Heart of Gold (A Gold Rush Romance) (9 page)

His playful attitude vanished. He pulled on the reins until Hamlet stopped walking and turned toward her, looking directly into her eyes. Even in the darkness, with the moon half-hidden by clouds and only a distant streetlamp for light, she could see how serious his blue eyes were. “Alice, I am already carried away. I make no claim to understand this, I just know that I have never before felt the way I do when I am around you, and I enjoy that feeling. I will try to keep my distance if that will make you happy, but I don’t want to. I want to see you often, court you, and marry you the moment you feel you know me well enough to do so, however outrageous that might sound to you.”

His eyes and words dug into her in the most wonderful of ways. This time, it was much harder to keep that other part of her from doing something rash, to show him precisely what would make her happy. For a minute, she struggled to keep from kissing him, or the extreme alternative of jumping out of the buggy and running away. Her heart pounded so hard against her chest it hurt, and she could not tell if she was worried or excited.

After a long time, she was able to break the eye contact that had held her entranced and looked around at the surrounding houses. The rain began to fall again lightly, soft droplets splattering her head and shoulders with cool water.

She cleared her throat and shifted so her body was turned away from him. “We are almost at Mrs. Leach’s house. Thank you for the ride. I can walk from here.”

He turned back to Hamlet and set him to walking up the street with a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins. “Nonsense. I can drive you to the door. Just tell me where to go.”

She gave him a few directions, then sat silently, waiting eagerly for the moment she would be able to step down from the buggy and create some distance between them. She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “It has cracks, you know.”

She looked at him, confused. She had expected him to say something, but that had been completely unexpected and incomprehensible. “Excuse me?”

“Your schoolmarm façade. It slips sometimes, and your eyes never truly hide what is going on inside your mind. It may be that others don’t notice, but I can tell. The hidden you seems quite pleasant. You should let her out more.”

She stared at him, her mouth open. Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before, and she had no idea how to react. The dropping rain and the clopping of the horse were the only sounds.

He stopped Hamlet again and she looked around to see that they were at her destination. The whitewashed clapboard house faced the street, proudly declaring that its inhabitants were, if not wealthy, at least comfortable.

Thomas began to climb down from the buggy, but before he could come around to help her out of her seat, she scrambled out and rushed up the stairs of the home, glad to be away from him. She wished she could run inside as well, but it would be imprudent to do so if a disease had taken residence there.

She knocked and waited for someone to answer the door. As she waited, she listened to every movement Thomas made behind her, her entire body aware of his presence, as if she was a tuning fork set precisely to his pitch. He walked up and stood behind her, and she could hear him breathing, so close that it made her fingers clench from withheld need.

Mrs. Leach opened the door and ushered them both inside. “I was hoping you would get here soon, dear. I think it might rain for the rest of the night, and I hoped you would not find yourself trapped at Mr. Lancaster’s for the entire evening.”

That would have been very interesting, Alice thought, but she ignored the thought and asked, “How is Jack? Is it diphtheria?”

Mrs. Leach snorted. “That fool physician has no idea what he is talking about. The boy has the chicken pox. He may be miserable for a few days, but should be fine. And there is no need for you to stay someplace else.”

Alice was relieved. She needed rest after her very long day, and certainly was not inclined to spend more time riding around town in the buggy with Thomas. It was a little too private for her comfort.

Mrs. Leach turned to Mr. Lancaster and grasped his hand. “Thank you so much for your help, sir. I do appreciate it.”

"Call me Thomas, please, ma'am," he replied as he placed his hand on top of hers.

Mrs. Leach's smile became even wider, and Alice had to stifle her grimace. Did he have to be quite so charming all the time? He still managed to look quite handsome with the sheen of water on his skin and clothes, whereas she was quite sure she had the appearance of a drowned rat.

Mrs. Leach responded, "Thank you kindly, Thomas. Say, has Joe ever had chicken pox?"

Thomas seemed nonplussed by the question, but Alice could see precisely what Mrs. Leach was considering. She stifled a groan and prayed his answer was yes, the boy had definitely had chicken pox. Thomas began, "I'm not sure—"

"Bring him by tomorrow. If he has not, he best take care of that now. And then you can stay for supper and we can repay your hospitality."

Thomas glanced at Alice for just a second before returning his gaze to Mrs. Leach. "I will, absolutely."

Alice clamped down on the giddiness that threatened to rise within her, unbidden, and instead opted for frustration. She would see him again tomorrow. For the third evening in a row, she would be forced to battle her emotions. At least there would be enough people around this time that they would have no opportunity to converse privately.

Very few minutes later, Alice settled into her bed, knowing that she was in for yet another night of tossing and turning as she thought about Thomas, replaying every look, every word, every touch.

The next morning, Alice found herself even more exhausted than on the previous one. She trudged to the schoolhouse with hardly a glance at the beautiful spring morning around her, and even unlatching the door to the schoolhouse was a difficult task for her shaking hands.

The school day went by in an exasperated haze. Alice had been too tired to create fun activities, leaving the students with nothing but bookwork, and it quickly devolved into much more work than her weary mind could take. The students became distracted, unruly, and difficult to manage. The fifth graders started playing games and causing a commotion the moment she turned her back to help the littler ones. She even had to raise her voice and threaten a smack with a ruler—two things she never had to do—in order to call their attention back to the slates in their hands.

She tried to tell herself it was because of the fresh, sunny conditions outside the window that had blossomed after the night’s rainstorm, but she had been teaching long enough to know that the behavior was most likely a consequence of her mental state and lack of planning. She was unfocused and out of sorts, and it seeped through the entire schoolroom, infecting everyone like a disease. She couldn’t blame the children too much for their misbehaviors—if only her mind was focused and clear, things would be so much better.

Halfway through the day, when all the students had left the room to either have lunch at home or eat out in the sun so they could enjoy the lovely weather, Alice put her head on her desk in defeat. She wanted to close her eyes and nap, but what she really needed to do was pull herself together and prepare for the second half of the day and possibly avoid more of the pitfalls she had found herself in thus far that day.

“Miss Crenshaw?”

Her head whipped off the desk so quickly she felt a twinge in her neck. The large figure of Mr. Wilson greeted her, standing at the door and looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

What was he doing here again?

She managed to hold in the sigh that nearly escaped her lips, and plastered on a polite smile that she did not feel. Her day was already bad enough—why did he need to come and make it worse? He certainly would not come to compliment her twice in a row, so this must be a visit necessitated by something she had done that needed reprimanding. What teaching tactic had he heard about and disagreed with? Her mind was already whirring with the possibilities.

She stood and tried to make her voice as polite and friendly as possible, though it took all her remaining strength to do so. “Hello, Mr. Wilson. It is quite a surprise to see you again so soon. How are you today, sir?”

He walked into the room, trying, unsuccessfully as usual, not to bump into the desks that crowded the center aisle.

Alice stood and waited patiently for him to reach her desk and tell her why, exactly, he had come to call. She had found early on that he came to the schoolroom often, and usually it was because she was teaching in some way that offended “the board’s”—though she was certain it was just his—sensibilities, but the visits were nearly all scheduled with her in advance and he had never been there two days in a row. This seemed to be a week of very bad luck for her.

He finally reached the desk and moved around it, coming to stand only inches from her. “I am doing well, Miss Crenshaw, thank you. I came here again to speak to you of a very important matter that has just come to my attention.”

She kept from rolling her eyes, but it was a close thing. He had probably found out about the spelling song she taught the week before or something similar. She needed to be careful with songs—the students had a tendency to sing them outside of the schoolroom, and it could occasionally reach the wrong ears.

She stepped back, tucking in her chair and trying to put a little distance between them. Then she responded, trying to keep every shred of sarcasm out of her voice. “What has happened, Mr. Wilson? You know I am always eager to help the school board and the students in any way I can.”

Mr. Wilson stepped forward again, closing the gap she had created. “Miss Crenshaw, it has been brought to my attention that you were seen riding to Mr. and Mrs. Leach’s home last night in a buggy, alone with a strange man. I need not explain to you the severity of this situation, I am sure.”

She couldn’t believe he had found out about that already. If she needed any reminding that she could never have a secret relationship with Thomas, there it was. “Mr. Wilson, I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. Mr. Lancaster is Joe’s uncle, as well as his new guardian. Mrs. Leach had accompanied me to dinner at his house in order to help them sort out a few difficulties, but Mrs. Leach needed to rush off when she was told that her youngest child was sick, possibly with diphtheria.

“She insisted I stay there in case the child was contagious, and Thom—Mr. Lancaster was kind enough to drive me home once Mrs. Leach had an opportunity to see to her son. It was nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance, I assure you, and both Mrs. Leach and Mr. Lancaster would say the same. The situation was completely innocent.”

Well, the last part was not strictly true, but she would not be explaining that to this man.

Mr. Wilson nodded, but his expression was still serious. “I will explain to the board. Most likely, there need not be any consequences, if it was a single event due to extenuating circumstances. However, it is important that a teacher keep up appearances, you know.”

She nodded. “Absolutely, Mr. Wilson. Any contact I have with Mr. Lancaster or any other man in this town will, of course, be chaperoned and purely professional in nature. I am very aware of the rules, sir.”

She hoped if she said it aloud, she could actually keep that promise. Still, her wild nature was balking at the need to explain herself, and a defiant voice was shouting silently that the rules were idiotic and she should be able to see whomever she wanted, thank you very much.

She waited for him to accept her statement and leave so she could put her head down again for a last few minutes before calling in the students. Instead, Mr. Wilson stepped forward again, his stomach pressing against hers, and put his hand on her waist.

Her entire body stiffened with shock at the move. His free hand moved a strand of hair from her face that had escaped her bun, looping it behind her ear. His voice was oily and soft when he spoke again. “I would hate for anything to occur that would cause you to lose your position here, my dear. The board thinks it is incredibly important to have a schoolteacher that is cooperative and follows any edicts put in place by the board, whether they are professional or personal matters.”

With that, he gave her a small grin and a quick wink, and then he sauntered out the way he had come, head high and a quiet tune on his lips. He seemed so proud of himself that she thought she might vomit.

Even after he was gone and the door was closed, she could only stand and stare. Her mind was unable to wrap around what had happened. She pulled out her chair and fell into it, her legs giving way with mental and physical exhaustion.

As she thought about it, she realized that she should have expected this. How had she managed to ignore his slow advances for so long? She recalled the other times he had entered the classroom, even just the day before—coming in usually when all the students were gone, standing so close, speaking so privately to her—that it shocked her she had never seen it coming.

She wanted to go home and wash off, even curl up in bed and hide for a short while to get some distance from the situation, but that wasn’t an option. In fact, it was time to call in the students and begin the second half of her day. She picked up the bell that felt far too heavy in her hand, and pushed herself toward the door.