Sycamore Hill (26 page)

“I’m glad you finally understand our position, and agree,” he
said, obviously satisfied with the conversation’s outcome. My mouth dropped
open and then clamped shut.

“You completely misunderstand me, Reverend Hayes,” I said through
my teeth. “I meant that you and Mr. Olmstead here are—”

“I told you once before that Diego was no concern of yours, Miss
McFarland,” interrupted a harsh and all-too-familiar voice. I swung around and
saw Jordan Bennett standing well inside the general store, legs astride and
arms akimbo. I wondered how long he had been there and how much he had heard. I
cast an accusing glare at Hayes and Olmstead, who were staring fixedly at the
tall, broad-shouldered man dominating the room. I hoped Jordan had heard
everything and would now do something about Diego’s plight.

Jordan’s blue eyes glittered dangerously, and I could feel the
anger coiled inside him, ready to spring out. But he was not looking at James
Olmstead nor at the Reverend Jonah Hayes. He was looking directly at me as if I
were some despised rodent he’d just caught in a trap. I looked back at him,
feeling confused and not just a little frightened by the intensity of his
silent accusation. What was he accusing me of now? I wondered. I felt a tinge
of irritation mingled into my emotional upheaval that the sight of him always
caused.

“Why don’t you carry on with your own business and leave Diego to
me?” he asked in a voice that was not in the least polite. My eyes widened, and
then I felt myself bristling like a hedgehog.

“I could do that, Mr. Bennett, if I knew that you planned to do
something about this whole, unforgivable situation,” I said in a scarcely
controlled voice.

Something flickered in Jordan’s eyes, but I was in no condition to
analyze it, nor care if it meant repercussions later.

“Who do you think should take responsibility for Diego?” he asked
in a quiet, hard voice.

“We all have a responsibility to Diego,” I said adamantly, then
felt the astonished stares of Olmstead and Hayes. I looked back at them,
ignoring Jordan Bennett.

“What are you talking about now, Miss McFarland?” Hayes ejaculated
with impatience, his loud, deep voice carrying throughout the store, and I was
sure he would be heard outside in the street as well. My chin jerked up.

“You deny Diego Gutierrez his right to an education because of...
because of personal prejudice. Every other child in this community is at the
mercy of your arbitrary decision-making. What you deny Diego today, you could
deny tomorrow to Toby Carmichael because he’s a waif without parents, or
Margaret Hudson because she’s outspoken about her opinions, or Katrina Lane
because her mother has to work in a hotel casino.”

“There’s no reason to suggest expulsion of Toby or Margaret. Both
attend church regularly,” Hayes assured me. “But you may have a point about
Katrina Lane. I’ve been thinking about that girl and her mother lately.”

Olmstead’s gaze turned to Hayes, and he looked surprised. The
lines in his forehead deepened as he was undoubtedly thinking about Ross
Persall’s hotel order going to Thompson permanently if Katrina were to be
expelled.

I could not believe I had heard Hayes correctly. Jordan Bennett’s
strong fingers closed around my upper arm, and he turned me forcibly toward
him. “However important you may think you are, your responsibility concerning
the children starts when they walk into your classroom in the morning and ends
when they walk out of it at the end of the day,” he said in a low, harsh voice.
His fingers bit into me when I started to protest. “Now will you get out and
let me handle this, especially since you’re so damned sure you know what’s best
for Diego!”

“But, I can’t go...” I stammered, my mouth trembling under his
vehemence. I thought of what the minister had just said concerning Katrina.

“You should have stayed in Boston. Damn it, woman! When are you
going to learn to shut up and listen? Now get out of here! Unless you want to
stay and make things worse!” He almost flung me toward the aisle leading to the
front door. I had not the courage to defy him again.

Standing on the wooden sidewalk above the dirt street, I
controlled my inclination to burst into tears of anger, frustration and hurt.
Jordan Bennett was at the center of my mangled feelings, though I knew the
other two men were the ones at whom I should be angry. Hayes more than
Olmstead, for I had not been mistaken in seeing Olmstead’s recognition of the minister’s
bad judgment. Perhaps that was good, and he would begin to lean more my way if
only for monetary reasons.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the onslaught of a torturous
headache. I had wanted to help Diego, and had only succeeded in making matters
worse by mentioning Katrina Lane. Surely that vile man who dared call himself a
servant of God would not really expel Katrina. If he did, he would have to find
Sycamore Hill another teacher, I resolved. Fear entered my consciousness as I
thought of that possibility. What would I do if it came to that? I had no
savings. Everything extra I had managed to extract from my teaching income had
gone into buying books from an Eastern mail-order house. Where would I go to
live? I knew I would have to vacate the schoolhouse.

That thought was not entirely unpleasant, for I had not enjoyed
living in that place with its strange sounds and oddly chilling breezes that
made me certain of a presence I did not want to acknowledge. For all my
reasoning, for all my insistence that I was curious, I was afraid of whatever
else lived in the schoolhouse. And whatever Ellen Greer said, there was
something there. I could feel it.

It was well into late afternoon, and I knew I should return to my
quarters. But I could not face them. I needed to walk, to get away from
Sycamore Hill, to get away from the responsibility that lay so heavily on my
shoulders.

Jordan Bennett was wrong. I had to feel responsibility for the
children beyond the time they spent in the classroom. My job was not from nine
in the morning to three in the afternoon. It was from the time I got up until I
went to bed, and even beyond that when I dreamed of incidents that happened
during the day.

My life was immersed in my occupation. Sometimes I felt smothered
by it, as I did at this moment when things were going so badly. But I owed the
children everything I could give them. What they learned from me would shape
their lives. Other things came into it, of course. I did not think myself
omniscient, but they had a right to learn basic skills, and I had the right to
teach them more if I thought it necessary.

One of the things I longed to expand was tolerance. There seemed
to be so little of it, even within myself, as I could not bring myself to
tolerate the Reverend Jonah Hayes.

An afternoon wind whipped my skirts back against my legs. I could
feel the chill biting into me, but I did not stop my walk. The sycamore grove
was up ahead of me, and I headed for it as though a haven. I remembered the
conversation I had had with Ross Persall, and wished for his company again. He
had made me forget what I was for a while. He had made me feel attractive and
desirable. He was not like Jordan Bennett, who made me feel ridiculous, stupid
and like a child.

On the way up the hill I passed the lonely grave where Ross had
dropped the wild flower. I hesitated. The wooden cross was tilted sideways as
the body beneath began to decompose and the soil caved in on it. Leaning down,
I straightened the simple marker.

“Who are you?” I whispered. “And why are you here and not inside
the cemetery?”

Only the cold wind responded. I stood up and continued up the
hill, feeling very depressed. I sat for a long time beneath the sycamores,
which were now almost denuded of their big, bright-yellow leaves. I thought of little
but the beautiful land around me. I looked beyond the town at the rolling hills
with their sentinel oaks and tried to think of nothing. When I finally got up
to leave, it was well after dark, and the stars were out in multitudes above
me. Below, lights shone in home windows where families were gathered to discuss
the events of the day.

Never had I felt so lonely.

For just an instant I wondered where Jordan Bennett was, and I
felt such painful longing that I wanted to cry. How could I be so attracted to
a man who so frequently clashed with me? Then I thrust him from my mind. It was
a futile gesture, as his image remained like an engraving.

Walking back by way of the hills along the edge of town, I
listened to the night sounds. I wondered if I would hear the ghost tonight, and
I prayed for one uninterrupted eight-hour rest. I rubbed my arms against the
cold, but did not increase my pace. There was no hurry to reach the
schoolhouse. I had set food out for Orphan before going to the store. My
stomach growled, and I remembered that I had started out to buy some supplies.
There was little in my larder, and none of it appealed to me at the moment.

As I came down the hill, I hesitated. I looked at the schoolhouse
and tried to make myself feel that I was coming home. I could not. I lived
there in that place, but it was not my home. It was somewhere to lay my head. I
counted myself lucky that I had an occupation that filled me. I could satisfy
my needs by living for the children. Wasn’t that what Ellen had said? I smiled
slightly. I would have to work so hard that I did not have energy to indulge in
useless self-pity.

When I entered the back door of the building and walked into my
room, I was surprised to see that the fire was still going in the stove. It was
burning very low, but the embers shone red. I flicked open the grate and pushed
in another log to last the night. It was a luxury I could ill afford, but I
needed to feel warm, and a crackling fire always made me feel better no matter
how depressed I was. There was something that answered a primeval need in the
flickering flames. My mind became soothed as my body was warmed.

I walked to the door of the schoolroom. I stopped, reached out and
then retracted my hand. I was unhappy enough without searching out something
that would aid in giving me a sleepless night. But it drew me. Reaching out
again, I turned the doorknob and pushed inward.

The schoolroom was empty. I felt nothing, and oddly, I was
disappointed. The front window had been grudgingly repaired by Olmstead last
week, and there was no breeze to raise the patchwork curtains the children had
made. I hugged myself against the chill and stared down at the scrubbed
floorboards, feeling even more dejected. Had
she
even gone away to leave
me alone?

A faint noise drew my attention. I trembled slightly as I stared
into the darkened comers searching for her. I saw nothing, but I knew I had
heard something. I felt someone watching me.

“Are you there?” I whispered, surprised that my voice did not
sound strained. “Please, come and talk to me.”

A hand touched my shoulder.

A sharp gasp erupted from my throat, making a high sound of
fright. I swung around so fast, I lost my balance and started to tumble over
backward, when strong, masculine hands grabbed me.

For an instant I felt blackness closing around me. I was engulfed
in waves of dizziness. I shut my eyes tightly. My breath was coming in fast,
jerky gasps. My heart was thundering out of control.

“Who were you expecting?” demanded a hard voice. “Ross Persall?”

I opened my eyes and stared up at the intruder. “Jordan!” my voice
rasped. The room was too dark to read the expression on his face, but he was
standing rigidly in front of me, his hands still biting painfully into my
shoulders.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Bennett?” I strived for some
control. I fairly squeaked when I spoke. Though the fright had dissipated,
other more unnerving emotions began to keep my breath and heart in rapid
motion.

Jordan did not answer for a moment. I could feel his eyes boring
into me, and his anger was growing to a hard tension that was almost tangible.

“Who were you expecting?” he repeated.

“No one.”

I could hardly admit to him that I was looking for a ghost and
asking it to speak to me. He would either laugh or think I had lost my mind. I could
not bear another scene with this man. I just wanted him to go away and leave me
in peace. So I took refuge in as much dignity as I could muster. Placing my
hands firmly against his chest, I pushed back so that he freed me. Then I
stepped back several paces more, though still facing him.

“I was not expecting anyone,” I said with measured calm, “and
certainly not you creeping around in the dead of night. What are you doing
here, Mr. Bennett?” I asked again.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he answered tautly.

“Here?” I looked around the darkened schoolroom.

“No. In there.” He jerked his head, indicating my quarters.
“You’ve been in my room?” I stammered, the thread of control unraveling. “For
how long... and how did you get in there?”

“Since early this evening. And you left the back door open,” he
said dryly. “Almost as though you were expecting a visitor.” His voice was
insinuating and very unpleasant.

“There’s never been any need to lock my door. But I will from now
on, you can be sure of that!”