Especially Ross Hollister.
''No, thank you just the same. I can walk with the children." She yanked her gloves on, refusing to meet his gaze.
"They're gone," he said, walking to the lamp that burned on the desk.
"Gone?" she repeated. Then the room suddenly plunged into darkness. Slowly, she made her way along the wall to the doorway, not waiting for her eyes to adjust to the moonlight coming in through the windows. She bumped into the edge of a desk and the sound grated in the still, dark room.
"Wait," Ross called to her. But she kept going.
Out in the hall, Irene felt her way toward the main entrance. She could hear Ross crashing into desks in his haste to follow her, uttering a few unintelligible oaths.
Once her hand grasped the cold metal of the doorknob, she pulled the door open. Thankfully, the moon shone bright enough to reflect light off the snow, giving the impression of illumination from the ground instead of the sky. At least she would be able to see herself home without bumbling along in the dark. She hurried down the stone steps.
Ross made his way down the pitch-black hall to the door, wishing he had the eyes of a cat or at least the agility of one. When he reached the door, he pulled it open and closed it behind him, all in one swift, smooth movement. Through the dappled moonlight he spied her moving under the bare maple trees across the schoolyard. He took the steps quickly and with sure-footedness and sprinted though the crusted snow until he reached her side.
"I said I'll walk you home," he repeated his earlier offer, but it sounded more like a command even to his own ears.
Ignoring him, she continued on her way.
In silence, they followed the descent and incline of the ravine to her back doorshe with her back ramrod-stiff and he with his jaw clenched.
At the door she faced him. "You see? It wasn't necessary for you to walk with me."
"I never said it was. I did it because I wanted to, not because I had to." He grasped her gently by the shoulders, leaning toward her.
Her heart pounding, Irene turned her head away. When he released her, she stared through the darkness beneath the brim of his hat to where she knew his cool blue eyes sought hers.
Then, remembering the humiliation she'd suffered at his hands just days earlier and again tonight, she said, "I told you before, I can take care of myself."
Ouietly, he replied, "To whose satisfaction? Yours or theirs?"
Her mouth opened with a gasp of surprise. "I don't believe I owe you that explanation, Mr. Hollister."
"No. But you do owe it to yourself." Then he tipped his hat and turned on his heel, leaving her to stand alone in her quandary.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day passed in a blur for Irenea blur of last lessons, a suddenly ill Joseph, and a desperate search for his replacement. Allen Dickson, who had also wanted the part, was selected. Irene knew it was impossible for him to memorize every word of his lines in such a short time, even though there weren't many. She would have to prompt him through the entire play.
Sending Lydia and Jonathan home for their supper, she stayed behind, too nervous to eat anyway, arranging benches. Her desk had been set up along the side of the room for cookies and fruit punch, which would be brought by several of the mothers. Her own lovely china dishes were already filled with the assorted cookies she and Lydia had made.
She glanced around, pleased with what she saw. Taking a deep breath, she sat on a bench and willed her nerves into submission. Each year it was the same; she was always anxious and hopeful that everything would go well. But this year she was even more so. She knew from many of the looks sent her way by the parents that she walked a fine line between their world and Ross's, and they were waiting to see which way she would fall.
And tonight Mr. Walker, the superintendent, would be there.
She took another deep breath, rose from her seat, checked the watch pinned to her dress, and paced the wooden floor.
Surely, Ross wouldn't show up to further embarrass her. She prayed notoh, she certainly prayed not!though after last night she couldn't he positive he wouldn't come. She'd heard clearly the challenge in his words, had been hearing it over and over ever since. But she would not succumb to his tactics, which bordered very closely to a threat as far as she was concerned. And that threat had her worried.
"Good evening, Miss Barrett," said Mr. Walker, entering briskly through the open classroom door, his military bearing an echo of his army background.
Irene jumped guiltily, but didn't waste a second composing herself. "Good evening, Mr. Walker."
"I see everything is ready," he boomed, surveying the room. "You always were an efficient teacher, one we could be proud of."
The absence of a smile did little to bring the compliment home, but Irene politely answered, "Thank you."
Without waiting to be asked, Mr. Walker helped himself to the cookies beneath the napkins. "You're a very good cook, too," he said appreciatively, eating one cookie and holding another.
"Thank you," she said again, wishing someone else would arrive. Would he take this opportunity to bring up the subject of Ross Hollister?
While munching the second cookie, he walked around the room inspecting window sills for dust. Finding none, he returned to the cookie dishes.
Unable to bear the silence, Irene spoke, "I'm sorry I can't offer you any punch. But Mrs. Dickson should be bringing it soon."
Nodding, he brushed the crumbs from the front of his suit. "I always look forward to her punch."
As though waiting for that introduction, Mrs. Dickson could be heard in the outer hall giving instructions to her husband.
"Do be careful, Mr. Dickson. Please don't spill it!" she reprimanded him.
"I'm being careful," he replied patiently.
Mrs. Dickson hustled in ahead of her husband, leading the way as though he'd never find it without her. "Set it down right here before you drop it."
"I'm not going to drop it." Instead of doing as his wife instructed, he poured the contents of the heavy crock into the waiting bowl. When he'd filled it, he placed the crock on the floor where the desk and the wall met.
Mrs. Dickson looked as though she would wilt from relief.
"I really hated to bring that heavy thing, but it was all I had to carry it in," she said to Irene. Then, without giving her a chance to respond, she turned to Mr. Walker. "Good evening, sir. I suppose Miss Barrett told you that Allen will be playing the part of Joseph tonight?"
"We hadn't gotten around to it yet." He glanced at Irene as if to say they hadn't gotten around to several other things either.
"Well, let me tell you," Mrs. Dickson went on, "Allen has been working very hard on memorizing his lines. I don't believe he will let you down, Miss Barrett." She smiled proudly.
"I'm sure he'll do his best and we'll all be proud," Irene answered.
Then the other parents, along with their children, began streaming in. Each child already wore his or her costume; some ducked their heads self-consciously while others chatted nervously with the children around them.
Suddenly having plenty to do, Irene left the refreshment table to the capable hands of Mrs. Dickson, who gladly informed everyone bringing cookies that her son had the leading part.
Keeping one eye always on the door in case Ross appeared, Irene organized the stars, cows, and sheep to one side of the platform stage while the shepherds, Mary, and Joseph stood at the other side. Then, after a brief welcome to the audience, she took her place in an offside chair where she could easily prompt those who needed it. Before sitting, she perused the crowd quickly for a glimpse of Ross, but to her relief he was not there.
With her back to everyone, Irene focused on the written play laying in her lap and the participants before her. She blocked from her mind as best she could that her audience contained many who disapproved of the way she led her life, including her mother sitting front and center.
Whether the children took their cue of nervousness from her or not,
she couldn't be sure, but from the beginning everything went wrong. A few of the sheep jostled a cow, and a scuffle ensued but was quickly contained by a nearby star. Unfortunately, the star lost her balance and fell, unhurt, from her chair. Irene jumped up to aid the little girl and stand her securely on her perch once more. After a few deep chuckles subsided, the play continued.
Allen Dickson proved to be a very apt pupil, surprising her as well as his mother by learning not only his lines but most of Mary's as well. Showing almost no restraint, he prompted Mary nearly every time she had a line until finally, provoked beyond measure, she landed a well-aimed punch to his stomach.
At that moment, Irene called an intermission while she and the two mothers attended to the behavior of Mary and Joseph.
When the play resumed, things went much better even though Mary sent threatening looks toward Joseph, who in turn eyed her warily. At the end of the program, they all took their bows before a smiling, well-entertained audience.
Afterward, Irene gratefully took a cup of punch poured by Mrs. Dickson and mingled with the crowd, accepting congratulations spiced with a few words of advice. Smiling politely, she listened with one ear, all the while skimming the sea of faces apprehensively for one possible latecomer.
Sidling up to Irene, Winnie whispered, "Looking for someone?"
With a sudden twist of her head, Irene briefly glared at her mother before seeking friendlier Company. She didn't like being watched, nor did she like being reminded of her own vacillating emotions. But as usual, her mother perceived her every nuance of feeling almost before she herself was aware of it.
In her flight across the room, she was intercepted by Mr. Walker.
"Miss Barrett, I just want to say what a fine job you and the children have done." He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "In spite of a few unexpected events. Congratulations." He paused, a long pause heavy with meaning. "I know we can always count on you."
Irene heard quite clearly his emphasis on the word always. She also caught the full brunt of what he hadn't said; it would have been impossible to misunderstand. Her actions were under scrutiny and her position hung in the balance. She'd realized that as soon as he'd entered her classroom, and now it was in the open between the two of them, no longer hearsay from Clara.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," he went on, "I must be getting home."
She was dismissed. A flush of anger climbed from her collar to her cheeks.
He nodded smartly, made his way through the thinning group, found his coat, and departed.
Watching him go, Irene felt a fierce need to be alone,
but that would be impossible until every last person had gone. The strain and tension built within her until she could barely smile.
After an interminably long time, the last set of parents left. Only Winnie, Lydia, and Jonathan stayed behind. Thanks to some of the men, the desk and benches had been returned to their normal places, and she remembered that the last time it had been Ross who'd performed the task.
"Well," Winnie said, buttoning her coat. "Are we ready?"
Irene nodded.
"Just think. No school for a while and Christmas is only two days away."
"I'm too tired to get excited right now," Lydia said behind a yawn. "But I will be tomorrow."
"Me, too," agreed Jonathan.
Silently, Irene added her hopeful agreement.
Ross pounded the nail home and added one last hit for good measure. Sitting back on his haunches, the hammer across his thigh, he surveyed the almost-finished room. It wasn't anything fancy, just rough sawn boards across the rafters and side walls. He'd added a partition to make the attic room smaller, so he could heat it fairly well with the round stove he'd purchased. Rubbing his cold hands against the sides of his trousers to create a little friction for heat, he turned to Ben, who had been helping him.
"What do you say we go downstairs and get warm?"
"Sounds good to me. I hit my thumb a while ago and didn't even feel it."
Chuckling, Ross clapped him on the back. "I know what you mean."
It was early in the day and they had closed up for the holidays, since it was Christmas Eve, telling everyone he wouldn't be open tomorrow and they should all stay home with their families. There had been a little grumbling but most of his customers looked guilty, not saying a word.
Ross made a pot of coffee, motioning Ben to have a seat at a table. "Got any family around these parts?"
"Nope. Never did get married. Just a brother over in Indiana," Ben answered.
"Me neither. Just Harry, wherever he is." He sat down to wait for the coffee to boil. "But this town feels like home as much now as it did before." He grinned. "In spite of the occasional ruckus raised in here."
Ben shook his head in disgust. "What d'ya suppose ever got them women to thinkin' you'd open a whorehouse upstairs?" he said, pointing at the ceiling.
Ross shrugged. "Rumors and fear, I guess."
"You're mighty understandin' considerin' how much damage they managed to inflict on the business." He looked around at the mended tables and chairs. "Serve 'em right if you did bring in a few doves." Ben smiled. "Some from Denver, maybe? I hear they're somethin'."
"Then they'd probably burn the place down. No thank you, not if I'm going to live here."
"Hell, they'd like to burn it down anyway."
They sat in thoughtful silence, each contemplating what he would do if such an event happened.
Shaking himself free of the morbid thought, Ross asked, "What kind of plans do you have for Christmas?"
"Thought I'd put a hole in the ice and do a little fishin' above the dam a ways. How 'bout you?"
"I haven't even noticed Christmas for years. I guess not having a family does that to a fellow." He got up and poured the coffee into two mugs. "Maybe I'll join you on the ice."
"Plenty of room," Ben said, swirling the hot coffee until the floating grounds coagulated into the center. He sat the cup down and waited for them to sink. "I thought maybe you'd get an invite from the teacher."
"I doubt it. But I'm not going to let that stop me." Ross leaned his chair back, balancing it on two rickety legs.
Ben liked his boss. He wasn't afraid of much, was kind to little kids, and he sent people away from his business because he believed they should stay home with their families. Yep, he plain-out admired the man. "What about her mama? I hear she's a tough one."
"Tough?" Ross grinned. "Just smart."
Swigging his coffee, Ben watched Ross over the brim of his cup. Nope, he decided, this man didn't let anything stand in his way once his mind was made up. He could see it as plain as day in the confident set of his jaw.
"What do you know about this Andrew fellow that Irene was supposed to marry?" Ross asked.
"Not much. 'Course there wasn't much to know. Either you liked him or you didn't," Ben answered.
"Doesn't sound as though you cared for him."
Ben shrugged. "Hard to care about a dandy. Seemed to think he was better than anybody else, if you could see beyond that shining smile of his. Except for Miss Barrett, I doubt if he had any real true friends. Never saw him actually help a fella out if he needed it. 'Course, there was Howard, but I never got the impression they were much more than partners." Ben pushed his empty cup aside. "Even Howard come in once in a while for a drink. But that was before he got married," he finished with a grin. "Guess you can't hold that against a man."
"No, I guess not." Ross brought his chair down on all fours with a thud. "Well, I suppose we'd better get back to work if we're going to get it finished before Christmas."
"Sure enough."
The two men walked to the stairs. In a friendly gesture, Ross thumped Ben on the back. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help."
"Don't mind at all. What else would I be doing?"
"Fishing maybe?"
Ben stopped. "Hmm. You got a point there."
They worked together with only the sound of hammers pinging against
nails while the smell of freshly cut wood added a clean smell to an otherwise musty attic. By five o'clock they had the walls finished.
Surveying the neatly enclosed room, the framed window and double paneled door, Ross experienced a surprising amount of satisfaction at the results of his handiwork. He barely noticed the soft new callouses appearing on his hands and fingers where the old ones had faded. He simply felt good.
Next, they carried in the bed from the unfinished side of the attic and set it up, placing a warm feather mattress on top.
Staring at the bed, Ben asked, ''Are you sure you won't reconsider about those doves from Denver?"
Ross only laughed at the forlorn look on Ben's face.
They struggled with the heavy iron stove until, finally, it stood along a sidewall where a hole awaited the pipe for the chimney.
"What do you say we try it out?" Ross asked, gathering up some scraps of leftover pieces of siding."Sounds good to me."
With a little patience and a lot of coaxing, the small fire soon turned into a roaring hot one.
"Better shut down that damper or we'll burn ourselves out with no help from the women of this town," Ben said, rotating the arm connected to the flap inside the chimney.
Sitting on the edge of his new bed, Ross stared at the flames through the glass in the door of the stove, barely listening to Ben's words. He'd move out of the inn tonight, he decided, and with the pile of blankets he'd bought from the mercantile he'd be as cozy as two butterflies in a cocoon. Well, almost.
"Guess I'll be getting on over to my place," said Ben. "Unless you need some help bringing your things down here."
Shaking his head, Ross said, "No, thanks. All I've got are a couple of valises." He stood. "Thanks again for your help."
"Don't mention it." Ben walked to the door. "I'll be on the ice in the morning."
"I'll be there, but I have something to do first."
"Got anything to do with the teacher?" Ben asked with a grin.
Ross smiled. "Yep."
Irene wrapped the porcelain doll with soft flannel and tucked it into the small wooden cradle she'd had specially made. Thoughtfully, she stroked the long brown curls that were so much like Lydia's, wondering if she'd made a mistake. Perhaps Lydia would think she was too old to play with dolls, and maybe she was. But Lydia had carried too much responsibility for a girl so young and for such a long time that Irene believed she needed the chance to be a child with childhood fantasies, if only for a while. And if she herself hadn't been able to resist the beautiful doll, how could Lydia resist it? Irene hoped she couldn't.
Abiding Love Page 18