her hands in lieu of the panic that threatened to take hold and render her incapable of intelligent thought. “What did you say they’re studying?”
    “Pioneers. Like Laura Ingalls time frame.”
    Laura Ingalls. She could do Laura Ingalls.
    She pulled her head up, dropped her hands to her side. “Where are they now?”
    “In the reading circle, waiting. For you.”
    Tori resisted the urge to laugh at the mention of the ten by ten piece of carpet near the back of the library that had been dubbed “the reading circle” by her predecessor. Instead, she mentally ran through the supplies she’d hauled in from her car earlier in the week.
    “Okay, Nina, here’s what we’re going to do.” Reaching into her purse, Tori extracted a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her assistant. “I need you to go next door to the market and pick up as much whipping cream as you can buy for twenty dollars.”
    “Whipping cream, Miss Sinclair?”
    “Yes, Nina. I’m going to grab some of those empty baby food jars I put in the office the other day for future craft time.” Tori ran a moist hand down the front of her dusty rose blouse. “Laura made butter, so we’re going to make butter.”
    The hint of a sparkle flashed behind Nina’s eyes as she closed her hand over the crisp bill and backed her way out of the storage room doorway. “You are brilliant, Miss Sinclair.”
    “Let’s get through the afternoon before you say I’m brilliant.” Tori touched Nina’s forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Now get go—wait. Not yet.” Digging into her purse once again, Tori pulled out a five and held it out to the woman. “And some loaves of bread.”
    “For the butter?”
    “For the butter.”
    As her assistant disappeared out the back door, Tori felt her stomach begin to churn. Shaking jars of whipping cream would kill time—but not all of it.
    Oh how she wished the children’s room was ready. Then the children could act out pioneer life—
    “That’s it,” she mumbled as she strode into her office long enough to retrieve the box of empty baby food jars from the closet behind her desk. They could make butter, talk about the differences between now and then, and then she could ask them for their thoughts on her room. Thoughts and ideas she could present to the board . . .
    Pleased with her resilience, Tori headed into the main section of the library. “Hello, children. I’m Miss Sinclair.”
    “Hel-lo Miss Sinclair,” the children dutifully repeated in unison.
    She set the box of glass jars on the floor beside her feet and leaned down, her hands gently gripping her thighs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you walked in, but I was in the back getting a special surprise ready for you.”
    Her eyes traveled across each and every little face before coming to rest on the one belonging to their handsome and obviously amused teacher. But before she could give too much thought to the man, Nina ran in, out of breath, the whipping cream and bread hidden inside a brown paper sack.
    “Here you go, Miss Sinclair. We got lucky, they had four whole