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

by Janice Thompson

  “Very.”

  “Laura—”

  “Ms. Chapman.” She stressed the words.

  “C-H-A-P-M-A-N,” he said, trying to be funny. She didn’t smile. “Look, Ms. Chapman, I really felt like we needed to talk. Do you have a few minutes?” His heart pounded in his ears, making it difficult to hear her response. He watched her lips as she spoke.

  “I think we did all the talking today that needed to be done, don’t you?”

  She had a point, but wouldn’t she even give him a chance? “I just wanted to say how sorry I am.”

  A baffled look crossed her face as he forged ahead. His gaze shifted to the ground. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to quit the class. I really don’t.” He meant it. He hated to see any student give up, truth be told, but there was something special about this one. She needed to get through this—for psychological reasons as well as any other.

  “I have to work and I really don’t have time to deal with this. I’m going through enough at home and here at the store.”

  “What do you mean?” Nosiness kicked in. There seemed to be so much he didn’t know about her, about Jessica.

  “Never mind,” she said, moving toward the door.

  Just be direct. Get to the point. “So, will you come back?”

  “Why should I?”

  “I just hoped—” No, he wouldn’t go that far. He didn’t want to let her know that he had grown accustomed to seeing her, looked forward to every class with her.

  “Can you give me one logical reason why I should come back to your class, Mr. Dougherty?” Laura asked, her face set.

  Should he tell her that he enjoyed seeing her there, that she brought a smile to his face with her wit and her persistence? Should he let her know how impressed he was by the effort she took to raise her kids, work, and go to school? “I, uh. . .” He started, then hesitated slightly.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I thought so.”

  ß

  Laura watched as Dougherty sauntered out of the door, making his way to an old sedan with worn black paint. The car suited him—outdated and not terribly pretty. He deserved a car like that. She watched as he pulled out of the parking lot and sped down Tully with tires squealing.

  Laura immediately set her mind back on her work. So much needed to be done, and she had lost time—thanks to him. He had quite a way of spoiling things. She quickly moved back toward the inspirational section, ready to dive in headfirst. She picked up a Bible to place it on the cart with the others. Her fingers lingered across the cover. It had been weeks since she picked up her own Bible to read. Somehow, just holding one now made her feel better.

  She turned it open to the New Testament, her fingers racing along the words. They were as familiar as an old friend, and yet stirred an emotion in her she was unprepared for. Her index finger rested on a verse in 2 Corinthians that startled her. She had never read it before.

  “If anyone has caused grief, he has not so much grieved me as he has grieved all of you, to some extent—not to put it too severely. The punishment inflicted on him by the majority is sufficient for him. Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

  “Forgive and comfort him?” She spoke the words softly, struck by their simplicity. But it couldn’t be that easy! Laura closed the Bible quickly, placing it on the cart. Surely she wasn’t supposed to comfort a man like Professor Dougherty. He was beyond help.

  But, then again, why had he come here? Her mind began to drift to their conversation. Did he really feel bad about what he had said, or were there darker forces at work?

  Madeline walked up.

  “I guess you pretty much figured out who that was,” Laura said.

  “The infamous professor. Yeah, I’ve got it—and I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but he doesn’t seem like the ogre you made him out to be.”

  Laura groaned—loudly, for effect.

  Madeline grinned. “What did he want, anyway?”

  “Actually, he wanted to apologize and asked me to come back to the class.”

  “Are you going to?” A smile made its way to her boss’s lips. “I mean, I’m just saying if I had a professor who looked like that, I’d go back.”

  Laura thought carefully about her words before answering. “If I do, it won’t have anything to do with him. I’d be going back for myself.”

  “Good girl. I’m proud of you.”

  “You are? I thought you didn’t like the idea. Balancing work and school is a real pain.”

  “Like the idea? I’m so proud of you, I could burst! You make me want to go back myself.”

  “I do?”

  “You do.”

  “Well,” Laura said with a sigh, “it’s a lot tougher than they make it out to be. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to get through this American History class if I do go back.”

  Madeline’s eyes began to sparkle immediately. “Oh, Laura,” she said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly, “I have the most amazing idea!”

  nine

  Laura sat in the college cafeteria, clutching her colorful American History book. She slowly worked her way through a chapter on indentured servants, fascinated by the material. She glanced up occasionally, slightly distracted. She looked back and forth—from her book, to her watch, to all of the people. The noisy room provided some degree of comfort—trays clattering, soda cans popping open, students chattering incessantly—these were all things she had grown to love. Even so, Laura found it very difficult to focus. It was nerve-wracking, especially under the circumstances.

  “Come on, come on.”

  He should be here soon. She took a bite of her sandwich, chasing it down with a mouthful of soda. She glanced at her watch growing more nervous by the minute. Not much time left. He’d better come quickly, or there really won’t be much point to all of this. She tried to keep her attention on the chapter but found it extremely difficult. She stared at her watch as the minutes ticked by. He should definitely be here.

  “Are you Laura Chapman?” A deep voice rang out.

  Laura looked up into the twinkling eyes of a gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a well-trimmed graying beard. “I am,” she answered. “And you must be Richard.”

  “Dick DeHart,” he responded, extending his hand for a firm handshake. “Madeline says you need some help in history.”

  “Help is an understatement,” she confessed. How much should I confide in him? Then again, it might be better to let him know what he was up against. She spoke hesitantly. “If I don’t pass this course, I might as well drop out of school.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He sat next to her, pulling a chair close. ”You’ve come to the right place.”

  She couldn’t help but notice his dimples, not hidden in the slightest by his beard. He was a nice-looking man, just as Madeline had said—probably fifty-two or three, somewhere in that neighborhood. Not that it mattered. It was just that Laura had looked for a tutor in her own age group, not from among the students at Lone Star. Things were rough enough this way.

  “I don’t know what my sister told you about me,” Richard explained, “but I used to teach here at the college until about three years ago. That’s when my wife passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Laura said. “I’m a widow, myself. In fact, my husband has been gone three years too.”

  “Really?” He looked more than a little interested.

  Laura immediately grew nervous.

  “I think I’ve seen you at the store a couple of times. I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

  “What sort of research?”

  “History, naturally,” he said excitedly. “I’ve taken to writing college textbooks since I left the teaching profession.”

  “That’s fascinating.” Madeline had simply described him as a history buff.

  “In fact,” Richard said, pointing to her American History text, “I had a hand in writing that
book.”

  “You wrote this textbook?” she asked, turning to the cover for a quick glance. Sure enough, Richard DeHart & Jonathan Frisk jumped off of the cover at her. “For heaven’s sake.”

  “I had a particularly tough time with that chapter you were reading when I walked up,” he said, reaching for the book. “You’re just starting the unit on slavery, right?”

  “That’s right,” she said, looking at the open book with new admiration and respect. “Why did you have a tough time?”

  “There’s a shortage of documents concerning slave groups brought over from the Caribbean.” He frowned. “I wanted to include a well-researched section on their story, but I couldn’t track down everything I needed. What you’re reading there is just a shell of what I had hoped to include.”

  “Looks pretty thorough to me,” Laura observed.

  “Still, we may have to do a second edition. There’s just so much material to cover.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, there’s plenty of material in this book as it is. Getting through it in one semester is going to be rough. And Dougherty—well, he’s not making my life any easier.”

  “Professor Andrew Dougherty?”

  Laura nodded.

  Richard let out a whistle and shook his head.

  “You know him?”

  “Know him? We used to be archenemies—seemed to be an ongoing battle over who could be the better teacher. Also, there was that dean issue.”

  “Dean issue?” She grew more curious by the moment.

  “Well, yeah,” he said, “but I hate to talk about it. I was named dean of the History Department here at Lone Star about five years back. Apparently Dougherty felt I had one-upped him. I don’t know that he ever quite forgave me.”

  “Sounds like he carries a lot of grudges,” Laura said. “Actually, that’s part of my problem. . . .”

  “Got on his bad side right away, did you?” Richard laughed.

  She nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah, but it really wasn’t my fault.”

  “It rarely is. Dougherty’s got a real chip on his shoulder. But you’re barely two months into the school year. There’s plenty of time left in the semester to make things even worse.”

  “Very funny. But I’m serious. He hates me.”

  “Hate is a pretty strong word,” Richard said, suddenly looking serious. “Besides, I think he’s just covering for something.”

  “Covering for something?” He must know quite a few things about Andrew Dougherty that she didn’t. Not that she cared.

  “I think he must have had his heart broken somewhere along the way,” Richard said with a sly grin. “At least that’s what I’ve gathered.”

  Really. Interesting tidbit of information. For the life of her, Laura couldn’t imagine any woman entering a relationship with a man like that.

  “Well, let’s forget about our dear Professor Dougherty, shall we?” Dick pulled his chair even closer. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  “Yes, we do.” She tried to sound confident, but the smell of his cologne distracted her. Greg had worn the same brand in their earlier years together. Somehow, just the aroma made her feel a little out of sorts.

  “I think we should go over this unit before you head into class today.” He pointed to the book.

  “You’re right.” She turned her attention to the chapter on slavery. It looked, for once, like she had come up with a logical, workable plan.

  ß

  Andrew entered the cafeteria, hoping for a quick bite to eat before teaching his last class of the day. What a madhouse. The sights, sounds, and smells were dizzying, making him claustrophobic and completely uncomfortable. He needed order, control. What had made him think grabbing a baked potato and soda would be easy? Nothing proved to be easy here.

  He forced his way through the mob, heading to the counter. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, after bumping into the back of a chair. He looked down instinctively. Only then did he realize Laura Chapman’s eyes gazed directly into his. “Laura. . .”

  She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her gaze shifted to the man sitting next to her. Richard DeHart. What’s he doing here? He hesitantly extended his hand. “DeHart.”

  “Professor Dougherty.” Dick shook it with a firm grip.

  “What are you doing here?” It was a fair question. After all, the man didn’t teach at the school anymore.

  “Ms. Chapman has asked me to tutor her.”

  “In history?” Talk about throwing a kink into his plans to offer to help Laura. This guy had no business. . .

  “Naturally,” Richard said. “What did you think?”

  Andrew looked back and forth between Laura and Richard. Something about the combination almost made him feel sick. He sought out Laura’s eyes. “How did you two meet? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  She looked up at him with a confident smile. “Richard’s sister is my boss, Madeline.”

  “That’s right,” Dick said. “She told me about Laura’s plight, and I rushed right over.”

  Laura’s plight? What is that supposed to mean? Andrew’s heart quickened a beat, looking at the two of them together. Not that Dick DeHart was a bad guy. He was great. Maybe a little too great.

  ß

  Laura observed the look of confusion on Professor Dougherty’s face. “Richard tells me he wrote our text,” she closed the book and held it up under Andrew’s watchful eye.

  “Yeah. Knew that.”

  Great show of support for his colleague. “We were just discussing this week’s chapter. I’m finding it very enlightening.” That might be stretching it just a bit.

  “Are you?” He didn’t sound very convinced.

  “We were just about to enter a lively discussion on indentured servants,” Richard added. “Would you like to join us, Dougherty?”

  “No, thank you.” He looked at Laura but spoke more to Richard. “I, uh—I’ve got a ton of other things to take care of. And then I have to teach a class. I still do that, you know.”

  They stared at each other until Laura grew uncomfortable. She turned her glance to the textbook in question, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “This is so well written,” she commented, pointing to a particular passage. “How did you ever think to phrase it that way?”

  Richard’s eyes beamed. He spoke in earnest. “I just felt passionate about the subject matter and wanted to express it in the most ardent way I could so that the reader would be drawn into the discussion. That’s all.”

  “Good grief.” Andrew turned on his heels to leave.

  “Sure you won’t join us, Dougherty?” Richard called out, a smile crossing his lips.

  “No, thank you.” He turned to walk in the direction of the counter, leaving her to face Richard DeHart alone.

  ß

  “That’s the one,” Regina said, looking Andrew in the eye.

  “I beg your pardon?” He followed her finger until his gaze fell on Laura Chapman.

  “That’s the one I’ve got picked out for you.”

  “Oh, no, not that one. Anyone else but her!”

  “Why not?” Regina asked, insulted. “Not good enough for you?”

  “It’s not that. She’s just—well, she and I don’t exactly get along. Besides, she’s a student. That presents an ethical dilemma.”

  “She won’t be your student forever. The semester will end soon enough and you’ll part ways. Unless I step in and arrange something.”

  “Impossible.” He shook his head.

  “Nothing is impossible.” She narrowed her gaze. “I’m a praying woman. And I believe God’s timing is perfect. So, if He’s going to work this out, He’ll time it just right. You watch and see.”

  Andrew rolled his eyes. “You clearly don’t understand the gravity of this. That woman can’t stand me.”

  “No doubt. Your people skills are a little lacking. But you’re not as rough as people think you are.”

  “Thank you. I think.�
� He shrugged.

  Regina waved a spatula at him. “You’ve changed the subject. I want to talk about finding you a wife. Thank goodness you have me; otherwise I don’t know what you’d do.”

  “I don’t need a wife,” he said defiantly.

  “You don’t need all that butter and sour cream, either,” Regina said, pointing to his baked potato, “but I notice you’re still eating it.”

  ß

  Laura looked up from her conversation with Dick DeHart, her gaze resting on Andrew Dougherty. He remained deep in conversation with a woman across the counter. She had dark hair and complexion and looked to be in her early forties. A real beauty. Not that it made a difference.

  Laura noticed they had been talking for quite awhile. An odd mixture of emotions shot through her. More than anything, she found herself extremely intrigued by the woman. How could any female on the planet look that comfortable with Andrew Dougherty?

  ten

  Andrew passed out the exams, pausing as he placed one on Laura Chapman’s desk. Nearly three weeks had passed since that awful day when she threatened to quit his class. Each day he breathed another sigh of relief when she walked in the door. However, he had mixed emotions when it came to her sudden and obvious association with Richard DeHart. He couldn’t stand that guy. What a ladies man. Laura Chapman certainly didn’t need that in her life. On the other hand, he had no right analyzing what Laura Chapman did or didn’t need. It was none of his business.

  Still. . .

  He glanced down at her wavy hair, remembering what Regina had said about God’s timing. Was such a thing even possible? If so, should he pack his bag and run for the hills, or wait to see what might unfold right in front of him?

  ß

  After Professor Dougherty gave the go-ahead, Laura turned the paper over and began to read through the questions—first, with fear; then with overwhelming relief. She knew this stuff. A couple of questions might present a challenge, but they were essay questions. Surely she could come up with something for those. As for the multiple-choice questions, they would be a piece of cake.

  Laura looked up at Andrew’s desk, where he sat silently grading papers. He seemed lost in his work. She turned back to the questions, breathing a huge sigh of relief. At one point, she glanced across the room to where Jessica sat, stone-faced, staring at her exam paper. Try as she might, Laura had not been able to get her daughter to study with her.