Maureen McKade (13 page)

“I don’t know. I don’t think I could’ve talked her into letting him out, but I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy Thanksgiving, knowing Dylan was all alone.”

Lenore continued scrubbing. “I knew a preacher once. His sermons lasted no less than three hours. After the first thirty minutes, half the congregation would be snoring and the rest of the folks would be moving around, trying to keep their behinds from going numb. Somebody finally got their nerve up to talk to him. This preacher was plumb shocked. He considered his words to be almighty important and didn’t even realize he was losing his flock. Once he took off his blinders, he turned into a mighty fine preacher.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Libby asked.

“You got to look at the situation with wide open eyes. You can’t breeze in here and dangle a carrot in front of that boy, then take it away without so much as a by-your-leave. Will you be here six months from now? How about a year? Or ten years? If not, then don’t get that boy’s hopes up.”

Libby’s temper flared. “What am I supposed to do? Treat him like a pariah like most everybody else in this town does?”

“Of course not, honey. All I’m saying is be careful. I had no idea that little boy had so many crosses to bear, or I would’ve had Matt bring him around earlier.” She paused. “Dylan’s had too many disappointments in his life already. I don’t want you to be another one.”

*      *      *

“There ain’t no reason for you to talk to my ma,” Dylan announced.

Matt paused and glanced at the boy. “I don’t want her being mad at you, son. I’m afraid when she finds out where you been, she’s going to throw a holy fit.”

Dylan pointed to a window on the second story of the ostentatious house and Matt followed his finger.

“That’s my ma’s room. The curtain’s still pulled, so I know she’s still in bed,” Dylan explained. “She won’t even know I been gone.”

“How do you know she just didn’t forget to open it?”

“I figured it out a long time ago. If they were closed, I was safe.”

Matt studied the boy skeptically. “If you’re sure….”

Dylan nodded and grinned. “Thanks for bringing me home, Sheriff.” His smile fled. “Tell Miss O’Hanlon I didn’t mean to make her sad.”

“Why do you think she was sad?”

“I could tell. Her eyes were kind of wet and she hugged me real tight before I left.” He kicked at the snow. “I don’t like to be hugged much, but it was okay.”

“You didn’t make her sad. I did,” Matt admitted.

“Why’d you do that?”

Matt shuffled nervously. How could he explain to Dylan he’d been disappointed by her and had retaliated with sharp words he hadn’t meant? “We had a little disagreement, was all. No need for you to worry.”

Dylan thought for a moment and nodded. “All right. Is she going to be at school tomorrow?”

Matt pasted on a too-bright smile. “No reason she wouldn’t be. You’re going to be there, ain’t you?”

“If I can get away from Ma, I will.”

“Don’t you sass your ma or she’s going to make it tougher on you,” Matt warned.

“I won’t,” Dylan assured. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Count on it. And stay out of trouble.”

Dylan loped to the back door and waved at Matt. He entered and disappeared behind the cold walls.

Matt shivered in the afternoon chill as he hurried to the jailhouse. Inside, the bitter air surrounded him and he started a fire in the potbellied stove. As the room warmed, he settled in the comfortable chair. He noticed the stack of wanted posters had been separated into two piles, one large and the other much smaller. Who would’ve looked at them? Stymied by the mystery, Matt set the papers aside and leaned back. He propped his feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. A bout of coughing interrupted his routine of thoughtful contemplation. Once he’d regained his breath, he swallowed and grimaced. His throat felt like it was lined with barbed wire. He set aside his worry that Libby may be right, convincing himself it was nothing more than a cold.

He laid his head against the back of the chair and his thoughts drifted to Libby. He’d made a damned fool of himself, thinking she really cared about him. Her peach velvet cheek had been so soft and her eyes had seemed willing. He’d been stunned by her mercurial transformation. The disgust in her voice and her inability to look him in the eye had told him everything he needed to know. She’d hidden her revulsion well, but the truth couldn’t be contained forever. He had believed her different than other women, who judged on appearance rather than substance. She’d even called him a good man.

His tapered fingers traced the jagged scar, and Matt swore. What a fool he’d been.

Libby pondered Lenore’s words as she readied herself for bed. When she and Matt had discussed getting Dylan to school, Libby had believed her
motives unselfish. She truly wanted the bright boy to receive an education, but had she overlooked the sacrifices Dylan would make? How often had his mother threatened him, even whipped him, since she and Matt had coerced her into allowing Dylan to attend school?

Libby crossed the floor to stare into the street below. A few lanterns illuminated the boardwalk and the saloons had reopened for business. She raised her wistful gaze to the winking stars in the evening sky. If she were free, she would adopt Dylan and ask Dr. Clapper if he would like a partner.

But the fates weren’t so forgiving. She’d have to make a clean break when she left town, and that meant no more involvement. Starved for human contact, Libby had allowed her heart to rule her mind. She’d befriended Dylan, thinking she could magically fix his life; but when she moved on, he’d again be left with his cruel mother. Lenore had been right. She’d been blinded by her own loneliness. She’d separate herself from Dylan before it was too late—her conscience couldn’t bear another burden. Matt would take care of the boy.

Matt was another complication she hadn’t counted on. When she’d learned he didn’t have an inkling of her past, she’d set aside her caution. She hadn’t counted on the relationship progressing so quickly, but he fascinated her.

Everything about him bespoke of a hard life, but morality and empathy remained. He intrigued her and made her wish she’d met him before she’d learned to distrust the touch of a man. She could no longer indulge her curiosity. She would have to keep her distance from Matt before her interest snowballed into dangerous intimacy and she lowered her guard.

With Harrison, she’d been able to endure by allowing
nothing and no one to breach the walls that enclosed her innermost thoughts and memories. She could do it again.

Libby kicked at the bedpost in frustration, and her foot struck the trunk beneath it. She knelt down and snagged the handle of the big suitcase, easing it out. She opened it reverently. Strapped to the inside of the cover was an array of medical tools. Her fingers trembling, Libby touched the shiny surface of one and blinked back the flood of memories that accompanied the feel of the smooth metal. Spying a worn handle, she lifted out a black leather bag. She unclasped the hook and opened it. Reverently, she handled each instrument, remembering the times she’d used them. How could she never again use the tools that had once been an extension of her hands?

Her gaze darted about the small room and claustrophobia urged flight. Libby breathed deeply to dispel the anxiety. She slowly replaced the items in the trunk and closed the lid, but the damage had been done. By opening Pandora’s box, she’d broken the recently healed wound. She thought she’d resigned herself to a life of anonymity, but her dream ran too deeply—and wouldn’t allow her to forget a lifelong aspiration forged in love and hard work. She’d leave Deer Creek in the spring and go far enough away to have her own medical practice.

Only five more months, and she would begin her search for the end of the tarnished rainbow.

Five long, lonely months.

Chapter 7

“I
’m moving into the back of the schoolhouse.”

Libby’s announcement the next morning brought Lenore’s head up sharply. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Libby wrapped her trembling hands around a steaming mug of coffee. “I’ve decided to live in the teacher’s quarters.”

“What brought on this nonsense?”

Libby ignored the question. “It’s not that I don’t like it here. You’ve made me feel like a member of the family. It’s just that my money is dwindling. If I move over there, I’d be able to save a little.”

Lenore’s sharp gaze searched Libby’s expression. “I got a feeling there’s more to it than that.”

Libby assumed a mask of innocence. “Why else would I move?”

“Why else indeed?” Lenore’s eyes nearly disappeared into folds of skin. “Unless it has something to do with the sheriff.”

Libby laughed unconvincingly. “What on earth are you talking about? The sheriff and I are only friends.”

Lenore sniffed. “And cows take a flying leap over the moon every night.”

Libby continued as if Lenore hadn’t spoken. “I’ll
clean the room tomorrow and move in on Sunday. I’ll pay what I owe you.”

Lenore pounded a ball of dough with her fists. “I’m not worried about the money, dear. I’m worried about you.”

Libby rose and placed her coffee cup in a large metal pan filled with soapy water. “You needn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m going to miss you, honey, but I understand you have to do what you think is right.” She stabbed a flour-covered finger at Libby. “But I expect to see you sitting at my supper table at least a twice a week.”

A lump as big as the yeasty mixture Lenore kneaded filled Libby’s throat. She swallowed. “I will. I won’t be that far away. I can visit in the afternoon, after school is dismissed.”

“You going to bring Dylan with you?”

“If he wants to come, I will,” Libby replied, careful to keep her voice neutral. “I’d better get to school.”

“Have a nice day, honey.”

Libby’s mood matched the gray hues that filled the wide sky. The mountain tops to the west had disappeared into sooty clouds, and heavy air enveloped her. The walk to the schoolhouse seemed to last forever, and Libby’s temples throbbed with each footstep. Once inside the small building, she lit a crackling fire in the stove to dispel the damp cold.

Fifteen minutes after she arrived, a bright-eyed Dylan stood in the doorway. Her heart lifted at the sight of him, but she didn’t allow the emotion to show on her face. “Good morning,” she greeted.

“Hi, Miss O’Hanlon.” He removed his coat and scarf and walked to her desk. “Are you still sad?”

Libby frowned. “What makes you think I was sad?”

“Because you hugged me so hard yesterday.”

She wished his perception didn’t equal Matt’s. “I was just happy that you’d been able to spend Thanksgiving with us. Did you have a good time?”

He grinned and nodded. “Yep. I liked Mrs. Potts’s apple strudel, even if the sheriff didn’t.”

A smile tugged at Libby’s lips despite her attempts to stifle it. “I did, too. Why don’t you go and sit down?”

Dylan nodded and slid into his seat. He opened his McGuffey’s reader and thumbed through it.

Libby wanted to ask him if his mother had been angry with him for spending Thanksgiving at Lenore’s, but she didn’t dare express any more concern than she had already. Lenore’s words haunted her, and Libby prayed she wouldn’t be another disappointment in Dylan’s life.

The children stomped in in groups of two and three, and at eight-fifteen, Libby stood. Placing a dispassionate mask over her features, she called the class to order.

She studied Dylan’s behavior throughout the day and tried to discern if he’d been beaten. He didn’t appear to be in pain, and he talked and giggled with Jenny. Matt must have succeeded in frightening Sadie enough that she’d not hit her son.

When class recessed, Dylan left with the rest of the children, leaving Libby both saddened and relieved. During the day she’d remained too busy to think of her plight, but in the silence of the desk-filled room, the desolate voice of loneliness reverberated in her mind. She knew she’d made the correct decision to distance herself, but the consequences of her choice would be difficult to bear. A piece of wood popped in the stove, startling her out of her self-pity.

Straightening her shoulders, Libby wove between the desks to the front of the room. A door hinge creaked, and she turned to see a kaleidoscope of colors draped across the rotund shape of Mrs. Beidler. Involuntarily she braced for battle, and sent the mayor’s wife a polite nod. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Beidler. What can I do for you?”

“I wish to speak with you on a couple of matters of the utmost concern.” The purple feather on her canary yellow hat bobbed with every other word.

Libby clasped her hands across her thighs. “And what are those?”

Mrs. Beidler sashayed to the front of the room, her violet coat flowing behind her like a queen’s cloak. She raised an imperious nose. “It’s been brought to my attention that you and the sheriff have been spending quite a bit of time together. Alone.”

Libby’s heart thundered in her chest. “The sheriff has been out of town and I have been here teaching. When could we have spent time together?”

Two pink spots appeared on the older woman’s sour face. “You were seen walking with him at an unseemly hour.”

Libby raised her eyebrows. “Because he escorted me to the boardinghouse one evening, we’re thought to be having a tête-à-tête? The fact is, I had been out walking alone when the sheriff ran into me and suggested I go home. I believe he thought I may have been in danger. Surely you don’t condemn a man for doing his job.”

“You haven’t been here long, so I will tell you about the sheriff. Before he became a lawman, he was a slovenly sot. I remember the few times I saw him, before Doctor Clapper saved him from some of his drinking friends who beat him senseless. Your Sheriff Brandon used to sit in front of the saloon drunk as a skunk and looking as if he’d lived in his clothes for weeks. Why, the smell of him was enough to make a body ill.” She shuddered. “That is the type of man Sheriff Brandon is.”

Though Mrs. Beidler’s accounting of Matt startled her, Libby refused to give the flamboyant woman any satisfaction. “That is the type of man Sheriff Brandon
was.
Everyone is allowed to make mistakes, Mrs.
Beidler, and I believe the Bible says, ‘Judge not, lest ye shall be judged’.”

Mrs. Beidler drew herself up and thrust her abundant bosom forward. “As a molder of young, impressionable children, you are expected to maintain the highest level of respectability. Be warned that consorting with a man like the sheriff could constitute means for dismissal.”

Libby clenched her teeth, holding back her temper by sheer force of will. “I believe you said you had two matters you wished to discuss with me.”

“The other involves one of your students. The son of Sadie Rivers, to be precise.”

“His name is Dylan.”

“The boy should not be allowed to associate with decent, God-fearing children. He’s a bad influence upon them. He cannot continue to attend school.”

Fury boiled in Libby. “How dare you speak about that little boy as if he’s less a person than the other children! Dylan has an intelligent mind, and I will not tell him he’s not allowed here anymore. He’s got as much right to an education as your Mary Sue.”

Mrs. Beidler’s face approached crimson. “He’s a bastard,” she hissed. “He has no right infecting our children with his tainted blood.”

Cold anger settled in the pit of Libby’s stomach. “He had no choice in his parentage, and I will not have you deny him the privileges other children take for granted. Everyone is equal in the eyes of the Lord.”

“I can have you dismissed from your position.” Mrs. Beidler’s three chins quivered.

“We have a formal agreement. If you break your side of the contract, you will still have to pay what is owed me for five months of teaching.”

Libby saw the enraged frustration in the face of her adversary. If Mrs. Beidler were a man, Libby suspected
a string of curses would have erupted. Instead, Mrs. Beidler stared at her as if Libby were something on the bottom of her pointy-toed patent-leather shoe.

“I believe in poker it’s called put up or shut up,” Libby delivered flatly.

“I can see that we have made a grievous mistake in hiring you,” Mrs. Beidler said stiffly. “As you have pointed out, we have little choice but to keep you for now. However, if
you
break the agreement, we do not owe you one penny.”

Libby crossed her arms. “I have no intention of quitting.”

“Not yet.”

The sly cunning in Mrs. Beidler’s face set off an alarm in Libby’s mind. What could she possibly do to make her quit?

“I always have my way, Miss O’Hanlon.” With that statement, Mrs. Beidler swung around and marched out the classroom.

Libby collapsed in the chair behind her desk, trembling from head to foot. Her temper had demolished her well-laid plans, but she could not allow Mrs. Beidler to speak so callously about Dylan. The overdressed hussy probably swept aside her skirt hems when she passed him so she wouldn’t be contaminated by the disease he supposedly carried. Also, the woman’s disrespect she had for Matt shocked Libby. She knew of Matt’s drinking problem, since Lenore had spoken of it a few nights ago, but to hear Mrs. Beidler speak so viciously about Matt’s past incensed her. It shouldn’t matter to Libby what Mrs. Beidler thought of Matt. But it did.

Early Saturday morning, Libby arrived at the schoolhouse with a bucket and rags to clean the living quarters in the back. She wore a threadbare skirt that had been mended in three places, and a faded green
scarf bound her flyaway curls. Lenore had lent her a patched coat two sizes too large and forty years out of date, but the wool jacket kept her comfortably warm while she worked.

Libby threw out the old papers scattered about and kept the few cans of food still in the cupboards. Awkwardly, she lifted the mattress off the bed and lugged the cumbersome pad outside to hang it over a tree branch to air out. With a stiff straw broom, she swept the mouse droppings and dirt out the back door and rid the whitewashed walls and corners of cobwebs. With an old brush, she scrubbed the puncheon floor vigorously. By noon, the tiny room had undergone a major overhaul.

Libby placed her hands on her lower back and tried to stretch out the stiffness. Her knees were nearly raw from kneeling on the rough floor, and her fingers looked like shriveled raisins. She hadn’t worked so hard since before she’d married Harrison. In their mansion, hired help had taken care of the cleaning and cooking. She’d been nothing but an ornament to grace Harrison’s arm during parties and balls. She hadn’t enjoyed the submissive role, but would have tolerated it if he had left her alone in private.

The sound of a boot sole on sand granules startled Libby. She turned to see Matt standing in the doorway of the cloakroom. Her heart thumped against her breast, but she didn’t know if surprise or the sight of him caused it. One hand went to her scarf and the other smoothed the plaid coat over her patched skirt. She drew her arms to her sides, silently admonishing herself for her vanity even as she wished Matt hadn’t seen her in the old tattered clothing.

She injected aloofness into her tone. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

Matt tipped back his worn brown hat and a lock of tawny hair fell across his creased forehead. The urge
to brush it back possessed Libby, and she rolled her fingers into her palms. As his eyes roamed across her, Libby could imagine what he thought of her unflattering outfit. When he returned his gaze to her face, neither approval nor disapproval showed on his impassive features.

He turned his face slightly so his scar was less noticeable. “Lenore told me you were moving in here.”

Unable to still her nervous hands, Libby grabbed a brush and scrubbed the surface of the cookstove. “There isn’t a law against it, is there?”

“Nope.”

Awkward silence grew between them.

“Then why are you here?” Libby demanded. She hoped her voice didn’t reveal her agitation.

Impatience shadowed Matt’s craggy face. “I just came by to let you know Sadie didn’t even know Dylan had gone over to Lenore’s for Thanksgiving. She was still sleeping when I took him home.”

Momentarily, she closed her eyes in relief. She looked at Matt. “Thank you for telling me.”

Matt fidgeted with his gloves and nodded tightly. He touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, Miss O’Hanlon.”

His footsteps echoed across the wood floor. The door closed behind him, and Libby wilted into one of the ladderback chairs. Only two days had passed since she’d seen him, but the time had seemed endless. His amber eyes and the strength reflected in his angular face brought back a flood of warmth. But it was his dark hands that triggered a confusing mixture of emotions. Matt’s gentle caress fluttered across her memory, igniting a spark deep within her. She smothered the flame, forcing herself to remember how quickly tenderness changed to violence. Harrison had taught her well the capricious nature of men.

Libby stood and groaned. She’d pay for her labor with painful muscles, but pride in what she’d completed outweighed the minor aches. A sense of accomplishment she hadn’t experienced in years washed across her like the the sun’s rays filtering through the mountain peaks. She hoped she stayed long enough to enjoy the fruits of her aches and pains.

For the remainder of the day, Libby added the finishing touches to the school quarters. Lenore gave her bedding and blankets and a few towels, and Libby paid a visit to Pearson’s Mercantile with a list of other items she needed. Following the service on Sunday, Libby moved her meager belongings into her new home. Reluctantly, she carried the last of her bags out of the boardinghouse. When Lenore hugged her affectionately, Libby nearly capitulated. And later that evening, in the silence of the schoolhouse, regrets plagued her. But the same determination that kept her sane during her marriage to Harrison strengthened her resolve.

She lay awake the first night, listening to the mice scurrying across the floor and wishing life had dealt her a better hand. However, helpless musings were for Mrs. Harrison Thompson, not Libby O’Hanlon. She squelched the useless thoughts and tried to sleep.