Runaway Heart

by Jane Peart

  The thought of the country store naturally brought Ned Thornton to Adam's mind, and he twisted around to look at the people still filing into the meeting room. He spotted Ned's rangy figure in the doorway, talking to someone, then making his way forward to find a seat. Well, at least Ned had come to lend familial support to Holly's application. Adam wondered where Ned's "gracious, honey-tongued" wife was? Not even for appearance's sake would she come to wish her cousin well? The harridan!

  Fiercely Adam hoped the vote would go Holly's way. She deserved better than putting up with Hetty's petty cruelties, her spiteful nonsense, just because Holly was personable and charming. Women, the gentler sex? Adam gave a scornful grunt and the man sitting beside him looked alarmed. Adam immediately pretended to stifle a cough just as Mayor Morrison pounded the gavel, bringing the town meeting to order.

  When Holly entered the hall, two dozen or more heads turned in her direction. But to her, all the faces were so blurred that she did not recognize any of them. Fully aware that she was the focus of all eyes, she moved up the aisle. Vi pointed out two seats in the front row on the right, and Holly quickly sat down. She tried to control her breathing, which was rapid and shallow, and to look composed.

  Behind her she could hear the buzz of voices. Without doubt she was the subject of much of the conversation and comments. Knowing that she was being discussed was torture. Closing her eyes briefly, she thought miserably, What am I doing here? How in the world did I ever get into such a situation? Tonight seemed far removed from any other experience in her entire life.

  Glancing over at Vi, she wished fervently that she had her serenity and inner strength. Vi was the only really serene person she had ever met. Vi always seemed poised, collected. She always spoke quietly, purposefully, never said an idle word nor made an irrelevant remark nor made a useless gesture, which gave force to everything she said or did.

  Holly's stomach knotted. Desperately she tried to pray and could think of nothing but "Help!" To calm herself, she applied the comforting thought that she used when she had to go to the dentist: In an hour or so this will all be over! As the five members took their places on the platform, she folded her hands in her lap and tried to look both intelligent and attentive.

  When Mayor Morrison picked up the gavel and brought it down with a loud bang and the meeting began, some of the apprehension, the timidity that Holly had experienced earlier, began to vanish. A surge of determination replaced it. This was something she wanted, something she needed, something she intended to get. Unless she did—Holly firmly stopped that train of thought. She had to be appointed schoolteacher; for her to go on at Hetty's was out of the question.

  Conscious that the hall was more crowded than usual because of the interest in the decision they were being called on to make about a new schoolteacher, Mayor Ed Morrison began going through the order of business more quickly than usual, initiating a quick consensus on several of the items and allowing for a limited amount of discussion on each. He was able to get a unanimous decision on most. All the members of the Council were acutely aware of the one subject everyone was waiting for, and each of them was conscious of the young woman seated in the front row, who was the most anxious of all.

  Owen Roberts, a rough-hewn rancher in his fifties, had grown children and grandchildren. He'd seen plenty of schoolteachers come and go, some good, some bad, most pretty indifferent as far as that went. As a man who raised cattle, loved horses, he had taken the position on the Council reluctantly, and rarely came into town. Owen needed to have Holly pointed out to him one day when he was in the store where she was working at her lending library. Now as he squinted down at her he wondered—was she too pretty? Too young?

  Miles Abbott, a surveyor, practical and close-fisted, figured the lady must have plenty of spunk to want to take on the mixed group of youngsters who would troop into her classroom at least six months of the year. Why not let her try if she wanted to? It would save money and time. It would cost the town both if they tried to fill the position otherwise.

  Theodore Winsbrook had been trained as a lawyer back East but came to the West for his health in his youth, stayed to become a farmer, had observed Holly in the lending library, had privately looked over her selection of books, and had come to the conclusion she was "smart as a whip." He was willing to give her a chance. His own children, a boy and a girl, needed to have their minds stretched. And Larkin had been a disaster.

  Matthew Healy, a short, rotund, ruddy-cheeked man, settled back in his chair complacently. He already knew how he was going to vote. Before he left for the meeting tonight, he had been given orders by his wife, Geneva (who belonged to the Riverbend Literary Society and, of course, knew and liked Holly), to hire her.

  Ed Morrison, the mayor, who would cast the deciding vote in case of a tie, had his doubts that anyone as dainty as Miss Lambeth looked could handle the big boys. He recalled enough of his own rambunctious boyhood, when school days were colored by plenty of sessions with the hickory stick, to feel uncertain about hiring a woman teacher. Those big fellows needed discipline, most often wielded by a strong man. Of course hiring a man, in Larkin's case, hadn't worked. She could probably do as well as Larkin had, dazed as he was with drink half the time.

  "We will now consider the application of Miss Hollis Lambeth for the position of schoolteacher of Riverbend Grammar," Ed announced. "Will Miss Lambeth please take her place at the podium and present her credentials for this job."

  Afterward, Holly could not remember a word she had said. She had rehearsed dozens of times in front of the mirror and also for Vi. She had planned to give a brief background of her school attendance history, enumerate the subjects she had studied, and finish with a little speech about the value of education and her love of children. When her mind went blank, she decided she must be finished, and she resumed her seat amid a nice spatter of applause. She hoped she had covered everything she wanted to say, but she wasn't sure. Vi reached over and squeezed her hand.

  "How did I do?" Holly whispered anxiously.

  "Fine, just fine," Vi reassured her. The waiting had been agony.

  Mayor Morrison stood up and told the assembly that the council would retire to a private session to discuss their decision, and the five men filed out. There was an immediate breaking-forth of voices that was almost deafening.

  Rigid with tension, Holly watched the five men come back onto the platform. Mayor Morrison moved to the edge of the stage and held up both hands for quiet and the hum of noise ceased.

  "The Town Council of Riverbend has voted to award the position of grammar school teacher to Miss Hollis Lambeth." He turned to the other members, and asked "So say we all?"

  Five resounding "ayes" were raised, and an enthusiastic clapping of hands followed. Vi hugged Holly, and afterward Holly went up to the council members and shook each hand and thanked them individually.

  Her sense of relief was almost greater than her elation. It was only later that she realized that this was the first time in her life she had ever gained something important—not because she was pretty, pleasant, popular, or because she was a Lambeth! This time she had got it on her own—and maybe even in spite of those very things.

  Chapter 12

  Moving day for Holly came on the loveliest autumn day she had yet seen in Oregon. The morning was bright as a new gold piece, the sky a cloudless blue, a brisk breeze rustled leaves of trees along the road out to the schoolhouse. The minute Holly awoke that morning, a feeling of joy soared through her. Today she would actually be leaving Hetty's house and going to her own place. This definitive step of independence gave her intense satisfaction. Surely this was "the day the Lord hath made," and she fully intended to "be glad and rejoice in it."

  Ned had offered to take her with her belongings over to the schoolhouse, and Vi, along with Geneva and Matt Healy, had promised to meet her there to help her. Even Blaine told her that he would try to come by if no patient needed him.

  In spite of her own good spi
rits, Holly dreaded the actual time of departure when she would have to say good-bye to Aurelia and Teddy. She had come to dearly love her little cousins in spite of the tension with Hetty. And what was she to say to Hetty before she left?

  The night before, after the children were sound asleep, Holly had quietly packed all her things and had Ned place them in the wagon. Pretending to be still asleep, she waited until the children woke up and went out for their breakfast before getting up and dressing. She then delayed going out to the kitchen until she heard Ned go out to hitch up the wagon. One look at her woebegone face, however, and Holly knew that Aurelia realized this was the day she was leaving.

  "Do you really and truly have to go, Holly?" the little girl asked plaintively.

  Teddy's spoon of oatmeal stopped halfway to his mouth, and his large blue eyes widened.

  "Go? Go where?"

  "Today Holly's moving to the schoolhouse," Aurelia informed him.

  Teddy's lower lip began to tremble, his eyes grew bright with tears. He dropped his spoon, spattering his porridge. "No!" he said, thumping his little fist on the table. "No! I don't want her to go."

  Quickly Holly tried to avert a scene or, worse still, a Teddy-tantrum.

  "But, Teddy, you can come visit me, you and Aurelia; we'll have a tea party and ..."

  Aurelia, always sensitive to a possible storm, added, "And next year I'll be a pupil, and Teddy can come some days with me to school, right, Holly?"

  Knowing that next year was problematic, to say the least, that she might be a long way off by next fall when Aurelia would be six and ready for first grade, Holly attempted to divert an onset of tears. "Teddy, you can come anytime and visit the school, look at picture books, and play with the children," she said appeasingly. Then glancing at Hetty, she added tactfully, "that is, anytime your mama says you may."

  Hetty maintained a stoic silence.

  "Can I, Mama?" asked Teddy. "I want to go. Now."

  "You can't go now," Hetty said sharply. "Sit up there and finish your porridge." Teddy opened his oatmeal-rimmed mouth and a wail began to emerge.

  Hetty turned a furious face to Holly. "Now, see what you've done?"

  Holly knew there was no use arguing or trying to explain. She hurried over to Teddy, kissed his round little face contorted with unhappiness, and said over the howls, "Teddy, please don't cry! Do what your mama says, and I promise you a nice surprise! I'll send it back with your papa," With that, after giving Aurelia a quick hug, Holly made her exit.

  From the kitchen window Hetty watched them, the anger still like a hard fist in her chest. She saw Ned put his hand under Holly's elbow and assist her into the wagon. Hetty's lip curled scornfully even as her heart wrenched. Ned probably admired Holly, and that admiration would make him offer comfort and support to her. Men had always admired and helped Holly even when she didn't deserve it. Especially when she didn't deserve it, Hetty thought resentfully.

  Things usually happened just the way Holly wanted them to; she always had the last word. Men had always flocked around her, wanting to do her bidding, asking to do whatever she pleased. Why? What made Holly so—so attractive to men? Even in Willow Springs, there had been far prettier girls, yet Holly had been the most popular. She did not even flirt—well, at least, not as blatantly as some of the other girls did, Hetty had to admit. Still, Hetty could never figure out just what it was that Holly did that men so liked, to make them circle her like moths around a flame. She did not even seem to have to lift a finger—

  But she'd lost Jim Mercer, hadn't she? That had brought her crashing down all right, Hetty thought with some satisfaction. She remembered how she used to envy Holly when Jim came home from West Point in his dashing cadet uniform, with the red-lined gray cape and the jaunty cap. She recalled how indifferent Holly had seemed to his adoration, how casually she had accepted his worshipful eyes, his eagerness to do her bidding.

  Well, Ned was twice the man Jim Mercer had been. And she was the one who had caught him! Suddenly Hetty was convinced, recalling Ned's remonstrative look when Holly announced so hopefully that she was going to try for the schoolteacher's job. All that week, in spite of his gentle prodding, she had remained aloof, unhelpful. Even last night he had gently asked if she wasn't even going to wish Holly well as she started her new endeavor. But why should she? Stubbornly Hetty justified her actions. It was all right for Ned to say. But what did he know? Ned couldn't possibly know what Holly was really like or what it was like for Hetty, all the years of being in Holly's shadow, being compared to her, and envying her while watching everyone else—even family—under her spell.

  Hetty's hand shook slightly as she drew the curtain back just enough so she could peer around it. Ned and Holly were both seated in the wagon now. Ned was bending solicitously toward Holly. Listening? Or was he sympathizing? Hetty saw Holly's pert profile turned to him, her hair, upswept from the slender neck, gleamed like rich mahogany in the autumn sunlight, the blue bonnet tipped coquettishly forward, the small plum-colored plume fluttering in the brisk wind. Hetty felt the sour taste of jealousy rise up within her.

  The wagon started out, and at the same time Hetty became aware of the scorching smell of something burning. Her biscuits! She whirled around, snatched up a pot holder, grabbed the oven door open, and pulled out the blackened baking sheet. She ran with it to the back door where she banged it down on the porch railing. Somehow she had also burned her fingers, and as she dropped the pan and shook her hand, scalding tears sprang into her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. It seemed the last straw.

  Hetty leaned her head against the porch post and sobbed.

  Outside, Holly climbed into the wagon where Ned waited patiently. She felt bad that there had been no mutually pleasant last words with Hetty. But there certainly had been no opening there. Unconsciously, Holly sighed. Ned raised his eyebrows. "Storm brewing in there?" he inquired, jerking his head toward the house.

  "'Fraid so," Holly sighed.

  "The kids adore you, Holly," he said as he lifted the reins, clicked his tongue for the horse to start forward. They rode a little way before Ned said sadly, "I'm sure sorry about Hetty—" He halted as though not sure that whatever he said might not seem disloyal to his wife. But then he went on, "You know Hetty hated Willow Springs, and I guess, in a way, you're being here reminded her of all the things she hated most about it."

  "It's all right, Ned, I understand. I'm just sorry she can't let bygones be bygones. I realize now that back home I was pretty thoughtless sometimes."

  Ned didn't offer any more, and they went the rest of the distance with only a few words exchanged. When they got to the schoolhouse, Ned unloaded Holly's trunk and boxes and carried them into the little apartment behind the classroom. "I wish I could stay and help, Holly, but I've got to go open the store. Saturday's one of my busiest days," Ned said as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

  "Oh, of course, Ned. I understand. And thank you for all this." Holly gestured to her assorted boxes and bags and her trunk. "You've done so much for me already. You go ahead. There are others coming to help."

  "I wish you all the luck in the world, Holly, and if things don't work out—you can always come—" he broke off, turning beet red. Holly knew that what he had been about to say was something he really couldn't offer with any assurance.

  "Thanks, Ned, I appreciate that. But it's going to work out, don't worry." She smiled confidently, adding mentally, It's got to work out!

  Holly was only alone a short time when the Healys arrived.

  "We're here to get you settled right," Geneva declared as, armed with scrub buckets, brushes, brooms and big cakes of yellow soap, she mounted the steps and set to work. "You, Matt, start on the windows outside," she ordered her hefty, muscular husband who winked at Holly as he saluted his wife and went to comply with her instructions.

  Annie Olsen and Elly Rogers, both members of the Literary Society, came soon after, and then Vi. Holly was so grateful. All these women knew exactly what to do
to turn the dusty, dirty place into clean, sanitary, and shining living quarters. Less experienced in housework skills, she was glad to follow their expert directions.

  At noon they stopped for a hearty lunch. Besides cleaning equipment, Geneva had brought a hamper of delicious food: ham, deviled eggs, potato salad. Annie had brought a jug of sweet apple cider freshly pressed from their orchard's fruit, and Elly provided home-baked bread and a custard pie. Vi's contribution was one of her delicate lemon sponge cakes.

  "What a feast!" exclaimed Holly. "You're all so wonderful! How can I ever thank you."

  "You're thanking us aplenty by teaching our children," Geneva said.

  "Maybe you won't be so grateful after a couple of days with our two rascals!" laughed Matt.

  "Matt's right, Holly, that's the truth. And I know my Billy and Tom can be as mischievous as a barrel of monkeys, I can tell you," Annie shook her head.

  "Don't be afraid to use the proverbial hickory stick, Holly," counseled Elly who had five children, all under the age of twelve.

  "I just hope I can do the job!" declared Holly.

  "You'll do just fine," Vi told her, and they exchanged a look.

  Holly was reminded of Vi's advice, "Pray hard and let God do the rest." She meant to take it.

  After they ate, they all went back to work. Early in the afternoon, to Holly's astonishment Adam Corcoran appeared.

  "What in the world!" she gasped as she saw him dismount and approach the schoolhouse, holding a bouquet of autumn flowers. She met him at the door and surveyed him with mock severity. He was immaculately groomed as always.

  "Oh, no, Adam!" she shook her head, "you'll never do! This is hard, dusty work, and you're not dressed for it."

  He looked momentarily abashed; then, pointing to Vi, with her head tied up in a scarf and wearing a coverall apron, he asked, "Why can't I have one of those?"