Lost & Found Love (17 page)

Tabby swallowed. “Does that mean you’re sorry you made love to me?” She couldn’t prevent the pain that stabbed through her.

There was a brief silence. “No. Never that, Tabby. It was beautiful. You’re beautiful. But as much as I didn’t want to accept it, I do have constraints on my behavior. I do have a higher standard I have to live up to. When I make love to you again, it must be within a committed relationship.”

Marriage. Somehow the idea wasn’t nearly as frightening as it had been a few days ago. “I’m willing to see if we can work out a compromise,” she murmured.

“That’s all I can ask. We’ll talk Sunday when I get back.”

“Okay. I’d like that. I truly would. Good night, Joseph.” Tabby set the phone back in its stand and nibbled on her bottom lip. She realized she would compromise almost anything to have him in her life, and suddenly that scared her even more. Was that what her mother had done? But there was no comparing Joe to Tommy MacVie, so she had to quit doing it.

She returned to her studio and shook off her melancholy. She had only a few finishing touches to add to her painting of Joseph. He was dressed in a simple white dress shirt, his head thrown slightly back with eyes lifted heavenward as he sang, and his hands spread palm up at waist level. She had painted the light so that it seemed to come from him. His halo. She smiled as she finished the painting and left it on the easel to dry.

Tabby yawned, took her sketches of Stoner out, and examined them. As she studied his hands, she noticed how long his little fingers appeared in her drawings and wondered if it was just habit, kind of like an El Greco—not that she was comparing herself to the famous artist. She looked at her own pinkies and shook her head. Tabby yawned once more, setting the sketches and her sketchbook aside on the window seat. It was late, and she was exhausted. She wanted to be alert tomorrow to see if she could make any more headway with Melodie.

* * * *

Tabby knew at once when the little girl entered her room the next day that something else had happened. She wore a turtleneck even though the temperature was well into the seventies, and most other little girls still wore T-shirts. No pants again either. Once again, it was a long skirt. Tabby remembered how hard it was to wear pants when her legs were bruised. Skirts weren’t nearly as painful. Most telling of all was the way the little girl appeared to have withdrawn from everyone around her.

Melodie wouldn’t even look at Tabby when she sat down next to her. “We’re working with crayons today, Melodie,” Tabby prompted. “Free drawing for the first ten minutes. You may use whatever colors you like and draw whatever you wish.”

Melodie picked up a black crayon and drew a witch. “My mama says you’re a witch, but I don’t think so. I know you’re here to help me.” It was a whisper of sound.

Tabby touched the little girl’s hand, feeling the way she flinched ever so slightly.

“I want to help you, Melodie,” Tabby said quietly, “but you must help too. I was like you, but I wouldn’t tell anyone or show anyone who hurt me.”

“I’ve told you,” the little girl said simply and looked at her with trusting blue eyes.

Tabby stared at her speechlessly. Melodie didn’t understand that simply mentioning her mother in conversation wasn’t an indictment of her parent. Tabby couldn’t bring herself to tell her otherwise because she feared if she pressed the girl anymore, she would deny everything. Tabby had been down that road too. She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, you have, honey. I’ll do something. I promise.”

She wasn’t optimistic that approaching her principal would work, but what choice did she have? That was the chain of command. After the buses left that afternoon, Tabby returned to the office, requested Melodie Matthews’s permanent file, and asked for a few minutes of Mr. Underwood’s time. The principal regarded her with borderline hostility as she related what she suspected, and what she’d found in the little girl’s file.

“Is that all, Miss MacVie?”

Tabby swallowed, smelling defeat. “She told me.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me her mother is always telling her not to do things.”

“And you see that as something out of the ordinary?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Did she show you any evidence?” His tone grew colder.

“No. I asked her to let me take her to the nurse, but she refused.” Defeat curled around her heart. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had done wrong in this man’s eyes, but it was clearly something. Surely arriving early that one day in her cycling pants didn’t warrant his coldness? Perhaps he was reading and believing the trash posted on Facebook.

Dennis Underwood tapped the file with his pen. “I’ll look into it. Your job is to report it to your administrator. You’ve done your job, Miss MacVie. I’ll handle it from here.”

She was dismissed, and she had no idea if he would even do anything. As she left school, she remembered Melodie’s trusting blue eyes.
I’ve told you
. Then Stoner’s words—
don’t cry, take action
. Instead of going home, she drove to Jenny’s house. It was time to bring her sister into this.

Tabby was in luck. Not only was Jenny at home, but so was Evan. They welcomed her with hugs and kisses. Evan eyed her curiously. “Mother says you’ve made a friend.” He glanced at Jenny. “We can’t say we approve of your choice.”

Tabby plucked at her skirt. “If you’re referring to Stoner, he kind of rescued me when I was being harassed on my bike.”

“He was off the farm without his ankle bracelet?” Evan inquired sharply.

Tabby laughed. “No. He calls it his leash. And yes, Evan, he had it on. By the time he reached as far as he could go, the teenagers were long gone, but I’d dumped myself at the end of the driveway and flattened my tire. He helped me take my bike to the house to change it.”

“But you’ve been back since then, according to Catherine. She was here this morning,” Jenny explained. “She speaks highly of you and you’re effect on Stoner.”

Evan grimaced. “I certainly hope you haven’t bonded. That would be a dark and twisted place to be.”

Tabby frowned. “You shouldn’t say that, Evan. He’s kind to me, and he’s funny. He makes me laugh.”

Evan gaped. “Are we talking about the same man I know as my father?”

Tabby tilted her head. “Maybe not. The man I know is sad a lot of the time, except when he’s working in his shop.”

“Mother mentioned he was building furniture,” Evan tossed off casually. “I suppose it passes the time.”

Tabby’s eyes glowed. “It’s more than furniture, Evan. It’s art. He’s doing the most beautiful inlay work on an occasional table. You should see it.”

Jenny glanced at her husband and back at Tabby. “I rather doubt that will happen any time soon.”

Tabby thought of the lonely man who talked about missing the sound of his hounds hunting, the man whose large, elegant artist’s hands were capable of manipulating complicated inlay. She looked at Peter, sleeping peacefully in Evan’s arms, and shook her head. “He’s different than the man you knew even a few months ago.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots, Tabby,” Evan commented coolly, his thick brows drawing together over eyes as stormy a gray as his father’s.

Tabby glared back, her brows furrowing over her tawny cat eyes. “Sometimes they do. I would give an arm and a leg to have someone like him for a father rather than the man who called himself my father.”

Jenny looked at the way Evan and Tabby had squared off to glare at each other and shook her head. “Now, now. Tabby, sit down. You had a reason for stopping by. I could see it when you came in. Something has upset you.”

Tabby took a deep breath, glancing at Evan sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Evan. Right now, my friendship with Stoner is one of the few things going right in my life.”

“We heard you’re having some problems with Joe,” Jenny commiserated. “Is that it?”

“No, although I seem to be the popular one to beat up on Facebook at the moment, that’s not my main concern. I think a little girl at school is being abused at home, but I don’t think anyone will do anything about it.”

Evan leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell us what you know?”

When she finished, his brow was furrowed once more. “It is sketchy, but Tabby, legally you’ve done your job. Even if abuse is discovered later on, you’ve done your job and reported it to your administrator. Of course, telling us is a good backup too.”

Tabby rubbed her face with a shaky hand. “Evan! You’re not getting it.
She
thinks she’s told me.” Tabby jumped up, nervously pacing the kitchen. “It has to be her mother. It has to be. Melodie must be so frightened. She might be like….” She froze with her back to them and swallowed.

“Like you were?” Jenny interjected.

Tabby pivoted and stared at them both. “Tommy MacVie beat me. That’s the story Mama felt was mine to tell. From the time I was six until I was twelve.”

“Why did he quit then?” Jenny asked.

When Tabby actually smiled slightly, Jenny and Evan looked at each other.

“The last time he put his hands on me, it was different. Since he was still convinced I was possessed by demons, I told him Satan took care of his own and if he touched me in the way he was thinking, his penis would shrivel up and fall off.”

Evan’s gray eyes widened. Then he guffawed. “Oh my God! And he
believed
you?”

Tabby frowned at him. “Evan, you shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, and yes, he believed me.” Tabby laughed. “I prayed hard for the next week for God to forgive me for telling such a lie.”

They talked her into staying for dinner, and as it turned out, Tabby made it, cooking eggplant Parmesan. She even allowed herself one glass of wine. It wasn’t often she could eat with family. By the time she went home, she felt much better about the entire situation. After bending down to give Katie Scarlett a scratch behind the ear, Tabby unlocked her door, still wrapped in the warmth of having a sister and brother-in-law, a family she could call her own.

When she arrived at work the following morning, Dr. James was there at the door to greet her. One look at his face told Tabby something was wrong.

“I need to see you in my office,” he stated. Tabby gulped, nodding her understanding. She stepped into his office and saw Mr. Underwood was there. Dr. James waved her to a seat across from him.

“Miss MacVie,” Dr. James began. “As you’re aware, your contract contains a morals clause. A complaint has been filed that you’re in violation of that clause. A tenured teacher would have more recourse, but since you’re still in your probationary year, the school system can choose to suspend you and not renew the contract.”

Tabby folded her hands in her lap. “What is it that I am supposed to have done, Dr. James?”

He paused and shifted his eyes to Dennis Underwood who picked up the conversation. “I saw Pastor Joe Taylor leave your home early last Friday morning. It was obvious he had spent the night there. I thought seriously about trying to overlook it, but I discovered another incident occurred later that same day. I wanted you fired outright. We must maintain high standards for our young people.”

Dr. James sighed. “I would prefer you be given a hearing before the school board at their next regularly scheduled meeting.” He checked his calendar. “So that’s scheduled for October sixth. You may have an attorney or your education association representative present with you. Until then, you are suspended without pay pending the results of the hearing. If the decision is made to reinstate you, Miss MacVie, then your pay will be reinstated as well.”

Tabby gaped at them. “You’re suspending me for having a romantic relationship with Joseph?”

Dr. James sighed. “The morals clause in contracts is an ambiguous one that is largely defined by the standards in individual communities. I’m not saying you have no grounds for an appeal. You should be ready to make that when you go before the board. For now, I will need your keys and your ID. Then I’ll escort you from the building.”

Tabby sat still and silent, momentarily in shock, but then she looked up at Dennis Underwood. “All I wanted was to teach, Mr. Underwood. I didn’t ask to fall in love with Joseph Taylor. And quite frankly, I’m not exactly sure what it is you believe we’ve done wrong.”

Underwood eyed her coldly. “That discussion can take place before the board.”

Tabby shook her head in frustration. “What is the real problem here? Melodie? I didn’t ask to teach a student I feel is being abused and in imminent danger at home. The law requires me to tell you about it, and I have. You may send me away, Mr. Underwood, because the child’s father is a school board member, or because I don’t fit the image you want for your minister, but I promise you this will not go away.

“I went straight from your office yesterday to speak with my sister, Dr. Jenny Richardson, and her husband, Evan, the commonwealth’s attorney.” She had the satisfaction of seeing Dennis Underwood flinch. Tabby stood up and stared at him. “That might be in violation of school policy, but I had to act according to my conscience. No one will do to that little girl what was done to me when I was her age. Even if it costs me everything I have, I will stand up for her because I know firsthand what she’s suffered, and standing up for her—being her advocate—is the right thing to do.”

Tabby slapped her keys and her ID on Dr. James’s desk. “If you’re ready, Dr. James, so am I.”

She went straight to her studio when she returned. After staring at Joseph’s portrait for several minutes, Tabby tossed a cloth over it, carried it downstairs, out the back door, and over to Joe’s house. It would be safe all the way over here if one of her moods hit. She marched back across the driveway, up her steps, and let the kitchen door slam behind her as she raced up to her studio.

Tabby painted in a frenzy of disturbing images. This was no longer the wild, nearly subconscious painting of the past. Tabby was aware of everything she did. By early afternoon, she had finished a partial self-portrait. It was a nude of a woman seen from the back. Every scar she bore was starkly visible as she held the hand of a child who was being pulled by grasping, clawed fingers. She put her palette down, cleaned her brushes, and went down to her bedroom to change into shorts and a tank top.