Love Finds You in Miracle, Kentucky

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Unless, of course, the heat of the day just got to him.

  “I’m going over to the cooler.” He glanced around at his buddies. “Anyone else want a cold drink?”

  All she wanted was a cool bubble bath when she got back to Grams’ house. Meg imagined how marvelous it would feel to shed her clothes and relax in a tub filled with fragrant, silky soap. It’d sure beat the smell of hot grills and sweaty humanity that prevailed around the picnic area at this late hour.

  “I’ve got three red, white, and blue tablecloths around here,” Grams said as they packed up their belongings. “Don’t let me forget them.”

  “Okay.”

  Meg watched as her grandmother strode away, collecting a plastic bowl here and a stainless pan there.

  Despite the heat, it had been an enjoyable day. Meg liked the people she’d met today. She admired their old-fashioned values, their patriotism, their loyalty to God, family, and church—qualities so indicative of the area.

  “You never answered my question.”

  Meg stopped clearing plastic plates, glasses, and Styrofoam cups from off one of the picnic tables and stared at Leah Lawton. “What? What question?”

  “About Kent. Aren’t you the least bit interested in him?”

  “Nope. He’s too full of himself. Besides, I didn’t move to Kentucky because I’m looking for love. On the contrary. This teaching position means everything to me. I want to succeed at it, grow as a person, and stay put for once in my life.”

  “Well, I want that, too, except for the staying-put part. I wouldn’t mind traveling some. But add a husband and a few kids to that equation and I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

  Meg arched a brow. “A husband like Dave the marine, perhaps?” She couldn’t help turning the tables on her new friend.

  Leah expelled a dramatic sigh. “Pathetic, isn’t it? I’m falling in love with a guy I’ve never met.”

  “You’ve met. On the Internet.”

  “I’m talking about in person.”Leah’s face pinked, and Meg knew it wasn’t from the warm, thick evening air. “My parents are worried. Dad says it could be a case of bait and switch. You know, like Dave put up a picture of his hunky buddy, except in real life Dave is a hound—or worse, a man with ill intentions!”

  Meg thought it over while she resumed clearing the table. “Guess it’s possible. But it’s nothing that can’t happen ‘in person.’ Just exercise caution and common sense.”

  “I believe I’m doing just that.” Leah paused and placed a hand on her bony hip. “But why would a good-looking fella like Dave want a skinny thing like me? Dad says I better get some meat on my bones. But when I feel pressured to eat I lose my appetite. I wind up losing weight.”

  “Wish that would happen to me.” Meg found it somewhat difficult to pity her willowy friend. “Like I said before, maybe Dave is drawn to slim women. Besides, it’s what’s inside of you that matters most.”

  Leah stopped in mid-motion. “You’re absolutely right. God sees the heart. Maybe Dave will see mine.” She continued with the clean-up. “I just need to draw on my faith.”

  Meg mulled over the reply. To draw on one’s faith. She was trying to tap into that Higher Power, too. Was it God? Was He real, as her grandmother claimed? Meg felt she had no other options than to discover the answer for herself. She had a lot to prove, being a new teacher in a close community, and it wasn’t easy forging out a future without hope and purpose. Even so, this faith business was uncharted territory for her.

  “Grams says everything that happens in life serves a divine purpose.” The comment came as an afterthought.

  “I believe that, too.”

  “Then why are you still worried about Dave?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Leah looked bemused. “I reckon it’s just a bad habit.”

  “I reckon so,” Meg imitated.

  Leah paused and placed her hands on her hips. “We need to work on that Southern drawl of yours.”

  “What Southern drawl?”

  “Exactly.”

  They laughed.

  With the lights off in her first floor bedroom, Loretta lay awake, listening to the wind rustling through the treetops. Her window was opened just an inch or so, and she heard an infrequent rumble of thunder in the distance.

  She also heard Meggie traipsing around upstairs, and the creaking floorboards were a welcome sound after years of silence. Loretta never thought she’d be thankful for noise. Not after raising three sons. But she was.

  Snuggling further down into her bedcovers, Loretta closed her eyes and smiled. How proud she was of her eldest granddaughter! Her friends were all impressed by Meggie’s intellect and mannerly ways, said everyone said she wasn’t a thing like her mother, who’d brought shame upon the Jorgenson name. True, Meggie had made mistakes—who hadn’t? But she was quick to accept her wrongdoings and move forward, while her mother had always blamed others for her problems.

  “Treading in the cesspool of life.” That’s what Jeb used to say, and while Loretta agreed with him, she also pitied Tricia. From what Meggie had said in recent weeks, it sounded like the poor misguided soul hadn’t changed much in all these years.

  Still treading.

  But Meggie clearly wanted more out of life, wanted meaning and purpose. She said she’d even distanced herself from her mother back in high school. Meggie learned to be responsible and did well in school. She graduated with honors and went on to college. She had such potential. Jeb would be so proud.

  Meggie. Meggie. Meggie. What a joy that she had moved in. Just wait till she got reacquainted with her cousins—especially the twins. She’d get a kick out of those boys. They’d been toddlers when Meg saw them last. Loretta smiled, thinking of her two precocious red-headed grandsons. They always had something to say.

  She stayed her mind on pleasant thoughts while strains of music wafted down from the second floor. She closed her eyes and, at last, drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  The eleven-forty-five bell sounded, and Meg jumped so that she almost dropped the dry-erase marker in her hand.

  She looked up at the modern-looking device, which had just droned out an electronic don-ong. “That thing certainly gets a person’s attention.”

  Giggles and snickers emanated from her students.

  Meg herself had to laugh. The first day of school, and so far everything had gone as planned—except for the fact that she’d lost track of time. Where had the morning gone?

  “All right, class, put away your math books.”

  Sounds of textbooks slapping shut and desks creaking open filled the room.

  Meg looked at Cammy Bayer, who sat in the front row wearing a floral-printed dress, pink anklets, and white leather sandals. She’d dressed up for the first day of school.

  She sent Cammy a smile before her gaze traveled on. The other girls, too, wore dresses today, while the boys looked clean and pressed in casual slacks and polo shirts. A few boys actually wore short-sleeved oxfords, although the shirts didn’t stay tucked into their trousers once mid-morning recess time came along.

  Absorbing the sight, Meg felt like she’d stepped into another world. At her old school in Chicago, most of the boys wore ragged jeans with holes in the knees, wrinkled tees, and hair that never saw a comb. A majority of the teenaged girls dressed in ways that even a young woman like Meg thought pushed the limits of decency.

  Meg understood that there was a difference between grade school kids and high schoolers, but she’d determined weeks ago that life here in Miracle was nothing even remotely akin to life in the south side of Chicago. Everyone here was functioning at a slower pace, not racing ahead in life’s fast lane. Here conservative views on issues prevailed, everyone owned a Bible, and if you didn’t attend church, you were either physically ill or dead. It all ran contrary to what Meg was accustomed to, and for that very reason, she welcomed it.

  She fixed her gaze on Cammy again. “You may leave for the lunchroom and get
a head start. We’ll catch up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  And that was another thing: All the kids said “yes, ma’am” when spoken to. How refreshing.

  Meg watched the little girl maneuver her wheelchair towards the door. “Okay, class, let’s line up.”

  The students did as she bid them, with only nominal pushing and shoving from a few rambunctious boys.

  Heading up the queue now, Meg narrowed her gaze at those wearing the mischievous grins. “We’re going to walk quietly and quickly down to the lunchroom, and I don’t want to see any nonsense. Got it?”

  “Yes, Miss Jorgenson,” came the unanimous reply.

  Meg hid her smile as she pivoted, then led her class into the hallway.

  Susie Fletcher slipped her small hand into Meg’s. “Can I sit with you at lunch?”

  “Sure.” She glanced at the girl, whose beige plastic-framed glasses were sliding down her nose.

  “Can I sit with you, too?” The request came from Erin Hollister.

  “Yep. Lucky for you both I have two sides.”

  “What about me?”

  Meg glanced over her shoulder and glimpsed the pout on Laura Blakemore’s freckled face. “You can sit next to me tomorrow.”

  “And me, too,” said Ginger Widdenstamp.

  Meg realized she’d need a date book at this rate, but it warmed her heart that her students asked to sit next to her at lunchtime. They liked her, wanted to eat with her!

  Yet another difference from last year.

  Chatter and childish laughter filled the cheery cafeteria. Over the din, however, she heard a male voice calling her name. Turning on her heel, she saw Kent approaching her.

  “How’s your first day been?” he asked.

  “Great, so far.”

  “Mine’s been insane.” He cupped her elbow. “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “Well, um…I promised my kids I’d eat with them.”

  “Just for a moment.”

  Before she could protest, he’d propelled her into the hallway.

  “Listen, I know you’ll understand this, being from the other side of the Bible Belt like me.” He smirked.

  Meg didn’t find the remark amusing. “What’s going on?”

  Dressed in black dress shorts and a red T-shirt, he widened his stance and rocked slightly from side to side. Meg was reminded of a comedian on stage about to tell a joke.

  “I wanted to find a coffee shop this morning, right? A simple thing. So I stopped and asked directions. A couple of guys said it was down the block and to the left, across from the ‘tar store.’” He paused. “Tar store.” He shook his head. “I drove around for a full five minutes before I realized there was no tar store. It’s a tire store.” Kent put his hands on his narrow hips. “Can you believe it?”

  Meg forced a polite smile. “Guess I’ve always been accustomed to that good ol’ Kentucky drawl. I was born here and my dad and grandmother, along with a host of relatives, live here.”

  “Well, more power to you. But get a load of this: a guy can’t even get a six pack of beer around here!”

  “I know. It’s a dry county.”

  “One of my neighbors told me that when the weather gets bad, the cops go out and collect the few homeless people around here and put them in jail, feed them. Like it’s some kind of hotel.”

  Meg thought it was quite the humanitarian gesture. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Kent leaned forward. “I feel like I died and went to Mayberry R.F.D.”

  She grinned.

  Kent wagged his blond head. “I am suffering from culture shock.”

  “Think assimilation.” This time Meg gave him a parting smile as she stepped around him.

  He caught her by the elbow. “Have dinner with me tonight.” All traces of humor had fled, and Meg recognized the look in his darkening green eyes. “We’ll drive to Lexington and go to my place afterwards for a nightcap. You can help me…assimilate.”

  She pulled from his grasp. “Are you crazy? We’re at school. You can’t ask me out in the hallway like we’re in some nightclub.” She kept her voice low, but irritation threatened to get the best of her.

  “Relax. No one’s around.”

  “Still.”

  Kent raised his brows. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Definitely a no. Now, if you don’t mind, my students are waiting for me.”

  Meg re-entered the lunchroom. She picked up a plastic tray and got in line for a serving of baked chicken legs, white beans, biscuits, and, for dessert, a slice of apple pie. She tried to forget Kent’s none-too-subtle proposition as she accepted a plate from the jolly-looking cook. But then worry began nibbling at her when she considered the possible consequences of Kent’s foolishness just now. He must have lost his mind. What if some of the children had overheard? Or other teachers? She couldn’t afford to sully the good reputation she was just beginning to build here.

  Fortunately, no one did hear—Meg felt confident about that much.

  She pushed aside the unfortunate event and sat down in the chair which Susie and Erin had saved for her. She concentrated on their girlish prattle and soon forgot all about Kent Baldwin and his dinner invitation.

  Meg glanced at her sterling-banded wristwatch. “Cammy, if you don’t hurry you’ll miss the bus.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Jorgenson, I don’t take the bus home. My daddy picks me up after he gets off of work.”

  “Hmm.” Thoughtfully, Meg crossed the carpeted classroom floor and stared out the bank of windows. She saw scores of students climbing into the long yellow vehicle. Only one school bus serviced the small school, and it was contracted through a private company. “What time does your dad get off work?”

  “About four thirty.”

  Meg resigned herself to the fact. “Well, all right, then—”

  “I could sit in the office, but I’d much rather stay here with you.”

  Flattered, Meg turned from the windows and smiled at Cammy. “That’s fine. I planned to stay here until about five anyway. How about you finish your homework while you wait?”

  Meg glimpsed the affirmative bob of Cammy’s head and then strode to her own desk and sat down. Gathering the pages of arithmetic that her students had completed this morning, she began correcting each one. She made an encouraging comment on each child’s paper, even if the grade was low. “You’ll do better next time.” “Good penmanship.” “Great job.” Meg wanted her students to know that she cared about them. In return, they might start caring about her opinion and work harder, learn more.

  Meg came to Cammy’s worksheet, graded it, and felt a frown pucker her brows. The child had earned an F.

  “Cammy, did you have difficulty with your math sheet this morning?” With no one else in the classroom, Meg felt free to discuss the matter with the girl. “You’re so smart. What’s up with this grade?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I’m dumb in math.”

  “You’re not dumb. Let’s do the worksheet over again. I’ll help you this time.” Meg found an extra copy of the math sheet. Pushing to her feet, she made her way over to Cammy, whose desk was wider and higher than the other children’s so it could accommodate a wheelchair.

  She pulled a chair alongside Cammy.

  “I always get bad grades in math.”

  “How about if we change that this year?”

  Cammy appeared skeptical but didn’t refuse.

  Number by number, equation by equation, Meg explained the principles of addition and subtraction. Cammy understood that much about arithmetic. She just grew impatient trying to arrive at the correct sums. So Meg made a game of it, making up little rhymes by which Cammy could remember the sums. Pretty soon Cammy played along.

  In no time, the worksheet was completed, and Meg marked a large A+ at the top.

  The sudden sound of a man clearing his voice drew their attention away from mathematics.

  “Daddy, I got an A+ on my arithmetic!”

  “Go
od for you, punkin.” He strode into the classroom, bidding Meg a hello with a slight inclination of his head.

  She smiled a greeting while taking note, again, of his uniform: trousers and shirt of the same khaki color and fabric. His first name was embroidered in red thread atop the left breast pocket. She couldn’t help remembering what Grams said yesterday about how Vance began his education in law enforcement but, because of circumstances beyond his control, settled for small engine repair. Was he satisfied with his life, even though it hadn’t turn out the way he planned? He seemed like a relatively contented man, and Cammy was a spunky, happy little girl. Something was obviously going right for him.

  Vance stood by wearing one of his almost bashful grins.

  “Lovely weather since the storm rolled through last night,” Meg ventured. She still sat beside Cammy and now helped her pack her notebook and school supplies. “Nothing like a good thunderstorm to clear the air.”

  “A lot of truth to that.” Vance approached and took hold of the handles behind his daughter’s wheelchair. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on top of Cammy’s head. “Tell your teacher good-bye for now.”

  “Bye, Miss Jorgenson.”

  “Bye, Cammy.”

  “I can’t wait till math tomorrow.”

  Vance paused, chuckled, and shook his head. “Never thought I’d hear her say that.” He looked at Meg, still smiling. “Math’s her least favorite subject.”

  “My worst one, too.” The pleased expression seemed pasted to Cammy’s impish features. “But not anymore!”

  “That’s music to my ears.” Meg stood as the Bayers moved toward the doorway.

  “See you in the morning,” Vance said with a parting dip of his head.

  “Have a good night.”

  Watching them go, Meg couldn’t remember the last time she felt so encouraged in her chosen profession.

  Cammy took a large bite of her taco. “I’m so glad you—”

  “Chew your food before talking.” Vance hid his grin.