She considered carefully what she knew about the man. She slipped so deeply into her mental meanderings that she missed hearing the squeak of the door’s hinges as it opened. If a current of cold air hadn’t alerted her, the man might have sneaked up behind her. But, at the feel of sudden coldness, she whipped around, heart pumping.
Standing in front of her, leering grotesquely, Jubal Yarborough held out a ribbon-tied box. The red velvet ribbon reminded her of blood-stained fabric. Refusing it, she retreated until her back came up against the slate board.
“Mr. Yarborough! What, uh, do you need?”
The man flashed yellowed teeth as he gave a confident smile. Delia wondered if he grinned because he knew she was trapped or if it was an attempt to seduce her. Either way, the smile brought on a flood of nausea.
A wheezing chuckle rattled through his rawboned frame. “I’ve brought you candy. Trying to make this nice for you before we get down to business.” He set the box down on the edge of her desk. Then, with two rapid strides, he grabbed Delia’s shoulders.
Stiffening with outrage, Delia used her best ‘teacher’ tone. “Sir, what do you think you are about? This is no way to treat a lady?”
“Lady, huh? Think I didn’t recognize you’re passin’.” At her shock, he wheezed out that odd chuckle again. “Yep, took me only a few minutes to see you’re not really what you want everyone to believe. White, my eye!” He squeezed her shoulders painfully. At her gasp, he leaned down and took advantage of her open mouth.
Pulling back at the touch of his tongue, Delia ducked and twisted. All she gained was an inch or two. Not enough to escape him.
Jubal threw her back, onto the desk. Coming down hard on her, he released one hand to move it downward, feeling for the hem of her skirt.
Desperate, Delia moved her hand across the desk, frantic to find it. Cold metal brushed against her fingers and she sent a prayer of thanks to the Lord. She now had the scissors.
As Yarborough lifted her skirt, Delia raised the scissors and plunged them into the man’s shoulder. Yanking them out, she raked the tip across his cheek before he could pull back.
Screaming obscenities, the villain fell back, away from her. Then, with a hand to his wounded face, he stepped toward her again. Delia stood with her back to the corner and held the scissors like a knife.
“The next time, Mr. Yarborough, I will do damage. Stomach? Heart? Which do you prefer?”
Blood dripped as the man swore. Then, strangely, he stopped to pick up the box of candy before exiting the school house. The strong taint of blood hung in the air. Delia looked down at her ruined white shirtwaist and sighed. The sound held a mix of relief and frustration.
Then she had a terrible thought. Would Yarborough tell others in Belle about her mixed blood?
Picking up the lantern from a table near her desk, Delia moved through the door connecting her room to the school. During the cold winter months, she especially appreciated being able to go to her room without putting on a coat and trudging outside. The last teacher told her how awful that had been. She was the one who’d pushed to have the door cut into the wall.
A sob erupted from her at this mundane thought. She’d been attacked moments before. Why was she thinking about the convenience of a door?
Breathing in and out, slowly and deeply, several times, she sunk to the edge of her bed and prayed.
She’d come through the attack. She was safe. The verse her mother taught her to rely on came to mind. Like a vow, she said it aloud.
“I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.” Psalm 91 never failed to comfort Delia. The warm memories of sitting on her mother’s lap as she memorized the chapter one verse at a time washed over her. Again, her savior had proved those words were true. She trusted and He protected her.
Rising, Delia lifted the lid of her trunk and removed a clean shirtwaist. As she did so, the envelope Jessup gave her seemed to stare up at her.
Why hadn’t a marshal contacted her?
Delia had been sure Mr. Jessup’s contact would find her. He’d said another marshal was in the area. Since she’d arrived on the same train Jessup should have been on, she believed someone would be waiting at the depot. In the days following her arrival in early October, she’d been on pins and needles waiting for the contact to come. At the very least, she thought someone would visit to ask for information about her fellow passenger.
Nothing!
Not sure what to do, Delia had tucked the paper she’d signed into her small trunk along with the envelope she needed to deliver to Jessup’s contact. Her silver star was pinned between the bands of her petticoats. She always wore at least two.
At first, she’d suspected Paps might be the marshal. He seemed to know everything happening in the small town. Also, he had a way of studying people that fit with her idea of a lawman.
Each time Delia wanted to take out the envelope and read its contents, she reminded herself that she was, really, only the courier. She didn’t have the training or desire to be a true marshal.
Then rumors of rustlers filtered through town. That was about the same time that the cobbler’s wagon began to make regular visits to Belle.
A shiver of revulsion ran through her. Just the thought of Jubal Yarborough, the cobbler, brought ripples of disgust cascading across her skin.
Yarborough—she refused to call him Jubal, as he’d asked her to—quickly made his interest in her clear. Even in front of the townspeople. He’d followed her in Mr. Stewart’s store and even tried to sit with her at church. Of course, that had been the only time he’d attended.
She’d risen from the pew as if a spring was loaded into her bustle and hurried to sit with the Pettigrew sisters. No school teacher needed rumors about her reputation.
Thinking about rumors brought to mind the man who’d just left. Roland Anderson had to be Rol Anders. The change in name was hardly deceptive. Seems he should have tried harder to hide his identity. Especially if he really was involved in the cattle thefts.
He hadn’t tried very hard to disguise himself. Did that mean he was simply an innocent man with a badly behaved daughter?
Imagining the man brought shivers to her. Not revulsion, like with the cobbler. No, Roland Anderson definitely drew her and that made her even more angry with him. No marshal should be attracted to a potential criminal.
Still, she wasn’t a true marshal. Tonight, especially, she was only a desperate and lonely woman who didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 3
Over the lonely weekend, Delia cringed at every unexpected noise outside. She’d only left her rooms for her usual shopping trip. Even then, she hadn’t lingered anywhere.
The rest of the day on Saturday, she waited for the sheriff to visit. After all, surely Yarborough would swear out a complaint against her for attacking him with the scissors. She feared going to the sheriff to report Yarborough’s attempted rape. It would only allow Yarborough to broadcast what he’d figured out about her.
Once during that lonely weekend, she’d stared into her hand mirror, searching. What had the man seen that betrayed Delia’s mixed blood?
In Normal School, Delia had easily passed as white. Truly, she had more white ancestors than she did ones of color. So many of the grandmothers in her line had been fathered by white men. Almost always, the men had been the husbands of women who would be considered half-sisters to her ancestors, that is if the perspective of society had been different.
Delia’s own father had been the husband of a woman who shared a father with Maisey. The woman had been gifted Maisey Perkins as a wedding gift. A gift her husband had exploited.
Before Delia’s birth, the family moved up river to Missouri. It was there that the man truly became a Christian. Conviction and guilt led him to gifting freedom to Maisey and her baby.
This was only a story to Delia. She’d never met the man. While in Springfield, she’d sighted him once. Curious, she’d stood outside his h
ome, waiting for him to emerge. It had been enough to see his blonde head from a distance.
She didn’t need to meet him, had only wanted to see him from a distance. To her mind, Maisey Perkins was her only parent. Delia neither needed nor wanted a father in her life.
Monday came with no visit from the sheriff. Evidently, Jubal Yarborough no more wanted to involve the law than her. Returning to the classroom routine that day came as a relief.
Enid Anderson’s behavior was also a relief. Gone was the disruptive hellion. In her place sat a neat, quiet girl. She sulked and participated only when forced, but nonetheless she was well-behaved and diligent. A model student compared to the previous months.
True to his word, Roland Anderson stopped in to visit during the week. On Wednesday, after the last student left, he marched Enid back into the building. Stopping in front of her desk, he indicated for Delia to remain seated.
“Just stopping by to be sure you’ve seen a change in my girl.” His dark eyes held a merry glimmer, like he knew a secret.
Delia smiled. “Yes, indeed. Enid is working to become the top in her class. Such a delight to have her with me each day.”
At those words, the little girl scowled and tried to twist out from under her father’s hand. He tenderly tightened his grip, holding her in place. Then he hunkered down in front of his daughter.
“Makes me proud to hear that. Glad Miss Perkins is seeing the sweet girl that I’ve always known.” He rubbed a finger of his free hand down his daughter’s cheek as he spoke. The girl leaned into that finger, reinforcing what Delia suspected. Enid Anderson obviously craved her father’s attention and love.
Delia’s admiration for the man must have been plain in her eyes. When the little girl looked at her, Enid’s expression held a calculating look. It was one that Delia had seen often before the girl pulled one of her pranks. Delia stiffened at it.
“Miss Perkins, have you heard about the Sweetheart Dance?” Eenie Anderson’s innocent tone and rounded, blue eyes gave her the air of an angel. Delia wasn’t fooled for a moment. The girl was planning something.
Slowly, looking from daughter to confused father, she answered, “Well, yes. It’s in a few weeks, I think.”
“Hasn’t anyone asked you, yet, Miss Perkins?” Twinkling eyes turned to look at her father. “Don’t you think someone should take Miss Perkins to the dance, Daddy?” Sweetness dripped from the girl’s words. Why would she want Delia to attend the dance with her father?
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Time to leave Miss Perkins to whatever she was doing.” Tapping his hat against his thigh nervously, the man nodded to her. “Thank you again, Miss Perkins. I am glad my girl’s behaving.”
Father hustled daughter out of the building. Watching them go, Delia tapped the top of her pencil against her lips. What had the talk of the dance been about? Did Enid know that her father planned to ask her teacher to the dance?
What would she say if he did ask? Would attending the dance with a criminal be like dancing with the devil?
Anticipation rose in her. She knew then what her answer would be if he did ask.
Jubal Yarborough cursed as the needle pierced his already torn cheek. “Take it easy with that, Yancy. I’m not a sock you’re darning!”
“It’s a darn hard thing to do, anyhow.” The man chortled at his pun. When Jubal didn’t respond, none of the others in the room at the back of the saloon laughed. Each one took his lead from Jubal. After all, his brains would make them a tidy profit after the stolen beef was sold.
“You never told us, boss, who done this to you. Did you have a knife fight in the saloon here?” Yancy prodded the wound even as he probed for information.
Jubal didn’t care to answer as he struggled with the pain so he ignored the man’s question. Without turning his head, he barked out one side of his mouth, “Carter, you hear any more about a U. S. marshal in the area?”
Lowering the bottle he’d been about to swig from, the long-haired man shook his head, setting the matted tresses to moving around hunched shoulders. “Nah. Know a warrant was issued for Old Yancy there. No one’s shown up.”
The man paused and tipped up the amber liquor. Swallowing, he gained courage to continue. “Kept an eye for months on the sheriff’s office. No one new’s come here bouts.”
Carter was first-rate at hiding in alleys. If a stranger had visited the sheriff, Jubal knew Carter would have seen him. Giving a snort of approval in Carter’s direction, Jubal flinched at the pain the movement caused his cheek. Needing to focus on something other than his wound, he went on questioning his gang.
“Reynolds, you moved the beeves like I told you?”
The red-haired man named Reynolds flinched at his name on Jubal’s lips. The boss caught the movement out the corner of one eye. Reynold’s would bear watching. Something about him screamed trouble.
Reynolds wiped a hand across his sweating forehead and swallowed hard, like he had a wad of tobacco stuck in his throat. “Yep. Been watching the hands on that ranch. No one goes to that far pasture in winter. I’m sure as can be ‘bout that.”
Jubal fixed his gaze on the man as the cowboy spoke. He continued to stare after the man grew quiet. It was an odd man who could become sweaty in the cold back room. No, something definitely was off here. Yancy might need to get rid of Reynolds.
Shifting his weight on the wooden chair, the boss leaned his good arm on the table. The other had already been stitched up by Yancy. It was sore as the dickens.
Looking once around the room at each man, he wheezed out a chuckle. “Well, boys, we’ll be in the clear soon as that pass opens. Just need the snow to melt enough for us to move ‘em out of that valley.”
Any satisfaction Jubal felt fled as he remembered Delia Perkins. The woman was one more thing he’d need to take care of before he left Belle. She would pay. He’d enjoy hurting her as much as he planned to enjoy using her body.
He made a silent promise. Determination fueled his need for revenge and guaranteed that it would happen.
Chapter 4
It was as good a time as any. Rol watched the teacher leave with a basket hanging over her arm. To his way of thinking, that must mean she planned to shop for several items. After all, she needed a basket. Good time to explore her room.
Eenie stayed at the ranch, currying horses. That girl did have a God-given talent with the beasts. With most animals, actually. Keeping her away from them the weekend before as her punishment had hurt him even more than it had her. Her tears and sighs nearly had his resolve crumbling like overdone bacon.
Paps Johnson had been willing to leave the running of the livery to his helper. He’d come along as Rol’s lookout.
The old man was one of the few who knew Rol’s identity as a marshal. When he first came to Belle and explained his purpose to Sheriff Knight, the man directed him to Paps.
“His horse ranch will be the best place to rent stable space. He even has a small house on the property that’s vacant right now.” The sheriff’s advice had been spot on. Paps had provided them with everything the father and daughter needed.
When he’d approached the livery owner, Paps had sized him up and, with an arched brow, asked, “So what you really doin’ here?” There was no way, after being measured by those piercing eyes, for the marshal to lie to the man; so, Rol told him everything.
In fact, Paps kept Rol filled in on any news he picked up around town. The old man had been the one who told him the schoolteacher asked around town about Rol.
Watching the teacher now, he smiled about how well the
punishment had worked. The woman swore his girl had been a different student all week. Seemed that being strict with Eenie was something to consider if problems started in the future. Now, however, he had a different problem.
From his spot in the shadow of the building, he allowed his eyes to follow the graceful back of the woman. Miss Perkins posed a different kind of problem for him.
Though she might
be a fussbudget, the lady surely did have a fine face and figure. Watching her brought a tug to his chest.
No, he reminded himself. Never again. He’d been a rotten husband. His wife had complained often enough to convince him that marriage would never be successful for him. No, he wouldn’t pursue a decent woman like Delia Perkins. No matter how badly he longed to do just that.
She was decent, wasn’t she? Or could she be mixed up with this gang of thieves? Word around town was that Jubal Yarborough had been seen with her several times. Of course, the gossip also said that she was never happy to have the man approach her.
Once he could no longer see the woman, Rol stayed close to the school building and moved around the corner to the back door. Turning the knob, he grumbled at finding it locked.
Who locked their door in a town like Belle? One more thing that singled her out as a city woman.
Taking a short length of wire from his coat pocket, he maneuvered it in the lock until the knob turned easily. The door squeaked open, allowing warmth and the alluring lavender smell of Miss Perkins to envelop him.
Quickly shutting the door after himself, he moved to her bed. Lifting the mattress, he prodded it before carefully straightening the covers.
Next, he opened a small trunk at the end of her bed. As his hand shifted soft muslin, a paper crinkled. Grabbing it up, he read it. Confusion had his brow wrinkling as he saw both Miss Perkins’ and Jessup’s signatures on a sheet that swore the woman in as a marshal.
How? Jessup was to have traveled to Belle? How had this woman replaced him? Why hadn’t she tried to contact him after her arrival? She should have at least notified Belle’s sheriff that a marshal was in town.
The door knob rattled. Rol jumped, barely holding onto the paper he’d found. Startled blue eyes met his before Delia Perkins let loose with a scream.
Inhaling, she prepared to shriek again. This time, Rol did drop the paper to slap a hand over her open mouth.
“Miss Perkins, are you in there?” The woman’s concerned voice called from nearby. Before the owner of the voice reached the door, Rol clutched Delia close and covered her mouth with his. He reasoned that the kiss was a way to keep her quiet. At the touch, reason fled. All the interest he’d felt for her poured into that kiss. So much so that both of them jumped at the shocked gasp.
The Teacher's Star Page 3
