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

Following the directions she was given, Marcail headed
through town, passing businesses she had seen only
from a distance. When she met people on the street, they
were friendly, and Marcail found herself hoping she
would be able to stay. Mr. Vesperman had told her that
she wouldn't be able to miss the Duckworth house, since
it was as far to the east of town as the schoolhouse was to
the west. It was set apart and seemed all the more grand
as the ground rose to meet it. Marcail had to move up a
slight incline to the front steps.

The Duckworth house was an imposing structure,
and Marcail felt rather intimidated as she approached.
The sensation intensified after knocking on the massive
front door. Marcail began to feel like a child waiting to
see her teacher. She scolded herself over groundless
fears.

As she might have expected, a servant answered the
door. Marcail was led toward the rear of the house to an
elegant dining room. She paused on the threshold, her
head tipped back to take in the massive chandelier that
seemed to fill the ceiling. The sound of a sharply cleared
throat brought Marcail's head around.

Mrs. Duckworth was already seated, and with a regal
nod of her head, bid Marcail to enter. She did so and took
the chair being held for her by a nervous-looking manservant.

"You are very prompt. I like that," Mrs. Duckworth
declared stoutly. Several more servants joined the first
two, and the food began arriving. Before Marcail could
think twice, her plate was filled with a sumptuous piece
of roast beef and all the trimmings.

Marcail watched as her hostess picked up her fork. She
was about to follow suit when the interrogation began.

"So tell me, Miss Donovan, are your parents living?"

"My father is."

'And your mother, did you ever know her?"

"Yes, she died when I was nine."

"Siblings?"

"Yes. One sister and one brother."

"Older or younger? Do they have families? Tell me
about them."

Marcail took a breath. "They are both older. My sister,
Kaitlin, is the oldest. She's married to a man named
Marshall Riggs, and they live in Santa Rosa. They have
three children. My brother is also married. He and his
wife, Charlotte, live in Hawaii with their two children."

Mrs. Duckworth ate while her guest answered questions, but Marcail, not knowing when the next question
would come, did nothing more than hold her fork in her
hand.

'And this is your first teaching assignment; is that
correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've been a private tutor, but I've never
had my own school."

'And you understand the terms of the contract, that
your clothing and conduct must be above reproach at all
times?"

"Yes, ma'am." Marcail watched her hostess take another bite of food and thought this might be the only
chance to ask a question. "I'm a little confused, Mrs.
Duckworth. I didn't expect to be interviewed. I thought
the job was already mine."

"The job of teaching the town's children is yours," the
older woman answered without hesitation. "I am interviewing you, however, to see if you are suitable to teach
my grandson. Right now Sydney is with his parents, but
he lives with me much of the time. He's a delicate child,
and they simply do not understand him. I usually hire private tutors to see to his education, but I thought it
might be time for him to try the classroom again. And
since you are the person at the head of that classroom, I
must make certain you are sensitive to Sydney's needs."

A small warning bell was ringing in Marcail's mind.
"I'm not a teacher who plays favorites, Mrs. Duckworth.
If Sydney does his work and is respectful to my authority, we'll get along fine."

Unfortunately Mrs. Duckworth did not appear to have
heard her.

"You haven't told me about your father, Miss Donovan."

Marcail blinked at the change in topics, but was willing to accommodate nevertheless.

"For years he was a missionary to Hawaii, but now
he's a pastor for a small church in Visalia."

"Is he remarried?"

"No."

"And you, Miss Donovan, are you looking for a husband?"

"No, ma'am. I want to teach school." It sounded like a
platitude even to her own ears, but it was the truth. "I'm
not saying that I'll never be married, but I don't wish to
be now, and probably not for quite some time."

"You understood that your conduct is to be above
reproach?"

"Yes, ma'am. The contract was all very clear to me."
Marcail's voice was losing some of its congeniality after
being questioned time and again over a matter she felt
was settled.

Marcail glanced in front of her to see that her plate had
been removed. She hadn't had a bite. Setting her fork
down, she leveled her eyes on her hostess. She watched
as Mrs. Duckworth looked at her own soiled napkin and then to Marcail's empty place setting. To her credit she
had the good grace to look momentarily ashamed.

Marcail would have loved to ask what her little game
was, but she knew the question would have been disrespectful. When dessert was offered, the young guest
declined, and not long after, thanked her hostess and
went on her way. As far as Marcail was concerned, the
interview was over.

Marcail would have been surprised to know that Mrs.
Duckworth watched from the living room window until
she was out of sight. The older woman was torn between
consternation and admiration. Consternation because
Miss Donovan wasn't going to be as easy to manage as
she hoped; admiration because in a very respectful way
she'd stood up to her, and that was something few people
had ever done.

Marcail spent the rest of the day in the schoolhouse
preparing for Monday morning. Her mind was never far
from her luncheon with Mrs. Duckworth. However,
each time she felt her worries assail her, she prayed and
asked the Lord for wisdom.

Marcail was writing her name on the blackboard, her
last job before heading back to her house to prepare some
supper, when someone knocked and entered.

"I really thought they were exaggerating. Well, it
wouldn't be exaggerating because that means something gets bigger. What's the opposite of exaggeration,
when you really mean something is small?"

Marcail stared at the round, pink-faced young woman
in the doorway and smiled. "I'm afraid I don't know.
Maybe if you tell me what they were exaggerating about."
Marcail was beginning to think she'd walked into the
middle of a bad theater performance.

"Your size. I mean, they said you were tiny, but I never
dreamed. . ."

Marcail couldn't help but laugh. The other woman was
talking again, so she tried to control herself.

'And here I thought we were going to be good friends, but being with you is only going to accentuate my size."
The talkative visitor moved closer.

"Your hair is really black, isn't it? I mean, really black,
and mine is so blonde it's almost white."

Marcail laughed again, and the rotund blonde smiled
also, thinking the new schoolteacher was just wonderful.

"My name is Alice Warren. But you can call me Allie
because we're going to be friends."

"I'd like that." Marcail smiled a genuine smile. "My
name is Marcail Donovan, and you can call me Marcail,
since we're going to be good friends."

"Marcail." Allie tested the word on her tongue. "Do
you spell it with a k?"

"No, it's M-a-r-c-a-i-l, but the c is hard."

Allie beamed. "I like it. It suits you." Allie's face turned
to a sudden frown. "But I don't think Alice suits me. I've
always pictured myself as a Mirabelle." She finished this
last sentence with a dramatic sigh.

"Mirabelle?" Marcail bit her lower lip to camouflage
her smile.

"You don't think so?"

The smaller woman shook her head apologetically,
and they both laughed.

In the space of the next few minutes, Marcail discovered that Allie's family ran the sawmill at the other end of
town. She had two older brothers, both of whom were
the bane of her existence, or so she proclaimed.

They talked for the better part of an hour before Allie
jumped up with a hand to her mouth.

"I completely forgot why I was here. Mother wants
you to come to dinner after church tomorrow."

"Oh, I'd love to. Thank you."

"Good. I'd better go now. By the way, how old are
you?"

"Nineteen."

Allie sighed. "I'm 20. Do you think we'll ever find
husbands?" She sighed again and flew out the door.
She'd have returned to hug Marcail if she could have
read her thoughts.

I don't need a husband, Allie-not when I've found a friend
like you.

Church was not at all what Marcail expected. The
building was fairly large and packed with people. They
sang good hymns of faith for most of the service, but not
a word of Scripture was read, even during the short
sermon. Marcail wondered if this was something out of
the ordinary and not the norm. She certainly hoped so.

Marcail met just about all of her students that day, and
by the time she emerged from the building, she was
certain the Warren family must have left without her.
They had not.

Marcail exited the building to find Allie standing with
two well-built, good-looking men. She approached with
a smile, and as soon as she reached them Allie said
something outrageous.

"Marcail, these are my brothers, Logan and Mallory. I
believe they are about to make absolute fools of themselves where you are concerned."

Marcail's gaze flew to the faces of the men flanking their
sister, but they didn't seem to be the least put out by her
remark. Both of them smiled as though Marcail were a
dream come true, and reached at the same time to escort
her to the wagon. Allie pushed their hands out of the way
with an unladylike snort and took Marcail's arm herself.

"Just ignore them, Marcail, or we'll be here all afternoon deciding who is to help you into the wagon."

The boys were on hand to see the ladies into the rear
seat, and Marcail soon learned that Allie was right-her
brothers couldn't seem to take their eyes off her.

With both men turning to look at her every few minutes, the ride seemed to take forever. Their actions
caused Marcail to stop and think of how few young
women she had seen in church that morning.

Allie's parents had gone ahead of their children, so
dinner was nearly on the table when the young people
arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Warren were gracious, hardworking people, and they welcomed Marcail into their
home as if she were a long-lost daughter. But when the
dishes were passed and everyone began eating without a
prayer of thanks to God, Marcail began to wonder if
there wasn't something very important missing from the
lives of these dear people.

Allie and Marcail took a walk after the meal. Marcail
was greatly relieved to escape the interest of the Warren
boys. It wasn't that she found them repulsive; they were
nice-looking and seemed very kind. But their quiet
watchfulness was beginning to unnerve her.

"How do you fill your days, Allie?" Marcail asked her
new friend.

"I keep the accounts for the mill and help Mama around
the house. I know she likes my company, but she is so
anxious to see one of us marry and make her a grandma
that it seems that's all I hear."

"So you don't really care that much if you get married?"

Allie was quiet a moment, and Marcail apologized for
intruding.

"You didn't intrude, Marcail, but I'm not sure a girl
like you can understand what it's like for me."

"I don't know what you mean by 'a girl like me."'

"I don't know either. It's just that the girls who have no
desire to be married are the ones all the boys chase, and
girls like me, who really want a husband and family,
can't seem to draw anyone's attention."

"I guess it does seem that way at times, Allie, but I
believe that if God wants a person to be married, then He
shows that person exactly whom they're to marry, and
when."