Rexanne Becnel (3 page)

Downstairs there was bedlam. The older girls knew their responsibilities lay in keeping the little ones well behaved and in seeing that everyone’s bags were packed and put in order in the small parlor, to be taken as each girl left. But for all that, the older and younger girls alike were filled with uncontrollable excitement.

Lacie glanced briefly into the big parlor as she crossed the enormous hall. All appeared in readiness. The schoolroom chairs had been brought in and lined up neatly so that everyone could enjoy the graduation ceremony. Ada’s little girls had picked flowers from the rose beds and from the annual garden along the back path, so the entire room looked and smelled fresh and inviting. The lectern was set up before the huge marble mantel. There she would give her parting words to the girls.

“Miss Lacie, Miss Lacie!” There seemed an endless litany of calls and requests as she tried to calm the high-spirited group.

She took command at once. “Betsy, please help Sarah with her hair. Her ribbon has come loose. Lydia, you mustn’t start biting your fingernails again, dear. Someone please help Julia with her bag before it drags her to the floor.”

They were all such good girls, Lacie thought with a sudden burst of love. The little ones that Ada taught were so young and innocent and open to new knowledge. The older ones who were her particular responsibility would be going on to new lives of their own. She could only hope that she had exerted some positive influence on them.

Then there was no more time for sad reminiscences. All too soon the parents began to arrive from near and far. Many had come into town on the early train from Shreveport or had arrived the night before and stayed at one of the hotels there. Now they milled about the grand old house, walking with their daughters in the far-flung gardens or sitting on the deep porch that circled the house, in one of the many rockers and wicker settees there.

Lemonade and punch were served on the front porch along with a pretty selection of finger sandwiches, biscuits, and sweet muffins. Mrs. Gunter had outdone herself in the kitchen.

Ada circulated among the gathering, putting everyone at their ease with her sweet smile and always pleasant manner. Mr. Fontenot was at his most charming, and the entire staff seemed at their best.

Lacie even began to relax a bit herself after accepting numerous condolences for her sudden loss. Everything seemed to be going all right. It only remained for her to get through delivering her remarks to the graduates, and of course she must address the situation caused by Frederick’s death.

Finally, she signaled to Ada, and the small mealtime bell was sounded. Amid much giggling from the girls and jostling for the best position, everyone slowly made their way into the big parlor. Lacie took a deep breath, trying to calm her shaking nerves. Everything would be fine, she told herself. It would all turn out fine.

She was about to enter the house when something made her pause. A small shiver snaked up her spine, and she glanced back over her shoulder. The scene looked peaceful enough: the well-tended gardens and lawns of the school; the azalea-bordered drive stretching down to the two huge oaks at the edge of the road.

But when she saw a rider, her heart’s pace unaccountably quickened. He looked respectable enough: his black jacket was open as he rode, and a dark flat-brimmed hat shaded his face. But she knew at once—either from instinct or from a sense of foreboding—that he was trouble. Perhaps it was the ease with which he sat his horse, a huge black steed of striking lines and obviously high spirits. Perhaps it was the determined set of his wide shoulders as he drew nearer to the school building. Man and beast, both dark as night in the midday sun, seemed an ominous threat.

Lacie blinked once, then again, and tried to focus through the blurring lenses of Frederick’s glasses. Surely her imagination was running away with her, she told herself. She squinted to see him better, but all she could ascertain was that he was not someone she knew.

She told herself he was no one she need worry about—only perhaps a tardy relative come to the graduation festivities. But then he turned his mount from the drive and cantered up the low hill toward the Kimbell family cemetery.

Lacie’s heart stopped in that moment. She watched in rising panic as he reined in his powerful steed, then dismounted and removed his hat.

She knew then, with a sinking sense of doom, that he was no graduation guest come late to the ceremony. No, he had come on account of Frederick’s death. And on account of her.

She jumped in alarm when Ada took her arm.

“There you are,” her friend whispered. “We must get things going, for Judge Landry says he hasn’t time to linger.”

Lacie’s hand went to her throat nervously. It took all her effort to tear her eyes away from the dark figure silhouetted on the hill.

“Oh, bother Judge Landry!” she finally muttered. “He’s forever in a rush and therein lies all of Jessica’s anxiety.”

“But you can’t afford to offend him. He has three more little girls at home.”

Lacie grimaced. Depending upon who that man was and what he intended, Judge Landry’s three little girls might be the least of her concerns. Still, she had to be practical. There were some things she would never like about running Sparrow Hill School—and coddling difficult parents was most certainly one of them.

She took a long breath. Then with one last uneasy pat at her hair and a quick adjustment to her tilted spectacles, she moved to the front of the gathering.

“Welcome, parents,” she began, trying hard to keep her voice low and calm, as she had so often instructed her students to do. “As you are aware, we end this year with far more than the normal portion of regret. Frederick Allen Kimbell, the founder of Sparrow Hill School for Young Ladies and its guiding force for all of its eighteen years, died quite unexpectedly this spring. He was struck down in his prime—” Lacie faltered. She could not help but think of the remarks she’d heard Frederick make on graduation days, going back beyond even her own graduation ceremony eight years before.

“I know it is impossible to think about Sparrow Hill without thinking about Frederick Kimbell. He was everything to us—teacher, friend, even father.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands and looked at Ada, who was now weeping silently. Tears stung her own eyes and a lump seemed to block her throat. She continued on only with much difficulty.

“We who are left behind are determined not to let the school that he loved so well die. I hope you will extend the confidence that you felt in Mr. Kimbell to me and to the rest of the staff here.”

She had meant to say more. She had meant to go on about the fine education their girls would continue to receive and about the preparations they would receive in history, mathematics, and literature. But Lacie was afraid she would burst into tears in front of the entire company and thereby disgrace herself.

Then Ada came to her aid with the silver tray of diplomas and a reassuring smile.

“And now, we would like to introduce our valedictorian. We will follow by awarding diplomas to the six girls who will be graduating today after many dedicated years at Sparrow Hill.”

It was a relief to step back and let Judge Landry’s eldest daughter, Jessica, make the valedictory remarks. They were well-considered words—Lacie had helped the nervous girl organize her thoughts—but the speech was nonetheless similar to the many others that had preceded it through the years. Still, it was reassuring to hear the youthful enthusiasm of the girl as she spoke of the unity of mankind and the understanding to be had through education.

Lacie let her eyes wander over the assembly. The thirty-four students were all dressed in simple white cotton dresses, and they sat together in the front three rows of chairs. Beyond them, their mothers and fathers sat, dressed in their summertime best.

But in the back a solitary figure leaned casually against the tall doorframe. It was that unknown man from the cemetery. And he was staring straight at her.

Lacie involuntarily brought her handkerchief to her lips and lowered her eyes. It took all her willpower to swallow her momentary panic, and her heart pounded painfully as she tried to calm herself. He would not find her out, she told herself. No one would. She’d been too careful. Besides, hadn’t she half-expected this anyway? Hadn’t she anticipated that Frederick’s brother might send someone around to look further into the death? And the marriage? Someone to ask questions? She took a slow, shaky breath and tried to calm herself. She was being foolish and she was overreacting, she told herself, because she was feeling guilty. He was probably no one of any consequence at all.

Cautiously she looked back at him. How she wished she could remove the bothersome spectacles, but she dared not do so. Instead, she had to peer carefully over the metal rim to examine this intimidating stranger.

Despite his poor manners in staring, he was at least dressed appropriately, she decided. His frock coat was of black broadcloth, cut in a long fashion. Beneath it he wore a pure white linen shirt with a wing collar and a plainly tied black silk cravat. He held his black slouch hat in one hand. Yet despite these trappings of civility, Lacie was aware of a dangerous air about him. He might have been a huge timber wolf, relaxed and at ease at the moment. But heaven help them when he became hungry!

Then a corner of his mouth turned up in a faint but knowing grin, and she realized that he had caught her staring.

She looked away at once, incensed that some stranger could be so rude, and in her own home! Her foot was tapping in irritation at his smug attitude when Jessica slowly closed her speech. When the polite applause ended, Lacie purposefully cast the aggravating stranger out of her mind and stepped bravely back to the lectern.

“Now we will present the diplomas. Miss Pierce, if you would assist me?

“Jessica Landry…Evangeline St. Pierre…Catherine Simoneaux…Marta Simpson…Regan Galliano…Regina Marsden.”

With each girl’s tearful acceptance of her diploma Lacie became more and more emotional. As much as she had looked forward to this day and a reprieve from teaching during the long hot summer, she felt an overwhelming sense of loss. The girls were still more dear friends whom she would probably never see again. Just as Frederick was gone, so now would her girls soon be gone.

Finally the ceremony was over, and both girls and parents met in excited embraces. There were tearful good-byes between the girls and happy congratulations by the parents. Then slowly the room began to empty.

“It went well,” Ada murmured as they bade goodbye to still another family.

“I suppose. But my head is aching nonetheless.”

“You should be relaxed now. There’s no longer any need to worry.”

“Then why do I have this awful premonition—” Lacie looked around suddenly. “Did you notice a man here? Tall, wearing a dark coat?”

“Oh, there were so many people here. Whose father was he?”

Lacie shook her head, then removed her spectacles and hastened outside without answering. The afternoon shadows were beginning to stretch out and in the dusty yard a faint golden haze lingered.

Then she saw him, and her heart quickened in unreasonable fear. He was standing next to Judge Landry’s carriage while the older man gesticulated broadly. She watched as they both looked over at the house. Then the stranger nodded, tipped his hat, and stepped back from the handsome landau.

Lacie felt a certain sense of doom as the carriage pulled away, for now the man’s interest clearly had turned toward her. He was trouble, she thought once more. But no matter who he was or what he expected to find, she knew she could not avoid confronting him any longer.

No more carriages remained in the curved drive, and none of the staff lingered on the porch. Lacie was quite alone as the man walked toward her. His stride was slow and easy; he appeared unhurried and completely relaxed as his long legs carried him across the lawn. Once more she was reminded of a huge timber wolf, and she had to force herself to stand steady before his approach. She knew it was no social call.

His expression was unreadable as he reached the steps to the porch, although he scrutinized her closely. He was a big man, taller than she’d realized, with shoulders so wide as to almost strain the seams of his well-tailored frock coat.

But it was not his size that most frightened Lacie. What unnerved her more than anything was the watchful gleam that lit his startling green eyes. For a moment longer, she clung to her hope that perhaps he had nothing to do with Frederick’s brother—that perhaps he was just some friend of Frederick’s who was considering sending his daughter to Sparrow Hill School for Young Ladies. But that hope quickly vanished. She knew without a doubt that this man was no one’s father. It was even hard to imagine him being the affable Frederick’s friend.

She was staring at him quite openly when he stopped two paces from her. With a start, she realized how ill mannered she must appear—and how foolish. With a stern mental jab at herself, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin as primly as she could.

“Can I help you with something, Mr.—?”

He did not respond to her thinly disguised question. Instead, his sharp gaze slid quite assessingly over her. The clear jade of his eyes seemed to miss nothing, and Lacie had to stifle her outrage at such a blatant appraisal.

Then he smiled an odd, knowing smile, and her anger changed swiftly to wariness.

“Are you Mrs. Kimbell?” One of his dark brows arched upward. “Mrs. Frederick Kimbell?”

She nodded ever so slightly, bracing herself for she knew not what.

At that he gave a small mock-bow, sweeping his hat in the air as he did so. His eyes seemed more watchful than ever. “Then let me introduce myself. I’m Frederick’s brother—half-brother—Dillon Lockwood.”

Words failed Lacie at the shock of that revelation. She’d expected that he had something to do with Frederick. But his brother? She could hardly believe it. Somehow she had pictured his brother as an older man, graying and tending to heaviness, as Frederick had been.

But this man was neither graying nor heavy-set. Coal-black hair fell across his forehead, and dark brows slanted above deep-set eyes of luminous green. She tried hard to discern a resemblance to Frederick, some shadow of him, in his tanned lean face. But there was none, either in his angular jawline or in the sensuous curve of his lips.