Sycamore Hill (16 page)

“I’m just saying you should weigh your actions very carefully. You
can’t change the world, my dear, and trying to do so might get you right out on
your ear. Then what good would you be to anyone?”

“There are other positions,” I said, defensive of my decision.

“Spoken like a true idiot.” Ellen did not spare my feelings. “And
if you leave here, what good would you be to Diego Gutierrez, who’s the cause
of all this? Would you tell me that?” She emitted a disgusted snort. “What a
little fool you can be, my dear. Who would give you a reference? James
Olmstead? Reverend Jonah Hayes? And what about the other sixty-three children
who need you? Diego is one boy. Will you let the others become illiterates so
that you can play crusader?”

“There’s no sense in arguing, Ellen,” I said flatly. “I told Reva
Gutierrez I would teach Diego, and I will. If I don’t teach him, I will be
condoning the school board’s position.”

Ellen leaned forward again. “It was misplaced loyalty that kept
you with the Haversalls while they stole you blind. Look at what they did to
you.”

“This isn’t the same thing,” I asserted, angry that she had
brought up that subject again.

Ellen sighed deeply and sat back. “No, it isn’t. But just don’t
let your emotions rule you. Do what you have to do to keep your own
self-respect, but be as quiet about it as a lamb in a lion’s den.”

I stood up to leave, asking as I did so if there was anything I
could get for her. I got the customary sharp reply that anything she needed she
could get up and get for herself. It had almost become a ritual.

“Ellen?” I paused at the door with one final question. “What
happened to Gwendolyn Bennett?”

“No one’s sure. She died of a broken neck. Jordan said she fell,
but the story was never really very clear. Old Tom Hal-lender, our sheriff,
just let the incident drop without too many questions. He was busy trying to
solve a robbery at the same time, and people weren’t pushing to hang anyone
suspected of killing ‘the princess,’ as they called her. Nobody except Jordan
mourned her.”

“Then he did love her,” I said quietly, feeling a pain knife
through me.

“Maybe he still did. Or maybe he just loved what he thought she
was the first time he laid eyes on her. Or maybe he just mourned the fact that
he ever met her in the first place. Who knows?”

“I suppose Jordan Bennett is a hard man because he’s had a hard
life,” I commented.

“No harder than anyone else around these parts, and a lot easier
than some. He has been the cynosure of malicious gossip since Gwendolyn’s
death. You’ve heard most of it. Diego was another event for which he gained
blame. They also credited him with what happened to Prudence....” Ellen cut her
sentence off and looked out the window with a tight, irritated expression.

“Prudence,” I repeated. “You mean Prudence Townsend?”

“It’s all hogwash and not worth repeating.”

“What happened to Prudence Townsend?” I asked, sitting back down
opposite Ellen Greer, determined to get an answer this time. Ellen looked at me
and shook her head.

“Nothing you’d want to know about, and nothing that would help you
in the knowing,” she said firmly. I sat waiting, but she just looked at me with
her jaw jutted out. I sighed and rose again.

“Besides you, does Jordan Bennett have any real friends in this
town?” I asked dryly.

“A few. Emily Olmstead for one, believe it or not. Maybe that’s
why James is so outspoken about the rumors surrounding Jordan. He always was a
jealous little runt.”

“Jordan and Emily Olmstead were talking the day I arrived at the
general store,” I remembered.

“I’ll lay you odds that James was nowhere in sight,” Ellen
snorted.

“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t!”

Ellen started to chuckle.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, curious.

“You called him Jordan. I thought you disliked the man.”

I flushed. “I suppose your calling him by his Christian name
rubbed off, that’s all.” Ellen was watching me with that pensive, sharp-eyed
expression that sometimes unnerved me.

“What happened to your hands, by the way?” Ellen asked.

“I fell,” I answered tersely.

“How and why?”

“My horse bolted, and I fell off,” I said, keeping to the truth
without elaborating embarrassing details.

“I don’t believe you’re telling me everything. Now out with it!”
Ellen snapped like the old schoolmarm she was. “How did it happen, and what’s
it got to do with Jordan? I know it has something to do with him because of the
course of our conversation this afternoon.”

“I don’t intend to go into it,” I told her. “It was a needless
accident.”

“Did Jordan do that?” Ellen asked, distressed now and looking at
me oddly.

“It happened exactly the way I told you.”

“Well, then, you’d better learn how to sit your horse a little
better.”

I smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be getting more practice,” I told
her, thinking of my weekly rides to Eden Rock to tutor Diego. I opened the door
to leave.

“Abby.”

I turned back. Ellen looked disturbed and pensive as she watched
me.

“Don’t leave yourself open to hurt,” she told me. “I think you’re
more vulnerable than you like to let on.”

“I know what I’m doing.” I smiled, thinking of the warning she had
given me about the school board’s finding out about my tutoring.

“I wonder if you do. You might find more at Eden Rock than you can
cope with.”

It was only after I was walking home that I realized Ellen Greer
was thinking of my feelings for Jordan Bennett.

A soft, mewling cry awakened me from an exhausted slumber. Lying
motionless on my pallet, I strained to hear any sound that might reveal what
had roused me from the first sound sleep I had had since finding the warning
messages on the blackboard. Again the cry came, softly penetrating the
darkness.

Pushing the cover back, I swung my legs off the narrow bed and
touched bare feet to a cold, wooden floor. Shadows filled my small room, and I
stared at each one until I was able to explain their presence. Rising, I
listened. I heard nothing except the same owl who haunted the oak tree, and the
symphony of crickets that harmonized in the quiet comers of the building.

Slowly, I tiptoed across my room. The October night was unusually
chilly, and I hugged my high-necked nightgown close to my body.

Again the cry came, this time a desperate sound in the darkness, a
plea for help. Opening the schoolroom door, I peered in. By straining my ears,
I tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from and what was making it.
Then I saw a small, forlorn shadow against the front window. Recognizing the
shape, I hurried across the deserted classroom and opened the front door of the
schoolhouse.

Sitting precariously on the front windowsill was a small stray
black cat. It yowled again, looking at me.

“What are you doing there?” I asked with a laugh. There was a
goodly distance between the railing and the sill, and I could not understand
how the cat had leaped so far. The cat meowed again and stepped gingerly to the
edge, then peered toward me.

“Come on, cat, jump back, and I’ll catch you,” I held out my
hands. The cat sat back distrustfully and yowled again.

I judged the distance between the railing and the cat and realized
it would be quite a stretch to reach the animal. I jiggled the railing
slightly, and it seemed sturdy enough. The cat was eyeing me wearily as I
leaned toward it. When my fingers brushed the fur slightly, it backed away. I
had to stretch away even farther, finally managing to get the scruff of its
neck. Just as I was lifting the light weight, the railing gave a loud crack.
Yanking backward, I just managed to catch my balance as the railing gave way
and toppled into the blackness below the steps. My heart was thudding as I
looked over the steps and down. It was a good six feet to the hard ground. If I
had fallen, I would surely have broken something. I let out a sigh of relief.

“That was close.” I laughed shakily, stroking the cat’s head with
trembling fingers. “The whole schoolhouse seems to be falling down around me.
I’ll have to have that railing repaired early tomorrow before the children
come.”

The cat snuggled tightly against my chest as I caressed it. “What
were you doing up in the window? And how did you get there, you silly cat?”

The small, scrawny black cat mewed again as I reentered the
schoolhouse and shut the door behind me. “I think I have some milk and a little
bread. Does that sound good to you?”

Setting the animal down, I rummaged through my small cupboard. The
cat meowed plaintively and pressed itself against my legs. Pouring some milk
into a saucer, I pinched off pieces of bread to soak. Then I put the meal on
the rough-hewn table. Lifting the cat up, I sat down and watched it set to
hungry work, lapping up the milk and gulping down the sodden bread.

“Pretty hungry, aren’t you?” I smiled and stroked the soft fur.
“You’re welcome to stay. I’ve plenty of room. There’s no one else but the owl,
the crickets and me until the children come for school in the morning, and
they’ll be delighted to see you here.”

The cat arched its back against my hand, and I scratched it. It
made an ecstatic sound deep in its throat.

“What shall I call you? How about Orphan? You look neglected
enough to be one,” I said, continuing the petting. The cat purred on. When I
stopped, the cat mewed, then sat down and began its tedious grooming.

I looked around the room and tried to decide where best to put my
new friend. Opening a bottom drawer in the commode, I took out several pairs of
pantaloons and some soft camisoles before putting in a rough towel. Lifting the
cat from the table, I set it in the drawer. Orphan sat down and continued
licking her fur.

“There. That drawer is your new home, if you want it,” I told her.
Then settling back onto my own bed, I sighed. Somehow, even the presence of the
small, stray cat seemed to ease the loneliness a bit. Only Ellen Greer had
accepted me without conditions, but Ellen only lightened my existence for an
hour once a week. Strange how an animal who could not talk to me offered such
companionship.

The following morning before seven, I went to the general store,
intending to ask James Olmstead to fix the front railing. As I walked up the
street, I saw Sheriff Hallender leaning against the wall just outside his
office. I gave him a wave and a cheerful greeting. He waved back. Then he
shoved his hat back on his head and strode up Main Street to do his
early-morning rounds.

Through the window of the store I saw James Olmstead stacking
canned goods, and I tapped at the door. Surprised to see me so early, he opened
it quickly. I explained about the railing, and he frowned in agitation.

“It’ll have to wait,” he told me flatly. “I’ve got too much to do
around here to be bothered with the schoolhouse. I’ll get to it some other
time.”

“I'm afraid it can’t wait that long, Mr. Olmstead. It’s a hazard.
One of the children could fall and break a leg. You still haven’t fixed the
back steps, and I’ve been there for almost two months.”

Olmstead did not appreciate that reminder. “In case you hadn’t
noticed, Miss McFarland, I’ve got a business to run. I haven’t got time to go
traipsing around, making repairs on the schoolhouse,” he growled.

“I know you’re busy.” I tried for levity. “And I understand how
much you have to do. But couldn’t you find time to repair the front railing at
least? Or perhaps you could find someone else to repair it?”

“And if I find someone else, who’s going to pay for the work? I’ll
tell you this. I won’t pay for it!”

“You said that the school board was responsible for any repairs of
this sort. Surely they have some fund that would cover the expenses,” I said,
irritated by his disinterest.

“Kids fall off things every day, Miss McFarland,” he said, turning
back to the canned goods again. “You’re making too much out of it. Just let it
go for a while, and when I get the time, I’ll fix it.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. It’s a matter of safety
for the children,” I said, determined. “If one of the children falls from the
front porch, it will be the school board’s responsibility for allowing the
railing to go unrepaired.”

Olmstead’s face turned beet-red with temper. “It won’t be my
responsibility!” he protested in a loud, booming voice. “The upkeep of that
place is your responsibility, and no one else’s.”

“Mr. Olmstead—” I tried to calm the man. I wished I had our first
conversation written down and signed by him so that I would have some proof of
my stand. It was too easy for Olmstead and the school board to make vague
promises and then flatly deny them when faced with the inconvenience of
upholding the agreement. This was only one incident in several. The back steps
were still left unrepaired. The roof had leaked during the first rainstorm, and
the children had to move their desks. The broken windows in the front were
still unreplaced. The front railing was something I could not allow to go
unrepaired. It was too dangerous for the children, who used those stairs every
day they attended school.