Testing His Patience

by Lyn Cote

  “We hear the district attorney was called to your school,”

  Mrs. Dottie Dukesberry said, leaning forward in her chair.

  Patience nearly dropped her glass of iced tea. “The district attorney?”

  “Yes, his son is in your class. Little Darby.”

  “Oh.” Patience hadn’t realized that Gil Montgomery was the D.A.

  “So what did you think of Gil?”

  What had she thought of Gil Montgomery? The image of him, compact and powerful-looking, with chocolate-brown hair, tantalized Patience like a warm breath on her neck. She hid a shiver. He’d made an impression on her with his blue eyes, well-cut suit and shined wing tips. But he was the father of a student.

  Be sure to read all three titles in

  Lyn Cote’s SISTERS OF THE HEART series:

  Gracie’s story—

  His Saving Grace (LI#247, 4/04)

  Patience’s story—

  Testing His Patience (LI#255, 6/04)

  Connie’s story—

  Loving Constance (LI#277, 11/04)

  Books by Lyn Cote

  Love Inspired

  Never Alone #30

  New Man in Town #66

  Hope’s Garden #111

  Finally Home #137

  Finally Found #162

  The Preacher’s Daughter #221

  *His Saving Grace #247

  *Testing His Patience #255

  LYN COTE

  now lives in Wisconsin with her husband, her real-life hero. They raised a son and daughter together. Lyn has spent her adult life as a schoolteacher, a full-time mom and now a writer. Lyn’s favorite food is watermelon. Realizing that this delicacy is only available one season out of the year, Lyn’s friends keep up a constant flow of “watermelon” gifts—candles, wood carvings, pillows, cloth bags, candy and on and on. Lyn also enjoys crocheting and knitting, watching Wheel of Fortune and doing lunch with friends. By the way, Lyn’s last name is pronounced “Coty.”

  Lyn enjoys hearing from readers, and they can contact her at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54568, or by e-mail at l.cote@juno.com.

  TESTING HIS PATIENCE

  LYN COTE

  Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those

  who trespass against us.

  —Luke 11:4

  To my editor, Diane Dietz.

  Thanks for all your cheerful help

  and skillful guidance. You inspire me.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed the second story of my Sisters Of The Heart series. In the first book of the series, His Saving Grace, Gracie finally woke up Jack, the man she’d loved for years, and, finally, he had enough sense to claim her as his own. At their wedding in the end of Testing His Patience, I introduced Connie, the third “sister of the heart.” The final book will be her story. Look for Loving Constance in November 2004.

  Gil and Patience carried a lot of “baggage.” But the largest was a lack of forgiveness. It’s hardest to forgive those who hurt us the most. However, we know we must forgive because Christ loved us first and forgave us. Forgiving isn’t easy unless we remember that forgiving someone who has hurt us really frees us—once and for all—from the power of past pain. It brings hope and new life.

  Forgiveness isn’t saying wrong wasn’t done; it’s just letting go of our anger, cleaning it out of our lives and our souls. Let God take care of the reckoning, as in the Lord’s Prayer—“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” A tall order, but a necessary one.

  Blessings,

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  On a golden early-October afternoon in southern Illinois, Patience Andrews sat at her desk, her head down but her eyes roaming her first-grade classroom. She only wished she had more experience.

  Last year’s student teaching was a far cry from being on her own with twenty-five six-and-seven-year-olds, but it had taught her a few things. For instance, within five minutes on the first day of class, Patience had recognized that Darby Montgomery would be “the challenge” in her first year of teaching. Now she had to figure out how to change this, turn the boy around.

  Darby’s kindergarten teacher had labeled him on his student file as a “behavior problem—needs social worker evaluation.” Patience refused to fall into that mindset. Too often children lived up to what they were labeled. Therefore, the label should be a positive one.

  That much she’d learned from Uncle Mike and Aunt Mary. “And I’ll always be grateful, Lord,” she murmured aloud.

  With his chocolate-brown bangs and eyes to match, maybe Darby just needed extra attention.

  A bouquet of bright yellow and bronze marigolds in a jelly jar, a gift from a student, graced her desk. She touched one soft petal. Then a nattering sound from the windowsill made her glance over. Outside the window, noisy squirrels were busy gathering acorns. They raced up and down the oak tree.

  By contrast, inside the classroom, everyone was copying their spelling list for the week, or trying to in spite of the activity just outside their windows. The children glanced from the words on the chalkboard behind her to the paper on their desks and back again. Many had their faces twisted with intense concentration and gripped their large pencils with pressure-whitened fingertips.

  One brave reddish-brown squirrel scampered onto the classroom’s open windowsill and chattered louder than the rest. The children kept glancing at it and then back at their papers. Patience looked at Darby again. She was right. Darby needed extra attention.

  And he needed it—right now.

  Unlike his fellow first-graders, Darby, sitting three seats back on the window row, wasn’t copying his spelling words. Not a surprise. He was staring at the brave and chatty squirrel. As she watched them both, he half rose from his seat. Was he going to the window?

  “Class!” Patience spoke up.

  Darby froze en route.

  “Time for a stretch! Everybody up beside their desks!” Patience jumped from her seat and stood beside her desk. “Now, everyone stretch your hands high!”

  The class grinned at her as they popped up to follow her example.

  “And bend down low.” Folded in two, Patience made eye contact with Darby. Did he realize she’d been watching him, anticipating him? “Now up high again.”

  To her eyes, he looked confused. Good. If I can just keep one step ahead of him…

  “Very good, class.” Patience let her arms drop. “You may be seated again.”

  The boys and girls settled back into their seats with some giggling and chatter. The bold squirrel at the window still sat on the sill of their open window, appearing intrigued by the class. This surprised Patience. Why hadn’t the sudden activity scared the squirrel back into the tree?

  “Spelling words, please,” she reminded sternly. “We don’t want to have to stay in during recess on this gorgeous day to finish them, do we?”

  Murmurs of agreement preceded the resumption of intense copying. The pleasant silence of busy students blanketed the room, a sound that warmed her teacher’s heart. Patience checked and saw that Darby had finally picked up his pencil. Good. Maybe now he’d get busy with his work.

  In the cheery silence, from the hallway came a sudden yelp and thud. Patience jumped up and ran to the doorway. Down the hall, a silver-haired woman, the s
chool librarian, lay upon the linoleum. She groaned.

  Patience hurried forward. “Are you hurt?”

  The librarian struggled to rise. Patience took her arm and helped her up.

  “There must have been some water on the floor by the drinking fountain,” the woman gasped. “I lost my footing—”

  Sudden shrieks broke over them, echoing off the cement-brick walls. Patience spun around and raced back to her room—just in time to see Darby chasing the inquisitive squirrel around the room.

  Gil Montgomery forced himself not to fidget on the straight-backed chair as he faced Mrs. Canney, the Oakdale principal. It didn’t help that she had been his principal, too. “I don’t see how a squirrel in a classroom could cause such a furor.”

  “That’s hardly the attitude we would like you to take as Darby’s father.” Mrs. Canney looked at him over her half-glasses.

  Right. He scrambled for an acceptable excuse. “I have a case I’m preparing.” And it’s more critical than whatever’s happening in a first-grade class. “I fail to see why you insisted I come here now. It’s not Darby’s fault if a squirrel got in through an open window.”

  “The whole class agreed that Darby enticed the squirrel.” Her lips drawn together like the wrong end of a prune, Mrs. Canney folded her hands on the desk and gazed at him. “Darby went to the window when Miss Andrews had left the room to help our librarian who’d fallen in the hallway. Your son got out of his seat and put a piece of candy on the sill to entice the squirrel inside.”

  “I don’t get it. Squirrels usually run away when a human approaches them. Why didn’t the squirrel just scat?” Gil let himself frown at her. I’ve got too much on my mind for something petty like this.

  “You’re right. This particular squirrel has grown up on the school grounds and I’m afraid children have fed it over the past few years. This makes it behave differently than your average wild squirrel.”

  “So it really wasn’t Darby’s fault.”

  “You’re missing the point, Gilbert.” Mrs. Canney shook her head at him, the loose skin under her neck swaying. “Darby or some other student could easily have been bitten. And I don’t think you’d like him or any child to have to go through the series of rabies shots if that had happened and we hadn’t been able to find the squirrel.”

  Gil realized he was gritting his teeth and relaxed his jaw. “But he didn’t get bitten. No one did.”

  “Darby is too young to be doing this type of stunt,” Mrs. Canney snapped. “This is a fourth-grader prank, not a first-grader prank.”

  This stumped Gil. Was that a compliment or an insult?

  “Now, I want you to take Darby home and talk to him about wild animals and why contact with them should be avoided.” Mrs. Canney pressed the button on her intercom. “Please send Darby in.”

  Darby, his head down, opened the door and edged inside the room. A tall willowy blonde entered behind his son. Gil noticed that she had rested her hand on his son’s shoulder. Was she restraining Darby or comforting him? Gil rose. He couldn’t stop himself from running his gaze over the woman. Very attractive. Very young. Very unsettling.

  “Gil, this is Miss Andrews, Darby’s teacher,” Mrs. Canney introduced them.

  Miss Andrews offered him her hand.

  He took it—so light and delicate—in his. The unusual sensation made him break contact. He tried to read the teacher’s expression. He failed.

  Mrs. Canney shot Darby a stern look and then extended it to include Gil. “Darby, I’m letting your father take you home now. But starting tomorrow, you will spend recess sitting in my office and you will have to stay after school and clean chalkboards for Miss Andrews for the rest of the week.”

  “No recess,” Darby muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets.

  Gil squeezed his son’s shoulder. “No back talk. Apologize to Mrs. Canney for making trouble.”

  “I’m sorry.” Darby stared at the gray carpet.

  “I’m sure—” Miss Andrews looked to Gil. “—Darby didn’t realize that a squirrel might be a danger to the other students.”

  “Now he does.” Mrs. Canney picked up a paper from her desk, dismissing them. “Thank you for coming in, Gilbert.”

  Gil mumbled something, preoccupied with his own thoughts. Miss Andrews’s voice had caught Gil by surprise. What could make a voice that rich and low?

  He let Miss Andrews and his son precede him out the door. The three of them walked down the shadowy, empty hallway. The teacher held herself very straight, and was tall enough to be just inches beneath his own height. He tried to keep his eyes forward, but they kept tracking right to her profile.

  An awkward situation. Gil tried to think of something to say to make her speak again, to hear her voice again. But he could come up with nothing. He didn’t want to talk about Darby’s indiscretion until he’d had time to speak to his son in private. And every other thought in his mind referenced the Putnam case.

  They reached the main school entrance. He started to say goodbye but stopped.

  Miss Andrews had lowered herself to sit on her heels, her nose only inches from his son’s. “Darby, I know you didn’t mean to do something that might hurt you or someone else. But you’ve got to start thinking things out first, okay?”

  “Are you mad at me?” Darby asked in a little voice.

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m sad.”

  “Why?” Darby looked up for the first time.

  “Because you ended up frightening that little squirrel when you chased him—”

  “I was just trying to catch him so he could get back outside. I didn’t think he’d come in for the candy…”

  “You must think before you do things. The squirrel didn’t deserve what happened, to be terrified, did he?” Miss Andrews touched Darby’s cheek with the back of her hand.

  Gil felt the phantom of this touch on his own cheek. What would it feel like to have Miss Andrews speaking to him nose to nose? Stupid question. And it caused his face to warm. He remained in the shadows, a step apart, made mute by this stranger’s compassion to his son.

  “Does terrified mean I scared him?” Darby’s voice quivered and he moved an inch closer to Miss Andrews.

  “Yes. The poor little squirrel didn’t deserve to have people screaming at him and chasing him. Just think how little he is and how big we all looked to him. It was like putting him in a scary movie with huge monsters, only it was real.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare him.” Darby’s voice vibrated with true regret.

  Gil realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled.

  “I know you didn’t. But next time, think first.” She ruffled Darby’s hair and then rose in one swift fluid movement that again caught Gil off guard. She offered Gil her hand again. “Goodbye.”

  He closed his own over her slight hand, still unable to think of a thing to say. “Thanks” didn’t seem adequate.

  She turned and he watched her walk back up the dim, cavernous hall. The feminine swing of her body captured his attention. He couldn’t break away until the shadows obscured her from his view.

  His son tugged on his hand. “Come on, Dad.”

  “Right.” He let Darby lead him out into the molten sunshine of late afternoon, forcing himself to keep his face forward. And hiding his eyes behind his light-sensitive glasses.

  Patience paused at the corner and sighed. The afternoon gossip group lounged on Mrs. Honeycutt’s front porch where Patience rented the upper flat. No way out. She’d stop and chat a few moments, avoiding any gossip and then head upstairs. On such a warm day, she had only one compelling thing on her mind: taking off her hose and slipping into shorts would be heaven.

  She’d been lucky to find such a nice apartment in the small community. From this street of vintage Victorian houses, she walked the few blocks to Oakdale School every day. Overhead, the hundred-year-old maples flamed, side-by-side with bronzed oak leaves. But away from the shade of the tall trees, sun still dazzled the eyes and the
summer heat lingered.

  Patience breathed in deeply and felt the tension of the day begin to disappear from her. She opened the picket gate and started up the walk to the gathering on the porch.

  “Patience!” her landlady, Bunny Honeycutt, called out. “You’re late! Long day?”

  Patience smiled. She couldn’t be cross with Bunny, a woman reminiscent of Aunt Bea in Mayberry, with the same silver hair and bun, but who preferred blue jeans and a strict diet to keep herself thin. An Aunt Bea updated for the twenty-first century.

  Bunny handed Patience her clutch of mail.

  “Tea?” Greta Overwood, a tall woman who wore her steel-gray hair cut in a Dutch boy and who favored wearing her late husband’s clothing, held up an empty pint-glass jar.

  “Yes, a glass of iced tea would hit the spot.” Patience sank into a weathered wicker chair with a frayed cushion. The wicker creaked, a pleasant sound. She let the mail drop into her lap. A little dog yipped next door.

  “We hear the district attorney was called to your school.” Mrs. Dottie Dukesberry, a well-cushioned woman who always wore bright colors, leaned forward in her chair.

  Patience nearly dropped the glass of tea Greta had just handed her. She stared at Dottie, who today sported bright pink slacks and a pink blouse. “The district attorney?”

  “Yes, his son is in your class.” Bunny handed Patience a paper napkin. “Little Darby.”

  “Oh.” Patience thought of what to say next while she sipped the icy tea. She hadn’t realized that Gil was the D.A. The local rumor mill must be active if his visit was already on the street. “Yes, he was.”

  “What happened?” Dottie asked in a distinctive sweet, breathy voice, edging farther forward on her seat.