“I’m glad to hear it. That means you’ll be staying on.”
“Well, I hope so,” I demurred, sitting down again. I glimpsed James Olmstead as he passed the swinging door. He was laughing with all the rest of the men in the bar.
“How are things going at the schoolhouse?” Persall asked me. He put his foot up on a bench and leaned his arms across his raised knee. He seemed in no hurry to get back about his own business.
“I think they are going very well,” I said without fake modesty. “The children are eager to learn. That, of course, makes things easier.”
“Katrina likes you,” Persall informed me.
“That’s nice to know.” I smiled.
“I can understand why,” he said, grinning. “You’re not only smart, you’re nice to look at.” I blushed profusely and wished that Ross Persall would keep his compliments to himself.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he apologized. “I take it you’re not used to being told how pretty you are?”
I did not think of myself as pretty at all, and I looked up at him with a dubious stare. “I don’t want to keep you from your work, Mr. Persall,” I said formally, hoping he would take the less-than-subtle hint.
“It can wait.” He smiled, understanding me very well. “Besides, I don’t think I should leave you on your own out here in the hotel lobby. I saw you noticing James a minute ago. If he finds you out here, you’re liable to get into trouble. This isn’t exactly Sunday School, you know.”
“I’ll get into more trouble if he finds you standing over me, Mr. Persall,” I told him frankly. He shrugged, unimpressed.
“All he needs is a word in his ear, and he’ll leave well enough alone,” he said, showing a hint of indifference at what anyone thought. “And call me Ross. Everyone else in town does. Even our good reverend...” he said in a lower voice as he winked at me.
“You mean he comes in here?” I asked irrepressibly, and Ross laughed.
“Not for every service. He says he comes to reform a few of my best customers, but I think it’s curiosity. A pagan’s den, you might say.”
“I didn’t think I saw you in church.” I grinned.
“Could I hope you were looking for me?”
“Not especially,” I said truthfully, though I had been curious about him since the first day of school.
“What possessed you to become a teacher?” he asked. “They’re usually withered old maids like Miss Greer.” Before I had the opportunity to protest his description of Ellen, Marba Lane came floating through the swinging doors in a red dress with plunging bodice. White feathers drifted back from her curling, elaborate hairdo. I stared as I saw the slit up the front of her dress, which exposed long, shapely legs to mid-thigh. With determination I veiled my look of shock and smiled at Marba Lane, who was looking at Ross Persall.
“What little games are you playing now, Ross?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me Miss McFarland was here? You knew very well I was waiting for her,” she accused.
“Cool down, Marba,” Ross said, straightening up. “You had a show to put on, so I kept our little schoolteacher entertained for you.”
Marba seemed to dislike that answer even more than the fact that Ross Persall had not told her of my arrival. Her eyes swung to me. I stood, still smiling but feeling decidedly uncomfortable. I could feel the tension emanating from the two people on either side of me, and I wished I understood what was going on.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Marba said, jerking her head to indicate the show in the barroom.
“Please don’t be,” I protested. “You have a very pleasant voice. I enjoyed hearing you.” A look passed between Marba Lane and Ross Persall. Marba relaxed slightly.
“I’d almost forgotten that you’re not a snob.” She smiled.
“Pardon me?” I mumbled.
“We can talk upstairs in my room.” And instead of explaining her comment, Marba started up the steps. Ross Persall detained me with a gentle touch on my arm.
“It’s been a pleasure, Miss McFarland,” he said in a low voice for my ears only. “I hope I’ll have the opportunity to speak with you again.” Marba had paused on the stairs and was looking down at us with a strange expression.
“I hope Katrina isn’t giving you any trouble,” Marba said as I caught up with her. She opened her door. The room was lighted by a cut-glass lamp set on a round mahogany table near a window overlooking Main Street. The room was expensively furnished and showed a good decorative sense.
“Oh, no. By the way, where is Katrina?” I asked as I entered the apartment behind Marba. I noticed the open door to the bedroom off to the right. A large double bed with a rich green-satin spread, a polished-brass headboard and a scattering of yellow and white pillows dominated the room. A man’s jacket was tossed carelessly over the end of the bed, and I immediately thought of Ross Persall. It was the same kind of dark coat he had worn the first day I’d seen him.
“Asleep in the next room. She usually goes to bed about eight. I don’t like her hearing the rabble downstairs,” Marba said, stepping behind a screen in the corner to remove her costume. She reappeared a moment later wrapped in a pink-satin robe with a sash tied tightly around her slim waist. The robe fell slightly open at the top, showing off the cleavage of her ample breasts.
“It isn’t exactly a place to raise a kid,” she continued, sitting down on a loveseat and putting her bare feet up. She indicated that I should make myself comfortable in the chair opposite. “But I haven’t got much choice in the matter. I make my living the best way I can,” she went on rather defensively.
“You appear to be doing quite well,” I said, looking around the room. “This is all very nice.”
Marba Lane was watching my face with an inscrutable expression. Her eyes were hard and perspicacious. “Was that what you came to talk about, Miss McFarland?” she asked in a cold voice. “About the way I make my living and how I’m raising my kid?”
I looked at her with surprise. “Good heavens, no. That’s your business,” I assured her quickly. “Oh, I hope that’s not the impression I gave you from my note. Katrina is a very bright little girl and extremely well-behaved. That’s not my reason for wanting to see you.”
Some of the tension went out of Marba, though her expression was still wary.
“Actually, I wanted to talk about the way Katrina dresses for school,” I said.
“The way she dresses?” Marba repeated. She pulled the ostrich plumes out of her hair and tossed them heedlessly onto a table set with a decanter and glasses. “What’s wrong with the way she dresses?”
“Nothing, except that she can’t really play in those pretty frocks. They’re far too nice to get dirty, and so she sits over by the oak and doesn’t join with the other children in their games.” I leaned forward, my hands clasped. “Doesn’t she have something she could wear that she could feel free to play in? Something she wouldn’t be afraid to get dirty?”
Marba did not answer for a moment. “And what makes you so sure the other children would let her play with them, even if she did wear something she could get dirty?” she asked almost belligerently. I knew exactly what she was saying, and I hesitated before answering.
“I can’t, of course,” I admitted honestly. “But by dressing her the way you do, you set her away from the other children. I think Katrina would like to join in their play.”
“I don’t want my little girl getting hurt!” Marba said harshly.
“She’s already hurting, Miss Lane,” I said gently. The woman flinched visibly.
“Listen, Miss McFarland,” she said sharply, sitting up and leaning forward, her eyes penetrating. “I’ve been in a lot of towns. And this isn’t the first school Kat has attended. Children can be cruel. They hear things from their parents, and then they repeat them to Katrina. I don’t want that happening again. Maybe it’s better if she does just sit under the oak by herself.” Tears glistened in her eyes, and I felt a stab of pity. Reaching o
ut, I touched her hand.
“I can’t promise you the same thing won’t happen here. But I can promise that I will do my best to see that it doesn’t.”
“I believe you would.” Marba smiled, and then shook her head dishearteningly. “But you see, that’s just not enough.”
“You said a little while ago that you didn’t like Katrina growing up in a hotel,” I opened a second try.
“There are worse places.”
“Of course. But if you don’t want Katrina spending her life here, allow her the chance to adapt to other people. She’ll have to get along in the world, Miss Lane. You can’t always keep her set apart, and the longer you do, the harder it’s going to be on her. The more it’s going to hurt when she’s faced with leaving you.”
“You don’t understand.” Marba Lane shook her head.
“Maybe not,” I relented and sighed. “But I know what it is to be set apart from people. It’s lonely, dreadfully lonely.”
Marba blinked and considered me more closely. “At least you’re accepted in society,” she said.
I smiled slightly. “Under very special conditions. We all have our place. Some are more restricted than others. Katrina is bright, attractive and young enough to adapt. Maybe she’ll enter social circles larger than the ones you and I are forced to inhabit.” She considered in silence, still looking at me thoughtfully. “It is worth a try, don’t you think?” I pressed my advantage.
Still not agreeing, Marba leaned forward and picked up the crystal decanter. “Would you care for some apricot brandy, Miss McFarland?” she asked with a sparkle of challenge in her eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to try it,” I admitted with a smile that raised a surprise glance from my hostess. “But I’d better forgo the experience this evening.”
“Why?” Marba asked, and I had the feeling she had taken my refusal as an insult.
“Because I saw the chairman of the school board downstairs,” I said in a whisper. “And if I mischanced to meet him with brandy on my breath, I would surely be run out of town on a rail.”
Marba Lane laughed delightedly. “You know, Miss McFarland, I like you. I like you very much. You’re a big improvement over that Prudence What’s-her-name dame. I didn’t care one little bit when she....” She stopped in mid-sentence and looked down at her glass.
“When she what?” I asked curiously, wondering why she had cut herself off so abruptly and gone so pale.
“Oh, nothing. She just quit teaching rather suddenly, that’s all,” she finished, dismissing the subject as she sipped her brandy. She had aroused my curiosity.
“Why was the schoolhouse closed so long after she left?” I asked, wondering why Marba Lane had become so restless and white.
“They couldn’t find another teacher,” she answered hastily, refilling her glass. “No one in town was really qualified to take over other than Miss Greer, of course, and she’s too old. Everyone else has their own job and family to take care of.”
Perhaps the explanation was as simple as that, I thought. Maybe I was making too much of the schoolhouse remaining unused for so long. But there were more important things to consider than what had happened to the previous teacher, I reminded myself.
“Will you think about what we discussed?” I asked, standing up to take my leave. Marba set her glass down and rose as well.
“Yes, I will,” she said, seeming relieved.
“It might help if you talked things over with your daughter. You might even leave the decision to her,” I suggested.
“I might just do that.” Marba smiled, the color now back to normal in her cheeks. “And, Miss McFarland, thank you for speaking with me about it.”
As I walked down the stairs and across the hotel lobby, I heard a familiar voice among the throng in the next room. Startled, I scurried out the front door just as the barroom doors swung back to reveal Jordan Bennett.
My heart was pounding as I skipped down the steps and hurried along the darkened street toward McPherson Street. I had not seen Bennett since the Saturday he had brought the horse and plow to the schoolhouse. Linda and Diego had ridden to school on their ponies without his escort, and I had been relieved not to see him again. I knew he was avoiding me, and I hoped he would continue the practice. It made my life considerably more peaceful, though I had not succeeded in completely obliterating him from my mind. In fact, I thought of him much too often. Reminding myself that he was married did not seem to make a difference.
After hurrying for about a hundred yards, I slowed my pace to normal, not hearing anyone following me. I let out my breath, realizing that I had been restricting it since hearing Jordan Bennett.
As I turned up McPherson, I gasped in frightened surprise as a hand closed on my arm, yanking me into the shadows of the trees and effectively hiding me from passers-by.
“I thought I recognized that provocative walk of yours,” Jordan Bennett chuckled, removing his hand from across my mouth. He had barely managed to cut off my scream.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I quavered, wishing I could make out his face more clearly. His other hand trailed away from my arm as he lounged against the tree trunk, looking at me.
“I thought I might ask you the same question.”
“What are you talking about? Oh, why am I standing here at all,” I muttered furiously to myself and started to move back toward the walkway. Bennett’s fingers dug into my arm again.
“What in hell were you doing at the hotel?” he demanded.
“That’s none of your business, Mr. Bennett. And just what do you think you’re doing!” I gasped again as he gripped my shoulders and pushed me back against the trunk on which he had been leaning. His face came within inches of mine. And my heart was thudding so wildly, I thought he would surely hear it. His eyes were shining through narrow slits.
“I went to the hotel to talk with Marba Lane about her daughter, Katrina,” I prattled frantically, afraid of what he intended to do. His fingers eased their painful hold. He studied my face in the faint moonlight.
“Why didn’t Marba come to you?”
“Because she works, and I thought it would be easier if I went to her,” I said, growing angry that he had frightened me into explaining. Jordan Bennett started to laugh a low laugh that could not be heard beyond a few feet.
“What are you laughing at?” I hissed, trying to shake free of him.
“At you,” he answered, continuing the low chuckling as he looked at my indignant expression. “Oh, Abby McFarland, you do amaze me. You really do.”
“I think you’re drunk,” I accused as scathingly as I could.
“Not quite,” he disagreed pleasantly, and then leaned close to me again. I stepped back hastily, but the trunk of the tree stopped me again. “But as soon as I see you walk into that schoolhouse, I intend to go back and get pie-eyed.”
“You’re disgusting,” I insulted him, becoming even more angry, as my fury only seemed to amuse him more.
“Run along now.” He stepped to one side and bowed low. I moved quickly past him and bent over to emerge from the leafy branches. I jumped forward with a gasp as his hand delivered a hardy slap to my rear. My dagger glance did not even faze him.
“My apologies,” he mocked, laughing. “I just couldn’t resist an opportunity like that one.”
I ran up the street as fast as my long dress would allow me. Entering the dim schoolhouse, I tried to slow the rapid pumping of my heart. I felt like throwing something, anything. And then my eyes caught something written on the blackboard. The words jumped out at me and froze my churning emotions to a jolting standstill: “Leave before it is too late.”
The writing was scrawled, the letters uneven and jerky, as though written by an unsure hand. Or a child. It was not the first such message I had received, and I decided to ignore it as I had the others. Some student was probably playing a practical joke on the teacher, I thought with a wry smile.
Yet, that night I did not sleep well. Once I
awakened and thought I heard crying, but when I listened intently, there was nothing but nerve-pulsing silence.
Chapter Seven
After I returned from my visit with Marba Lane to find the scrawled warning on the blackboard, several weeks passed without a repeat of the occurrence. I forgot all about it, not even remembering to mention the incident to Ellen Greer during our weekly visit.
Other tilings also served to distract me. Katrina had begun coming to school in casual gingham dresses and white pantaloons. With encouragement, several girls had invited her to join in group games. While Katrina was coming out of her shy shell and showing a spontaneous gaiety, Diego Gutierrez was running into further difficulties.
Matthew Hayes, in an effort to gain his father’s esteem, threw himself in direct competition with Diego, who was showing himself to be easily the most gifted student in the class. Both boys were intelligent and ambitious, but Diego was slightly superior. Matthew Hayes possessed a fierce, quick temper and was showing a tendency to be vindictive.
The competition between Diego and Matthew came to a head one day in the schoolyard. Each had been made captain of a ball team. Diego’s team was winning. The two boys, in an effort to get the ball, knocked together accidentally. In a fury Matthew fell on Diego, pummeling him with his fists. Diego was quick and strong. His own temper, never before seen, burst, and he gave the preacher’s son several wallops that knocked him to the ground. Not willing to let it go at that, Matthew jumped up as Diego was walking away, and attacked him from behind.
It took all my physical strength to break the two boys apart, while receiving several blows myself. For an instant I was afraid they might succeed in killing one another. Both boys, as well as myself, were breathing heavily as we stood staring at one another. Diego had a black eye, which was rapidly swelling shut. Matthew's nose was bleeding profusely. He howled curses at Diego, who stood looking at the preacher’s son with the same contemptuous disgust that I had seen mirrored in Jordan Bennett’s face. Afraid to leave the two boys working out their anger without supervision, I decided to put them at opposite ends of the classroom, writing essays on what had happened. As I read them later that afternoon when the children had all gone home, I was appalled at the hatred that had spewed out of Matthew Hayes. Diego’s comments were restricted to the facts.
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