Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (27 page)

Marcail rattled on, but all Alex heard was "our savings
account." She must have combined their accounts and
not mentioned it. It would be easy for his pride to rear its
ugly head at this moment, resentful of the fact that his
wife probably made more money than he did. In truth he
was so touched by her actions that he wasn't the least bit
upset. He silently thanked God for the generous wife
he'd been given. When she was finished explaining, he
kissed her again, thanked her, and then proceeded to
load the supplies from his old bag into the new one.

Marcail watched him with tremendous satisfaction.
He'd looked so hesitant for a moment that she thought
he was going to refuse the gift. The gift and good breakfast were a fine start to the day, and when Alex finally left
Marcail at the schoolhouse, she had the feeling that the
entire day might be very special.

Her thoughts, however, were drastically altered long
before noon. Sydney was at his worst, and Marcail had
no choice but to keep him inside during the morning
recess. He sat at his desk looking miserable, and after
Marcail checked on the children outside, she sat down in
the seat in front of him.

"What's wrong, Sydney? Aren't you glad I came back?"

"I guess so, but I still don't like you having to be
married."

He'd said this to her in the past. She knew it was
nothing personal against Alex, but since it was partially
his grandmother's responsibility that she was married,
she never knew how to answer him. Sydney spoke
before she could reply.

"I hate my grandmother; I just hate her."

This statement was a first.

"Oh, Sydney," Marcail said softly. "You might be
angry, but I don't think you hate her."

"I do. It's all her fault you had to get married and then
go see the doctor's family."

Marcail hadn't realized Sydney understood Cordelia's
part in the whole affair. "Why do you hate her because I
went to Fort Bragg?"

"Because you're going to love them now and probably
move away."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sydney." Marcail reached
out and held his chin in her hand. "Don't you know that
a teacher's love is like a mother's love. It doesn't divide, it
multiplies."

Sydney stared at her, and Marcail wondered, not for
the first time, what Sydney's parents were like.

"If a mother has more than one child, her love is not
equally divided between the two, so it's 50-50. She loves
each one, 100 percent. It's true that God has given me a
distinct love for Dr. Montgomery's family, but the special
love I feel for you hasn't changed in the least."

It took a moment for Sydney to nod. His face softened.

"Now Sydney, we've got to talk about why you're in
here and not out playing with your friends." Again the
boy nodded, and Marcail went on. "No matter what
you're feeling, you do not have the right to pull the hair of
the person in front of you or to kick the desks of those
around you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Montgomery. It won't happen again."

It was, of course, what he said every time. When, she
asked herself on the way back to her desk, was he going
to see that changes made on his own were never going to
be anything but temporary? The thought plagued her
until after lunch, but then something happened that
made Marcail nearly forget about her class.

At about 2:00 Marcail was sitting at her desk and
listening to the primary form read. Her profile was to the
door, but she noticed that someone appeared to be moving around at the back of the schoolhouse. She wanted to
give the offending student a chance to sit down without
a reprimand, but whoever it was, he was causing the
other students to become restless.

Marcail looked resignedly at Sydney's desk, but she
was surprised to find him sitting quietly. Her gaze flew
to the rear of the room and locked with the loving,
concerned eyes of Patrick Donovan.

"'Please take your seats, Erin and Kathy," Marcail
said to the two little girls at the front of the room. "You
may join the rest of the class in silent reading at your
desks."

After making this announcement, Marcail walked
swiftly to the back. She turned at the doorway of the
cloakroom for one more check on the children, and then
stepped over the threshold straight into her father's
arms. The feel of those strong limbs surrounding her
caused tears to threaten.

"Hello, honey," Patrick whispered.

"Oh, Father, I'm so glad to see you."

"Well, you didn't have to make up a story about being
married to get me to come." His tone was light, but his
eyes begged her to tell him it had all been a tale.

"I'm sorry there was no warning."

Patrick felt as if his worst nightmares had come true.
He'd missed so much of Marcail's life, and since he'd
returned to the states, she'd become his last chance to
share in the joys of courtship and marriage for at least
one of his children. Patrick suddenly brought his thoughts
up short; now was not the time to go into it. Marcail must
have realized this also, since she was the first to speak.

"I dismiss the children in about an hour. I'd like to
introduce you just before they go. Would you mind
having a seat in the back?"

"Not at all," he answered, thinking that after all those
hours on the train, it would feel good to sit on a chair that
didn't vibrate or rock.

Patrick sat in a small wooden chair at the rear, and
Marcail returned to the front.

'All eyes forward, please," she commanded softly.
The children were swift to obey.

"You may put your readers away until tomorrow.
Right now we're going to take a little time to look at our
map of California." Marcail spread the map on her desk.
"You may leave your desks quietly and come forward to
gather around my desk."

The children complied, and in a moment they were
having a discussion about various locations in the state.
Marcail asked how many children had lived outside of
Willits. Several raised their hands and were given a
chance to show the class where they had lived. It was
half past two when Marcail showed them the town of
Visalia and told them she'd moved from there when she
took the teaching job in Willits. They had all forgotten
the stranger at the back of the room until Marcail instructed them to take their seats.

"We have a very special guest with us today. I'd like
you to all be on your best behavior when you meet my
father." The children looked surprised, and Marcail
waited until her father had reached the front of the room.

"Children, this is my father, the Reverend Patrick
Donovan."

The children greeted him cordially. Marcail let her
father have the floor. The children were allowed to ask
questions until they were released. Patrick fielded queries
about where he lived, how long he was staying, his occupation, his family, and the train ride from Visalia to
Willits.

Patrick was appropriately impressed with his daughter's class and the skillful, competent way she handled
them. He was also impressed with the way the class
responded to him. He loved their open expressions and
genuine interest in their teacher's father. The half hour
flew by, and Patrick walked with Marcail to the door to
see the children off.

A moment of silence followed. Marcail wondered
where to begin. Patrick sat down in the front when she
returned to her desk and waited.

"I don't have any reservations about telling you the
whole story, but Alex will be here in a few minutes to
take me home, and I think we'll be more comfortable
talking there."

"I didn't come here to wring some sort of confession
out of you. Your letter covered a lot, but it didn't say if
you were all right, and that's why I'm here."

Marcail nodded. "I'm glad you came. I am all right,
but I want to tell you how it came about and have you
meet Alex. We could just start walking home, but then
Alex won't know where I am."

"I don't mind waiting," Patrick told her with a smile
and then his eyes grew misty. "You're an excellent
teacher, Marcail, just like your mother was. In fact, you
look so much like her I-" Patrick stopped, not wanting
to make her cry, but Marcail couldn't stop the teardrops
that escaped her eyes.

"There isn't anything you could say to me that would
mean more."

Alex chose that moment to enter the schoolhouse. He
found a strange man sitting with his wife and the evidence of tears on her face. He wasted no time in coming
to her side.

"Marc?" he questioned softly, his arm going around
her as he knelt by her chair. When Marcail took a breath
and didn't answer immediately, Alex rose and turned a
speculative look at the stranger in the room.

Alex would never know that his protective manner
with Marcail, as well as the use of her nickname, went
a long way toward reassuring the older man that his
daughter was in safe hands. He wasn't thrilled with the
situation, but neither was he almost sick with worry as
he had been a few times. In fact, as Patrick also came to
his feet, his hand outstretched to shake Alex's, the
thought occurred to him that he'd already seen all he
needed to see.

Patrick's mind was not as easy some ten minutes later,
when he was finally in his daughter's home and saw the
very obvious evidence that Marcail slept apart from her
husband. His eyes closed in prayer.

Oh, Father, it hurts me, he prayed silently, to know that
two of my children have not married for love. You in Your grace
worked a miracle in Sean's and Charlotte's lives, but it's happened again with Marcail. All I can ask is that here too, You will
intercede. Bring love to this home so Marcail and Alex can know
the joy of children and have a loving earthly partner to see them
through the years.

Patrick would have prayed on but Marcail came in
from saying goodbye to Alex, and he turned to greet her.
He stepped forward swiftly when he saw her arms were
loaded with wood.

"Oh, honey, why didn't you call me to help you?"

"I'm all right," she laughed. "Besides, you're our
guest, and I don't want you to work."

Marcail stacked the wood by the stove. She dusted her
hands together and looked at Patrick.

"You didn't really answer the children earlier, so tell
me, how long can you stay?"

'As long as you need me."

Marcail smiled, but told him seriously, "I am really
doing fine."

They were sitting across the kitchen table now, coffee
brewing on the stove. Patrick looked at his daughter and
marveled for the hundredth time at what a lovely young
woman she'd become. It was far more than physical
beauty; she was lovely on the inside as well.

"You were never really mad at me for going back to the
mission field alone, I mean, like Katie and Sean, were
you?" he asked suddenly.

Marcail thought for just a moment. "I don't think
anger is the right word for what I felt-confusion maybe,
but not anger. I was pretty young, and Katie, who's
always been like a second mother anyway, was so constant for me. I just naturally clung to her."

Marcail had no idea of the pain her words caused
Patrick. To think of his little nine-year-old daughter,
confused and hurting as she watched him leave, was
almost more than he could take.

"That was all a long time ago, Father," Marcail commented, seeing more than Patrick thought. "It was hard,
but I watched Katie trust in God, and I learned to do the
same thing. Believe me, I've used that knowledge more
than once since I arrived here."

Marcail let a few moments of silence pass and then
began to recount to her father the entire story. She spared
few details. Patrick was as shocked as Marcail had been
over the power Mrs. Duckworth wielded in town. She
finished her story by telling him all about her weekend with Alex's family. He was thrilled at the loving way they
had obviously welcomed her.