Sycamore Hill (18 page)

“I may be the shortest employed too.”

“They won’t fire you. It took them too long to find a replacement
after what happened to Prudence Townsend,” he said softly.

“What did happen to her?” I asked curiously.

“So they didn’t tell you. I didn’t think they would,” he said
grimly.

“Well, why don’t you tell me?”

“No. It’s best forgotten,” he decided after a second. “Besides,
there are little ears back there in the corner.” He indicated Linda, who was
watching us. “The kids never knew anything about it. Let’s forget it, shall we?
You’ve got other things to think about. I just came back to tell you that one
of my men is out there fixing the railing. He’ll be done shortly.”

“You didn’t need to come all the way back to tell me that, Mr.
Persall. I would have deduced as much.” I smiled warmly.

He grinned. “It was a handy excuse.”

When Ross Persall left, I stood, wondering what had happened to
Prudence Townsend. Why wouldn’t anyone tell me what had happened to her? What
was the mystery that surrounded her? There was undoubtedly a scandal, for the
mere mention of her name closed mouths like a trapdoor. Had she run off? Had
she been fired? Everyone kept telling me to forget about Prudence Townsend, but
I knew that it was becoming more impossible to do so each day.

On my next visit to the general store I was lucky enough to find
Emily handling the business. James was somewhere in the storeroom making an
inventory and writing up orders. Emily looked at me apologetically. “Jim told
me about the other day,” she admitted softly, her eyes darting wearily over her
shoulder. “I’m glad Ross Persall had the railing fixed. Jim said it was new
only three years ago and that someone must have jimmied with it to break it
like that. I’m afraid he blames it on you, Miss McFarland. He says after you
allowed the children to paint pictures on the inside walls, they figured they
could do anything they wanted to the building.”

“I’m sorry he feels that way,” I sighed, thinking that although he
had been inexcusably rude to me, perhaps he had his own reasons for behaving in
such a way. “Maybe he is right about someone pulling the nails out. They
couldn’t have hopped out by themselves. I just can’t think of why anyone would
want to do such a thing.”

“Someone could have been badly hurt.” She leaned forward. “The
Poole boys have been building a tree house. Maybe they needed nails.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Mrs. Olmstead. And whoever it was, I’m sure
they did not intend to hurt anyone.”

“I should hope not, but I still think it was the Poole boys.” I
handed her a list of things I needed, and she began stacking them on the
counter in a box. I fingered some soft cotton material with pretty pink and
blue flowers on a pale-ivory background. How I would love to have a dress made
of this material instead of the drab browns, grays and greens. I wondered how I
would look in a flounced skirt with soft, flowing sleeves and sheer lace around
a low neckline. A faint, dreamy smile touched my lips.

I moved away from the cloth table, telling myself that clothing
wasn’t important. But I could not help remembering how Marcella Haversall had
indulged herself each season with a dozen new gowns.

Emily was tallying the items as she put them in the box. The last
item set in the carrier, she handed me the total. I sighed as I passed across
the last of my first month’s income. It was another week before I would receive
more money, and I would have to be careful in my meals to make these meager
stores last. I hoped no unforeseen expenses would crop up, and I wondered if I
had been wise to send money to Bradford Dobson for more books. Only a week
before, I had received several copies of
Tom Sawyer,
by a new writer
named Mark Twain. I had read the book and thoroughly enjoyed it. I knew it
would be just right for the Poole boys. I even considered having the better
readers present it aloud to the rest of the class as incentive for the younger
children to learn more quickly. The gift from the solicitor had been a surprise
and a generous thought.

“Miss McFarland,” Emily whispered. “I hope you won’t take offense,
but I think it would be wise if you discouraged Ross Persall.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I haven’t been encouraging him.
Whatever made you think such a thing?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t really have to,” she sighed. “He’s... well, he’s
got a terrible reputation where women are concerned. He’s had several living
with him in that hotel of his. That Lane woman is just another one. And she
with a daughter!” She tutted disapprovingly. “But it isn’t good for you to even
speak to him whatever the reason.”

“He offered to fix the railing, and under the circumstances I had
to accept or let it go undone,” I explained. “Your husband didn’t have the time
to do it, and it was a matter of safety for the children.”

“Oh, I understand all that. I didn’t mean for you to take offense.
James can be so... so stubborn when he gets a bee in his bonnet. I’m sorry
about that. Really, I am. Please don’t be angry with me. I’m only telling you
this about Mr. Persall for your own good. He obviously likes you, or he wouldn’t
have bothered about the railing. Jim said he’s never known him to do anything
like that for anyone else. Jim was furious!” She glanced over her shoulder
again. “Mr. Persall canceled his hotel orders and is dealing with Thompson.”

Was that what all this was about, I wondered cynically? Had James
Olmstead put Emily up to this little speech about Ross Persall?

I could well understand Olmstead’s animosity toward me if what
Emily said was true. But what could I do about it? Approach Ross Persall with a
plea that he continue doing business with Olmstead? Darrel Thompson was in my
class as well as Andy Olmstead. I was in no position to take sides. In all
honesty, I preferred Thompson to Olmstead anyway. At least Thompson was
courteous and always greeted me with a smile. His wife, Sally, was also
pleasant. If I did not like Emily so much, I would take my business to
Thompson’s along with Ross Persall.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I offered lamely, looking with sympathy
at Emily’s ingenuous face.

“Oh it wasn’t your fault,” Emily replied quickly.

“Does your husband agree with that deduction?” I smiled.

Emily flushed and looked down. “He’ll get over it.”

I picked up my box of supplies. “Miss McFarland?” Emily detained
me. “Would you come for tea sometime?”

“I would like that.”

“Some of the ladies are coming over this afternoon. Would you like
to join us?”

“I’m afraid I can’t today. It’s Saturday, and I have to...” I
stopped, realizing that I was about to blurt out that I was going to ride to
Eden Rock to tutor Diego. “... To work at the schoolhouse,” I finished, feeling
guilty for the lie. “Perhaps you’d like to come for tea at the schoolhouse
sometime?”

Emily seemed disturbed by that idea. “I’d rather you came to my
house,” she said frankly, and I frowned. Her aversion was as evident as it had
been on the night I had arrived, though I had not thought about it much then.

“Is there something about the place that bothers you?” I asked.

“No! Oh, no. Whatever gave you that idea?” she said with a nervous
laugh, looking slightly self-conscious. “I just feel ... that I spent enough
time there as a child. That’s all.” Olmstead appeared from behind the curtain.
Emily jumped at the sound of his voice.

“You’ve got work to do, Em.” He issued his edict. “You haven’t got
time for idle gossip.” She flushed and murmured an agreeable response. I smiled
coolly at him and bid her good day.

My ride to Eden Rock was easier the second time. I was surprised
that Charles Studebaker was still under instructions to hold Jordan Bennett’s
gelding for me. I’d been sure that Bennett would take away the horse as a means
of preventing my visits to the ranch. I had no carriage and could not afford
the rental of one every Saturday with my limited income. I was relieved that
the horse was still there for my use. I insisted upon paying the feed expenses
and decided to take the horse back to the schoolyard so that it could munch
away at the tall grass around the building. Therefore, he served several
functions.

When I neared the ranch, I kept tight control on the reins, in
spite of the horse’s desire to head for the barn again. I wore gloves this
time, and my determination won over the horse’s. It walked into the yard and
with a disgruntled snort stopped at the railing before the house.

Diego came running out on the front steps, a bright smile on his
brown face. “Miss McFarland!” He came hopping down the steps. “I was afraid you
weren’t coming. It’s near eleven!”

I had been up since four o’clock. I had completed my housework on
the schoolroom before riding to Eden Rock to see to Diego’s lessons, and I was
already tired as well as stiff from the long ride. But I smiled brightly back
at the boy.

“Surely you didn’t think I was going to play hooky.” I teased, and
he laughed.

“Mama is waiting for us in the kitchen. She has a surprise for
you.”

“A surprise... for me?”

"Sí... sí,“
he said excitedly.
“Something
muy
special. Linda helped her make it this morning while I
watched,” he announced. I followed him into the house.

This time I was more relaxed and able to admire the rich interior
with its expensive provincial furniture, which had obviously been chosen by a
woman with immaculate and highbred taste in design. Several heavier pieces of
furniture covered in leather kept the room from looking too formal. Except for
these pieces and the massive stone fireplace, the living room might have been
taken from the Haversall’s Boston mansion. I frowned, remembering again my
conversation with Dobson. Would I ever forget?

Passing a dining room, I noted a silver tea service on a trolley,
and a china cabinet displaying an exquisite set of porcelain, delicately hand
painted with china-blue flowers. I tried to envision Jordan Bennett sitting
there, legs crossed, sipping politely from one of those delicate cups. I could
not. I knew he must have all the amenities to have been so readily accepted in
Boston society. A woman of Gwendolyn Bracklin-Reed’s breeding would not have
been interested, let alone considered marrying, a man without all the necessary
social graces and background. Yet, my experience of Jordan Bennett had revealed
only the rugged, ruthless side of his nature. I saw him as a man standing legs
astride, shoulders squared, head thrown back in defiant challenge and sardonic
amusement at the expense of others.

Jordan Bennett was capable of love, for I had seen the way he
looked at his young daughter. His eyes mellowed blue and softened with
affection. He had a different tone when he spoke to her. I wondered how he
would be with a woman he loved. The thought was disturbing, and I pressed it
quickly away.

Taking in my surroundings again, I wondered if I was seeing

Gwendolyn’s influence in decorating this marvelous house. Had she
really hated this place so much? How could she have hated it and yet succeeded
in bringing it such a warmth and elegance mingled naturally with the rugged
Western hewn-beam ceilings and stone fireplaces? For surely the sheer, lacy
curtains that allowed the sun to filter in from the garden were not something
Jordan Bennett would have chosen to grace his home. Nor were the decorative
figurines and the brocade-covered chairs, nor the love seat and crystal
chandelier. Ellen Greer must have been mistaken in her evaluation of Gwendolyn
Bracklin-Reed Bennett. No woman would have so carefully filled a home with such
treasures if she hated it and the man who inhabited it with her.

When I entered the kitchen, Reva Gutierrez came forward and took
my hand. “I am so happy you came back. I am sorry about our last meeting. I was
very unjust. You are not like the others at all. Jordan was very sorry about
losing his temper with you.”

I shook my head, smiling. “There’s no need for you to apologize.
It was all a misunderstanding.”

Reva Gutierrez seemed determined to explain. “Diego went to school
once before. He was expelled then also. The other teacher was not like you. She
did not have the courage to go against the others.”

“There was a fight then also?” I asked, wanting to defer her
overly generous attitude about me.

“No,” she answered, not elaborating. She frowned thoughtfully and
turned away for a moment. “My son is smarter than the others. They are jealous
of him. With an education he will have much. They want him to have nothing.”

“He must have more than education,” I answered. “He will need
opportunity also.”

“Jordan will make opportunity for Diego,” Reva said with
assurance. Her tone implied a relationship that Jordan had denied by
insinuation. Who was I to believe?

“I have made this in honor of you,” Reva said, changing the
subject and drawing me forward as she pointed to the table. I stared at the
magnificent cake with its bright, decorative icing.

“It must have taken you hours.” I admired it. There were red
rosebuds, green leaves and vines, a multicolored butterfly. It was a work of
art. “It’s the most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen.”