Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (5 page)

Allie stared at her new friend uncomprehendingly,
and Marcail knew that all she'd just said was completely
foreign to Allie.

The subject of marriage and God was dropped for the
time, but Marcail asked God to open the door someday.
She wanted to introduce Allie to the Man, Jesus Christ,
who would change her life forever if only she would let
Him do so.

On the first day of school Marcail had the worst attack
of nerves she'd ever experienced in her life. The coffee
she drank made her feel sick to the stomach, and when
she burned the piece of bread she was going to eat, she
decided to go without.

Too excited to stay home, she was over at the schoolhouse an hour before the children were expected. There
was no need to ring the bell when the time came because
the children were already on their way. Marcail rushed to
the door when she spotted the first group heading toward
the schoolhouse.

Mr. Flynn had given Marcail a list of whom to expect.
She noticed that Sydney Duckworth's name was not on
the list. Without him she had 19 students, the youngest
of whom was seven and the oldest 15.

Marcail introduced herself to the children as they
entered the classroom, and then requested their first and
last names, even if she'd met them the day before. She
told them to take any seat for the time being. They did as
they were told, but each and every one turned in his seat
to stare at the new teacher. Marcail felt compassion for
them. Up to the time she was ten, her mother and then
her sister had been her only teachers. When that changed she clearly remembered how worried she'd been about
the new instructor liking her.

"Good morning, class," she greeted her students once
she was in front of the blackboard. Marcail smiled at
them with sincere warmth and felt her heart melt over
some of the shy smiles she received in return.

She proceeded to tell the class a little bit about herself
before asking each student to stand and introduce himself again. From that point forward, the day flew. Marcail
could hardly believe her eyes when the big clock on the
wall read 3:00.

A few parents came in wagons to claim their children,
and two students had horses they had stabled for the day
in the small barn out back. Most walked, however, and
Marcail stood at the door until they were far from view.
She stepped back into the room and stood smiling at the
little signs that clearly showed children had been there:
a crooked chair, marks on the board, the globe on the
floor.

"Thank You, Lord." She whispered the words. "Thank
You for a wonderful day."

Marcail had been teaching school for ten days with no
sign of Sydney Duckworth. It wasn't hard to figure out
that Mrs. Duckworth had decided against sending him.
Even though Marcail would like to have met him, she
had other things on her mind, specifically, the lunchbox
social scheduled for the next day.

When Marcail got up on Saturday morning she had
already planned what she would put into her basket to
be auctioned. The proceeds went to the school, and
Marcail was determined that everything be perfect.

She found a small-handled basket in the cupboard, and after lining it with a yellow linen hand towel, she
began to fill it with the lunch she had prepared. All the
women of the town, married or single, were encouraged
to attend and bring their baskets. The auction would
start promptly at 10:30, so all baskets could be auctioned
off in time for a noontime picnic for the entire town.

Marcail used a little piece of string and paper to label
her basket. She held the paper for just a moment and
stared at the name. Miss Donovan. She felt a little thrill
each and every time she wrote it.

Not certain where the auction was to be held, Marcail
left the house a little early. She should have known not to
worry since the noise from people gathering in the town
square could be heard from 300 yards away. From a
distance it sounded as if all 296 of Willits' residents were
in attendance.

Marcail greeted the families she knew as she made her
way to the blanket Mrs. Warren had laid out for her
family. Allie was the only one seated, and Marcail joined
her.

"Hi, Marcail. Is your basket all set?"

"I think so. What's in yours?"

The girls traded baskets, and then exchanged compliments and conversation until a good-looking, darkhaired man walked by. Marcail's gaze followed him as he
passed.

"Handsome, isn't he?" Allie sounded almost smug.

Marcail laughed over being caught looking. "Yes, he
is," she said with an unrepentant grin. "Why haven't I
seen him before?"

"Oh, he keeps to himself. Some say he's still mourning his wife. But she's been gone for over four years."

"What's his name?"

"Dr. Alexander Montgomery," Allie answered and
chattered on, but Marcail caught little of it. Her mind was conjuring up a man bending from the saddle to relieve
her of her basket, his manner solicitous, his voice kind.
But a cold feeling had swept down her spine on hearing
the word "doctor." His good looks and the previous
kindness he'd shown her were overshadowed by his
title. Marcail knew that if they met and talked she would
be cordial, but past experience told her she would never
be completely at ease in his presence.

More thoughts on Willits' doctor were cut short when
the auction began. The women carried their baskets and
hampers forward and joined the crowd around the
stand.

Mr. Flynn from the bank was the auctioneer, and the
first basket belonged to Mrs. Warren. It was customary
for the woman whose basket was on the table to step
forward to the platform during the bidding. Mr. Warren
knew his job and bought his wife's basket. It went for a
good price and that seemed to get the ball rolling. Baskets and coins were exchanged amid a backdrop of
laughter and great fun.

Marcail's basket was one of the last to be auctioned.
She moved toward the platform and took the hand
offered her as she stepped up. Her eyes briefly met those
of Dr. Montgomery's before he released her hand and
she turned to face the audience.

There was a moment of silence that caused Marcail to
become a shade nervous. What she couldn't know was
how she appeared to the townspeople at that moment.
She wore her dark blue dress with the white collar. Her
black hair, braided and then wrapped into a fat bun,
shone in the sunlight, and the young, vulnerable look
she sported on her beautiful face was enough to stop the
men of the town dead in their tracks.

"Well now," Mr. Flynn said softly, as though shouting
would spoil the moment. "Most of you have met our new schoolmarm, Miss Donovan. Let's give her a grand welcome to our small town by bidding high on her basket."

The bidding started at two bits, and Marcail smiled
when it swiftly went to 40¢. There seemed to be four
young men bidding-the Warren boys and two men
Marcail did not recognize. She felt her face flame when
her basket went over a dollar, and the crowd began to
cheer with each accelerated bid.

Mr. Flynn didn't yell sold until the bidding stopped at
$2.75. Marcail had never heard of such a high bid for a
lunch basket. She moved in a state of shock and once
again felt the doctor's hand before suddenly being grabbed
by someone and nearly pulled from the platform.

"Take it easy, Rowie." Marcail heard the smooth tones
of Dr. Montgomery's voice. "You've won the basket fair
and square; there's no need to pull her arm off."

"Sorry." The young man apologized but did not relinquish his hold on Marcail's arm.

"Do you two know each other?" Again the doctor
spoke.

Marcail could only shake her head as she stared first at
the doctor and then at the burly stranger who held her
arm in a possessive grip.

"Miss -Donovan, this is Jethro Kilmer. Rowie, this is
Miss Donovan."

"How do you know her?" Rowie's jaw suddenly jutted
forward, and if Marcail had recognized the signs of jealousy, she would have backed completely away from this
squarely built man who had bought her lunch basket.

"She's my closest neighbor, Rowie. You know I live
past the schoolhouse." The doctor's voice was once again
honey smooth, and the younger man calmed visibly.

Marcail was given no chance to thank Alex for his help
before she was pulled across the grass to the area where everyone had placed their blankets. When Rowie stopped
to look around, Marcail gently disengaged her arm.

"Which blanket is yours?"

"I was sitting with the Warrens."

Rowie's head spun around so quickly to face Marcail
that she thought he might have hurt himself.

"You like one of the Warren boys?"

Marcail blinked at the aggressiveness in his voice.
"Allie and -I are friends," she explained calmly.

Again she watched him relax. She could tell he was
going to take her arm again and drag her off to whoknows-where, so Marcail turned and walked with steely
determination to the Warrens' blanket.

Mr. and Mrs. Warren were already seated on the blanket. Seth Porter, a man Marcail had not met, bought
Allie's lunch. He and Allie were headed their way. Allie
introduced Marcail to Seth, and they talked for just a few
moments. Marcail immediately noted the excited gleam
in Allie's eyes and the lovely blush on her cheeks each
time Seth looked in her direction.

Everyone was in high spirits as they began to eat, but
Marcail soon discovered that this lunch was going to be
work. Rowie sat as close to her as she would allow. She
did her best to keep her small basket between them. He
didn't have much to say, but she felt his eyes on her much
of the time. When he wasn't watching Marcail, he was
looking at the other people on the quilt as though he
wished they would disappear into another state.

Logan, who had not bid on anyone else's lunch, stared
at Marcail also, putting something of a damper on her
afternoon. Mr. Warren seemed to sense what was happening and sent his gawking son on an errand as soon as
he was finished eating.

People began to mill around, and Marcail was tempted
to rise also. Weighing how safe it would be to wander around town with this man, she hesitated. When Seth,
Allie, and Mr. and Mrs. Warren left, leaving only Rowie
and Marcail on the blanket, he spoke.

"You don't have a boyfriend back home or anything
like that, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Jethro, but I don't feel that's something you
need to know."

"I like it that you call me Jethro."

Marcail sighed with frustration. He hadn't heard a
word she said. Rowie went on to ask Marcail a score of
questions about how she liked children and housework.
That he was in the market for a wife was more than
obvious. Marcail decided to nip his thoughts in the bud,
at least where she was concerned.

With a gentle tone, she told him in no uncertain terms
that she was not in the market for a husband. Rowie
looked crestfallen until Marcail told him it wasn't personal, and that she didn't want to be married to anyone.
Rowie didn't push the point, but Marcail had the distinct
impression that he believed he could change her mind.
When they parted company later that day, Marcail did so
with a prayer that Jethro Kilmer would not push her,
because if he chose to, his feelings were certain to get
hurt.