Texas Weddings (Books One and Two): A Class of Her Own & A Chorus of One

by Janice Thompson

  four

  Laura picked up the telephone to call her mother for a heart-to-heart chat. Somehow, with all she had been through in the last few years, she craved her mother’s companionship most. Perhaps the fact that her mom had already walked this road ahead of her drew them together.

  “Mom?”

  “Laura? I was hoping you’d call today. I’ve just got a few minutes. My quilting club meets in half an hour at the church.” Somehow just hearing her mother’s voice sent a wave of happiness through her. Her mom reflected such joy—and peace. She always seemed to ride a wave of tranquility. Laura needed that.

  “I know, Mom. I just needed someone to talk to for a couple of minutes.”

  “What’s up, Laura?”

  She felt the familiar knot in her throat. “I went to the college yesterday.” She tried to keep her voice steady.

  “Good for you.” Her mother’s voice rose in pitch. “Just what I wanted to hear. Well, how did it go?”

  “Not bad, really,” Laura said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “But I’ve upset Jessica.”

  “Jessica?” Her mother’s voice changed slightly. “What’s wrong with our girl?”

  “She doesn’t want me to go to school with her, and I’m not so sure it’s the right thing anymore.”

  The silence on the other end startled her. When her mother finally spoke, the voice seemed exceptionally stern. “You mean to tell me you’re going to let your nineteen-year-old daughter control your chances for happiness?”

  Wow. Quite a comment from a woman who prides herself on her soft, gentle nature.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Mom.” Laura chose her words carefully. “She’s had such a hard time since Greg died—in some ways, even harder than Kent. And she’s enjoying college so far. I don’t want to ruin that experience for her.”

  “Listen to me, Laura Marie,” her mother said, suddenly sounding quite motherly. “Once upon a time I almost let you do the same thing to me, remember?”

  Laura did remember, and the memory still carried the guilty sting of a teen who had treated her mother badly. I was so young then and so selfish. If I had it all to do over again, I would. . .

  “There was a time many years ago when I almost stopped my relationship with your stepfather before it started.”

  Laura remembered all too well. She had behaved very badly. But Buck hadn’t seemed right for her mother—at least not at first. Of course, time proved differently, and the guilt she carried over her childish behavior still plagued her from time to time. We make mistakes when we’re young, but time has a way of teaching us the lessons we need to learn.

  “I had just met Buck,” her mother continued, “and he invited me out to dinner. You told me, quite bluntly, if I re-call, that if I went out to dinner with him, you would never speak to me again.”

  The knot in Laura’s throat began to grow. “But I didn’t mean that, Mom. It was just the grief of losing Daddy speaking.” Twinges of guilt gnawed at her again.

  “Same with Jessica,” her mother said, voice growing firmer. “Just listen to me. I went on and defied you, taking the risk you wouldn’t speak to me. Oh, I knew you would eventually, but I really worried my decision might cause a rift in our relationship. I went ahead and did what my heart told me to do.”

  “And it’s all worked out for the best, hasn’t it, Mom?” Laura knew she spoke the truth. No doubt about that. Buck had turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to her mother.

  “All for the best,” the older woman said confidently. “But not without a lot of prayer on my part. Maybe that’s what’s missing here, Laura. Have you really prayed about your decision to go back to college?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’ve prayed about it for weeks.” I’ve asked for direction from the very beginning.

  “How do you feel when you’ve prayed?”

  Laura thought about that a moment before answering. Except for the small jittery moments, she had been comforted by an incredible amount of serenity about the decision. “I’ve had peace,” she said, “until now.”

  “So what you’re telling me is you’re going to let Jessica disrupt the one decision that has brought you peace?”

  “Well, when you put it that way—” Laura felt a resurgence of energy. She’d been excited by the idea of going back to school from the very beginning. It seemed so right.

  It was so right. Suddenly everything became very clear. “Mom, you’re a miracle worker.”

  “All mothers are. Just keep your wits about you when Jessica gets her panties all tied up in a knot. Don’t let her control you. Stop it before it starts. You do what’s best for you.”

  “I love you, Mom.” The words were heartfelt, genuine. Laura only hoped someday she might be half as amazing as her own mother.

  ß

  Andrew yawned, carefully folding the evening paper. Politics—the usual rhetoric. That’s all he encountered as he glanced through the pages. “Not much worth reading about.” But what else could he do? He could squander a few minutes going over notes for his first lecture on the Vikings’ exploration of America, but he’d given that lecture dozens of times before. Nothing new there. What would be new was the much-awaited E-mail from colleague Joe Morris about the promised blind date. He leaned back against the couch cushions, trying to imagine what she might look like.

  Funny, the only the face that flashed before him was that of the woman in the hallway at school—the one with the American History book. For whatever reason, he couldn’t seem to shake off the words she’d spoken. They’d stung, sure, but had also struck a nerve. Did everyone find him to be overbearing and harsh?

  With a sigh, he reached for the remote to turn on the television.

  ß

  “Jess, you’re home!” Laura looked into her daughter’s eyes. They were red and swollen, along with the tip of her nose—a sure sign something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Jessica headed toward her room, focus shifting down toward the floor.

  Something was wrong, all right. “Jess, tell me.”

  “It’s nothing, Mom.”

  “Well, I need to tell you something.” Laura heard the quiver in her voice as she spoke. She didn’t want to hurt her daughter but had to speak these words.

  “What, Mom?”

  “I’ve decided I’m going to go—”

  Jessica’s bloodshot eyes looked directly into hers.

  “I’m going back to school, Jess—even if you don’t understand. I have to. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s the right thing for me—for all of us.”

  ß

  Andrew tossed and turned in the bed, a Technicolor dream enveloping him. He stood near the door of his car, just about to step inside when a beauty with dark brown hair walked up to him.

  “Have you got the time?” she asked, eyes glowing. Her soft, pretty face captivated him. Her hair, tied back with a yellow ribbon, flowed down to her waist.

  “I’ve got nothing but time,” he answered, swinging the door open. His voice remained rock-solid, his hands steady.

  She looked at him with a smile, and his heart began to beat wildly. She clearly seemed interested in him. He would do his best to impress her. “What’ve you got in mind?” he asked, trying to look casual.

  “I was just thinking. . . ,” she said demurely.

  “Yes?”

  “I was just thinking,” she said with a smile, “that if you’ve got the time—you might want to get that tire checked.” She pointed to his left rear tire. Flat. The sound of her laughter echoed through him to the very core of his being. She disappeared into the mist.

  Andrew groaned in his sleep, twisting among the covers until they caught him in their embrace.

  ß

  Laura bowed her head to pray, feeling the weight of the day’s decisions slowly lifting. Her heart spoke the words that needed to be voiced. The prayer was deliberate and sweet, not so much a prayer of frustration as one of praise. Fu
nny how much better things suddenly seemed. She hadn’t been avoiding the Lord—not really. More like holding Him at arm’s length.

  I should go back to church on a regular basis. Greg had served as Sunday school teacher for nearly twenty years at the local congregation, and she loved the people, but just the thought of attending sent a shot of pain. Through her heart. The memories were too fresh, too deep. How could she go from being a wife, seated next to her husband in a pew, to a widow, seated alone?

  Everything was different. There would be no more couples’ parties, no more camping trips with friends. Somehow, when Greg passed away, Laura lost far more than just her relationship with him. She lost everything.

  five

  Laura entered Room 314 with butterflies in her stomach. Her first three classes had gone far better than expected, but she genuinely dreaded this one. American History. If it proved to be even half as bad as everyone predicted, she needed to be on the ball before the ball even got rolling.

  She deliberately arrived early and chose a desk near the front, hoping this move might win her a little favor with the slave-driving professor she’d heard so much about. She glanced about the room, surprised at its appeal. He sure takes a serious interest in the subject matter. She focused on the Declaration of Independence, which hung on the wall.

  A familiar figure stood near the door. Laura smiled as she gazed at the gentleman with sandy curls who had helped her with her books. For some inexplicable reason, her heart skipped a beat as she saw him. “Hey, it’s you!” she said with a smile. “Have you recovered?”

  “I’ve recovered.” He gave a little nod.

  She couldn’t help but notice his cool response. Laura waited for him to take a seat nearby, but he did not. He milled about the room, looking at the walls. Other students entered the class, most sitting as close to the back as possible. Laura watched and waited.

  Just as the bell rang, Jess entered the classroom. Laura glanced at her daughter, hoping, at the very least, for a nod or a whispered hello. It never came. She turned her attention to the door once again.

  Where is this professor I’ve heard so much about? What does he look like? Will he really turn out to be as tough as everyone says? Her heart raced with anticipation. Biting her lip, she pulled out a notebook and began to write. . . American History, August 26.

  The sandy-haired gentleman hadn’t yet found a seat. Laura wondered at his boldness, his apparent lack of fear. Isn’t he as worried about Dougherty as the rest of us? His eyes met hers for a brief moment before he moved toward the blackboard at the front of the room.

  “What in the world. . .?” she whispered.

  He began to write slowly, in large, concise letters. . . M-R. D-O-U-G-H-E-R-T-Y.

  Everything after that became a blur.

  ß

  Andrew turned to face his class, letting his gaze fall on the middle-aged woman who sat squarely in front. Her skin had drained of its color; her gaze remained fixed to the board. Good. Let her suffer a little. If her words last week were any indication, she’s no more interested in working hard than the kids half her age. I’ll light a fire under her. She’s about to find out what real work is all about.

  “My name is Andrew Dougherty,” he said finally, pointing to the board. “You can call me Mr. Dougherty.” The woman’s glance shifted to the desk. “I would like to welcome you all to American History—one of the most exciting and difficult classes you’ll ever take.”

  A groan went up from the crowd. This he had grown accustomed to, but it remained part of the drama—and no one could accuse him of not acting his part.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “You’re thinking, ‘I’ll transfer out of here and sign up for another class.’‑”

  Another stirring from the troops.

  “What sad news I have to convey,” he said, and then offered a dramatic sigh. “All of the other classes are full. But I promise you this—if you work hard, and if you take great notes, you just might get out of here alive.”

  ß

  Laura managed to keep her emotions in check in the classroom, but once released to the freedom of the hallway, she felt like collapsing. “That class is going to kill me,” she said, leaning against the wall.

  “I tried to tell you that,” Jessica said with a shrug. “But you had your mind made up. Remember?”

  All Laura could seem to remember was her run-in with Professor Dougherty in the hall last week. What was it he had said as he reached down to pick up her books? “Are you taking American History?”

  “Yes, but I’m not looking forward to it.” Had she really put it quite like that?

  “Why?” It had been a logical question on his part.

  “It’s not the course,” she remembered saying, “it’s the professor.” Laura shook her head, the memory lingering. If only she could take those words back. She had not only judged him—she had accused him right to his face. I’m going to reap the consequences of that. I can just feel it.

  Jessica’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Laura turned to look at her daughter. “What did you say?”

  “I said, Nathan’s going to be picking me up after math and driving me home. Is that all right?”

  “Oh, sure, sure—”

  “I just don’t understand you, Mom.” Jessica shook her head. “There are other people in this world who have problems too. I have my piano auditions tomorrow and I’m scared to death. Did you remember that?”

  Laura shook her head in shame. As hard as this was, it was just as hard on Jessica.

  Lord, help me to concentrate. I need to stay focused!

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Laura watched as she headed off to another class. Her gaze remained on her daughter, but her mind drifted elsewhere. Frustrated, she turned toward the car. She had only taken a step when she ran directly into someone, her books taking another tumble onto the floor.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up at the gentleman. “I. . .”

  Mr. Dougherty stared back at her, arms crossed.

  Could things possibly get any worse than this?

  ß

  Andrew chuckled all the way to the cafeteria. He had won round one in the great contest he had started with this woman. He could hardly wait for round two. If she survived that, perhaps he would reward her with a pop quiz over chapter one in her textbook. He entered the crowded lunchroom and looked around for a place to sit. Nothing. He made his way up to the counter to order, fighting to get through the mob of teenagers.

  “What’ll it be, Professor Dougherty?” A plump, dark-haired woman with a friendly face and welcoming voice called out to him from across the counter.

  “Well, if it isn’t Regina Torres, the best cook in all of Houston,” he responded with a playful smile.

  “It’s Regina Leal now,” she said, showing him her wedding ring. “Remember?”

  He remembered. “I’m just giving you a hard time. So, how was the wedding?”

  “Amazing. But you weren’t there! Why didn’t you come? I sent you an invitation.”

  Andrew didn’t answer. He had no excuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Regina. Few people at the college treated him with such generosity and kindness. She always made the lunchroom a brighter place with her broad smile and cheery greetings. Her good humor warmed him on days when the cold shoulder from his students left him chilled. No, it had nothing to do with Regina. It was just that the idea of going to a wedding conjured up too many memories of days gone by. It would have been too difficult, far too difficult.

  Better to change the subject. “You’re back at Lone Star. I didn’t think you’d be working this year.”

  “Who, me? Leave this place? I could never leave.”

  “I thought you said that new husband of yours was going to take you off on
a cruise or a six-month vacation or something like that.”

  She shrugged. “Aw, come on, Mr. Dougherty. You know better than that. He works for the cable company. We won’t be seeing any European vacations for a long, long time.”

  Her broad smile cheered him, as always. “Why aren’t all women as wonderful as you are?” he asked, his minding shifting immediately to Laura Chapman.

  “I guess when the good Lord made me, He broke the mold,” she said. “What sort of woman trouble are you having, Professor?”

  “Trouble?” he stammered. “No trouble. “It’s just that most of the women I meet are so. . .so. . .” He wasn’t sure what they were.

  “It’s the women, eh?” Regina said. “Couldn’t be the problem’s on the other end?”

  “I’ll have a root beer and a bag of pretzels.” He reached for his wallet.

  “Great combination. What did you do—skip lunch again today?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t have time between classes—not today, anyway. Talk about swamped.”

  “You better take care of yourself,” she said. “Stay in good shape for that wife we’re gonna snag for you this year.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He looked at her, intrigued by her words.

  “I’m just saying—with the two of us working together. . .”

  “Regina, my love life is none of your business.”

  “What love life?” She tossed the bag of pretzels at him. “When was the last time you were on a date?”

  “For your information, I’m about to go out on a date.”

  “Today?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “But soon.”

  “With who?”

  “A girl named Judy. My friend Joe is fixing me up with her.” His heart raced, just thinking about her. After all of these years, it would be so amazing to walk headlong into a romantic relationship. If anyone deserves it, I do.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Regina asked, lips now pursed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if she has to be fixed up on a blind date. . .” Regina’s eyes reflected her thoughts on the matter.