Sycamore Hill

by Francine Rivers

  “I don’t think Matthew will do that again. He learned a lot from what happened, Diego. Did you?”

  “Where is he now, then, Miss McFarland?” Diego demanded, standing up. He looked angry, but there was something else beneath it. He was afraid everything was starting again. “He’s probably home crying to his father about what I said to him.”

  “And what did you say to him?” I asked, beginning to really doubt my methods. I started to wonder what the repercussions were going to be to both Diego and Matthew. Perhaps Jordan Bennett was right in his assessment of my abilities and my place.

  “I told him his apology didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t like him before, and I don’t like him now. He’s getting just what he deserves!”

  I sighed heavily, feeling very disappointed with the outcome of my plan, and not knowing where to go from here. “I’m sorry you didn’t believe Matthew, Diego. He has wanted to apologize since you came back, but was afraid you wouldn’t believe him.”

  “Well, why should I?” Diego demanded, unconvinced and decidedly antagonistic.

  “Please sit down.” He obeyed, his mouth tight, his eyes narrowed and shoulders rigid.

  “When you go home tonight, I want you to think about something. Think long and hard.” I paused. “I want you to think about anger, jealousy, prejudice and intolerance, in fact, all the things that you can think of that make this world of ours a difficult and sometimes impossible place in which to live. I want you to think hard about your feelings concerning Matthew and why you feel that way.”

  “I know what I feel about Hayes. And I know why,” Diego said caustically. I gave him a stem look.

  “May I finish?”

  Diego looked shamefaced.

  “Now, when you finish thinking about those things, I want you to pretend you are Matthew Hayes.” Diego’s expression was sullen. I continued doggedly. “I want you to think about every aspect of his life. When you’re finished with that, write it all down on paper and give it to me.”

  Diego let out an angry breath. “I don’t see why I’m the one being punished. He started the fight, and I got expelled.”

  “He started it, yes. But he wants to finish it in the manner it should have been finished long ago, and you don’t want to let him, do you? You want to hurt him more than he hurt you.” I reached out and took Diego’s hand. “You’re not feeling anything any different than anyone else would feel under the same circumstances. But I happen to believe you’re bigger than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Diego looked at me cautiously.

  “It takes a very big man to forgive. It’s easy to hold a grudge, Diego. But what does it accomplish, and who does it hurt most? You think about that too.”

  “It seems to me you’re giving me a lot to think about,” he said with a rueful smile. I smiled back at him.

  “A very lot,” I agreed. “But no less than I will ask of Matt.”

  “Matthew’s father probably won’t let him come back to school,” Diego announced glumly, still sure of his assessment of Matthew’s intentions.

  I shook my head. “Let’s give Matt a chance to prove himself, shall we?”

  “I’m not sure I want to come back to school tomorrow just so I can get kicked out again.”

  “Oh, Diego. I think you’ve a little more courage than that, haven’t you?” I told him solemnly. I squeezed his hand. “You give me the written part of your assignment when you feel you’ve thought everything over enough. All right?”

  “Sí." He nodded.

  I found Matthew sitting outside on the front steps. His knees were drawn up, his head hidden in his arms. I talked with him about much the same thing as I had with Diego, and I repeated my assignment. He agreed more readily than Diego, wanting desperately to do anything in order to rejoin his peers.

  When Diego saw Matthew sitting in his usual place minutes later, he looked surprised and then relieved. The rest of the children cast curious looks between the two boys, and several times I had to reprimand a couple of them for trying to speak to the two boys about what had happened during the lunch hour. Margaret was finally assigned extra work for continuing to draw Diego into conversation, and Luke and Mark were given spelling words to write to keep them occupied. Otherwise, the rest of the afternoon passed without incident.

  However, the following morning Matthew’s father stormed into the schoolroom before any of the children had arrived. His face was livid, and his voice boomed out in its usual bullying fashion. “Just what are you trying to do now, Miss McFarland?” he demanded in a raging voice. “Luke told me this morning that you had Matt in here talking with that other boy yesterday.”

  “The boys needed time to talk things over,” I started to explain, but Reverend Hayes was in no mood to listen.

  “I don’t want my boy having anything to do with that... illegitimate son of a Mexican charwoman! It’s bad enough that I had to reinstate him, but I’ll not have that son of Cain mixing with my own son!” He stormed on and on until my head began to throb. Then he strode out of the schoolhouse without allowing me the opportunity to state my own opinions.

  Shortly after the scene with Jonah Hayes, Diego and Linda arrived. Diego handed me a note from Reva, and I read it with a feeling of dismal resignation. I was slightly relieved to find that she understood what I was trying to do and condoned it only if I could see that Diego was not put in any kind of position to be hurt.

  Several days after I had spoken with both boys, I saw Matthew approach Diego in the schoolyard. The children stopped to watch, some curious, some hoping for a renewed battle. Diego looked around him at the faces of the children and then at Matthew. He said something to the boy in a low voice. Matthew held out his hand. I held my breath, waiting. Slowly, Diego held his out in acceptance. I felt an overwhelming pride in the two boys then, and my eyes filled with thankful tears. They would never be close friends perhaps, but at least they had learned something about one another, and about life.

  ***

  Just before Thanksgiving I intended to make a personal visit to each family to discuss the progress of their children. I made voluminous notes and planned out what I must say to each parent.

  The first conferences went exceedingly well. I had dreaded the visit to Reverend Hayes, but was surprised when he treated me with restraint. Not once did he raise his voice to me, though I could see how much he wanted to.

  I did not know what to do about my conference with Reva concerning Diego, and especially my most dreaded conference with Jordan about Linda. I remembered only too well how he told me to stay clear of Eden Rock, but surely he would not quarrel with my intentions of discussing his daughter’s progress in school? Then I struck upon a possible solution to my dilemma.

  In the prim note to Jordan I asked him to come to the schoolhouse for our parent-teacher conference. I suggested he bring Reva Gutierrez with him so that I could talk with her about Diego. That way, I said also, they would save one trip to town. However, the following morning Linda brought a sealed envelope from her father. As I tore it open with shaking fingers, my heart was racing. I don’t know what I had expected, but it was not what I read. Jordan’s handwriting was a strong, dark scrawl. One word was written in the center of the sheet of white Eden Rock stationery: “Coward!”

  “Daddy said that he would be glad to see you at Eden Rock Saturday morning, Miss McFarland,” Linda informed me, the tone of the words an indication that she was parroting her father. Then she looked closely at me. “Are you feeling all right, ma’am? Your face is a funny red color.”

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” I said and gave her a quick reassuring smile. I sometimes wished I had never met Jordan Bennett.

  When I awoke on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I found a clear sky. It was the first in days, and I thought it ironic that it should fall on the one day I would have to waste sparring with Jordan Bennett.

  By seven o’clock I was astride a horse and on my way to the ranch. When I reached Eden Rock, just pas
t nine, Reva was waiting. She informed me immediately that Jordan had ridden off early on some ranch business. He had not said how long he would be gone, but she expected him back because he had mentioned my visit the previous evening. I fumed silently, sure that he had disappeared deliberately to irritate me and delay my departure.

  Reva and I talked over coffee. There was not a great deal to cover, since I had been tutoring Diego only weeks before, and Reva knew his progress. Gradually, I relaxed and forgot that I was in the one place that Jordan had warned me to avoid at all costs. I reasoned that I had no worries since he had relayed his welcome via Linda.

  Diego and Linda traipsed into the kitchen near noon, looking for something to eat. When they said they had not seen Jordan, Reva decided not to hold lunch until his return. She ladled out four bowls of beef-and-vegetable soup, and cut slices of freshly baked bread. There was churned butter and the special treat of quince jelly. Nothing had tasted as good to me in a long time.

  “I’m pleased to see how much you enjoy your food,” Reva chuckled as she watched me down my last bite of bread. I flushed slightly.

  “How could I do anything else when you’re such a fine cook,” I said sincerely.

  “I imagine you are a very fine cook yourself, señorita.” She smiled and I shook my head.

  “What skills I did possess I’ve forgotten since I started teaching. I’m afraid there isn’t time.”

  “Then what do you eat?”

  “Don’t look so concerned.” I laughed. “I’m far from starving.”

  “What will you do for Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you come here for Thanksgiving?” Linda enthused, but I shook my head.

  “No, thank you, Linda. That’s very nice of you to ask, but I... I have other plans,” I lied. The thought of spending Thanksgiving on Eden Rock under Jordan’s baleful eye was unthinkable. I looked at Reva and, remembering her relationship with him, felt suddenly desolate.

  “I think I’d better be going,” I said, standing up. “Thank you very much for the splendid meal, Reva.”

  “You mustn’t leave,” she said in alarm. “Jordan will return at any moment. You haven’t had your conference with him.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer,” I apologized. “I’ve stayed much too long already. I’ve very much enjoyed our visit. Perhaps Mr. Bennett could ride into town early next week, and I could talk with him then.”

  “Yes, I suppose that would be fine,” Reva said with a nod. “He’s been riding into town much more often then he used to. He used to go in only when he had to do so. Now he seems to go one or two times a week. Sometimes more often.” She was looking at me intently.

  Probably to spend time drinking at the casino, as I had seen him that one night more than a month ago, I thought.

  The minute I rode past the front gate of the ranch, I felt immeasurably relieved. I did not look back, afraid I might see Jordan riding in, and I would have no choice but to go back and talk with him. I had told Reva that I enjoyed the visit. It was partially true. When I was able to force out of my mind her possible relationship with Jordan, I could like her very much. Then a picture of her in his arms would surge unbidden into my mind, and I would feel sick with envy.

  The less I thought about Jordan Bennett, the better my piece of mind. I did not need to fuel the fire that burned in my mind and body. I wanted to extinguish it forever, to feel nothing for that man but the same indifference he felt for me. People said he had murdered his wife. People believed that Diego was his illegitimate son. But everything was forgotten the moment he had taken me in his arms. I had thought of nothing when he had kissed me. I had reveled in him when his hands had moved on my body. Only sense and realization had come later when he had been the one to stop what he himself had started. I would not have had the strength of mind to have done so. I wondered if that was what hurt the most.

  The sun was high, and this was a precious Indian-summer day. It was not a day to depress myself with thoughts about Jordan Bennett. My afternoon was virtually free. I did have school work to do, but nothing that I could not do this evening or tomorrow afternoon following church. I could ride for as long as I wished, or as long as this horse was willing.

  So I turned west and rode along the foothills. I began to feel warm and pushed my bonnet back to bounce against my shoulder blades. The river was nearby, and I turned northeast toward it. When I reached the riverbank, I let the horse walk along at a clopping slow pace as I looked at the water shimmering with the sunlight. It meandered along below the hills heading north. I had followed it for some time when I saw an idyllic place for a private swim.

  Just below me was a stretch of sand and a deep pool beneath an overhang of willow and alder trees. They were almost nude of their leaves, exposing the river that would be completely hidden in the spring. I gazed at the spot, thinking that I would come back here in May and take advantage of this place for a cool bath.

  I needed to stretch my legs; so I rode down the incline to the highest alder. There I tied the horse up. I walked the last several yards to the riverbank. I hunkered down, sifting my fingers through the golden leaves, then grasping some. I tossed them like a pagan offering on the water and watched as they caught in the sluggish current.

  A mischievous smile tugged at my lips as I wondered what James Olmstead and the goodly Reverend Hayes would think if they knew what I was planning for springtime relaxation. Then a surge of defiance hit me.

  It had been several months since I had had a real bath. I had used my three-bucket washing method, which was far from pleasant, although functional. I looked at the pool and thought how wonderful it would be to really submerge myself in fresh, clean water.

  Why shouldn’t I do something wild just once? Debating with myself, I looked down longingly at that deep pool of clean water. Then I made up my mind.

  Casting several wary glances around, I began to disrobe hurriedly. In only a moment I was undressed completely. And without further hesitation I stepped into the chilly water. Initially, I only went into the water up to my thighs, then I submerged my body up to my neck. I thought about wetting my hair and wavered. Then, with a laugh, I pulled the pins from my severe bun and let my hair cascade down into the water. I leaned back until it was wet to the scalp, then began a leisurely backstroke around the pool.

  My body became used to the cool water. I relaxed and sat back on my heels so that the water near the bank was up to my chin. I closed my eyes and listened to the birds. I had been in the pool almost ten minutes when I heard a horse whinny from somewhere up the hill. A shock of alarm and panic went through me as I jerked around and looked up.

  There was no one up there but my horse. I thought briefly of some passerby seeing me in the pool. I laughed at the thought. What would the people in town say if they heard of their prim schoolmarm bathing naked in the river? I envisioned Reverend Hayes’s outraged, horrified expression, and I laughed again. Yet, I decided that it was time to get out, dry off and get back into my clothes before just such a possibility arose. The reality would not be amusing at all.

  Once back in my brown skirt and high-necked starched white blouse, I wondered what to do about my hair. I sat down and used my fingers to spread it out over my shoulders. Its weight soaked my blouse, but as I kept pushing my fingers through it, the heat from the sun dried it until it glistened like copper.

  Looking up, I judged it to be near three o’clock from the position of the sun. I reached up and felt my hair again. It was not quite dry, but it would have to do. Raking my fingers through it, I gathered it tightly at the nape of my neck and twisted it back into its customary style. I set the long pins in to hold it securely. I brushed my skirt free of sand and leaves as I stood, and then I started back up the hill, where my horse was still munching contentedly at some grass.

  I felt like walking for a while; so I took the reins and led the horse up the hill. When I reached the top, I started to mount. Then I heard someone give a cough, as tho
ugh wanting to make his presence known while not alarming me. I looked behind me, but saw no one. I pressed my hand against the horse, and it stepped aside as I glanced under its neck.

  Jordan Bennett was leaning against an oak, a blade of grass between his teeth. He was grinning.

  A flash of surprise coursed through me, and at the same time I thanked God he had not been there an hour before. I turned to look down the hill. From where he stood, he had a perfect vantage point of the pool, while remaining concealed from below. I looked at him again, and something in his laughing eyes made me feel suddenly very shaky and unsure of myself.

  “How ... how long have you been there?” I asked faintly. He pushed away from the tree and walked toward me. When he was standing just in front of me, he removed the straw from his mouth and flicked it to the ground.

  “You have a small birthmark about five inches above your right knee. Rather nicely positioned on the inside of your thigh,” he answered, the grin widening wickedly. I felt the blood leave my face and then surge back until my cheeks were on fire. The whinny had not come from my horse, I thought too late. I looked away from Jordan and saw his stallion tied a short distance away, also well out of sight of the pool.

  Damn him! I thought furiously. Damn him all to hell! “You’re even more a rogue than I thought!” I cried.

  “Is that possible?” He laughed, enjoying my discomfort.

  “If you had any decency in you at all, you would have gone away. And what are you doing here anyway? I’m not anywhere near your precious ranch!” I spoke wildly.

  “You are on my ranch, Miss McFarland,” he told me. There was a certain glint in his eyes that warned me of consequences to come. It brought back all the feelings he had aroused that night in my room.

  “I am not,” I insisted shakily.

  “You have the typical female sense of direction.” He laughed again. “You’re a full mile inside Eden Rock boundaries.” I stared up at him, dubious. He raised his hand and pointed south.

  “You see that line of low hills where the eucalyptus are? That’s the start of my land.”