The Wind Harp

by BJ Hoff

  Chapter Six

  From Girl to Woman

  When youth, the dream, departs,

  It takes something from our hearts,

  and it never comes again.

  Richard Henry Stoddard

  Monday went just about the way Maggie had feared it might.

  Tired and touchy because of her lack of sleep and troubled thoughts about Eva Grace, it was all she could do to keep her mind on the children and their lessons. As if they sensed her struggle to stay focused, they behaved like little savages most of the day. Maggie actually had to break up a free-for-all in the school yard during recess between two little seven-year-old girls—Dottie Russell and Sissie Miller—who went after each other over a squirrel tail one of them had grabbed from the other. They were going at it like two mean little pigs in a barnyard brawl when one of the boys came running for Maggie. She was on her knees at the time, trying to clean some horse dung off the bottom of little Timmy Neal’s shoes. Apparently the child had been carrying it around all morning. A souvenir from home.

  It was just her luck that Mr. Stuart had spotted the ruckus from the window of his room. He had the two girls separated and on their way to stand at the front of the building before Maggie could concoct a reasonable-sounding explanation as to why she hadn’t managed to settle the problem herself.

  In retrospect, she supposed she must have appeared somewhat wild-eyed, because when Jonathan Stuart returned to her, his quizzical look made her feel like a troublesome child herself.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Stuart. I was helping Timmy Neal clean the horse droppings of his shoes. I didn’t realize—”

  “Why didn’t you simply have him wipe it off on the wet grass?” he interrupted.

  She looked at him.

  Indeed. Why hadn’t she? Where was her mind today?

  “I…suppose I didn’t think.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “I see. And our two little scrappers? What was that all about?”

  “As I understand it,” Maggie said with a sigh, “both of them wanted the same squirrel’s tail.”

  He tilted his head slightly, his gaze intensifying. “Yes. Well, that would be worth fighting over, I suppose.”

  “If you’re seven years old.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Mr. Stuart?”

  “Yes, Maggie?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have kept better control.”

  He raised his eyebrows as if surprised. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You can hardly manage to be in two places at once.” After a pause, he added, “The children seem unusually…boisterous today, don’t you think?”

  Maggie nodded. “They are. But it’s probably my fault. I’m…I’ve been somewhat rattle-brained myself. They probably picked up on that.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Well—” Maggie hesitated. “No. It’s just that Eva Grace came home yesterday, and we had a late night. Talking and catching up, you know. And I’m feeling the effects of too little sleep.”

  He smiled. “That must have been a nice surprise for your family. Or were you expecting her?”

  Maggie shook her head. “She arrived before her letter.”

  “Well, I’m hoping to see her. She’s well, I hope?”

  Maggie hesitated, but only a second or two. “She seems fine. She’s by herself though. Richard couldn’t come this time.”

  Something in her tone or her expression must have caught his attention because he stood as if waiting for her to say more. But Maggie could hardly tell him she’d heard her sister crying her first night home. Instead she forced a cheerful note into her voice, saying, “I’d best get my wee rascals back inside. It’s blowing up quite a chill.”

  Still smarting from the feeling that she had disappointed him, Maggie hurried to herd the children into the building

  Jonathan watched her gathering her little ones like a young mother hen collecting her chicks. She moved much as she always had, quickly and efficiently, her expression set in a look of firm purpose.

  Maggie in charge. That was how he had often thought of her when she was wearing that look. The problem these days was that he too often thought of her. Sometimes she would do something, say something, that would remind him of the child she had been. Other times he would find himself surprised and dazzled by the woman she had become.

  Until her recent return to Skingle Creek, Maggie had stayed a schoolgirl in his mind. Not a little girl, of course; she had graduated at sixteen, no longer a child, but not yet a woman. Certainly not the woman she was now. When he thought of her during that time between her graduation and her return—and he had thought of her—he never pictured her as she was now, but only as she had been then.

  In many ways, she was still the same. The intensity and resolve of the young Maggie MacAuley still hovered about her, and she had the same mercurial mind and relentless curiosity she’d always had. Her natural leadership ability and the sense of fairness that had been hallmarks of her girlhood were very much in evidence, and she could grasp a situation and a practical solution almost instantaneously.

  But in other ways she was noticeably and disturbingly different. Never flighty or careless, she seemed more optimistic and happier than she had been as a child. She’d lost some of the solemnity that had once characterized her personality.

  Her earlier awkwardness had completely disappeared. Jonathan couldn’t quite stop a smile. Maggie as a youngster had been tall for her age and often reminded him of a young colt, one that hinted of a future grace and panache, but for the time being was all long legs and ungainly movements. She still had a spattering of light freckles bridging her nose and high cheekbones, and the red hair she had always detested still blazed and worked its way out of control most of the time. But what had appeared wild and incorrigible on the young girl seemed a fiery glory on the young woman.

  She has become quite lovely. Quite lovely indeed…

  Jonathan balled his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles hurt. A painful tightness gripped his throat. It took an effort to get his breath. He had allowed his thoughts to roam into forbidden territory. His mood suddenly went dark and angry—angry at his carelessness. He dared not let himself go down that road.

  Years ago—her last year in Skingle Creek—that same constriction in his chest had seized him when he least expected it. It was the week of her graduation, and it had suddenly dawned on him that she would soon be leaving Skingle Creek. Maggie was one of six students he had managed to keep in school past the time their classmates had left. Somehow he had compressed two final years of education into one so that those who desired to go on to college were prepared to do so.

  Maggie had been his star student for years. Because of her hard work and high grades—and with the help of a friend on faculty—Jonathan had been able to arrange nearly a full scholarship for her at the University of Cincinnati.

  On the day he still remembered with some chagrin, he’d been going over some of the course offerings with her, trying to answer her questions. He was seated at his desk with her standing beside him, bending over slightly to follow the list he’d made for her. It was a warm springtime day, and she’d been outside with the younger children earlier. He turned to look up at her, and at the same time her hair accidentally brushed his temple. Suddenly the warm scent of sunshine from her hair fell over him like a veil. He couldn’t breathe, nor could he tear his gaze away from hers.

  Something sparked in her eyes—surprise, but something else too…something that at the time, at least, he interpreted as fear. To this day humiliation still washed over him at the thought that something in his expression might have frightened her.

  For his own part, what had gripped him that day had been the dizzying realization that he was attracted to her. Strongly attracted. To a student. And to a student who was very special to him, at that.

  Until that moment, he hadn’t named the attraction for what it was. He had believed himself incapable of anything of the sort. The
years between them, his situation as her teacher and a person in authority over her had enabled him to pretend that he could keep any improper feelings well in check.

  Obviously, he’d misjudged himself. What seemed to make matters worse, he had always been genuinely fond of Maggie MacAuley. As a child, she’d been a bright and challenging student who grew into an even more challenging adolescent, one who knew her own mind and was determined to make something good of her life, something more than Skingle Creek could offer her. Jonathan’s regard for her had always been complicated. He liked and respected her for her strong individuality, but also for the exceptional person he sensed she would one day become.

  To this day, he honestly believed that mere physical attraction to a pretty teenager wouldn’t have shaken him to the depth of his being had it not been for that special fondness he held for the girl, the affection and respect he’d always felt toward her in spite of her youth. Even so, there was no denying that those last few weeks—perhaps even months—before she’d gone off to college had been a time of confusion and distress because of the impossible appeal she held for him.

  A sudden cold blast of wind from the darkening sky roused him from his unsettling train of thought, reminding him that he was standing outside alone in the school yard, foolishly leaving his entire class to enjoy an extended period of unaccustomed freedom. If he dawdled any longer, Carolyn Ross would soon come marching out the door to make sure he hadn’t fallen in the creek or hit his head on a rock.

  He sighed and started toward the building.

  Chapter Seven

  Uneasy Thoughts

  Silence has its victories,

  But peace is seldom one of them.

  Anonymous

  Every day for a week Jonathan watched Selma Lazlo for a sign of what he had begun to suspect after his visit to her home. He asked Maggie to do the same with little Huey. By Friday, however, he was beginning to doubt his suspicions. While Corey Duggan rang the afternoon dismissal bell, Jonathan stood, reminded the class of their book reports due Monday, then went to the door to send them on their way for the weekend.

  He watched the Lazlo girl, as usual the last to leave, trudge partway down the school yard and then turn to wait for her younger brother. Until Huey met up with her and took her hand, she stood alone. Quiet and slow in her movements and responses, the ten-year-old Selma typically kept to herself. In fact, she seemed to have no friends. It was almost as if she faded in the presence of others, absorbed by the group.

  Jonathan had often noticed her standing off by herself in the school yard while the other girls played tag or jumped rope. More than once he encouraged some of the other children to include Selma, and at first they tried. But Selma refused them too many times, and eventually they stopped asking.

  Her lack of participation in any activity both puzzled and troubled Jonathan. Selma was a plain child, somewhat larger than the other girls her age, with light-brown hair cut short and straight. Her clothing was drab, worn, and usually patched. She was typically solemn. Although Jonathan frequently tried to coax a smile from the girl, he rarely succeeded. She seldom met his eyes and, instead, kept her gaze fixed on her desk except to concentrate on the chalkboard during a lesson.

  He had seen no indication of severe punishment or beatings, nor had Maggie in young Huey. But experience had taught him that the signs of mistreatment were easily concealed by a child’s clothing; he had learned to look for more than visible evidence. Selma’s withdrawn, evasive manner had put him on the alert, and his meeting with the children’s parents had set off all manner of alarms.

  When a situation like this arose, he had to steel himself to not overreact, to not rush to judgment. He couldn’t go accusing parents of something so heinous simply because they were “different” or because a child seemed particularly shy or solitary. And yet in all the years he had been teaching, only on one occasion had he come close to judging a man guilty when he’d been innocent—at least of any physical maltreatment.

  There had been widespread rumors about Judson Tallman, the mine superintendent, in part because of the suspicious disappearance of his wife—a disappearance that even today remained a mystery. Tallman’s son, Kenny, had raised Jonathan’s suspicions by certain aspects of his behavior, but as it turned out, the only physical violence Kenny had suffered had been at the hands of two of his classmates, which the boy had endured in an attempt to protect his best friend, Maggie MacAuley.

  Jonathan shook off the memory. His concern was with the present. So strong were his instincts that he had to struggle not to act on them. But he had nothing to go on except his own suspicions, so for the time being he could only keep a watchful eye on the children.

  Maggie looked up to see Jonathan Stuart standing in the doorway of her room, watching her with a smile. Instinctively she put a hand to her braid to see if it was still secure. For once it was.

  “Mr. Stuart?”

  “May I have a moment, Maggie?”

  “Of course. In fact I was about to come looking for you,” she said.

  He walked the rest of the way into the room. “Something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all. Mum wanted me to invite you for Sunday dinner this weekend. She thought you might want to visit with Eva Grace a bit, and Da was saying it’s been too long since you’ve come for a meal.”

  His face creased into an even wider smile. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than enjoy one of your mother’s Sunday dinners.”

  Pleased, Maggie tucked away the last of the children’s homework papers in her satchel. When she looked up, his expression had changed.

  “Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry—I’m afraid I’ve forgotten something. Another engagement. It completely slipped my mind.”

  He seemed to be genuinely disappointed, as was Maggie. But he also seemed embarrassed, so Maggie hurried to reassure him. “Why, that’s all right, Mr. Stuart. Maybe next week. You can let me know later.”

  He nodded, his face still flushed. “Yes. Yes, definitely next week. If it’s all right with your mother, that is. I do apologize…”

  “Don’t give it another thought, Mr. Stuart. I expect you get a lot of invitations out, what with you being…”

  It was Maggie’s turn to be embarrassed. Perhaps he would just as soon not be reminded of his bachelor status.

  But he merely smiled and shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I do get my share of invitations. I suppose being one of the few bachelors in town has certain advantages. I eat rather well. But to tell you the truth, your mother’s cooking can’t be matched…nor the company around her table. You thank her for me, Maggie. And if next Sunday is convenient for her, it’s good for me. Will Eva Grace still be here?”

  “Oh, I think so,” said Maggie. “She hasn’t said anything about leaving yet.”

  “Well, then—” He hesitated, looking around the room. “Is there anything you need before I leave?”

  “No. Thank you, Mr. Stuart. But was there something you came to see me about?”

  “Oh, yes! I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you about Huey Lazlo. I noticed he’s been here every day this week. How has he seemed to you?”

  Maggie thought for a moment. “He’s been quiet, but he always is. I suppose he’s well enough.”

  “All right then. Just keep a close watch, would you? And you have a good weekend, Maggie.”

  He seemed in a hurry to leave. As she watched him go, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder what his other Sunday engagement was. Not that it was any of her business.

  Still, she couldn’t altogether dismiss the disappointment she felt at the thought of not seeing him for two days.

  Jonathan was still berating himself when he got home. Maggie’s invitation had appealed to him far more than the one he’d already accepted. He looked around the dim entryway before shrugging out of his coat and loosening his tie. After a moment he headed for the kitchen to get a glass of milk. He felt strangely at odds, even a little irritable as he stood looking out the kitc
hen window onto his backyard.

  He didn’t like Fridays. There was something about coming home to an empty house at the end of the week that was different from other days. More and more lately he felt restless and even somewhat out of sorts Friday evenings. He stayed fairly busy on weekends, working around the house or helping out with something or other at the church. Sometimes he had dinner plans or took in a social at the town center. But there was a loneliness that settled over him on Fridays before he even left the school building. He had an idea what was responsible for his mood, though he didn’t like admitting it…even to himself.

  Most everyone looked forward to the weekend. The children, especially, couldn’t wait to get out of school on Friday afternoons. They usually raced down the school yard to the road after dismissal as if they were trying to outrun a barrage of fireballs at their backs. The weekend was a time for doing things with others. Families met for meals. Young couples went walking out. Often there was a square dance or a church dinner going on. It was a time when people came together.

  Unless, that is, you were a bachelor approaching middle-age with no family nearby and whose friends were all married.

  He walked into the living room and lighted the oil lamp by the sofa. It was cold enough for a fire, but instead of starting one he sat down and put his feet up and his head back. Most of the afternoon light was already fading, making way for dusk. He thought he might take a nap, but instead he sat staring into the cold fireplace.

  He’d been thinking about getting a dog for companionship, but every time the thought occurred to him he would reach the same conclusion: it was unfair to leave an animal alone all day while he was at school.