by Cindi Myers
“All the people I love are here. And all the people who love me.”
“All right, everyone!” A tall, slender woman addressed them from a microphone at the front of the auditorium. “Take your places. It’s almost time to begin.”
Josh joined the students at the Hartland High tables. Amy hung back, fussing with her camera as if she was about to take a picture. Really, she wanted time to pull herself together. Josh’s words about home had unsettled her. All the people he loved were in Hartland. All the people she loved were scattered or gone—Brent dead and her parents overseas. That left Chloe and Grandma. She’d take Chloe with her wherever she went, but what about Bobbie?
Amy would miss her grandmother, but they’d spent most of her life apart. They’d stay in touch and Amy would come back to visit. She and Chloe would make new friends and find new people to fill the void, but would that be enough? She couldn’t imagine being like Josh, living in a place where you’d known everyone for years, but for the first time she envied him that sense of belonging in the world. That knowledge that he was surrounded by people who loved him.
She’d always taken comfort in the fact that the people around her didn’t know her that well—that she had secrets they’d never discover, and that they could never truly judge her. But maybe she’d been wrong about that. Maybe the real key to happiness wasn’t in maintaining your independence, but in relishing your place in a community where you mattered.
* * *
AS A TEACHER with students participating in the science bee, Josh was allowed to observe the kids, but he wasn’t allowed to supply answers or even hints. He had to sit on the sidelines and groan when the Quasars incorrectly identified hydrogen iodide as a salt, or cheer when the Brainstorms successfully defended their contention that the whale shark was the largest fish.
At the break, the kids clustered around him. “You’re doing great,” he told them. The Quasars had collected thirty-two points, putting them in second place, while the Brainstorms were tied for third in their age group.
A flash went off behind him—Amy again, taking photos for her article. She’d been a pleasant surprise today. Unobtrusive, even helpful, pitching in to hand out snacks and laughing with the kids. She’d asked them smart questions about the science bee and her comments had all been positive.
Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t open up the paper next week and read a story about unauthorized use of a school van or discrimination against kids who hadn’t paid the ten dollars to participate in the science bee, he reminded himself. Amy Marshall was not his friend, no matter how much she acted like it.
The second half of the day went quickly. By the end of the tournament at three, the Quasars had taken second place in their division, while the Brainstorms held on to third place in their age group. “You all did great!” Josh pumped his fist. “I’m proud of all of you.”
“We’re going to do even better next year,” Mouse said. “First place here we come!”
They cheered and rehashed the day’s highlights as they piled into the vans, but as the long drive home unwound, they grew more subdued. Some of the kids fell asleep, while others listened to iPods or texted friends back home.
“What are your impressions of the day?” Amy asked. She leaned forward in her seat, notebook in hand.
“It was great for the kids,” he said. “It made science fun, and they got to hang out with students from other schools who share their interests. I hope we’ll do this again next year, with more kids involved and with more school support. Maybe hold an in-school event to generate interest and help our students prep for the regional event.”
“You’re really excited about this.”
“If the teacher isn’t excited, how is he going to get the students interested?” he asked. “What about you. Did you have fun today?”
“I did,” she said. “The kids were great. And I enjoyed seeing you interact with them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that it’s a different side of you.”
What side of me is that? he wanted to ask, but didn’t. Maybe he was afraid of her answer. She’d gone from painting him as someone who’d cheated his way into a job to almost grudgingly admitting he was a good teacher, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what else she saw when she looked at him.
When they pulled into the school parking lot a group of parents were waiting. They piled out of the van and were greeted with cheers and hugs from moms and dads. As Josh came around from the driver’s side, he saw Chase stiffen and heard him swear under his breath. He followed the boy’s gaze and saw Gerry Wilson moving toward them, his face flushed, his gate unsteady.
“I need to talk to you,” Gerry said.
But Wilson wasn’t addressing his son. He stabbed a finger at Josh. “You’ve interfered where you don’t belong.”
“Dad, please.”
Wilson ignored his son. “I want a word with you.” He poked at Josh’s chest. Josh could smell the liquor on his breath. His eyes were red, his speech slightly slurred.
“Why don’t we go inside to my office, Mr. Wilson.” Josh tried to take the man’s arm, but Wilson resisted.
“I don’t want to go inside.”
“Dad, just shut up,” Chase said.
The boy looked close to tears. Around them, others were frozen by their cars, staring. Amy took out her phone. “Do you want me to call someone?” she asked.
Josh shook his head. “I’ll handle this. What did you want to talk about, Mr. Wilson?”
“You talked my son into joining the army. He’s my son. You had no right.”
“Chase asked me about my military service, and I answered his questions,” Josh said. “That’s as far as it went.”
“You want him to go over there and get shot up like you?” Wilson’s voice rose. “Is that it? You’re tired of being the only cripple in town?”
“Coach Scofield didn’t have anything to do with my thinking about enlisting.” Chase gripped his father’s shoulder. The boy’s face was white as paper. “You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m your father. I have to protect you from people like him.”
“Come on, Dad. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m your father—you should respect me.” He took an awkward, clumsy swing at the boy.
Chase ducked, and Josh caught the man’s hand in the air. “That’s enough,” he said. “Are you going to go home quietly, or do I need to call the police?”
Wilson stared at his fist, then at his son, as if suddenly realizing what he’d done. He wilted. “I’ll go,” he mumbled. “Let me go.”
Josh shoved him away. Wilson stumbled back, then righted himself. Chase took his father’s arm. “It’s okay, Coach. I’ll drive him home.” Not waiting for an answer, he led the older man away.
Josh turned back to the van, away from the crowd of staring onlookers. “You handled that well,” Amy said softly.
“When he swung at Chase I wanted to deck him, but the guy was drunk.” He leaned into the van, ostensibly checking for anything the kids might have left behind. No one would bother him if he looked busy.
No one but Amy, though somehow right now her presence didn’t annoy him. He almost welcomed her company. “He probably deserved to be decked,” she said. “But you did the right thing. Not every man would have exercised such self-control.”
“A few years ago, I probably would have let him have it. I guess I used up a lot of my anger lying in a hospital bed in Landstuhl.”
“Brent had a bad temper. Not with me, but he wasn’t very patient with other people’s shortcomings.”
This admission surprised him. He’d wondered what her husband had been like. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said.
“Nobody is.”
He glan
ced over his shoulder. The parking lot was clearing out, the excitement having died down. “Are you going to write about this for the paper?”
“No!”
Her face flushed, and the hurt look in her eyes made him feel sick. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Give me credit for having some judgment.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry I came down so hard on you about the prom story, too. You’re just doing your job and I need to accept that.”
“I’m not your enemy.” She rested her hand on his shoulder—a light touch, but he felt the weight of it seeping into him, brushing against a vulnerability he kept locked tightly away.
“I know.”
He felt such a connection with her, an attraction he had to fight—she’d made it clear she didn’t intend to stay in Hartland, and now that he’d finally made it home he was here to stay. So he wouldn’t get too close. He wasn’t sure if he could be friends with her and not make it mean more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEAD FULL OF the afternoon’s events, Amy was greeted at the door to her grandmother’s home by an ecstatic Chloe.
“We have a puppy!” the little girl shouted, then ran to embrace a squirmy ball of fluff. The pup licked her daughter’s face, then gamboled away, Chloe in pursuit.
“Neal gave it to me,” Bobbie said, before Amy could ask. “I used to have a dog like it once, and it was good company. And I thought Chloe might like the pup.”
Girl and puppy rolled together on the rug, then lay side by side, panting. Chloe wore an expression of pure joy. “Obviously she does,” Amy said.
“They’re pretty cute together.” Bobbie carefully lowered herself into her favorite recliner.
Amy left her bag on the table by the door and took her usual place on the sofa. “What kind of dog is it?”
“Neal called it a heeler-hound cross, but really it’s just a mutt. He saw it at the shelter, where he was doing some carpentry work, and thought it would make a good companion.”
Child and dog had apparently fallen asleep where they lay, the girl curled protectively around the pup. It would have made a darling picture, but Amy feared if she tried to retrieve her camera from across the room she’d disturb them and spoil the shot. “I never had a dog before,” she said. Her family’s nomadic lifestyle hadn’t allowed for pets.
“Time you did, then.”
“His name is General.” Chloe opened her eyes and sat up. “Because Mr. Neal said he was a general sort of dog.”
Amy laughed. “Then I guess the name suits him.”
“Chloe’s going to help me take care of General,” Bobbie said.
“I can feed him and walk him, and I have to teach him to go potty outside.”
“That’s good.” But what was going to happen when it came time for Amy and Chloe to move away? Had Bobbie seen this as a furry roadblock to their leaving?
“How was the science fair?” Bobbie asked.
“Science bee. It was great. Our teams took second and third place, even though it was only their first year to compete. Josh is hoping they can do it again next year.”
“So you had a good time today.”
“I did. Though those kids are smarter than I ever was, at least when it comes to science.”
“Maybe if you’d had a teacher who made the subject as interesting as Josh does, you’d know more. Homeschooling can be good, but you miss out on things like that.”
“My father was not the most patient science and math teacher,” Amy admitted. Her dad much preferred guiding tourists through the jungle or rafting wild rivers than sitting at a table drilling his daughter on the periodic table. “But, I got to see a total eclipse in Argentina, and opal mines in Australia and penguins in Antarctica, so you can’t say my education was lacking.”
“No, I’d never say that. Still, the children in Josh’s class will always remember today—and not just what they learned in class, but the friends they made and the fun they had together.”
Chloe, clearly bored with the adults’ conversation, stood. “Come on, General, let’s go outside,” she said. “You have to go potty.”
The dog obediently trotted after her to the door. When she was gone, Amy turned to her grandmother. “Something upsetting happened when we got back to school this afternoon. Gerry Wilson was there, waiting for his son, Chase. He was drunk, and he practically attacked Josh. He thinks Josh influenced Chase to enlist in the military.”
“Gerry’s had problems with alcohol for a while now,” Bobbie said. “His father was the same way. Families are good for a lot of things, but not when they pass along their problems to their children. It might be good for Chase to join the military—get away from here for a while.”
“Maybe. But what if he’s hurt—like Josh? Or killed?” She didn’t add “like Brent.” There was no need.
“That would be a tragedy. But Josh has done well for himself. You didn’t know him before he went away, but he had a pretty hot temper. He’d jump to conclusions and act without thinking. The war and everything he went through matured him. Made him more thoughtful. It’s probably one of the reasons he’s so good with the kids.”
“He still jumps to conclusions about me,” Amy said.
Bobbie smiled. “Most men don’t act completely rational around women,” she said. “Especially women they’re attracted to.”
Amy’s cheeks burned. “Josh is not attracted to me. He doesn’t even like me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
She was not going to argue with her grandmother about Josh; she knew the truth, even if Bobbie refused to see it. Instead, she sought to change the subject. “You’re not using your walker,” she said.
“No, and I’m glad to be rid of the awkward contraption. I still have to use a cane sometimes, but at least I can maneuver through the greenhouses without bumping into things.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help you more,” Amy said. “The job at the paper is only supposed to be part-time, but Ed keeps coming up with things for me to do.”
“And I know you love writing a lot more than you do farming.” Bobbie waved away any protest Amy might have made. “You’ve been a big help. The truth is, this place is just too big for a couple of women and some hired hands. It’s probably time I cut back some. Slowed down a little.”
Her shoulders slumped as she spoke, and it was as if she’d removed a mask. Suddenly she looked smaller. Old and tired. Amy tried to hide her dismay. “Maybe you could hire more help or...”
“More help costs too much. No, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Maybe it’s time for me to retire and do something besides tend greenhouses and apple trees. I might like to travel before I’m too old to get around.”
Grandma—travel? Amy wrestled with this new idea. As far as she knew, Bobbie had never taken more than the occasional trip to Montana to visit her sister. She’d remained rooted here in Hartland, while her daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter traipsed the globe. She was the one fixed point in Amy’s otherwise turbulent world. “I guess that would be nice for you,” she said weakly.
“Don’t look so shocked, child. I didn’t say I was leaving tomorrow. I haven’t made up my mind yet. But remember—you don’t have to live the same way your whole life. A little change can be a good thing—or a lot of change, even, depending on your circumstances.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Let’s go see what Chloe and that puppy are up to. She’s already trying to talk me into letting it sleep in the bed with her. I told her I didn’t believe in that, but she’s mighty stubborn. Gets it from her mother, I imagine.”
“I imagine so. Or her great-grandmother.” Amy took Bobbie’s arm to help her down the front steps, and the older woman didn’t resist. There was a time not too l
ong ago when she’d have fought off the help, and the implication that she was weak. Her easy acceptance now unsettled Amy. Grandma might say that change was a good thing, but Amy knew the best way to deal with change was to have an anchor to hold on to while everything swirled around you. Bobbie and Hartland had always been Amy’s anchor, the closest thing she’d ever known to a real home. She didn’t want to imagine life without them there to come back to whenever she needed peace and comfort.
* * *
AS THE END of the school year neared and temperatures climbed, Amy worked long hours in the greenhouses, dealing with the abundant new vegetables. In the orchards, apple blossoms had given way to growing fruit, which had to be thinned by hand in a process that required stripping off half of the baby apples to allow the remaining fruit to grow larger. Amy spent hours standing on ladders with Neal and the high school kids they’d hired to help, while Bobbie directed activities from the ground. Chloe and General scampered among the rows, playing with sticks and the discarded marble-sized apples.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you here to help,” Bobbie said more than once, as they finished up the final day of thinning.
“I can think of worse ways to spend a day than working in an orchard,” Amy said. “And all that climbing and reaching and plucking is a great workout.”
“In my day we just called it work,” Bobbie said. “But you might be on to something. I could call it the apple orchard workout and charge people to come do the thinning for me.”
“Get a celebrity endorsement and you’re on your way,” Amy said.
“We’re pretty short on celebrities here in Hartland, so I guess I’ll make do the way I’ve always done.”
When Amy wasn’t working at the farm, Ed sent her out to cover a sudden flurry of community activities, from store openings to women’s club scholarship ceremonies. On the Tuesday before graduation, she arrived at the school for the dedication of the new garden.
“I’m so glad you could be here.” Erica—who’d decided to abandon the name change to Love Soldier—greeted Amy in the parking lot beside the former storage area. A crowd of parents, teachers and townspeople had gathered for the dedication.