A dark shadow hovered just outside the circle of light. Maddie squinted her eyes. “Hellooo.” All at once a black bear loomed up in front of her, teeth bared, its loud roar turning her blood cold.
Maddie gasped and dropped the lantern. Pulling Brandon away from the door, she slammed it shut and fumbled to slide the bolt in place with trembling hands. Only after the door was securely locked—or as secure as the rickety door allowed—did she dare breathe.
Now that she’d dropped the lantern outside, the fire provided the only light. The classroom was cast in flickering shadows that added to the gloom.
All three children stared at her with rounded eyes. Jimmy had dropped the bell, and it rolled slowly into a corner.
Mouth dry, Maddie swallowed hard. It wouldn’t do to panic or let her pupils know how much the bear had scared her. Hands tight at her sides, she said a silent prayer. Please God, send help, quick!
She managed a smile. “That was interesting, wasn’t it?” Her voice unnaturally high, she continued, “Can anyone tell me what kind of bear that was?”
Jimmy wrinkled his nose as if the question was beneath him. A skeptical look crossed Sophie’s face. Apparently the child wasn’t fooled by Maddie’s cheerful facade.
“It was an American black bear,” Jimmy muttered.
Sophie’s gaze wandered over to the rules on the wall. Her mouth turned down in disappointment, probably because no rules existed regarding bears. Apparently, the stuffy, all-knowing school board couldn’t think of everything.
Chapter 2
Miss Parker’s Class
God told us to pass our trash as we would have others pass their trash to us.
That was before they invented wastebaskets.
Elizabeth, age 7
Sheriff Donovan was fit to be tied. Plodding through the woods on his horse during the storm of the century was the last thing he wanted to do. If the labored breathing was any indication, his horse, Morgan, wasn’t too keen on it either.
If he was lucky enough to reach the schoolhouse without freezing to death, Donovan prayed he had the presence of mind to keep from wringing the schoolteacher’s pretty neck. He blew out his breath. Pretty? Now where had that come from?
Drat! The cold had already affected his brain.
Anyone foolish enough to get herself stranded in a snowstorm with a bunch of children can’t be all that bright. He knew hiring a woman from Boston would be a mistake. What did a big-city woman like her know about teaching children in a small Texas town? His had been one of the few dissenting voices, but the school board hired her anyway, though he suspected it was her pretty face more than her academic ability that swayed them. There it was again, the word pretty.
He pulled the collar of his duster another notch higher and gritted his teeth. All because of the fool schoolmarm, he was forced to fight fierce winds and knee-deep snow on a rescue mission.
Worse, it was now completely dark. If his lantern went out, he’d be in a heap of trouble.
Wind howling, Donovan urged his horse onward through the wet and sticky snow. He’d never seen anything like it. Droughts, tornadoes, fire, thunderstorms, and humidity were the norm for Maverick. Snow like this was a different ball of wax.
Tall pines swung back and forth, sweeping the sky and slapping boughs against tree trunks. Every so often a branch snapped off, missing him by inches.
In the darkness his lantern barely penetrated the thick whirling flakes. He was cold and wet and hungry and tired. It seemed like he’d been riding through the woods for hours. He thought he’d followed the road, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was he going in circles? Hopelessly lost? What?
This latest storm had already dumped another couple of feet of fresh snow on top of what was left over from last week’s storm.
His horse faltered. “Whoa, boy.” He lifted his lantern high. The snow had given way to reveal a deep gulch. Thank God his horse had found his footing in time.
It was no use. It was too dangerous to go on. Searching probably wouldn’t do much good anyway. He had no idea where the log cabin school was. For all he knew, it could be miles in the other direction.
He hated to give up, but what purpose would it serve if he got lost? Or if his horse was injured? As long as the schoolmarm and her pupils stayed inside, they should be all right. He’d come back for them first thing in the morning.
No sooner had he started back than he heard something—or thought he did. He reined in his horse and strained his ears against the howling wind.
Was that a school bell?
A gust of wind whipped across the roof, but Maddie kept reading, holding the McGuffey book to the light of the fire.
“I Pity Them” was a good Samaritan story about an emigrant family traveling west and meeting tragedy. It was her pupils’ favorite story and especially comforting on a night like this, when they needed rescuing themselves.
“You see, God sent help to the emigrants, and He’ll send help to us,” she said. Just let it be soon, God; just let it be soon. She sat in front of the fireplace with all three children huddled next to her trying to stay warm. The fire was almost out, and she could barely see to read. What if they were forced to spend the night at the cabin with no light or fire? Maybe she should try to retrieve the lantern dropped outside. The thought sent a shiver up her spine.
Brandon clutched her arm, fingers digging into her flesh. Eyes wide, he watched the dying cinders as if expecting the flames to jump out at him.
Making Brandon sit by the fire was almost as difficult as persuading Jimmy to give up the school bell. He’d insisted upon ringing it to scare off the bear, and her head still throbbed from the noise. At least she’d talked him out of going outside with his slingshot to confront the animal.
A thump came from outside the cabin, and all four jumped.
“What’s that?” Sophie gasped. In her panic she inadvertently grabbed Jimmy’s arm. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to notice.
“The bear’s coming to get us,” Jimmy said, his voice low. He flung out his hands, pushing Sophie back. “I told you I should have chased him off with my slingshot. Boo!”
Sophie screamed, the color draining from her face. Brandon buried his head in Maddie’s skirt.
Maddie was just about at her limit. “Jimmy Madison, if you don’t behave yourself I’ll—”
Another bang was followed by a man’s voice. “Open up. It’s Sheriff Donovan.”
Hand on her chest, Maddie gasped in relief. “Thank goodness. Come on, children. It’s all right.” She lifted Brandon’s head and gave his nose a gentle tap. “See, everything’s fine. We can go home now.”
She jumped to her feet and hurried to unbolt the door. “Am I ever glad to see you!”
She never thought to say such a thing. Bad blood existed between her and the sheriff ever since he’d stood in front of the school board and objected to the town hiring a “greenhorn from Boston.” Since then, she’d simply ignored him except for when he tracked her down to deliver the latest complaint lodged against her. Ignoring him was no longer an option. Not only did his presence seem to absorb the air in the room, but she was now completely dependent on him.
He slammed the door shut and glared at her, his lantern providing welcome light even as it revealed his displeasure. She was ready to bury her grievances, but his brusque manner told her he was not. Never mind. He didn’t have to like or even approve of her. He just had to take them all home.
“You must be frozen,” she said. “Come over by the fire.” Not that the dying flames offered much warmth, but it was something.
He was dressed in a long black duster and a wide-brimmed hat that made his tall form appear much more impressive. A woolen scarf covered his mouth.
He yanked the scarf off his face, but his eyelashes and eyebrows were white with snow. He set his lantern down on the ironing board she used as a desk and pulled off his gloves. He then ambled toward the fireplace, pushing church pews out of the way to clear a path. The cabin w
as only ten by fifteen feet wide, but now it felt even more cramped.
He rubbed his hands together and blew on them.
“Did you see the bear?” Sophie asked.
The sheriff stared down at her. “Bear?” His breath came out in a white plume.
“A ferocious one,” Jimmy said, holding up his hands claw-like to demonstrate.
“And he charged after us,” Sophie said in an indignant voice.
“No one told me there were bears here,” Maddie added. Or that a Texas winter could be so brutal.
The sheriff shrugged. “We’re in the woods. That’s where bears live.” He met her gaze, his eyes challenging her. His rugged square face was anchored by an intriguing cleft chin. Unlike most men in town, he was clean shaven, with just a hint of a shadow at his jaw.
“Don’t you have bears in Massachusetts?”
“Yes, but they have the good sense to hibernate in the winter,” she replied, retaining her cool composure.
“Probably woke from all the racket you made. Bears don’t like to be disturbed.”
Sophie brightened. “I told you we shouldn’t have made so much noise.”
Maddie patted her head. “Yes, but then Sheriff Donovan wouldn’t have found us.” She clapped her hands. “Gather up your things, everyone. We’re going home.”
Sheriff Donovan turned away from the fireplace, hands at his waist, feet apart, an incredulous look on his face. “Ma’am, I hate to break it to you, but we’re not goin’ anywhere. Not tonight, at least. It’s wicked out there. The road is blocked. We’ll see how it looks in the morning.”
She gaped at him. “You mean we have to stay here?” She glanced around the cold and drafty cabin. Despite her best decorating efforts, it still looked more like a dungeon than a classroom. She swallowed hard. “All night?”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Unless you have a better idea.”
“We can’t stay here,” Sophie said. “A teacher cannot spend the night with a man that’s not her brother or father. Pa will be furious.”
Maddie folded her arms across her chest. Sophie knew the rules not only for pupils but teachers, too. “What do you have to say about that, Sheriff?”
He glanced at the three children before settling his gaze on Sophie. “Would your pa like it any better if we were all eaten by a bear?”
Brandon shuddered and clutched at Maddie’s skirt.
“It’s not necessary to scare the children,” she scolded in a voice usually saved for her most unruly pupils.
He lifted his gaze to her without apology. “Do you have any more firewood?”
“Out back, but I doubt you’ll be able to reach it for all the snow.” Every morning before class began, she carried in wood from the woodpile. “I didn’t expect to spend the night.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered. He looked around. “This cabin has as many holes as a sieve. Do you have modeling clay or school paste?”
“In the cabinet,” she said. Cabinet was a fancy name for the wooden crate housing what pitiful few school supplies she’d managed to collect.
He pointed at Jimmy. “How are you at plugging holes?”
Jimmy’s face brightened. “I once plugged up the town water pump so no one could get water.”
“So you’re the culprit, are you? Sounds like you’re the right man for the job.” Donovan pointed to Sophie. “We need something to mix clay in.” He laid a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “You’re the chief stirrer.”
Brandon stared at him on the verge of tears, and Maddie tucked the boy’s hand in hers.
“Brandon will make a perfect stirrer,” she said.
Minutes after arriving, Donovan managed to put all three children to work. “While you’re getting things ready, I’ll see to my horse and look for the woodpile.”
“There’s a lean-to in back. You’ll find hay there,” Maddie said.
Donovan gave a curt nod and left, taking the lantern with him.
By the time he returned a short time later, Maddie had managed to melt just enough snow to add to the clay. Donovan pulled off his duster, hanging it on a nail. He was dressed in dark pants and blue shirt, a silver star pinned to his leather vest. A gun holster looped with cartridges sagged from the weight of his double-action revolver.
“The lantern outside is broken, and I can’t find the woodpile,” he announced.
Heart sinking, Maddie washed the clay off her hands in a basin of water. “The last log is about to burn out.” In his absence, she’d thrown a couple of wooden rulers into the fire to keep it ablaze.
Donovan grabbed the Christmas tree and tossed it into the smoldering cinders, paper ornaments and all. Crackling flames leaped up to engulf the tree, and the room grew bright.
She glared at him. “The children made those ornaments.”
“I guess they’ll just have to make more.” He quickly moved the pews away from the walls and into the center of the room. After the clay was adequately softened, he gathered them around to explain what to do.
“It’s called chinking. You take a handful of clay and push it between the logs.” He demonstrated, and the children quickly caught on. They filled some but by no means all of the lower gaps. The holes up high were left for the sheriff to fill.
“I’m hungry,” Jimmy said.
Donovan glanced at Maddie. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“Just some crackers and beef jerky,” she replied.
She pulled out her supply of food from a box she kept beneath the ironing-board desk. She broke the dry meat into bite-sized pieces and set out the crackers. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.
“Rule number seven says we’re not to eat in the classroom,” Sophie said.
“I dare you to go outside,” Jimmy said, playing with a loose floorboard next to the ironing-board desk.
Sophie made a face at him and plopped down cross-legged in front of the fire to daintily eat a cracker.
Shivering, Maddie ran her hands up and down her arms. “We’re going to have to figure out a way to keep the fire going. Otherwise, we’ll freeze to death.” The Christmas tree created a bright blaze and filled the cabin with a pleasant pine smell, but it would soon burn out.
Donovan glanced around, his gaze settling finally on one of the church pews. “We have all the wood we need.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow but made no comment. Let him handle the church elders when they found out their precious pews had been used as firewood.
Brandon tugged at Maddie’s skirt. “It’s all right,” she said, wrapping her arms around the boy’s trembling body, crushing his wings even more.
“It’s warmer over here,” Donovan said. “I won’t bite.”
“The fire makes him anxious.” Maddie knelt down to look Brandon square in the face. “You don’t have to be afraid. The sheriff will protect us.” Her eyes locked with Donovan’s. “Isn’t that right?”
Donovan nodded for Brandon’s sake, though in reality it seemed like a lie. Some protector. He hadn’t been able to save his family three years earlier in December from the scourges of smallpox, and he certainly had no control over the weather. Worse, now he had to spend the night at the schoolhouse that was decorated from the floor to the rafters for Christmas—a holiday he’d sooner forget.
At least he didn’t have to look at the Christmas tree anymore. That was a relief. All it did was remind him of his loss. The last happy memory of his family was decorating a tree with strings of popcorn and cranberries and little paper angels cut from packages of Arbuckles’ coffee. Days later his wife, son, and unborn child were dead. Still, had he stopped to consider that the pupils made the ornaments, he would have been slower to toss it.
The children did a decent job of chinking the cracks between the lower logs. But they couldn’t reach the high logs, and he didn’t want anyone falling and getting hurt. That was all he needed.
He dragged a pew to one side of the cabin and stood on it, ducking his headbeneath a string of re
d-and-green paper chains. The cabin was booby-trapped. Practically every wall was covered with pictures torn out of magazines or pupil essays written on brown paper or pieces of flour sack. He had to give the schoolmarm credit. She’d done wonders with what little she had to work with.
He slapped a handful of wet clay against a corner crack. The place should have been condemned long ago. The fire that had destroyed most of the town and part of the woods had failed to reach this cabin and others like it. What a pity. And whatever happened to the old miner who once lived here? One day the man just up and disappeared.
Saying the cabin was poorly built was a mite too generous. The logs were round and bark covered, and not one wall intersected at a right angle. At least the miner hadn’t skimped on the stone foundation. The foundations of most log cabins in the area measured eighteen inches from the ground. That was higher than any termite could climb, or so the locals believed. This one was twice the norm. How strange that the miner would overbuild the foundation and skimp on the rest. Either he overestimated termites or got carried away.
While Donovan worked, Miss Parker gathered the children around her to sing carols. Just what he needed. Another reminder of Christmas.
Jimmy tried to outsing Sophie, but that little Brandon fellow didn’t open his mouth. The boy was about the age that his son, Jeffrey, would have been had he lived.
Donovan slapped his hand hard against the wet clay. The clay stopped the unwelcome cold air from blowing inside, but not the memories. Nothing could stop those.
“‘Let heaven and nature sing….’ “
He tried to ignore the singing, but he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Parker had a nice voice. It was soft and clear and reminded him of spring. He shook the thought away. The cold had definitely affected his thinking.
He didn’t realize he was staring until her gaze locked with his. The flickering light of the fire turned her blond hair into liquid gold. She wore it in a tight bun, but enough wisps escaped to hint that perhaps she wasn’t quite as stiff and unbending as she seemed. He could almost envision her hair tumbling down her back. Would her hair feel as silky as it looked? As soft?
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