The following day was Saturday, and I set to work scrubbing the schoolroom floor again. A hard rapping at the door announced James Olmstead. He was looking very upset. I dried my hands and waited for him to tell me what was on his mind.
“I’ve been with some of the school-board members in a special meeting,” he began uncomfortably. I steadied my breathing and braced myself, almost sure of what was coming. The two boys were going to be expelled for the fight, and I was about to receive a severe reprimand for allowing the incident to happen in the first place.
“It has come to our attention that Diego Gutierrez beat up Matthew Hayes.”
“That isn’t at all what happened,” I said in surprise. I had suspected that Matthew would go to his father with some tale. I had hoped he would just remain silent on the event.
“What did happen?”
“Matthew Hayes started a fight with Diego Gutierrez over a ball game. Diego was as badly hurt in the fight as Matthew.”
“You shouldn’t have allowed it to happen,” Olmstead condemned me critically.
“No. I should have seen it coming. The boys have been competing in almost everything.”
“Then that makes our decision all the more proper under the circumstances,” Olmstead decided.
“What decision? And what circumstances?” I demanded.
“That Diego Gutierrez be removed from this school. His presence alone is enough to cause trouble. We don’t want our children exposed to his kind.”
“Diego didn’t start the trouble. Matthew Hayes did,” I insisted angrily.
“Were you there to witness the whole thing?”
“Well, no, but the other children corroborated Diego’s story.” From Olmstead’s expression, the children’s decision to side with Diego was another count against him.
“Nevertheless,” he disregarded my defense, “he never belonged in this school. He’s a Mexican. And he’s a bastard. He should not be allowed to socialize with our children.”
A bastard! Jordan’s? A sick feeling dropped into the pit of my stomach.
“You’re slandering the boy, Mr. Olmstead.”
“Everybody in town knows what he is,” Olmstead told me, though he flushed slightly. “Reva Gutierrez has been living with Jordan Bennett for years.”
Oh, God, this got worse by the minute. “Diego Gutierrez has a right to an education whatever the relationship between his mother and Mr. Bennett,” I defended.
“Let Bennett send him somewhere else then. That boy doesn’t belong with decent people.”
I was appalled at the unfairness of Olmstead and the rest of the board members. “And what happens to Matthew Hayes? You won’t be helping that boy by solving his problems this way.”
“Matthew Hayes will return to school as always.”
“Without any disciplinary measures for what he did?” I asked in anger. “He was devious and cowardly in his actions of running to his father with that untruthful story.”
“He defended himself,” Olmstead asserted firmly, as though refusing to believe anything else.
“Nothing will change your mind, will it?”
“You are to go to Eden Rock and tell Jordan Bennett and Reva Gutierrez of the board’s decision.”
“You expect me to carry that odious slander against Diego?” I gasped incautiously.
“It’s more than obvious you favor the boy. Perhaps your favoritism brought on this whole unfortunate incident.”
“I suspect it started long before I ever even heard of Sycamore Hill, Mr. Olmstead. It’s a thing called bigotry.”
“Don’t be impertinent!” Olmstead snapped. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll carry out your responsibilities. And one of your responsibilities is to inform Diego and his parents that he is no longer welcome at this school. Is that clearly understood, Miss McFarland?”
I remembered what Ellen Greer had said about teachers being hard to find because the job was a thankless one. I knew that I could refuse to take this message to Diego, but what was the alternative. James Olmstead would go. Or the Reverend Hayes himself. I could well imagine what would be said to Diego in that case. The boy would be terribly hurt with perhaps a memory that would last him his lifetime. I could not allow that to happen.
“I understand you very well indeed, Mr. Olmstead,” I said coldly. He flushed slightly under my derisive look, and then left.
I sat down and put my head in my hands. How was I going to tell Diego that he was no longer welcome at school because he had defended himself? What would it do to him? On top of the hurt it would cause him, how was I going to face Jordan Bennett with the board’s decision? That I did not approve of it or agree with their reasoning would only make him all the more scornful because I was carrying out their dictates without the courage to fight them. Or could I? What was to stop me from tutoring the boy myself?
Jordan Bennett’s illegitimate son. What kind of wife did he have that would allow her husband’s mistress and son to remain on the ranch? And Reva Gutierrez? What would she be like?
With my Sunday schedule I had little choice but to leave the schoolhouse cleaning for later that night. I would have to ride out to Eden Rock and speak with Diego, Jordan Bennett and Reva Gutierrez. I gave a harsh, almost hysterical laugh as I remembered that James Olmstead had neglected to tell me how to reach Jordan Bennett’s ranch. But the man at the livery stable would know, and I needed a horse and buggy.
When I got to the stable, Charles Studebaker informed me that there were no buggies available, but that Jordan Bennett had donated the gelding for my use. He assured me that the animal was gentle, and having little choice in the matter, I mounted it with some trepidation.
An hour later I was still walking the horse northeast. Studebaker had given me succinct directions. Six miles, stay on the road, turn on the left fork when I came to the bridge.
While riding, I had plenty of time to think. The more I thought, the angrier I became at James Olmstead and his demanding school board. They thought nothing of hurting Diego by their unreasoning prejudice against his parents. How could I lessen the blow to the boy? Were all people as cruel and deceitful as the Haversalls? I had hoped things would be different out here.
For the first couple of miles I had to slap the horse’s rump over and over to keep it going at a steady snail’s pace. It had obviously evaluated my mettle as a rider at the onset and knew that it could do as he wished. However, when I neared the fork, the horse grew more interested. It began to walk at a quicker pace, and I felt only vague relief that I would reach the ranch before the following year!
My relief was short-lived. Just past a dried creek bed, the horse’s ears perked up and pointed forward. Then it broke into a trot. My head bobbed up and down, and I learned quickly to clench my jaws so my teeth would not crack together every time my rear made bruising contact with the saddle. I could barely focus on the jouncing world passing me by. I kept all my concentration on holding tight to the saddle horn and reins to prevent an ungainly fall in the dirt.
“Whoa, horse,” I managed. “Slow down. Easy, boy. Whoa!” I tried every command I could think of to persuade the beast to return to its comfortable snail’s pace. It ignored me. My efforts to pull back on the reins were ignored. It clamped its teeth on the bit and was not bothered by my tugging. After a half-mile I started making ignominious offing sounds each time I bounced up and came plopping down.
I saw an immense house set back against an oak-covered range of hills. The details of the tranquil scene were lost on me as I continued beating the horse’s rhythm on its back. Its trotting picked up speed, though the horse did not break into a gallop.
My situation struck me as ludicrous. I started to laugh. The sound was forced out of me with each jolt I made, and I laughed even harder. I prayed no one was watching.
The horse trotted on beneath the arch, announcing that I had reached my destination. I saw the hitching rail before the house with relief, but apparently the horse had yet another destinati
on in mind. He yanked hard on the reins, burning my fingers as I tried to steer him to the left. Then he turned right and headed straight for the bam. My laughter ceased.
To my horror and humiliation, I saw Jordan Bennett standing in the yard, arms akimbo, watching me. The horse trotted right past him and into the barn. I wanted to die when I heard Bennett laughing uproariously behind me as the horse finally stopped to thrust his nose deep into a trough of oats.
Then the hilarity of the incident hit me, and I started to laugh again. I laughed until tears were running down my cheeks.
“You nasty old beast.” I reprimanded the totally disinterested horse on which I still sat. “How could you do this to me?” I wiped my face and looked back over my shoulder at Jordan Bennett approaching. “You can’t know how glad I am that animal has finally stopped,” I admitted, rubbing the small of my back and wishing I were in private so that I could rub yet another part of my anatomy. Jordan was still grinning when he reached the large stall.
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could laugh at herself,” he said, his eyes sparkling with friendliness.
“What else could I do?” I laughed again. “I’m certainly not the picture of dignity and grace at the moment. Oh, my word, what a ride! I think next time I shall walk.” I shook my head ruefully. “I never realized how many muscles the human body possessed, but I’m sure every one is bruised!” I looked around and then down at Jordan Bennett again.
“Now, Mr. Bennett, would you please tell me how to get down off this animal with some semblance of propriety. I won’t tell you how I got aboard.”
Jordan laughed again. “It’s simple,” he assured me and reached up to take me by the waist. “Like this.” He lifted me down effortlessly.
I had difficulty slowing my breathing when he set me down. His hands were still at my waist, and he had stopped laughing. I felt he was entirely too close, but I couldn’t step away from him. When his head started to descend, I did step back instinctively. I came into contact with the horse and felt the heat of the animal against my back. It snorted and continued to gorge itself.
Trying desperately to think of something to say, I flushed. Jordan Bennett’s eyes had an unnerving intensity. Though he did not move and his hands dropped from me, I felt we were still too close to one another. All the laughter had gone out of both of us, and there was a pulsating awareness that frightened me.
Say something, I told myself feeling a bubble of panic growing inside me. But it was Jordan who broke the spell. “What brings you all this way to Eden Rock, Miss McFarland?”
His sudden formality and seriousness was enough to bring me back to my senses. The reason for my bruising ride descended on me like a leaden weight. I stared up at him with such distress and embarrassment that he frowned.
“I have to speak with you and Mrs. Gutierrez about Diego.” His expression blackened with comprehension.
“About the fight in the schoolyard,” he added and made a sound deep in his throat.
“Yes.”
The look he gave me was filled with hostility, and I drew into myself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable where he was concerned. “I’ll explain the situation to Diego, Miss McFarland,” he told me coldly. “It’ll hurt less coming from me.”
“I would like to speak with him, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I mind all right! What is it? You want to give him the glad tidings?” His mouth was hard and uncompromising.
“You don’t understand.”
“The hell I don’t. I understand only too well, Miss McFarland, high-and-mighty schoolmarm,” he sneered. “Does it give you a feeling of power, bringing this kind of news around?”
I stared in disbelief and then pushed past him in anger. He stopped me at the barn door. “Okay, damn it. You can have the pleasure of breaking the good news. But so help me, God,” he said through his teeth, “if you make it more hurtful than necessary, I’ll personally beat you black and blue. Have you got that in your head, Miss McFarland?”
“Indeed, I do,” I said stiffly, turning away quickly so he would not see how much his accusation against me hurt. Someone called my name in an excited voice.
“Miss McFarland! Miss McFarland! What’re you doing here?” Linda called and came running down the steps of the ranch house. Diego followed slowly. There was a look on his face that twisted my heart. Linda jumped around me excitedly, chattering on about something that did not even register on my mind. I tried to smile at her but could not take my eyes from the boy’s. Did he know already?
“Hello, Diego.”
“Buenos días, Señorita McFarland," he said, using Spanish with a challenging tilt of his head. That hurt even more, because I realized suddenly that this unreasoning prejudice was no new thing to him. What had Linda started to say that first day of school? Something about Diego and school two years ago? Why hadn’t I insisted on hearing what had happened? Perhaps I could have prevented this whole miserable situation.
“May I speak with you and your mother, please?”
Diego’s eyes showed a telltale moisture, but his full mouth tightened. He breathed in deeply before he spoke and I heard Jordan Bennett mumble something under his breath as he strode away.
“Follow me, please, Miss McFarland.”
I followed Diego, noticing how rigidly he held his shoulders. I hardly glanced around the huge living room dominated by a stone fireplace as we passed through. Diego ushered me to the kitchen at the back of the house. Something was cooking, and the smell was tantalizing. I remembered that I had not eaten since daybreak. But I felt slightly sick with a case of nerves.
A small, slim woman stood near the stove. Her black hair was braided and pinned at the back of her neck. She moved with a lithe grace.
“Mama,” Diego announced our presence. Reva Gutierrez turned with a smile for her son and then stopped as she saw me next to him. The smile dimmed.
“Miss McFarland has come to tell you that I am not to return to school. Isn’t that so, Miss McFarland?” Diego asked. I looked down at him.
“Diego...”
“It isn’t the first time this has happened,” his mother said before I could say more.
I looked between the two of them—the hurt boy standing with quiet dignity, the angry mother. “Well, I do wish both of you would allow me to say what I have to say before you so easily accept the situation.”
Reva Gutierrez frowned. “Then say what you wish, and leave us.” Diego was silent, eyes averted, chin trembling.
“I’m afraid it is true that Diego’s being expelled. The decision was unjust and prejudicial, and I apologize for it.”
“Did you make it, Miss McFarland?” Reva Gutierrez demanded sharply.
“No, I had no part in it.”
“Then your apology is meaningless,” she snapped dismissively. She turned back to her cooking. I knew there was great hurt beneath the anger. Her shoulders were stiff, and her hands were clenching into fists.
“Mrs. Gutierrez—”
“Not ‘Mrs.”... Señorita Gutierrez. I am not married,” the young woman corrected, turning around again. “You see, my son has two things against him. He is Mexicano, and he is a bastard.”
Diego’s face twisted as he lost control. He turned and fled the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.
“How could you do that to him?” I asked faintly, feeling close to tears myself.
“It isn’t I who do the hurt to him,” Reva said, her accent thickening as the tears started. “It is you! It is the people in the town!”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Being sorry does not help, Miss McFarland.” She dismissed my words with a sharp jerk of her chin.
“I know. That’s why I would like to have you bring Diego to me very early each morning so that I can teach him what he would have learned in class,” I said in a rush before she could interrupt me yet again. Reva stared at me.
“Bring him to school?...”
“If you do not
wish to do that, I will come here to the ranch once a week and bring him work and books,” I offered.
“You will teach him?” she breathed, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Diego has a right to his education just as any of the other children, Miss Gutierrez. If you will allow me, I will be honored to teach him all I know. He is a brilliant boy.”
Reva Gutierrez stared at me for another moment and then grabbed her apron, putting it up to her face in an effort to hide her emotions. At the same moment someone burst into the kitchen behind me.
“You’ve got five minutes to get off my ranch!” Jordan Bennett ordered, his expression so fierce, it was terrifying.
“Didn’t you hear what I said,” he growled when I just stood there, mouth gaping open in fright. He reached out, taking my arm and roughly pointing me toward the door. I gasped in pain and fear.
“Get out!”
“Jordan! Por Dios!” Reva cried, the apron dropping from her tear-streaked face. She grabbed at his arm and spoke to him in rapid Spanish. He was not listening to her, his eye fixed on me in barely controlled violence.
“Your horse is out front waiting for you,” he raged at me, heedless of Reva pulling frantically at his arm. “If you aren’t on it and off my ranch in five minutes, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. Now get out!”
Shaking almost uncontrollably, I ran through the house and down the front steps. I climbed on the gelding and urged it down the road toward the arch under which I had passed so short a time ago. Watered and fed, the horse responded to my urgency.
About a mile down the road I heard the thundering of a horse behind me. Timing to look back over my shoulder, I saw a black stallion with Jordan Bennett astride. Panic obliterated all reason, and I kicked hard at my mount. I bolted forward, more in surprise by my sudden decisive action than in agreement to follow my dictates. But the stallion stretched out and easily caught up.
Sycamore Hill Page 10