Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (28 page)

Marcail talked all through supper preparations, and
with only a question here and there, Patrick listened.
Alex was on time, and Marcail was very pleased at how
easily the men conversed.

Marcail began to feel very selfish over talking nonstop
about herself, so as the three sat down to supper, she
asked Patrick about the people in Visalia. Marcail missed
it, but Alex noticed the tender light in Patrick's eyes upon
his daughter's question.

""Everything in Visalia is great. The folks who knew I
was coming send you their love."

Marcail smiled as she thought of the people there who
loved her. "How are Duncan and Lora?"

"Great."

'And Sadie?"

"Sadie is doing fine." Patrick said softly, but Marcail
had turned to Alex to explain who all of these people
were and missed her father's expression.

"My brother, Sean, met and married his wife, Charlotte, in Visalia. They lived there almost up to the time
they went to minister in Hawaii. Their pastor was a bit
older, and when he decided to leave the pulpit, God
called Father to fill it. Duncan is the sheriff and his wife is
Lora. They both attend Father's church. Sadie is Charlotte's aunt. She comes on Sunday morning, which is a
tremendous answer to prayer, but we're still praying for
her salvation."

"We don't need to pray for her salvation anymore."
Patrick spoke softly, and Marcail turned to look at him.
The look of utter serenity that crossed his features caused
Marcail to jump to her feet and throw her arms around
his neck.

"When?" Marcail laughed with delight. "When did
this happen?"

'About a week ago. She's been coming to our midweek
services off and on for several weeks. Last week she
stayed late and talked with Lora. Lora told me the sound
of longing she heard in Sadie's voice was heartbreaking.
By the time they had finished talking, though, Sadie told
Lora that all her fears were gone.

"Then Sadie and I talked the day before I received
your letter. She told me that for the first time since her
husband passed away, she is not afraid of death. She
wakes up knowing that if today is her last day on earth, it
will be her first day in heaven."

"Oh, Father," Marcail breathed, not needing to say
more. Alex, too, was deeply moved. They continued to
share, each about his own work and the people in their
lives. When Alex mentioned Dean and Kay Austin, Marcail told her husband she'd completely forgotten about
Bible study.

"I stopped to see Dean on my way home," Alex explained, putting her mind at ease. "I told him they might
not see us."

"Please don't cancel your plans on my account,"
Patrick was swift to say. "If I can't accompany you, I'll
find something-"

"Of course you can go with us," Marcail cut in. "The
Austins would love it."

And thus it was settled. The dishes were done in
record time, and the three set out for town. Marcail took
the cake she'd baked for Alex, and they had a small
celebration before the girls went to bed. As it turned out,
they did not get to their Bible study.

Because Patrick had been a minister for many years
and was a good deal older than the rest of the adults, Alex, Dean, and Kay went into detail about the situation
with their present pastor and asked what they should do.

Patrick's first suggestion was to continue on in prayer,
but for Cordelia Duckworth, and not just their pastor. He
was convinced that she was the root of the problem and
that was where they needed to concentrate their efforts.

Marcail was silent, but she'd believed that for a long
time. She had no desire to see Sydney's grandmother
crushed beneath the heels of the community, but someday, someone was going to have to say no to that woman.
As always happened when Marcail's thoughts moved in
that direction, she got the uncomfortable feeling that she
would be that someone.

Patrick stayed until Friday morning. The Austins graciously opened their home to him, and he stayed both
nights in their spare room. His days, on the other hand,
were spent with Alex or Marcail. He joined Alex on his
rounds, and even stayed in the examination room when
Alex saw a few of his younger patients. He took in more
of Marcail's expertise with her class and marveled repeatedly at her ease and ability to teach.

It was not easy to see Patrick go, but both Alex and
Marcail were thankful for the brief time they had shared.
Alex believed that God had given them these days to
assure both himself and his new father-in-law that God's
hand had been on their marriage.

They told Patrick of their plans to visit Santa Rosa
when school let out. Patrick assured them that when he
stopped off in Santa Rosa to see Katie and Rigg, he'd pass
along the news.

Patrick left with a peaceful heart, believing that with
Alex by her side, Marcail would come to no harm. What Patrick didn't know about was the extent of Sydney
Duckworth's infatuation with his teacher, an infatuation
that would drive him to do something he would regret
for the rest of his life.

'" You look a bit sleepy this morning," Alex commented over breakfast as he watched Marcail stare into
her cup.

"I guess I am," Marcail said, covering a yawn. "I'm
rather glad it's Friday, since Sydney's been weighing on
my mind so heavily this week."

That, Alex thought to himself, is an understatement.

It had been two weeks since Patrick left, and Marcail,
after hearing about Sadie's salvation, threw herself into
the business of leading Sydney to the Lord. She found it
to be exhausting work, and some days she believed
they'd made no progress at all. Every night she fell
asleep giving Sydney to God, but oftentimes, as the
school day went on, she acted as if her efforts alone, and
not those of a sovereign God, would save her young
student.

Before Marcail knew it, it was time to leave for school.
The puddles in the road had long ago dried up, but Alex
enjoyed taking his wife to work, so he ignored her every
time she suggested walking. She had walked home on a
few occasions, but only when Alex could not get away.

The schoolhouse was quiet as Alex took Marcail's
books to her desk. As always he kissed her, but after their kiss on the beach in Fort Bragg, his kisses were different.
No longer did he hold her jaw and kiss the corner of her
mouth, hitting more of her cheek than anything else.
She now seemed very willing to accept his embrace and
tender kiss, full on the mouth.

He didn't linger this morning as he was always tempted
to do, but kissed her twice. His love for her grew daily,
and he could never get enough of touching or talking to
her. Marcail walked him to the door and smiled with
contentment as he rode away.

She was at her desk, writing out a few notes, when she
heard movement at the back of the room. It was a bit
early for the children to be arriving, but Marcail looked
up to see Sydney standing just outside the cloakroom
door.

"Why, Sydney," she said with pleasure, "I didn't hear
you arrive. How are you today?"

"Fine," the young boy answered, his sullen tone telling Marcail he was anything but. The young school
teacher sighed mentally. On the days when Sydney was
boisterous and unruly, Marcail knew where she stood.
When he was withdrawn and uncommunicative, as he
was now, he frightened her.

She knew there was no point questioning him when
he behaved like this, so Marcail went back to the paper in
front of her, thanking God the week was over and praying the day would be better than she hoped.

The morning progressed fairly smoothly, but Marcail's
prayerful heart was never far from the unpredictable
Sydney. The other children seemed to take their cue
from him; they were quiet as well.

Marcail dropped into her chair at lunch as though
she'd worked two days without a rest. She'd just reached
for her lunch tin when Alex entered. It was a pleasant surprise. Marcail felt like she was seeing the first friendly
face all day.

"Hi," Alex spoke as soon as he sat down. He thought
she looked tired, which wasn't like her, and it concerned
him. It also made the reason for his visit more difficult.

"Hello," Marcail smiled at him, unaware of the way
her fatigue showed.

"I can't stay," he began, "but I wanted to let you know
I won't be by after school. I've got to head out to the
Castleton place, and I won't be back until evening."

"I don't mind the walk," Marcail told him honestly,
thinking it would give her a chance to clear her head and
time to pray.

'All right," Alex said, still hating the idea. "I'll see you
as soon as I can."

Marcail walked him to the door and then went back to
her lunch.

The afternoon was a waste of time. The children went
from being obediently quiet to continuously talking out
of turn, and Marcail let them go nearly 45 minutes early.
It was cool but more than comfortable, and she felt that
the students who normally had rides could use the exercise.

Marcail straightened the room and worked at her own
desk for over an hour before gathering her books and
slipping into her coat. Once outside, she closed the door
behind her and moved unsuspectingly toward the steps.
Her foot never reached the first step. It caught on a string
that had been tightly drawn across the top.

Marcail's books flew through the air. Her hands went
out to grasp for the railing and encountered only thin air.
In an attempt to right herself, she turned partially with
her back to the steps.

Her momentum was too great though, and the change
in position didn't help. She ended up falling very hard, most of her weight going onto one side of her back.
Marcail gasped for breath after the initial impact. Pain
ran from the back of her head to the back of her right
thigh. She lay still for long moments, breathing hard
with pain and trying to determine if anything was broken.

Marcail didn't realize she was shaking all over until
she tried to stand. For the first time since she'd moved to
Willits, she wished the schoolhouse was more centrally
located. After some effort, Marcail found herself on her
hands and knees looking up at the steps above her, and
to the thin string tied tautly across the top.

The ache inside of her was more painful than any of
her bruises. This had been a deliberate and malicious act.
Marcail was absolutely crushed. More from lack of will
than from pain, Marcail collected her books with an
effort and removed the string, slipping it into the pocket
of her coat.

The walk home was accomplished without real thought
to where she was going or how fast. She didn't touch the
stove or start supper when she arrived, but slipped out of
her coat and decided to lie down. She removed her shoes
and lowered herself gingerly onto the sofa, careful of her
bruises as she pulled a blanket over her.

She told herself she was just going to sleep for a few
minutes, but even though her back throbbed, her body
had other ideas. Sleep overcame her quickly, blissfully
wiping away the steps, the string, and the troubled face
of one little boy from her mind.