Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (37 page)

Alex and Marcail both looked around the huge living
room with something akin to awe. Marcail, of course, had been in this house before, but at the time she had
been too nervous to notice much of anything.

Alex commented that their entire house could fit in
the living room, and Marcail nodded her agreement.
Another five minutes passed, and Cordelia entered.

"Doctor," she greeted him with a regal nod of her
head. "Mrs. Montgomery." Again the nod. "To what do I
owe the pleasure of this visit?"

There was a bite to her voice, but the young schoolteacher chose to ignore it.

"I'm here to discuss my position as Willits' schoolteacher for the coming fall." Marcail's voice was quiet
and respectful.

"Since you have a two-year contract, I don't believe
there is anything to discuss," Cordelia told her simply.
"You did break your contract by acting indiscreetly on
one occasion," Cordelia went on in a judgmental voice,
"but all of that's been forgiven." This last statement was
made magnanimously.

"I do not feel I broke my contract," Marcail replied just
as respectfully, "although I'm sure you would have preferred to find me frozen in the snow rather than safe and
sound in the doctor's home. However I'm not here about
that. I'm here about the fact that you and the school
board broke your part of the contract."

"Well I never-" Cordelia was outraged.

"You will let me finish," Marcail used her sternest
teaching voice. Mrs. Duckworth quieted instantly, and
even Alex sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"The contract stated that I was to teach school, and yet
you abused your power, and I had only six students in
my room. In addition, as the teacher I have the authority
to discipline the children, but your grandson was the
exception to this condition and was on at least two occasions completely out of control."

Cordelia was livid, but this time was able to keep her
voice calm. "Why have you waited so long to come to
me?"

Marcail's voice was not accusing, but she spoke truthfully. "I was told quite plainly what your reaction would
be if I approached you in any way. The consequences of
my being caught in the white-out have proved the extent
of your control. Unlike you, Mrs. Duckworth, I will not
sacrifice the children's education for my own selfish
motives."

Cordelia was now so angry she couldn't have spoken if
she tried.

Marcail came to her feet, as did Alex, clearly showing
her hostess that she was nearly through. Her voice was
sad as she finished what she had come to say.

"Since it seems you cannot handle honest confrontation, I assume you'll now be searching for another
teacher for this fall. Should you decide that you do in fact
need my services for another term, I will teach on my
own conditions. You have until the first day of August to
inform me of your decision, and to discuss revisions on
my contract."

Marcail turned toward the door but stopped at the
sound of Alex's voice.

"There is one condition I will change on Marcail's
contract should she return in August. She will dress and
wear her hair in a manner pleasing to her husband and
not the Willits school board."

Alex and Marcail exited then, leaving a silent Cordelia
in their wake. Alex treated Marcail to lunch at the hotel
before dropping her off at home and telling her he'd see
her at supper.

Marcail prayed the afternoon away, knowing she'd
done what was necessary, but feeling she may have
burned her bridges behind her.

Marcail's spirits were a bit low in the days following
her confrontation with Cordelia, but Alex proved to be a
source of great encouragement. He felt she'd handled
herself and the situation very well and told her so on
several occasions.

They had talked in detail that evening and then prayed
together about the future. Other than mealtime prayers,
it was the first time they'd prayed as a couple. When they
were finished, Marcail felt closer to Alex than ever before.

Marcail's new interest in Alex's work was also bringing them closer together. She found that she enjoyed
accompanying him when he made housecalls, the first of
which was to the Brents.

Mrs. Brent, Alex told her as they neared the house,
was a woman in her sixties, whose frail, sickly body had
never dulled her wit or the sharpness of her tongue.
Marcail smiled at his description as she took in the neighborhood. The houses on this street were set farther apart
than some, but were all quite small. Some of the homes
were in disrepair, but most were well kept and welcoming.

The Brent home was one of the loveliest on the street.
With yellow paint, white shutters, and a white picket fence along the front yard, the house was very well
maintained. Alex held the gate for Marcail's entrance
and then followed her up the path to the front door.

The door was opened by a woman in her mid-forties.
Her name was Freda, and she was Mrs. Brent's spinster
daughter. Freda looked very pleased at their arrival, and
once inside she spoke in low tones to the doctor.

"How is she today?" Alex wanted to know.

"The same; certain that you're coming to cure her
every ill. She-"

"Freda!" A strident voice cut into Freda's sentence.
"Who are you talking to?"

Freda's features, already drawn and tired, seemed
more so on the sound of that voice. Alex patted her
shoulder when she would have answered her mother
and then took himself off to the bedroom. Marcail stayed
in the kitchen and had coffee with the younger Brent.
They chatted easily, but Marcail prayed silently for Alex,
since she was certain he was having to deal with an
absolute shrew.

"I hope you've come to cure me" were Mrs. Brent's
words the moment Alex stepped through the door. They
both knew very well that she would never get out of her
bed, and Alex had no trouble with the fact that she took
her bad humor out on him.

"Well now," he spoke easily, "we'll see what we can do
for you today."

Alex was bent over Mrs. Brent, listening to the sounds
in her chest, when she noticed Marcail's and Freda's
voices. He had just pulled the stethoscope from his ears
when she bellowed with outrage and curiosity, "Who is
Freda talking with?"

"My wife," Alex answered absently, his fingers searching for the pulse in her bony wrist.

"Well, bring her in here. I want to have a look at her."
It was an order that Alex ignored. He found her condition just as usual, and regretted the scene he knew
would follow when he told her she didn't need a change
in medication. Mrs. Brent always took a change in medication as a good sign, but today she was too preoccupied
with Marcail's presence to question the doctor's judgment.

'Are you going to bring her in here, or do I have to get
out of this bed?"

Alex was putting his things away when she issued this
final ultimatum. Still very much in control of the situation, he stepped to the door and called Marcail's name.

Mrs. Brent craned her neck to see around Alex's broad
back as Marcail entered the room. Her eyes narrowed
when Alex walked her to the side of the bed, her hand
held within his own.

"Mrs. Brent, I'd like to present my wife. Marcail, this
is Mrs. Brent."

"Hello, Mrs. Brent," Marcail said with a smile, only to
have the old woman scowl at her.

"That brown dress is terrible on you," she finally said.
"Do you take good care of this man?"

The change in subjects stunned Marcail for just a
moment. Not that it really mattered. Mrs. Brent went on
to talk of several things, giving Marcail no chance to
speak. Neither she nor Alex said a word, and when Mrs.
Brent had had her say, she informed the quiet young
couple that they could leave now, since she was tired.

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Brent," Marcail told
her and received a grunt in return.

"I'll see you in a few weeks," Alex added and moved to
follow Marcail to the door.

"Doc."

Alex stopped, his hand on the door frame, and looked
back to see Mrs. Brent sporting the most unselfish look
he'd ever seen on her face.

"You take care of that little girl you've got there," she
said seriously, "because you won't find a sweeter wife in
all the county."

Alex grinned in her direction and took his leave. Once
in the buggy, Marcail questioned Alex about what Mrs.
Brent had wanted. Alex didn't give her a direct answer;
he was too busy thinking that Mrs. Brent couldn't be
more correct.

The month of July, although slow-paced for Marcail,
was hectic for Alex. There were days when they barely
caught sight of each other. It seemed the bell rang for
Alex nearly every night, and if he spent too much time at
home for lunch or left the office early on Saturday, the
bell would again seek him out.

On the rare evenings they were not interrupted, Alex
often fell asleep in his chair. Marcail never minded. It
was a simple pleasure to sit and watch him. It was during
one of those evenings that Marcail recognized the first
stirring of true love for her husband.

The first of August came and went. Marcail had known
deep in her heart that she would not be asked back for the
fall term. But when the day actually passed with no word
from Mrs. Duckworth, it was harder to take than she
anticipated. She found herself praying for the teacher
who would replace her. God blessed her willingness to
trust Him for the future, and soon Marcail saw His hand
when she received a surprise visit from Sydney.

It was August 4, and Marcail hadn't seen Sydney since
she'd arrived home from Santa Rosa. She had missed him terribly and prayed daily that he would continue to
yearn after God. He came directly to the house, and
Marcail was a bit concerned when she noticed he had
walked rather than been driven in the Duckworth coach.

"Hello, Sydney," she greeted him, joy filling her at the
shy smile he bestowed upon her. "Did you walk all the
way from home?"

"No, just from downtown."

"Does your grandmother know you're here?"

Sydney nodded, but some of the smile deserted his
eyes.

Marcail didn't question his look until he was in the
house and seated at the kitchen table.

"How are you getting along with your grandmother
this summer?"

"We were doing all right until I found out about you."

Marcail had suspected this might be the reason for his
visit. "She told you I wouldn't be teaching?"

"My father came yesterday, and before he left this
morning, he and Grandmother had an argument. You
could hear them through the whole house. Father was
very angry to learn that Grandmother was looking
for another teacher. Grandmother was very angry that
Father was checking on her business affairs." Tears filled
the 12-year-old's eyes. "I don't know what I'll do if you're
not my teacher."

Marcail drew him into her embrace. She held him
silently for long moments as she chose the right words.
With his face cupped in her hands, she spoke.

"I know that you will have a wonderful school yearnot because you like the teacher, because you may not,
and not because the work will be easy for you, because it
may not be, but because you're a new person in Christ.
The old Sydney has passed away, and as you learn more about our Lord, He is changing you to be more like
Him."

Sydney's young heart was lifted by her words. Marcail
saw the relief in his face and pressed a tender kiss to his
brow. They talked through the afternoon, the time getting away from them both. Marcail had to rush to get
supper on before Alex came in the door, but she did have
a meal ready when he arrived. During supper she told
him all about the afternoon with Sydney.

"I'm just so thankful, Alex, that the door is still open
between the two of us. I was afraid she'd never let him
see me again."

"It's got to be our prayers," Alex told her fervently.