Sparks in Spearfish

by Kari Trumbo

  He’d tested every limit to make sure she thought about him every single day, though he had to make sure he was never caught or Pa wouldn’t let him come back. His three older brothers had the ranch well in hand, but they’d all barely made it through school – it had seemed a waste of time to them. He was pretty sure his oldest brother Conrad couldn’t read. Barton was interested in learning, but if he couldn’t behave in school, he’d have to join his brothers back at the ranch.

  He’d asked Pa that day behind the woodshed if he could go back to school and do teacher training over the summer so he could be finished before school started in the fall. That way, he could apply for the one assistant position they offered. It was his only chance to see Lula again and either convince her to think about him every day in a whole other fashion … or let her go. He still wasn’t sure he was up to the task.

  Now that he was here, he took a deep breath, entered the room – and was once again stopped short by that shock of blonde curls. She’d even worn her hair down, probably for the first time since he’d buttered it over two years ago. He had to fight every impulse not to bury his face in them. He’d never felt anything softer.

  As he walked by, her friend Izzy saw him. He heard the gasp and saw her look of utter shock. His muscles moved as if he couldn’t control them and he reached out, tugging on one of those locks of glorious golden curl.

  She spun around and faced him, blue fire in her eyes.

  My, my girl is spunky. She stood and shoved her hands on her hips.

  “Barton Oleson, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you will not ruin this for me. I’ve waited years to be free of you and I won’t be bullied during my final year.”

  The smile he’d been told looked thoroughly wicked slid up on his face. “That’s Mr. Oleson. I’ve earned the professor’s assistant job this term.”

  The color drained from her face. He hadn’t meant for it to come across as a threat. He came closer to catch her if she fainted, a real possibility by the look of her.

  Instead she backed away. “No. How could you?”

  “I was here all summer, training for this job,” he whispered, reveling in the intimate feeling it gave. He rested his hand on her shoulder to steer her to her seat before she collapsed. Her shoulder was strong, the fabric of her blouse soft. And she wasn’t running from him – because there was nowhere for her to go now.

  She flung a piercing glare at him and shrugged off his hand.

  He smiled, trying to keep his wandering thoughts under control. “Just so we’re clear, Miss Arnsby. I’m what stands between you and your teaching certificate.”

  She dropped into her seat, looking at him in horror. He could see tears forming. Had he really tormented her so badly that she would cry? Had his words scared her so? His father’s condemnation came back to haunt him, and he regretted his statement immediately. Blast, he hadn’t meant to forget so quickly. How could he repair this?

  He leaned over her desk so the others wouldn’t hear. “Miss Arnsby, I don’t think you’ll have any issue with the class. You’ve been through much more difficult trials.” He couldn’t finish, didn’t know how to live out what his pa had told him.

  Lula turned away without another word.

  Barton straightened and went to the front desk, where he’d been told to arrange the professor’s notes. He wouldn’t actually be teaching until the second half of the year, which was good. If he’d had to stand up in front of Lula and her cohorts with his hands itching to take her out in the hall, explain what Pa had told him and bury his hands in her hair and his face in her neck, he’d make a fool of himself. Something he prided himself on never doing.

  Professor Edward Cook strode into the room and up to the front. Barton had gotten to know him well over the last three months and found him hard, but fair. The professor nodded at him. “Stick to the front so you’re ready if I need anything,” he declared.

  Barton had always preferred the back of the classroom with the rest of the boys, but he wouldn’t encourage misbehavior by flouting the professor. Really, right now he’d rather sit nearer to Lula. Instead, he sat two rows ahead of her, catching her eye again as he did. Her eyes still gleamed with unshed tears.

  As Professor Cook began, Barton could feel the heat of Lula’s glare boring into his back. He had a mountain of a mess to clean up and only nine months to do it. He prayed that it would be enough and that he would finally succeed where he’d failed in the past.

  Chapter 3

  Lula fled back to her room after the noon dismissal, rushing to avoid talking with Barton. He’d wanted to – she could read it on his face as the noon time approached. He’d turned and tried to catch her eye, but she’d persevered and ignored him. When the clock struck twelve, she gathered her things, left Izzy behind and ran. It might not be ladylike, but she couldn’t bear another year of tears hidden in the broom closet. She’d gotten to know the cleaning staff too well the last few years, and they didn’t want to see her any more than she wanted to see them.

  How could life be so cruel? Beau and Ruby had to save to send her to such a nice school and she’d been so excited. But with Barton, every possibility of a good year died like cut flowers.

  She slumped on the bed and stared at her trunk. Should she give up, just pack and go home? All this time, she’d counted on this year to be the best experience, the one she looked back on with joy. What if he made sure she didn’t graduate? Hadn’t he threatened just that – “Miss Arnsby, I’m what’s standing between you and your certificate”? If it wasn’t a threat, it certainly was a challenge.

  She yanked the coverlet over her head. It was too much to think about.

  Her stomach grumbled against her stays. She’d avoided breakfast that morning because of nerves, but now she was starving. Still, she wouldn’t go to the cafeteria for lunch. She couldn’t avoid it forever, but he was sure to be there.

  Unless teachers ate somewhere else. He was her teacher. He’d been at school all summer to get ahead of her, to lord his position over her. There could be no other reason for him to have become a teacher than to rule over her.

  Beau and Ruby were so proud of her. How could she let them down by asking to come home on the very first day? It wasn’t an easy trip from Deadwood to Spearfish and not something she could ask of them lightly. Besides, it would be days before they could arrange a way to get her home. She had to stay, there was no choice.

  She stood from her bed and kicked her trunk. Why did Barton always have to ruin everything?

  She sat before her mirror, pulling out all her hairpins that had swept her hair out of her face, but showed off her curls. They had to be put away. She’d found out, after Barton had buttered her hair, that he carried a pocketknife wherever he went. She’d had visions of him hacking off her hair, and from that day on always wore it in a bun or roll – up and out of his reach. He’d looked so sullen the first day she’d worn it up. She’d enjoyed that victory, ruining whatever he’d planned. Now it was going back up, out of his reach.

  Finishing with her hair, she changed out of her pretty gray moleskin walking skirt, her hands fluttering over the soft fabric. She’d taken to wearing black skirts after Barton stained her light ones with everything from tobacco to tomatoes. This one would be an easy target. He was a teacher now, and part of her wanted to think he wouldn’t pull anything so childish … but after he tugged her hair this morning, she was taking no chances.

  She yanked open her dresser drawer and pulled out the one black walking skirt she’d brought. She’d learned early on in her life at Spearfish Normal, better to be safe than sorry. Walking around with a deep brown stain on her rear from tobacco juice taught her that. It was really too bad – she’d been rather free-willed before Barton. Her sisters Ruby and Frances had both warned her she’d need to abandon that, and they were right. Teaching young boys like Barton required strict behavior, not frivolity and whimsy.

  Lunch period was drawing to a close and she couldn’t risk being
late back to class, so she had to change quickly. Her belly protested her forgetfulness and she patted it absentmindedly. She’d eat later, after she’d dealt with Barton for the rest of the day.

  She fixed her tie again and frowned at the mirror. The frightened little girl from the last two years stared back at her. How had she let him control every part of her life? From her hair to her clothes, it was all to keep him from getting to her. And he still had, in every way. Even now, she was hungry because she’d needed to fix herself. He controlled her without even trying.

  Lula stomped her foot. The school could give her rules and she’d follow them, but she wouldn’t change again for Barton Oleson. And if he tried anything, she’d take what she learned at teacher training and correct him. If she died of embarrassment in the process, so be it – at least she’d be rid of him.

  She hadn’t been at lunch. Barton walked the cafeteria searching for her after hastily devouring his own meal, making it appear he was proctoring the noon meal, but it was all show. He’d wanted to see her. Food wasn’t allowed in the dorm rooms and she hadn’t come to eat, so where could she be? Worry spiked through him. He hadn’t had a chance to catch her before she ran away to assure her he wasn’t there to tease or pester, only to talk.

  As the clock ticked ever closer to one, he couldn’t stop checking the door for her. Just in case she didn’t make it, he pocketed an apple as he headed for the door. He’d have to run up to class shortly, get Professor Cook’s notes ready and the board wiped clean. Had she been so worried about seeing him that she would skip lunch? How many meals would she miss just to avoid him? He searched the hallways on his way to class, but Buttercup wasn’t lurking there. The campus wasn’t large enough for her to evade him forever.

  He pushed the classroom door open to find her sitting calmly in her seat, her hair swept up in a delicate roll that hid all but its color. She’d also changed from the pretty skirt she’d worn earlier to a black one that looked more like widow’s weeds than a choice a young woman would intentionally make. Had she changed because of him? The empty room made him bold. He had to know.

  He sat in the desk in front of her, turned to face her … and she pushed herself as far back in the desk as possible to get away from him. How had he never noticed what his actions had done? How had he been so oblivious that he could think any attention, even if it embarrassed or hurt her, was enough, just because it meant he was on her mind? He’d go back and change every moment of it if she wouldn’t fear him.

  He kept his voice low and his head down. “I know you aren’t happy that I’m here. You probably still hate me, and I deserve it. But I worked really hard to be here.” He searched her eyes, blue pools of heat and light and tugged the apple from his pocket. “I want to start over if it’s possible. I’m sorry for the things I did to you. It was stupid. All of it. Can we at least…try to get along for this term? Can we start over?” He laid the apple on her desk in front of her.

  She bit her lip as she stared down at the fruit, hesitating to even touch it. He clenched his fist in his lap to keep from running his thumb over it to pull it free. He didn’t want her to hurt even that little bit, especially not on his account. “I know food isn’t allowed near the classes, but there’s a teacher’s lounge just down the hall where they allow food. If you eat quickly and toss the core under the papers in the bin, no one will know.”

  She eyed him for a moment, then released her lip from its captivity. “Mr. Oleson, I will give you the respect you’re due as my teacher,” she finally replied. “And I forgive you because I must as a woman of God. But I have no desire to start over with you, ever.” Her voice wavered.

  He saw the tears forming in her eyes in glistening tiny droplets. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Believe it or not. I never, ever, wanted to make you cry.” He stood, and she tried to give him back his handkerchief without using it. “Keep it,” he insisted, turned away and went to the desk to arrange the notes for the afternoon class and ready the board.

  How did she get to him? She’d had his heart from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, but he’d blown it. Now she’d need to be coaxed. He had all year to convince her his intentions were honorable, now. Teaching had never been his passion – he still loved breaking horses and chasing down beeves – but if he had to earn a teaching certificate to convince the woman he couldn’t live without that he was worthwhile, so be it. He’d work himself to the bone if he had to.

  All summer long, he’d put in grueling hours to complete an entire year of training in three months. He was the first student, male or female, to ever do it, and Professor Cook was proud of his accomplishment. Having the professor on his side would help. If anyone found out he was attempting to court a student, he could get sent home, his internship incomplete. But it was a risk he was willing to take for Lula.

  Keeping his head down, he watched her fold and tuck away his handkerchief. Would she keep it close? Would she think about his words? Could he turn back all the rotten things he’d done. And why hadn’t he asked Pa after the first year of school? He could’ve done better the second, instead of further tormenting her. But even now, the thought of engaging her in another battle of wills thrilled his blood. She was fun to fight with, always ready for him. Too ready. He wanted to pull out every pin in her hair, knowing it was his fault they were there.

  He heard her finish the apple and toss the core. At least he’d done something for her to show her who he was trying to be. One thing to counter all the bad. It was a start.

  Professor Cook entered the room. “Thank you, Mr. Oleson. You may take your seat while we wait for the other students.”

  There were two seats available in front of Lula, the one Barton sat in that morning and the one he’d been sitting in just a few minutes before. The draw to be near her was too great. He took the seat directly in front of her. She’d have to get used to being near him, though she might not like it at first. He’d convince her he was worthy. Eventually.

  Chapter 4

  Lula seethed. How could she pay one whit of attention with him sitting right there in front of her? If their positions had been switched, he’d have flicked her ears. Of all the places he could’ve chosen, why there? And just what did he mean by apologizing out of nowhere?

  She stared at the spot where the apple had been. The apple that had made certain her stomach didn’t growl loudly in class. He’d never done anything like that before. He’d never apologized for anything in his life. The last few years he’d gotten off free, while she’d paid the price of complaining. No one liked a squeaky wheel. But her past and the present Barton left her confounded. They didn’t seem the same.

  She pried her gaze from the back of his head and focused on Professor Cook, a middling man with a narrow face and a giant mustache that devoured his upper lip. His collar was so high it seemed to notch his head at a painful angle, but it obviously didn’t hinder his speech. He rattled on as if he could do the course while asleep – and maybe was. His voice droned in her ears, like a wagon wheel crunching over gravel on a long ride.

  “… Students, I would like an essay about the new theories evolving in education. Especially the idea that children should do more than recite but engage. Do you think these new theories have a future, and why or why not? I want it on my desk by Thursday morning. Dismissed.”

  Barton appeared at her desk before she could even close her notebook. “Can I walk you back to your dorm? Or perhaps you’d like to go get something more to eat, since you missed lunch?” He held his hands behind his back, which would’ve made any other man seem gentlemanly. With this man, she wanted his hands in sight.

  Professor Cook cleared his throat. “Mr. Oleson, perhaps you’ve forgotten your job?” His dark bushy eyebrows arched over darker, penetrating eyes.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I think you have forgotten your job. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Oleson.” The name felt so strange on her tongue. Though she couldn’t claim she’d spoken to
him often, he’d always been Barton. She gathered everything from her desk and followed Izzy from the room.

  Why did her heart clatter so? It was just Barton, but something about the way he looked at her now made her heart race. He made her nervous – that had to be it. But then, he’d always made her nervous. This feeling was different. Not terrifying, just…unknown.

  Izzy wound her arm around Lula’s. “Land sakes, I couldn’t believe my eyes when Barton walked in the room. My, has he grown up.” She gave a very unladylike whistle.

  Lula giggled and swatted her hand. “Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

  Izzy laughed, “I have as many brothers as you have sisters, remember?”

  “I’ve heard Beau do that, with his fingers in his mouth. The sound about splits your head in two.”

  “My brothers whistle when they see a pretty filly – horse or otherwise.” She bumped her hip against Lula’s playfully. “I figure a pretty man is no different.”

  “Barton is not pretty,” she protested, but it was almost a lie. Over the summer, he’d turned into a man, a handsome one. If he wasn’t such a pest, she could admit it. But he is a pest and don’t forget it.

  “Oh, sure he’s not.” Izzy glanced at the sky in an over-obvious rolling of the eyes. “I know you don’t like him. He’s always been so awful to you, but he sure wasn’t today. In fact, he seemed quite cozy talking with you.”

  Lula felt heat rush to her cheeks and hoped no one noticed. “He wants to start over. I don’t think I can.”

  Izzy stopped and yanked Lula to a stop alongside her. “What about all that forgiveness you talked about last year when Agatha stole Marty from me? I was hurt – I loved Marty. You said that if he asks for forgiveness, I should give it to him. Doesn’t that apply to you too?”