Read Romancing the Schoolteacher Online
Authors: Mary Davis
Romancing the Schoolteacher
He stepped over the threshold and closed the door.
She motioned him forward and put her finger to her lips. “Gabe is over here.” She led him to the sofa in the corner of the sitting area.
He knelt beside his son and brushed a lock of hair off Gabe's face. The act was so tender and loving. Gabe didn't stir.
Bridget couldn't imagine her father ever doing anything so affectionate. Her parents had never been cruel nor hit her, but they had high expectations. If she didn't want to be reproached or put aside, she had better do as she was told. No love or compassion, just expectations. It wasn't until she'd come to know the Lord that she had felt anything like love. She hadn't known what she had been missing.
This man loved his children deeply. And if he loved them, then maybe he could come to love herâ¦
Mary Davis
is an award-winning author of more than a dozen novels. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and is active in two critique groups.
Mary lives in the Colorado Rocky Mountains with her husband of thirty years and three cats. She has three adult children and one grandchild. Her hobbies are quilting, porcelain doll making, sewing, crafts, crocheting and knitting. Please visit her website,
marydavisbooks.com
.
Books by Mary Davis
Love Inspired Heartsong Presents
Her Honorable Enemy
Romancing the Schoolteacher
Romancing the
Schoolteacher
Do not lie. Do not deceive one another.
âLeviticus
19:11
Dedicated in loving memory to my son Josh.
Also to my mom, Zola, and sisters Kath & Deb,
who tramped around the San Juan Islands with me.
It was a blast!
Contents
San Juan Island, Washington Territory, Spring 1887
B
ridget Greene stood at the back of her classroom and looked out over her students, ranging from the first to the eighth grade. The younger ones worked quietly on their reading while the older children took examinations.
Troy Morrison caught her attention. At fourteen, he was her oldest and most promising student. Most boys his age had to quit school and go to work to help support their families, often in the lime mines. Today, Troy promised to be mischievous.
He gently lifted Olivia Bradshaw's blond ponytail, which hung over his desk. He moved it slowly toward his inkwell, trying not to disturb the girl.
Bridget strode up next to his desk.
Troy's hand froze, and he slowly swiveled his head toward her.
She gave him her sternest look.
He dropped the ponytail.
Olivia reached for her hair and pulled it over her shoulder. Then she turned toward Bridget and smiled.
Bridget whispered to her, “Go back to work.”
The girl did.
Bridget grabbed Troy's examination paper and motioned for him to follow her.
He struggled to untangle his gangly body from his seat and tripped over his feet. He hadn't gotten used to his growing body. He'd gone from short and chubby to lanky and awkward, shooting up at least five inches in the past two months alone. And he was suddenly interested in girls.
She set Troy's examination on her desk and pointed to her chair. She didn't dare make him sit with the youngest children as she would normally do to shame a disobedient student into behaving. He would never be able to extricate himself from one of the smaller desks, even if he managed to wedge himself into one.
As it was, he bumped her desk and the chair before managing to get himself in the seat.
She whispered, “Dipping her hair in ink is not the way to get Olivia's attention.”
He scowled. “I don't
want
her attention.”
But Bridget knew he did. He just didn't realize it yet. Even at eleven, Olivia was a pretty girl and promised to turn many a gentleman's head in the future.
“Finish your exam.”
He hadn't even started and had only fifteen minutes to go.
She wandered the room.
Periodically, she looked at the watch pinned to her lapel as the final two minutes ticked off. “Time. Please put down your pencils.”
She collected the exams and dismissed her pupils. They hustled out in a clatter of boots on wood and excited voices. Troy brought up the rear.
She quickly flipped through the exams and found the one she was looking for. “Troy, would you come here?”
The boy lumbered up the aisle and stood in front of her desk. His legs were longer than his trousers, and his wrists hung four inches below his shirt cuffs.
She studied him for a moment. He didn't seem to mind. She held up his mathematics exam. “You didn't answer one question. What happened?”
One bony shoulder rose and fell.
“You didn't even try. You know this material.”
He kept his face neutral. “It's just school. It don't matter.”
That didn't sound like her prize pupil. A student who had borrowed every book of hers he could. Mathematics was easy for him.
“School does matter. You are a very bright young man. You could go to college.”
He stared at her, working his jaw back and forth as though he had something tough to chew on.
“You don't have to stay in Roche Harbor. You don't have to work in the lime mines. You can do anything you want.”
He continued to stare. “May I leave now?”
She couldn't understand his change in behavior. “Do you want to work in the mines the rest of your life?”
He shook his head. “Pa says I'd be a better bet for working the kilns.” His eyes brimmed with tears.
She could see him struggling to contain his emotions. “Your father wants you to quit school and work the lime kilns?”
“Family needs the money.”
That was such a tough place for a young man to be. Caught between what he wanted and what his family needed. “Do
you
want to work the kilns or in the mines the rest of your life?”
“Don't matter what I want.”
“Yes, it does. What do
you
want?”
“As soon as Pa can get it worked out with Mr. Keen, I'll be hired on.” He blinked. A tear raced down his cheek. He slapped it away. “I like learning.”
But she knew if his family needed the money, this boy would be set in a job he would likely never be able to rise out of. “What if you completed your education after work?”
“After?”
“We can figure a place to meet. I'll give you books, and you can ask me for whatever assistance you need.” He was bright enough to learn on his own.
His forced, neutral expression slipped away and his eyes brightened. “Really? You'd help me?”
“Of course. I'll even talk to your father to see if he'll let you stay in school.”
“He won't.”
“It can't hurt to try.” She looked past the boy to a man and two children standing at the back of her classroom. New students. She handed Troy his test. “See how many of these problems you can complete before you have to leave.” She walked down the aisle to the man.
His mouth broke into a congenial smile that did something funny to her insides. She took a deep breath and pushed the odd sensation aside. “I'm Miss Greene.”
He tipped his head. “I'm Lindley Thompson. These are my children, Gabe and Dora.”
Gabe looked to be about seven, but Dora didn't look old enough for school yet. Maybe four. “Pleased to meet you.”
Gabe said, “Hullo.”
Dora smiled around her thumb and leaned into her father's leg.
Mr. Thompson wore miner's clothes, but there was something amiss about the family. “I've come to work in the lime mines. Gabe will be starting class tomorrow.”
“And what about Dora?”
“She's only four.”
“Four and a half,” Dora said, not removing her thumb.
Bridget gazed at the girl. “So, you get to stay home with your mother.”
Dora shook her head.
Bridget looked up at Mr. Thompson, and there was the strange feeling again.
“Their mother passed a few years ago.”
“I'm so sorry. I have another four-year-old who comes to school. They could sit together.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I've hired someone to look after her.”
How could a single miner afford to pay someone to care for his daughter? Maybe he didn't realize how little the miners made and how much living cost. “If you change your mind, she is welcome.”
She walked the man and his children out. The air filled with the screeches of dozens of seagulls circling near and far.
As they strode away, she realized what was out of place with them. Though they wore the clothes of a miner's family and were adequately dirtied, they weren't naturally dirty.
The smudges on the children's faces looked as though they were put there, not as if they got there from playing. And their clothes, as well. She had seen enough dirty children to know the difference.
Why was this man trying to make himself and his children look worn? A real miner would flaunt new clothes and make his children keep them clean, not purposely dirty them.
So if he wasn't a real miner, who was he?
Or maybe his circumstances had recently been reduced, and he didn't want the other miners to think him full of himself. Or that he thought he was better than them. Those who worked the mines and the kilns banded together in a tight community.
As she walked back inside, Troy stood from her desk. She met him halfway down the aisle. “Do you need to leave?”
“Naw. I'm done.”
He couldn't be.
He kicked a desk leg getting around her and then hit his shoulder on the doorway on his way out. Bridget cringed, but Troy kept going except for a sidestep adjustment.
The poor boy needed to learn where his new body stopped and started before he injured himself. Or something worse while working for the lime company.
She went to her desk and picked up his examination. Sure enough, every problem was answered. And at the bottom of the page, he had written,
I got them all right
.
She would see about that. How could he when he'd done the equations so quickly? She sat and pulled a sheaf of papers from her desk drawer, fingering through them for the right answer key. She checked his answers against hers and then sat back with a sigh. Indeed, he had answered them all correctly. She had to find some way to keep this boy in school.