Heart Appearances (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 560) (9 page)

He halted suddenly, spotting Darcy and four boys across the expanse of yard, underneath the shedding oaks. The rakes they’d been using lay propped against the massive trunks, forgotten. All five were cavorting, chasing one another and dumping handfuls of brown, crimson, and yellow leaves on unsuspecting heads.

Brent sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. Why should it surprise him to see Darcy in such a role, rather than the one she should be adopting—that of overseeing the boys’ chores? As Brent watched, Lance came at her from behind with a pail and showered her head with leaves at the same time Tommy bent to the ground and sprayed her with leaves from the front.

“Aaaeee,” she squealed, her Cockney coming to the fore. “I’ll see ever’ one o’ you scrubbin’ floors, I will! And that’ll be after ye rake the yard. So ye think ye can get the best o’ Darcy Evans, do you?” Swiftly she changed direction, going after Lance. He shrieked and ran but didn’t get far before she tackled him as if she were a football player and not a woman wearing a dress. They both went laughing and rolling into the only pile of raked leaves—scattering them. Red, yellow, and brown vegetation flew everywhere.

Shaking his head, Brent closed his eyes.

“Hey, Guv’ner!” Darcy’s cry sliced through the cool air. Brent grimaced at the annoying name she persisted in calling him but looked her way.

“Come join us!” She scooped up an armful of rich autumn colors and sent her bounty sailing into the air, with the abandonment of a gleeful child. “The leaves are fine. Crisp and crackly—perfect for rollin’ about. So what say? Care to join in the tussle?”

“Join in the. . . ,” he repeated quietly in shocked disbelief. With a shake of his head, he moved in the direction of the schoolroom. The four walls offered safety, sanity. He had enough troubles; no need to invite more.

Rapid crunching sounded behind him, growing louder. “Hey, Guv’ner—don’t leave yet!” Darcy’s voice was breathless.

Knowing that the sensible thing would be to keep walking—before he was attacked from behind with a bucketful of leaves—Brent increased his pace, almost to a jog. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled. He whirled and hastily brought up a hand to block his eyes, expecting a smattering of leaves to dash him in the face. The action unbalanced them, and Darcy tumbled against his chest, almost sending them both to the ground.

In a reflexive act, Brent threw his arms around her at the same time she grabbed handfuls of his vest. An electrified moment elapsed before she lifted her stunned gaze. Equally shocked, he stared down at velvety eyes rimmed with black curly lashes. Eyes so dark, they held traces of deep, mesmerizing blue-purple.

“Hey! Look at Teacher and Miz Darcy,” Ralph’s voice piped up. “Reckon Joel was right and they’ll be smoochin’ in the cloakroom next?”

A chorus of chortles met his question.

Heat racing to his face, Brent dropped his arms from around Darcy’s waist and stepped as far back as he could. She still clutched his vest, his shirt underneath, and one suspender.

“Miss Evans!” he exclaimed. “Would you mind releasing your hold?”

“What?” She blinked as if coming out of a stupor. “Oh, sorry!” She let go.

The suspender snapped back into place with a sting. By this time, the giggles from the boys had turned into rip-roaring laughter.

“Excuse me. I’ve business to attend.” Brent turned and again headed for the safety of the schoolhouse.

“But, Guv’ner. . .”

With his back to her, he hastily tucked in the few inches of shirt material that bagged loose above his high-waisted trousers. Once through the door, he sensed her presence behind him. He was sure of it when she barreled into him, stepping on his heels as he came to a stop.

Nowhere was safe any longer.

Letting out a slow breath for patience, he faced her. “Yes? You wish to speak with me?”

A sheepish expression crossed her pink face, now shiny from her exertions. With bits of colored leaves in her disheveled hair and clinging to her skirt, she looked little more than a girl. “I’m sorry, Guv’ner. Really I ham. But you walk so fast!”

“Apology accepted,” he said quickly. When she didn’t move to go, he lifted his brow. “Was there something else?”

She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, all awkwardness leaving her as she observed him. “Tell me, Guv’ner, why is it you don’t like to have fun?”

“Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Do I have to spell it out for you like I did last Christmas? Ever since I’ve known you, you do nothin’ more than work, eat, and sleep. I’ve never seen you unbend—not once mind you—and have a good time.”

Brent cleared his throat. “Perhaps your definition of fun doesn’t coincide with mine.”

“Okay, what’s your definition?”

Brent opened his mouth to reply, then stopped to consider.

“Aha! See there? You don’t even know what fun is!”

“I most certainly do.” He removed his spectacles, grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket, and angrily swiped at the spotless lenses. “I just don’t feel the need to reply to your query.”

“And I’ll bet my eyeteeth it’s ’cause you don’t know the answer.”

“Miss Evans.”

“Mr. Thomas.”

Brent blinked, more stunned that she’d finally called him by his proper name than by her mimicking behavior.

She uncrossed her arms, a sly smile lifting her lips. “All right then. Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Prove to me that you can have fun.”

Brent gave a curt shake of his head. “I hardly think a childish display of frolicking about in dead vegetation befits a schoolmaster of nine young boys.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not talking about that. I have somethin’ else in mind.”

Unease crept up Brent’s spine at the sudden speculating gleam in her eye. “Such as?”

“Two things really. Take part in the fence-paintin’ contest we’re havin’ on Friday.”

Brent considered. He could referee without actually having to be involved in what promised to be a messy undertaking. “Agreed. And the second?”

“I need your help with an idea for keepin’ the boys in line. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about in the first place.” She swept past him toward the front of the schoolroom.

Puzzled, Brent turned and watched as she propped herself on the edge of his desk.

“Better take a seat, Guv’ner. I have a feelin’ this will do more than just make your mouth pop open.”

❧

Brent stared at her with uncertainty and approached slowly, his eyes wary. He still hadn’t replaced his spectacles, and Darcy again thought what nice blue eyes he had. Instead of taking his usual place behind his desk, he walked to her small writing table six feet away, pulled out the chair, and sat down.

Darcy swiveled on his desk to face him.

“Well?” Brent asked.

“Just thinkin’ how to put it best,” she murmured. “All right, it’s like this. When I was in town with Michael and Alice, gettin’ supplies and such, I heard news of a carnival comin’ to a neighborin’ town next month. Now, bein’ as I had no idea what a carnival was, mind you, I did some askin’, and the storekeeper told me.”

“A carnival?” Brent asked, already suspecting the worst.

Darcy shrugged one shoulder. “It’s all on the up-and-up. I thought we could use the carnival as an incentive for the boys. A goal to help them show good behavior and keep up with their studies—that sort of thing.”

Brent stared at her incredulously. “And just who do you propose to take nine miniature hooligans, still in the process of being reformed, out of the boundaries of Lyons’s Refuge and to a frivolous function held in an unsuspecting town?”

“Why, you, of course. And me. And maybe Michael.” She smiled as his eyes widened. “But it would just be three boys, not nine. The three who try the hardest and show the most progress. Like winnin’ a contest, such as I did with that poetry one. That’s where I got the idea.”

Brent only stared. After several seconds elapsed, he shook his head. “That’s the most preposterous idea I’ve heard! As I’m certain you know by now, there are those who are dead-set against having a reformatory in this town—though the community as a whole hasn’t rebelled. That we take the boys outside Lyons’s Refuge for church on Sundays is difficult for many to tolerate. But to take them to a carnival?”

Her mouth thinning, Darcy stood and faced him squarely, planting her hands on her hips. “They’s just little boys, Guv’ner. Little boys who had a hard lot in life and are payin’ for their crimes. Why shouldn’t they be allowed to ’ave a good time now and hagain, like other boys their age, ’specially if they be earnin’ it?” Darcy forced herself to speak more slowly. When she was excited, she almost always slipped into her Cockney. “They’ll be well supervised, one-on-one. So there’ll be no shenanigans of any kind to worry about.”

“But a
carnival?
” he stressed. “Now, I’ll admit the fence-painting idea you devised is rather a good plan. It reminds me of a scene in a book by Mark Twain. However, a carnival is entirely out of the question. Not only would we most likely have to get permission from the judge who released the boys to our care, but there are other problems I foresee as well.”

“Sure it isn’t only ’cause you don’t like ta have fun?” Darcy challenged.

He blew out a short breath. “Really, Miss Evans—”

“If I told you Charleigh was in favor of the idea, would that make you think twice?”

He halted whatever he was about to say. “You’ve talked to Mrs. Lyons about this?” At Darcy’s abrupt nod, he lifted his brows in surprise. “And she agreed?”

“Most definitely. She said it was a smashing idea.”

“And I thought she had more sense than that,” Brent muttered, shaking his head and looking away. His gaze met hers again. “And Mr. Larkin? What does he say?”

“Michael was there when I talked to Charleigh. He thought the idea a grand one.”

“He would.” Brent slowly replaced his glasses. “It would appear that I’m outvoted by members of the board.”

“Meaning?”

He looked at her, pained acceptance filling his eyes. “Meaning, Miss Evans, that in all likelihood we shall be attending a carnival.”

❧

Late morning sunshine washed the grounds and the row of eager boys standing along the discolored wooden fence. Each lad held a paintbrush. Nine glowing, expectant faces turned toward Darcy, waiting for the signal. She eyed the row one more time to make certain everyone was in position, then cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Go!” she yelled.

Brushes plopped into pails of whitewash, and loud swishes of hard bristles on wood met her command. Gangly arms rapidly worked up and down as each boy painted his section of fence, striving to be the first to complete the contest. The winner would be awarded one of Darcy’s famous blackberry pies all to himself. In addition, the winner would be given a free hour on Saturday while the other boys did their chores. Everyone who participated would receive a small prize—ribbons Darcy herself had made using Irma’s box of sewing trinkets and scraps. Depending on how this first contest went, other contests might follow until all fences at Lyons’s Refuge were whitewashed, a late task considering that freezing weather would soon be coming.

Darcy thought of something Charleigh said when Brent questioned her about the wisdom of issuing rewards for the contest. “All through the Bible the Lord blessed His children when they did what was right and good,” Charleigh said. “And He still does today. Children need a goal to work toward. Everyone does.”

As Darcy watched the boys work, she pondered Charleigh’s words. Darcy supposed her goal was to work at bettering herself and talking right. Charleigh’s goal was to have a healthy baby. Stewart’s goal was obviously to help his family, since his father’s death. And Brent?

Darcy cast her gaze to where he stood between two myrtle trees. With his hands behind his back, he watched the contest a safe distance from the boys. What goals did Brent have? Likely, if he did entertain goals, they revolved around teaching his students and keeping the peace at Lyons’s Refuge in Stewart’s absence. Certainly his goals could have nothing to do with fun. The boys had long ago dubbed him “Ole-Stick-in-the-Mud-Thomas.” Darcy pondered the term. Although Brent wasn’t old, being in his mid-twenties if he were a day, seeing him standing there in his brown suit on the sodden ground, he did fit the adage well.

Darcy chuckled. The pleasant breeze must have carried the sound to Brent, for he turned his head to look. Seeing her gaze focused on him, he raised his brows suspiciously, which made her giggle again. She lifted her hands, palms up, in an innocent gesture, the grin growing wide on her face. Slowly, she shook her head, as if she had no idea why he stared so. His mouth twisted and he narrowed his eyes as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Hey! You did that on purpose!”

The lighthearted moment broken, Darcy darted a glance along the fence. Herbert, his face tomato red, glowered at Joel. “You meant to sling whitewash on me.” He used his sleeve to wipe the offending streak from his jaw.

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Boys!” Brent came up behind them. “What’s going on here?”