Maureen McKade (14 page)

Monday morning brought a nippy room, and Libby scrambled to get a fire going in the stove in the classroom. She dressed in her serviceable navy blue skirt and white blouse with a black sweater. Studying herself in the broken mirror that hung crookedly on a wall, Libby pinched her pale cheeks. Her eyes appeared bloodshot after too little sleep, and she moved as if her feet were mired in mud.

As warmth seeped into the corners of the school, she ate a lonely breakfast at her rickety table. By the time the first student arrived, Libby welcomed the presence of another body to erase the oppressive
silence. With some trepidation, she noticed Mary Sue Beidler was absent from her desk, as were a few other students. However, the arrival of Dylan, right before she began lessons, reinforced Libby’s resolve. Perhaps the mayor’s wife ruled everyone else in town, but she couldn’t tell Libby who she could and couldn’t teach.

Relieved her second week of teaching was nearly over, Libby allowed her thoughts to wander. She stared out over the children’s heads, and for the hundredth time in the last six days wondered how Mrs. Beidler planned on ridding Deer Creek of their outspoken schoolteacher.

“Miss O’Hanlon?”

The voice startled Libby out of her sober thoughts. She glanced up to see Dylan’s hand raised. “Yes?”

“I got a question.”

A couple snickers from the back row brought a glare from Libby, and Jacob and Seth settled back to their lessons. She stepped over to Dylan and leaned over his desk. “What is it?”

“I don’t understand this one.”

Libby explained the arithmetic problem, and Dylan’s eyes lit with comprehension. She was amazed by the newfound confidence in the boy’s attitude, and knew she’d done the right thing standing up to the mayor’s wife despite Mary Sue’s absence. She wished Mrs. Beidler wouldn’t punish her daughter by depriving her of an education.

“Thank you,” Dylan said.

“You’re welcome.”

She straightened and strolled about the room, checking the children’s work over their shoulders. However, her gaze drifted to her star pupil more often than not. In the short time he’d attended school, Dylan had gone from an insolent boy to an insatiable student who soaked up information like a sponge.
He grasped concepts quickly, putting him on the same skill level as children who’d attended school much longer. She had no doubt he would surpass them before Christmas.

He would be so easy to love. Pain constricted her heart. He belonged to a woman who didn’t even recognize his gifts, and who gave him attention only when she punished him. Libby had thought she could turn off her growing fondness for Dylan, but affection wasn’t like a candle flame she could extinguish with a single breath.

When she recessed for the day, Dylan remained behind.

“Can I clean the blackboard, Miss O’Hanlon?”

Libby couldn’t resist the boy’s genuine enthusiasm for the mundane task, and she smiled warmly. “Thank you. I’d appreciate your help.”

Dylan conscientiously wiped the board with a damp rag, making sure he removed all specks of white dust. Twenty minutes later he appeared satisfied with his work. He stood in front of Libby’s desk and swiped his forearm across his nose.

Libby reached into a desk drawer for a plain linen handkerchief. “Use this instead of your sleeve.”

Dylan accepted the cloth and blew his nose noisily. He handed it back to her.

Libby bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “No, that’s all right. Go ahead and keep it.”

He shrugged and balled the material into his pocket. “I’ll see if the sheriff wants it.”

“Doesn’t he have a handkerchief of his own?”

“I don’t know, but he was coughing something awful the last time I saw him.”

Concern unsettled Libby. “When was that?”

“Guess it was Tuesday after school.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“Nope. I stopped by the jail a few times, but he was
never there. Nobody knew where he was.” Worry furrowed the boy’s forehead. “Maybe I’d best go see if he’s back yet.”

Libby fingered her pencil nervously. Her gaze strayed to the patch of cerulean sky through the window.
Where was Matt?
Maybe a visit with Lenore would yield answers to her questions.

She piled her books and papers in the center of her desk. “What do you say we go see if Mrs. Potts has any cookies left in the cookie jar?”

Dylan nodded eagerly. They donned their coats, and after Libby was assured the boy was bundled tightly against the cold, they slipped outside. The bitter cold stuck in Libby’s lungs and she couldn’t breathe for a few moments, Icicles glittered in the sunlight, casting diamond sparkles along the eaves of many of the wood buildings, but the beauty was lost on Libby. They stopped in front of the boardinghouse and Libby’s gaze found the silent jail. With Dylan leading, they entered Lenore’s.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Lenore exclaimed. She hugged Dylan tight, then did the same to Libby. “Get rid of those coats and light a spell.”

“Well, we only—”

“I got chocolate cake,” Lenore bribed.

Dylan’s jacket flew off and Libby’s followed with a bit more decorum.

A few minutes later, Libby forked sweet frosting into her mouth. “It’s good.”

“Uh-hum,” Dylan agreed, chocolate circling his lips.

“Guess I got to make it more often, just to get you to come calling,” Lenore said.

Guilt washed across Libby. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over. I’ve been getting used to the new place and all.”

“I heard Mrs. Beidler paid you a visit last week.”

“How did you know?”

Lenore shrugged her fleshy shoulders. “Not much goes on in this town I don’t hear about. Comes from being a gossipy old woman who can’t mind her own business. What did Queen Adelaide have to say?”

Dylan giggled behind a hand. “She ain’t no queen.”

“Isn’t a queen,” Libby corrected automatically. She turned back to Lenore. “What did you hear?”

“Would you like to look at some pictures, Dylan?” Lenore asked.

He nodded.

“You wash up and I’ll tell you where I’ve got something called a stereoscope.”

The boy placed his empty plate and glass in the pan of water and cleaned off his face. He swiped his hands once across the towel and followed Lenore out of the kitchen.

“You know what a stereoscope is?” Lenore asked. Their voices faded to nothing, and Libby ate another forkful of cake but found she could hardly swallow past the dry lump in her throat. Returning a few minutes later, Lenore set a bucket of potatoes on the table. She handed Libby a sharp knife and took one herself. She lowered herself into the chair across from Libby.

“My ma used to say peeling spuds always gave her time to think things out,” Lenore said.

Libby picked up an oblong potato. “What is it I should be thinking about?”

“Mrs. Beidler’s got her drawers in a knot over little Dylan, don’t she?”

Libby tried to pare the entire skin off without breaking it. Round and round she went until she cut too thinly. A long piece fell to the table. “She thinks Dylan will infect the rest of the students.”

Lenore snorted. “Blamed fool woman. Doesn’t she know a child can’t be held accountable for his parents’ mistakes?”

“I tried to make her see that, but she got all huffy
and made some remark about forcing me to quit. Can she do that?”

“Adelaide can do just about anything she puts her petty mind to.”

Libby’s hands fell to the tabletop. “What am I going to do?”

“Have you thought about tutoring Dylan after school, away from the other children?”

“Are you saying I should buckle under to her majesty’s demands?” Libby asked, aghast.

“Of course not. What I’m saying is you’re a smart gal. There’s ways around this problem. You want Dylan to get an education, right?”

Puzzled, Libby nodded.

“Can you teach Dylan after the rest of the kids are gone?” Lenore pressed.

“I suppose I could,” Libby admitted. “But it’s wrong to separate him.”

“I agree, but sometimes in this life we got to make decisions where neither choice is the right one. If you teach Dylan after school, Adelaide won’t have reason to make things tough on you, and Dylan can still get an education.”

Libby considered Lenore’s solution. She hated treating Dylan like he was an outcast, but she had her own future to worry about, too. “How do I explain why he can’t come to school anymore?”

“Tell him the truth—or at least most of it. I’ll bet you he takes it better than you think he will.”

“I don’t know, Lenore. I’d be going against everything I believe is right, and I’m not so sure Dylan will understand. He’s smart, but he’s also sensitive, and I might hurt him so badly he’d revert back to the distrustful little boy he used to be. I’ve got to give it some thought.” Libby paused and swallowed nervously. “Mrs. Beidler had more on her mind than Dylan when she came to see me.”

“I didn’t hear about anything else.”

“She accused me of consorting with Ma—, I mean, the sheriff.”

Lenore’s eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine how she got such a foolish notion in her head.”

Libby glared at the older woman. “There is nothing going on between him and me. Nothing. I haven’t even seen him this week.”

Lenore’s expression sobered. “Not many folks have. Eli went to talk to him the other day, but Matt wasn’t around. Found out he was off to the Ballards’ ranch to check on a couple missing cows. Yesterday Eli had to go up north to pay house calls to a few of the folks up in that area. Said he wouldn’t be back until Sunday night. Awful quiet around here without anybody underfoot.”

“You still have Mr. Johnson and Mr. Tanner. Did you say the sheriff made it back from the Ballards’?”

“I didn’t say, but I heard tell he did. Virgil saw him when he got back.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A couple days ago, I reckon. You aren’t worried about him, are you?”

Libby’s face warmed under Lenore’s scrutiny. “Certainly not. He can take care of himself.”

Matt’s self-effacing statement echoed in her mind hauntingly.
Nobody’s worried about me for a long time.

Libby finished peeling the potato in her hand and stood. “I’d better get Dylan home.”

“Won’t you two stay for dinner? I got plenty,” Lenore invited.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“You know you’re welcome here any time, honey.”

Libby walked down to the parlor and found Dylan engrossed in looking through the stereoscope. “Ready to go?”

Dylan bubbled with excitement. “Look at this, Miss O’Hanlon. Mrs. Potts said it was San Francisco. I want to go there someday and see all the ships.”

Libby gazed through the eyepieces at the three-dimensional image created by two pictures. The sails of the boats seemed to billow toward her, and she smiled with childlike enthusiasm. She lowered the instrument. “Do you want to be a merchant when you grow up?”

Dylan shook his head. “I want to be a sailor.”

“You can be whatever you want to be. Remember that, Dylan.”

Libby helped him bundle up, and after she buttoned her coat, they thanked Lenore for the cake. They scurried down the boardwalk against the cutting northwest wind.

Dylan pulled Libby in the direction of the jail. “I want to go see the sheriff.”

Libby planted her feet on the wood planks. “I can’t. I have to get back to the school.”

“Why?” Dylan demanded.

Libby searched her mind for an answer. “Because I have homework to do.”

“Teachers don’t have homework.”

“This one does.”

“Do it tomorrow. Please, Miss O’Hanlon?” Dylan coaxed.

One look in Dylan’s pleading eyes and Libby’s resolve melted. “All right, but just for a few minutes.”

Dylan grinned and he led her into the chilly office. His lips thinned to a frown. “He’s not here.”

His disappointment mirrored Libby’s own dashed hopes, but she tried to mask her letdown. “He’s probably out hunting down some nasty outlaw like Texas Jack.”

The smile Libby hoped to cajole from the boy didn’t materialize. Instead, his face darkened.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“Something’s wrong.”

The mature voice out of the seven-year-old body startled Libby. “You’re letting your imagination run away.”

Stubbornly, Dylan shook his head. He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the office. “Let’s go to his cabin.”

Libby’s feet made the decision before she could think of a plausible excuse. With a growing sense of dread, she followed Dylan. The sheriff’s cabin stood closer to the edge of Deer Creek than the schoolhouse at the opposite end of town. A stand of pines kept it hidden from curious eyes, and a tiny frozen creek lay a few hundred feet from the front door.

Without asking Libby’s permission, Dylan pounded on the door. “Hey Sheriff, you in there?”

No answer came.

Libby breathed a sigh of relief, though anxiety crowded the other emotion aside. “He isn’t home. We’d better get back to town.”

Dylan used both his fists on the solid wood. “Sheriff, it’s me and Miss O’Hanlon.”

The ominous silence remained and Libby grew uncomfortable. A sense of unease surrounded her like a morning mist, curling in her stomach and fanning outward.

Dylan looked up at her and seemed to discern her apprehension. “Let’s just go in.”

Libby grabbed his arm. “Let me.”

Her trembling fingers stretched to the latch as a foreboding voice screamed loudly in her mind. It told her to run far and long and not look back. She ignored the command, cautiously pushing the door inward. Cold, stale air struck her nostrils and fear took substance. Her frantic gaze searched the dim room, and she spied a door leading to a bedroom. “Stay here, Dylan.”

“But—”

“
No.
Wait here.” She pressed down on his shoulders, gaining strength from the physical contact.

With a thundering heart, she moved across the room on leaden feet and paused in the doorway. A body lay atop a large bed.

“Oh God,” she whispered. Anguish wrenched her insides. Was Matt alive?

She leaned over to touch his shoulder.

Matt rolled over and came up with his revolver in hand, unerringly aimed at Libby. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yelp of surprise.