by Gina Welborn
Luanne pasted on a placid smile and continued to sip her coffee.
Mr. Fisk’s eyes, so gray and unsettlingly observant, narrowed on Luanne. “I hear you had a guest lecturer in class today.”
“Mr. Roy Bennett. He is a photojournalist, adventurer, and an avid balloonist in town for the upcoming race.” Leaning forward, she placed her cup and saucer onto the coffee table. She straightened in her seat. “I like to have guest speakers once a month during the school year. They add an additional perspective to the subject we are studying.”
“What an innovative teacher you are.” Mrs. Fisk slid her cup and saucer, as well as her husband’s, onto the coffee table. “Does Mr. Bennett fly one of those balloons we’ve seen over Helena?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Out of the corner of her eye, Luanne could see Mrs. Hollenbeck gazing out the parlor window. Was that a frown? A scowl? Oh dear, she couldn’t tell. Luanne refocused on the Fisks. “I should clarify we are not studying hot air ballooning. The students were curious about the upcoming race and wished to know more. I asked my brother Geddes, who is an accomplished balloonist in his own right, to speak. When he was unable, Mr. Bennett graciously agreed to fill in. The students were quite attentive.”
The Fisks nodded in what she hoped was understanding.
Mrs. Hollenbeck continued to stare out the window.
The room was quiet, everyone sitting utterly still. Luanne resisted the urge to shift in her seat as she waited for someone else to speak.
“We are not building a balloon,” she blurted, to end the uncomfortable silence. “If Wilber said we were . . . it was an . . . umm—well, we aren’t.”
Mrs. Fisk looked to her husband and dipped her head once, as if to say go on.
“You will build a balloon.” Mr. Fisk raised his eyebrows, a clear message not to contradict him.
Mrs. Hollenbeck sighed.
Luanne stared at the Fisks, a sinking feeling in her stomach. How many hours was she going to have to spend working on a balloon she had no wish to build with a man she had no inclination to ever see again? She had to be asleep. This certainly was a nightmare. A myriad of questions rolled about in her mind regarding how she was going to find the resources to build a balloon, but all that came out of her mouth was—
“Why?”
Mrs. Fisk’s eyes teared up. “Oh, Miss Palmer. Our grandson has never liked school. Today Wilber told his mother that you had started reading to the class Around the World in 80 Days. He insisted she buy him a copy of every book Jules Verne has written. He would not stop talking about Mr. Bennett’s lecture and how he wanted to go to college like Mr. Bennett. College! We never thought this day would ever come.” She gripped her husband’s hand. “We will support whatever is necessary to keep Wilber interested in learning.”
“I’ve spoken with the Board of Trustees and the county superintendent.” Mr. Fisk let go of his wife’s hand and reached inside his pocket to withdraw a small, white piece of paper. “Here’s a bank draft for one hundred dollars for supplies. Professor Tate agreed to allow it to be built after school and on school grounds. Since we cannot allow exceptions to your teaching contract, Mrs. Hollenbeck has agreed to chaperone.”
Luanne turned to Mrs. Hollenbeck, who gave no indication as to her thoughts or feelings about chaperoning. She turned back to the Fisks. “Parents would need to sign permission.” It was a weak counterargument, and the only one Luanne could think of. “Many students have after-school responsibilities. I doubt many parents would agree to this project. And it could take weeks to finish, far more than the time Mr. Bennett has left in Helena. Oh, and then there is the Lewis and Clark County Institute at the end of the month. All teachers are required to attend.”
“Never fear, Miss Palmer.” Mr. Fisk held out the bank draft. “Everything will work out as it should.”
Luanne had no choice but to accept the money.
Mrs. Hollenbeck let out a little hmm of skepticism. Or acquiescence. Really, at this point, Luanne had no idea what to think. She set the bank draft on the table before it burned a hole through her skin.
Mr. Fisk rubbed his hands together. “It’s settled. Tomorrow you can send home permission slips. Wednesday the adventure begins.”
“Wilber will be so delighted.” Mrs. Fisk dabbed her napkin at the corner of one eye.
Mrs. Hollenbeck sipped her coffee. “I wager he isn’t the only one delighted about this turn of events.”
“Indeed,” Luanne muttered as she added a slice of Yancey’s fruitcake onto a napkin. Anything would better than the awful taste she had at this moment in her mouth.
September 30
Roy and Marcus Merryfield rose above the huge crowd gathered to watch the student-made balloon ascend—at least as far as an extra-long tug rope allowed. Much to Roy’s surprise, Luanne’s objection to floating free wasn’t about her students’ safety. She wanted to make sure the ones who worked on the patched-together balloon got a chance to go up, have a private moment to thank Roy for his help, and then come back down.
It wasn’t the only surprise since starting the balloon sixteen days ago.
Once Luanne had seen Wilber, Denny, Nathaniel, and Marcus blossom, she’d endorsed the project with both her time and enthusiasm. Her anger had dissipated and, together, they helped the students accomplish something incredible.
Roy turned down the burner to slow the balloon’s ascent. It bumped to a stop, indicating they’d reached the end of the tug rope.
Unlike the rest of the kids who peered over the basket edge to the ground below, Marcus swept his gaze across the lush green Montana landscape. The school sat on a hill clear cut of trees. The entire valley spread out below them with its half-moon rim of mountains. Fall splotched crisp yellow and orange among the evergreen trees. “You’ve told me a hundred times that, if I’m gonna be a writer like you, I need to be specific and vivid with my descriptions, but this”—Marcus gripped the basket’s edge and leaned forward like he couldn’t take enough in—“is indescribable.”
Oh, this kid!
The freckle-faced boy was a young Roy, eager for adventure and just beginning to enjoy the power of words. Of all the students in Luanne’s class, Marcus had stolen the biggest piece of Roy’s heart. The first day after school, Marcus couldn’t stop asking questions about what it was like to make money by writing. Before Roy knew it, he’d offered to see if the local newspaper editor would be interested in a day-by-day account of their balloon-building project written by a student. Since the Helena Independent was down a reporter, the editor agreed as long as Roy proofed each article before submission.
Most of the huge crowd below them was due to Marcus’s articles. Parents, fellow teachers, and anyone in Helena who wasn’t confined to an office had gathered in the school yard as testament to the boy’s talent.
What if the editor had said no? Even though Roy specifically warned Marcus not to get his hopes up, the boy had glowed with anticipation. Roy understood why Luanne got so upset that day in her classroom when he’d first offered to help the class build the balloon. Kids like Marcus didn’t get very many good things in life. To dangle something in front of him, then take it away . . .
Roy shuddered against the thought of crushing this young man’s soul.
Throat clogged with pride, Roy put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “I, uh . . . I meant what I said about keeping in touch. I want to hear which college you attend, who your favorite professor is, and which newspaper is lucky enough to hire you after graduation.”
“Oh, Mr. Roy. You can’t know how much I wish for that, but there’s just no way my mama can afford it.” Marcus pressed the back of his hand under his nose.
“She doesn’t have to.” Roy held out an envelope. “Here. Open this.”
Marcus took it with trembling fingers. His face was so white, the freckles stood out like ladybugs in the snow. He ripped open the letter, his eyes flitting from left to right. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“I sent your first
few articles to a friend of mine.” Roy ignored the bounce against their feet. For all he cared, Professor Tate could tug on the rope until his arms fell off. The man had tried to ruin the entire balloon-building project with his incessant interruptions, constant questioning, and backstabbing remarks when parents or board members came to observe. No way he was ruining this moment. Roy squeezed Marcus’s shoulder. “My friend agreed that you show remarkable talent. He’s agreed to finance your college education wherever you get accepted. I’ve already spoken to your mother to make sure she’d agree. I didn’t want there to be any obstacles before I gave you this.”
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose, his chin trembling. His shoulders began to shake and a sob escaped his clamped lips.
Letting go of the burner, Roy pulled Marcus into a hug. “I’m as proud of you as if you were my own son.”
Marcus wrapped his arms around Roy’s neck and hugged tight. “Thank you. Oh . . . thank you, sir.”
Another bounce, this one more jarring. Roy patted Marcus on the back. “You’re very welcome. Now I think we’d better go back down before Professor Tate loses patience and climbs up here to join us.”
Marcus chuckled and let go his stranglehold. “Yes, sir.”
Once they reached the ground, Marcus rushed off—probably to find his mother. Roy watched him disappear, a painful knot in his heart. How he’d miss that young man. Roy searched for Luanne amid the crowd. She’d worn the sky blue dress he loved so much, but many ladies wore a similar color. He’d seen her very little over the course of the three-day teaching institute seminar she’d been required to attend. Not that her students had minded class being cancelled over those three days. More time to help him with the balloon, they’d insisted. Even if it meant using a sewing machine. According to Yancey and Geddes, Luanne hadn’t enjoyed her seminar. Where could she be?
Ah! He found her engrossed in a conversation with Wilber Fisk, who was chattering away like all the words he’d bottled up in sixteen years couldn’t come out fast enough. She looked up, met Roy’s eyes, and smiled in that glorious way of hers that melted his bones.
“Mr. Bennett, a moment please.” Mrs. Hollenbeck’s voice drew Roy’s gaze to his right. She wore a royal purple dress with black trim—colors appropriate for a widow—that was so stylish, she’d undoubtedly earned a few jealous glances.
“Yes, ma’am.” Roy shot another look at Luanne, who was focused on Wilber again.
Mrs. Hollenbeck slipped her gloved hand in the crook of Roy’s arm and led him away from the crowd. “This was quite an impressive feat you and Miss Palmer pulled off in a very short amount of time. You two make an incredible team.”
“Thank you.” Although it hadn’t been enough to break through the wall around Luanne’s heart. They’d laughed, shared delight over how the different students blossomed as the week went on, even cried together when Marcus’s college scholarship came through. For Roy, love had burst into full bloom. He had no idea how Luanne felt.
“I’ve been of the belief that Luanne needed change, but I see now I have been wrong.”
Roy gave her a look to convey his confusion.
“About the change she needs. Nevertheless, my loss can be your gain. What is the worst thing Miss Palmer has said to you?” With a flick of her wrist, Mrs. Hollenbeck opened a black lace fan. “The absolute worst.”
Roy looked down at his companion, who was a good foot shorter than he. What was she getting at? “Miss Palmer called me a drifter who left messes in his wake.”
A twinkle lit the widow’s clear green eyes. “Ah . . . very good.”
“Excuse me?” Roy stutter-stepped.
Mrs. Hollenbeck continued walking at a sedate pace, pulling his elbow with one hand and fanning herself in gentle rhythm with the other. “Do you know what I hear in that accusation?”
Roy swallowed, preparing for another assault on his character.
“Fear.”
The word she had uttered rattled inside his head and failed to find a solid footing.
“You doubt me?” She snapped the fan shut and rapped him on the arm. “I’ve known my young friend a long time, Mr. Bennett. Trust me when I say she fears you leaving. More to the point, she fears your leaving will make a mess of her heart.”
Roy’s jaw sagged open. “Are you sure?”
Mrs. Hollenbeck nodded. “Very.”
“Then why didn’t she say so?” His train left in four days!
A hearty laugh erupted from the delicate widow. “Oh, my dear Mr. Bennett. For all your worldly travels, you are a mere babe when it comes to women, aren’t you?”
He scratched the side of his neck at the juncture of skin and beard. “Maybe.”
Mrs. Hollenbeck tugged his arm until he stopped walking and leaned his head closer to hers. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Women never say what they mean—at least not when they are young and think a man understands all the hints they drop. It took twenty years of marriage before my Sylvester and I finally figured out why we seemed to be at cross purposes all the time. Women speak on many different levels. We interpret facial expressions, tone of voice, a turned head, or a blushing cheek before deciding what the speaker really means. A man hears the words and only the words.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
She smiled at him like he was eight years old. “Nothing, until you want to win the love of a woman. And that is your goal, is it not?”
He nodded.
“Then you must be very clear about it.”
“But you just said women picked up on . . . things.” Things like giving up valuable time he needed for race preparations and for writing articles in order to help her students. Or being the only man in the company of three women he didn’t know but who wanted to hear his entire life story as they delivered food to people he’d never met just so Luanne could stay home and grade papers. What more—within the confines of that stupid teaching contract he’d worked so hard to respect—could he do to show his regard for the woman?
Mrs. Hollenbeck started walking again. “In most things, yes, but not in love.”
Apparently God had made women confusing just to vex the male species.
“Miss Palmer will never risk telling you her real feelings until you make your regard for her abundantly clear. Otherwise, it’s like . . . hmmm, how do I say this in a way a man will understand?” Mrs. Hollenbeck looped the fan around her wrist. “It’s like being on the battlefield knowing your left flank is exposed to the enemy and, if you move forward, they’ll sneak in and attack from behind. Miss Palmer needs to feel safe before she’ll step into something as frightening as love.”
Roy’s spirit resounded with the metaphor. “And you think it’s any different for a man?”
Mrs. Hollenbeck stopped walking and reached up to pat his cheek. “Of course not, but one of you must be brave, Mr. Bennett, and I’m afraid that task falls to you.” She cocked her head as though suddenly recalling something. “Of course, you’ll have to get around my young friend’s ridiculous notion that she’s crossed into spinsterhood.”
“Spinsterhood?” That a beautiful, vibrant woman like Luanne would think such a thing was so ludicrous, Roy thought the widow was joking.
Her serious expression said she wasn’t. “You might have to . . . do something to shake her out of it.”
“Do something?” His brain whirled. “Like what?”
Another condescending smile. “I’m sure a handsome, young man like you will figure it out.”
Chapter Eight
An hour later
The four-minute surrey ride from the school to home had never lasted so long. Luanne sat turned on the bench to face Mrs. Hollenbeck in order to keep from seeing Roy, who was sitting on the bench ahead with Mrs. Hollenbeck’s driver. The dear woman, like her driver, couldn’t stop talking about the students and their balloon, which Luanne didn’t mind. Her own thoughts were jumbled.
What had happened in the school yard meant nothing.
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That she and Roy arrived home together (by way of Mrs. Hollenbeck’s surrey) after school for the last twelve days meant nothing. That he’d sat by her at church and shared a hymnal meant nothing. That he’d made her fruit basket deliveries last week so she could spend extra time grading essays—again, nothing. None of it meant anything because in four days Roy would be leaving Helena.
But what if it had meant something? Was it possible to fall in love with someone in a moment?
She didn’t know.
When Roy had found her after his flight with Marcus, when she met his gaze, something happened. She felt different. She felt warm and fluttery. She’d never kissed a man. But in that moment, she felt a desire—a yearning—to run across the school yard and kiss him. Even with all her students watching!
The surrey drew up to the Palmer house.
Roy jumped down. He held out his hand to assist.
Luanne hesitated, unable to do anything but nod in response to Mrs. Hollenbeck’s salutation. Why? She had nothing to fear. Yet the moment she placed her gloved hand in Roy’s, as she feared, the tingle began. And the flutters. Not to mention her heart pounding. The instant her feet touched solid ground, Luanne jerked free. She restrained the urge to run to the house.
“Oh, Mr. Bennett, one final word,” Mrs. Hollenbeck called.
Needing to get away from his disturbing presence, Luanne headed for the house without waiting. She slammed the door as she entered, then winced, waiting for another Palmer to come running and ask what was wrong.
No one came.
Luanne glanced into the parlor where her father usually sat while waiting for Mother to finish preparing supper. Empty. How odd. The visit from Wilber Fisk’s grandparents a couple weeks ago had so upset Mother, new paper of sage green with pink and yellow flowers was ordered the next day. Last night, Father, Geddes, and Roy removed paintings from the walls, pushed all the furniture into the center of the room, and covered the pile to protect against dust and debris. Why wasn’t Father here peeling off the old paper?