Beyond This Moment (34 page)

Davenport's gaze turned steely, and in the silence, James heard Willis's ticket for sheriff being written in stone.

James picked up Mrs. Whitcomb's report. "If there's no further discussion, gentlemen, I'll read Dr. Whitcomb's report." When no further conversation ensued, he began. He got through the first paragraph and continued reading, surprised that Davenport hadn't-

"Groups?" Davenport asked, nearly coming out of his seat. "She has older students leading groups?"

"Yes, sir." James nodded. "Under her instruction and guidance. If you'll allow me to-"

"But we hired her to teach the students:" The mayor grew red in the face. "Not for the students to teach themselves. Hank, your son's in her class. Did you know about this?"

"No, I didn't." Hank Bolden sat forward. "And furthermore, as a parent I think I should be informed before the teacher goes making any changes like this. After all, the town council's the governing body of this town, and-"

"Gentlemen." James held up a hand. "If you'll allow me to continue reading Dr. Whitcomb's report, I believe it will answer some of your questions. And objections." Out of respect for the mayor's position, he waited for Davenport's response.

"Very well, then. Proceed, Sheriff."

James started where he'd left off, imagining the lilt of Molly's voice in her words as she described her methods in more detail along with the students' increased enthusiasm and improvement.

But when he came to the final paragraph, he paused. This was the part he'd found so touching.

`As I understand it, gentlemen, you had many applicants for this position, yet you chose me. My state of arrival to Timber Ridge was somewhat unexpected, and you could have very well returned to those applications and chosen another person for this job, but you did not. You allowed me an opportunity to prove myself, to get to know your children, and your town, and I am mostgrateful. I will continue to work my hardest to prove my worth to the town council, to my students, and to the town of Timber Ridge.

Humbly submitted,

your teacher, Dr. Molly Whitcomb"

James stared at the page, hoping his softer tone there at the end hadn't given his feelings away. He looked up. Some of the men were staring at their laps, most were looking to Davenport to see how he would react.

Davenport clasped his hands on the table before him. "Thank you, Sheriff McPherson, for reading Dr. Whitcomb's report. It's most ... informative. I, for one, would like more information on this `method' of teaching she's developed, as she calls it. Sheriff, on behalf of the town council, would you request that she submit more information to us, and that she also provide future updates on the children's improvement? I think that information would be most beneficial to have on hand:'

"I'll pass that request along to her, sir" James sat down, aware of Davenport watching him.

"It would seem, Sheriff, that your recommendation to the town council on the choice of schoolteacher paid off after all:"

James felt the rub in Davenport's compliment. "I was judging strictly from accomplishments on paper, Mayor. I didn't know Dr. Whitcomb any more than any of you did, sir."

"But you said you had a gut feeling too, if I remember correctly." Davenport looked at his brother-in-law, Hank Bolden. Bolden nodded as if he remembered the exact moment in question.

James had learned long ago which battles were worth fighting and which weren't. "Yes, sir, I have those gut feelings about people from time to time:" He leveled his gaze. `And I'm usually right on the mark:'

Davenport slowly nodded. "Next on our agenda, gentlemen, is . . :'

James slipped the report back into the envelope, suspicious of what Davenport would do with the information from Molly once he received it. No telling what was going on in the man's mind. But whatever it was, his motivations were certain to be of benefit to himself first, Timber Ridge second, and maybe to Molly somewhere down the line.

As for Molly herself, he wanted to know how a woman so intelligent, so accomplished, so poised, and with so many reasons to feel worthy, could still possess the need to prove her worth.

26

tudents, we only have ten minutes before class will be over, so-"

Groans and sighs, like music to Molly's ears, rose from the students. She tousled Ansley Tucker's hair, pleased when the girl beamed up at her. "So please record your solutions on your slates, and I'll come around to check everyone's work:"

The week had flown by, and it had been a good one. But she was glad it was Friday afternoon. A chance to rest for the weekend.

She had missed the town council meeting on Tuesday evening after telling Dr. Brookston she'd been experiencing some minor pelvic pain. He'd said it was routine with where she was in her pregnancy-like the swelling in her feet-and assured her it was nothing to be concerned about. But still, he had encouraged her to stay home and rest, and she'd happily agreed. She'd hoped to see James in town to ask him how the report she'd prepared had been received, but their paths hadn't crossed.

She looked down at the dress Belle Birch had sewn. She'd already worn it several times and loved the intricate beadwork-and roominess in the waistline. Her body was changing. The little pooch in her belly was growing more pronounced. At her last appointment, Dr. Brookston said she was progressing as she should be, which removed the fear of the effects of the fever one notch further from her-

She glanced across the room and caught Kurt Boyd making silly faces at little Libby Tucker. Libby chuckled, then looked back at her slate, chalk in hand. Libby made good marks but had to work hard to get them. Kurt made some of the highest marks in the class-when he tried, which wasn't often.

Kurt nudged Libby's desk with his foot, making an even sillier face this time. Libby giggled, which only encouraged him more.

Molly quietly made her way over to that side of the room. She'd assigned Kurt to Billy Bolden's group. Kurt was exceptionally bright, and he looked up to Billy. But Kurt had a tendency to not finish his work, something she'd been trying to work with him on.

"Kurt:'

He looked up. "I already know the answer;' he said matter-of-factly, and stated the answer outright.

Students in his group raised their heads. Billy Bolden looked at her and gave her an almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, "I don't know what to do with him, ma'am."

Mollybent down. "I'm glad you know the answer, Kurt." She pointed to his clean slate. "But I want to see how you arrived at that answer."

"But I don't see how come-"

"And you're going to stay right here in your seat until you complete the task:"

His expression was anything but silly now. "But Uncle James is meetin' me at the store to get me a-"

"Kurt:" Molly gave him a studied look.

He frowned and gave her one right back. "Yes, ma'am." He hunched over his slate.

Tempted to make him stand in the corner, Molly reminded herself of what had already happened in his young life. The loss of a parent was a huge adjustment-even at an older age. She knew that firsthand, so she reached for extra patience.

She continued checking the other children's answers while keeping an eye on him. To look at him-redheaded, freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, eyes a dusty cornflower blue-you'd think he'd been kissed by angels on his way to earth. But his attitude in the classroom ...

One of her most frustrating challenges as a teacher was the child who could and yet didn't. It was like finding a rare diamond in the rough. The qualities of a brilliant jewel were right there, beneath the dull and deceptive exterior. But it took hard work to reach the stone, and even more to unearth the diamond within.

Then there were children like Elijah Birch and Angelo Giordano, who would jump at the chance to learn. Yet who were denied.

"You've all done very good work this week, students. I'm proud of you. Now, all of you are dismissed ... except for Kurt Boyd. Kurt, I'd like for you to stay after class, please:"

Chatter filled the schoolhouse as children gathered jackets and slates and books and, with surprising quickness, emptied from the room into the beautiful fall day waiting outside.

Molly sat down at her desk. "Kurt, please join me, and bring your slate."

The boy did as she asked, his expression decidedly less rebellious.

She checked the work on his slate. Perfect. She looked at him, tempering her frustration with a smile. "Kurt, why does it take you so long to finish your work when you clearly understand the material?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He looked back at her. "Why do you keep my present here at school?"

She frowned, not following. "I'm sorry?"

"What I made for you." He looked over at the shelf. "You always keep it here:"

She trailed his gaze to the insect collection. "Well, I keep it here so I can use it for science projects. Like the one we did last week on insects." She'd made a special point of using his board and had praised him in front of his peers, hoping that might improve things. It hadn't.

"But I made it for you. Not for here:"

Molly opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, seeing the situation from his perspective. "You know, I think I will take it home with me this weekend. So I can-" she swallowed-"see it when I get up first thing in the morning and when I go to bed at night."

His face brightened. "I can bring you more bugs for it too, if you want. Uncle James will help me cut another board:'

"While that would be good, and very much appreciated, I would prefer that you concentrate more on your studies, Kurt. And spend less time trying to make other children laugh in class. It's disruptive and causes students to fall behind in their work."

His nod was anything but enthusiastic. "Yes, ma'am."

She stood on the steps of the schoolhouse and watched him walk toward town, his little shoulders slumped. She prayed for him, for Rachel and Mitchell too, and took a deep breath of cool air, welcoming fall's arrival. The aspen trees covering the mountainside caught the sun, their leaves glistening gold in the light. And the sky was as blue as she could remember, not a cloud in sight.

She glanced in the opposite direction down the road, hoping Angelo wouldn't be late for their lesson. She'd agreed to go with him to meet his family this afternoon and considered getting her horse from the livery, where she kept the mare boarded. But seeing what a lovely day it was, she decided to walk instead. Standing for long periods of time was becoming more of a chore, but Dr. Brookston had encouraged walking.

There she saw Angelo, cresting the hill. She looked back to see if Kurt had rounded the bend in the road. Seeing that he had, she relaxed. There was nothing wrong with her tutoring Angelo. She was teaching him after school hours, on her time. Still, she was sure some members of the town council wouldn't like it if they knew.

But Angelo's learning English would improve his life, and his family's. And how could she deny him that opportunity?

She waited for him by the door. "Good afternoon, Angelo:"

He grinned coming up the stairs. "Good afternoon . . . Dr. Whitcomb."

"Very nice!" She patted his arm as he came through the door, noticing he wasn't wearing a jacket. It wasn't cold out, just brisk. But his skin felt chilled. "You have been studying" She was careful not to use contractions with him yet. Those were often confusing when someone was first learning the language.

"Yes, ma'am. I have ... much study."

"I can tell. Your pronunciation is very good:'

"Graz-" He stopped himself, a shy smile forming. "Thank you ... maam.

This was their third week of studying together. The first week he'd come to the schoolhouse three afternoons. Last week four afternoons. And this week, he hadn't missed an afternoon yet.

"I made more cards for you:' She held them up and loved how his eyes lit. She went through the cards, one by one. She'd written Italian words at the top and the corresponding English word at the bottom. She said the word aloud in English, and he repeated it. Then she used it in a sentence in Italian and waited for him to translate.

She wished he had a partner to work with him, but none of his family spoke English. Repetition was what had helped her learn languages more than anything else. That, and simply hearing the language spoken.

Once they'd circulated through the cards three times, she put them aside. "Very good, now let's try a few more sentences. Ready?"

He nodded.

"Dov'e la Posta?"

He thought for a moment. "Where is ... the ... post office?"

"Excellent! And another-"

The door to the schoolhouse opened, and she turned.

Billy Bolden and Elijah Birch stopped inside the doorway. They looked at her, then at Angelo, and their expressions revealed surprise, as hers no doubt did.

She stood and Angelo did the same. "Billy, Elijah" Smiling, she met the boys at the back of the room, trying not to think about Mayor Davenport and Hank Bolden, Billy's uncle and father. "Can I help you two with something?"

Elijah peered past her in Angelo's direction, a half-eaten piece of jerky in his hand. "We just came by to get another book to read this weekend, Dr. Whitcomb:"