by Jane Peart
Still smiling, Blaine dangled it above her head.
Tilting her chin up and leaning down, he kissed her. Her response was instantaneous. Slipping her arms around his neck, she returned his kiss. She felt his arms tighten, and he kissed her again. She closed her eyes, savoring its sweetness. This was the kiss she had hoped for after the holiday dance, but it was much more tender, more intense than she could have imagined. With a little sigh, she looked at him. When she saw Blaine's expression, a tingle of alarm went through her. She recognized something in his eyes that frightened her a little. They were searching for some—what? Encouragement? Confirmation? Commitment?
She recognized something familiar in the way her heart was beating, too! Was she—could it be?—she was falling in love? Or was this the old Holly's response to the thrill of being the object of a man's admiration? Especially a man like Blaine Stevens? She stepped back out of his arms, feeling confused. Before she could say anything, Blaine said, "Merry Christmas, Holly, and good night." Then he was gone into the dark, chilly night. She remained standing in the doorway, still feeling the warmth of his lips on hers.
The week between Christmas and New Year's flew by. There was fresh snow, and Holly was invited out to the Healys' farm to go sledding on the hill behind the house; then she stayed for one of Geneva's bounteous suppers.
One day Ned brought Aurelia and Teddy to the store, where Holly came to meet them and take them out to her little school-house home to spend the day. Aurelia wanted to play school in the classroom, and Holly let her draw on the blackboard to her heart's content while Teddy sat on the floor, looking at picture books and playing with the bean bags the school children used at recess.
Holly served them a "pick and choose" lunch made up of all the gifts of cakes, pies, fruit jams and preserves, nut loaves, and candy she had been given by her pupils. The children had a glorious time and didn't want to leave when Ned came for them after he closed the store.
"Why don't you live with us anymore, Holly?" Teddy asked plaintively as she helped him into his warm jacket.
"It's not fun any more at home without you, Holly," Aurelia added wistfully.
Holly's eyes met Ned's over the children's heads and then looked away quickly. She said, "But, I have to live at the school because I'm the teacher, Teddy. And, Aurelia, you and Teddy can come and visit during a real school day sometime if your mama says you may."
That seemed to cheer them up a little. But as Ned led them down the steps and out to the wagon, they kept turning back and waving to Holly, who stood at the door.
Returning to her apartment, it suddenly felt empty. She had loved having the children here. Why was Hetty so stubborn? Why couldn't they all be pleasant and happy and family, for goodness' sake! Holly sighed with frustration. It ought not to be like this. She thought of the fabricated letters she wrote to her mother to pass on to Aunt Dolly. Did anyone read between the lines? Probably, if anyone did, it was Great-Aunt Ancilla. If not, why then in the latest batch of tracts from her were ones with such Scriptural admonitions as: "Ephesians 4:31: Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and evil speaking be put away from you with all malice," and "Proverbs 15:1: A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger"?
New Year's Day dawned crisp and clear and blue. There were still patches of snow on the ground, but the sun was shining brilliantly. To Holly's surprise, she received an unexpected New Year's caller: Adam Corcoran, looking dapper, as usual, in ruffled white shirt, string bow tie, dark blue coat, and a biscuit-beige waistcoat.
"Why, good morning and Happy New Year, Adam!" Holly greeted him at the door.
He leaned against the door frame, looking at her; then from behind his back he brought a package tied in bright paper and ribbon and handed it to her. "Happy Birthday."
"What on earth makes you think it's my birthday?"
"Everyone has a birthday every year, right? Since I don't know the exact date of yours, New Year's Day is as good a day to start a new year as any, don't you agree? So let's just say, it's a little gift to give you a good start on your year." He held it out to her.
"Why, Ad, that was very sweet of you—"
"Not sweet at all. I enjoyed doing it very much. I never do anything I don't enjoy," he said. "Well, hardly ever—as I recall one moving day doing a lot of things I didn't particularly enjoy."
"Yes, I know, and you were quite marvelous, and I appreciated every grubby unpleasant chore you did. Come on in, sit down, and I'll make us some tea." Holly carried the gift box over to the table and set it down. She placed the kettle on the stove.
"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked.
"Of course. Just delaying my pleasure."
"What a martyr you are," he remarked, seating himself on one of the straight chairs and stretching out his long legs with his shiny boots out in front of him.
Holly poured the boiling water into the teapot. While it steeped, she put the honey jar in the center of the table and cut two slices of the stack cake Rebecca Clay had brought her the day before on a plate.
"What do you suppose the year 1883 will bring us?" Ad mused.
"Is that a rhetorical question, or do you expect an answer?"
"I hope it means the end of my exile," Ad said, stirring honey thoughtfully into his cup.
"Has it really been that bad for you here?"
He lifted an eyebrow and gazed at Holly across the table for a second, then said slowly, "I'd say it's been better since sometime—about the end of August. ..."
Ignoring his implication, Holly said seriously, "You've done a great deal with the paper. Everybody reads it; there's always lots of talk about your editorials!"
Ad shrugged. "Maybe start a little brush fire now and then. But that soon dies down. Besides, there's not much the locals can get too excited about. This Town Council's made up of the proverbial 'salt of the earth,' all upstanding, honest types. My meat is usually corrupt politicians. Not that that did me much good!" he remarked ironically. "Going after one particularly bad one landed me here! That should have taught me something, right? What do they say, teacher, if you don't learn by your mistakes, you're doomed to repeat 'em? Maybe I'm a slow learner." Ad made a dismissing gesture. "But that's enough about me. Open your present."
Affecting a simpering smile Holly pretended coyness. "Oh, Mr. Corcoran, you shouldn't have!"
"I know I shouldn't have but open it anyway!" ordered Ad.
Laughing, Holly untied the ribbons, pushed away the paper revealing a small, square box. Lifting the lid, she brought out a tiny rosewood clock. "Oh, Ad, thank you."
"It not only tells the time, it shows the date," he pointed out the small dial on the face.
"How clever! I never saw one like this or one so pretty. Thank you very much."
"Well at least now you can keep track of your prison sentence," he said gesturing to the schoolroom.
"I don't think of it exactly like that," she protested.
"Maybe not, but it takes one to know one, as they say, and I believe you're counting your time in Riverbend as much as I am."
"No, Ad, I'm not. You're wrong."
"If I am, I stand corrected. Has something happened to change your attitude about this town?"
Holly hesitated. Would Ad understand if she tried to tell him? Truthfully, she knew much had happened. It wasn't just one thing; there were many turns of events that had changed her thinking about Riverbend. Some she knew, some she only guessed, some she didn't want to admit. At least not to Ad.
But he was looking at her so curiously, she had to say something. "Well, for one thing I found I love teaching! That's a big surprise and probably accounts more than anything else for my change of attitude. And the children. They're wonderful."
Ad yawned elaborately, tapping his hand over his mouth, "Ho-hum, now I have heard everything!"
Holly pretended indignation. "But it's true!"
He frowned and gave her a long, scrutinizing look, then said, "Yes, I believe it r
eally is. Who would have thought it?"
He finished his tea, put his cup down, and got up to leave. "Well, I guess I better be on my way; I have an important editorial to write—predictions for the New Year I think will be my subject."
"Do try to be optimistic, Ad," Holly begged as she walked with him to the door.
With his hand on the doorknob, he lingered as if he were about to say something else. Instinctively Holly braced herself for what might be some last cynical comment on Riverbend, its banality, its provincialism, its lack of excitement. She had no idea his mind was on something else altogether. She was unaware that the pale afternoon sun streaming in through the narrow windows created a golden aura behind her head.
Unexpectedly, Ad reached out and softly touched her hair; his finger trailed down her cheek. Holly sensed that perhaps she should step back, but she didn't.
"You know, your eyes are extraordinary," he murmured. "I thought at first they were hazel, then I thought they were blue, but in this light—they're almost green, like Chinese jade—"
Then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, with a gentle sweetness.
Automatically Holly had closed her eyes and when she opened them, Ad was smiling at her.
"Just a birthday kiss, Miss Lambeth. You know, everyone gets kissed on their birthday, don't you?" he asked in a low teasing voice. "Happy Birthday, Holly," he said, going out the door, "Happy New Year," he called over his shoulder as he went down the schoolhouse steps.
Holly stood there looking after him, not sure how she felt about the kiss or about the man who had kissed her.
PART 5
If suffering is life's teacher, then let us learn courage, patience, tenderness, pity, love and faith.
—Anonymous
Chapter 20
After New Year's, the weather turned bitterly cold. In the morning Holly had to crack a crust of ice off the top of the water in the rain barrel to get enough to bring inside to wash with and to boil for her coffee.
At night the wind whistled around the schoolhouse like a wild thing, crept in through the cracks and around the window frames. It was hard for her to keep the woodbox filled and to have a fire going to heat the classroom in daytime and her own rooms in the evening. Mostly she huddled, wrapped in a quilt, reading or writing her lesson plans; and then got into bed early to stay reasonably warm.
In the morning she would wake, trying to bolster enough grit to get up, teeth chattering and shivering, to start the fires in both stoves. Wearing a shawl, muffler, and gloves, she kept moving until her blood was circulating and it was time for the children to start arriving for school.
To add to Holly's general feeling of let-down during the second week of the New Year, when she went to the post office to pick up her mail, there was an official-looking envelope. Upon opening it she found it was from the District Superintendent of Schools informing her of the date of his visit to Riverbend to evaluate the progress of its pupils in comparison to the rest of the elementary schools of his district.
At first, this threw Holly into a complete panic. Although she had been pleased at the steady, if slow, progress of most of the children, she had suspected they might fall far below some of the other schools in the district. After all, the school had undergone the disruption of changing teachers. How long had they been exposed to the erratic tutelage of Larkin with his frequent absences? Even if he was present physically, due to his hidden drinking he had certainly not been in condition to control and teach.
Holly was well aware of her own inadequacy as a teacher. Even though she was making every effort to increase her own knowledge and skills she feared she would fall far short in the estimation of the District Superintendent. Therefore she began an intense campaign of readying her pupils for the scrutiny of Mr. Lanier and the examination in reading, spelling, and arithmetic he was sure to give them.
Teaching was hard-going after the excitement of the preparation and performance of the Christmas program followed by the ten-day holiday. The children seemed lethargic and uninterested in their lessons. To Holly's bewildered frustration, they seemed to have forgotten everything she had so laboriously taught them before the vacation. School days were narrowed to endless arithmetic drills and tedious spelling tests. At the end of each trying day, Holly felt exhausted.
The closer the date of his coming, the more nervous Holly became. Her prayers became desperate as her temper grew short. Her students paused, stumbled over the simplest words, and even the brightest among them seemed stumped at recitation of times tables they had rattled off with ease before. Daily spelling drills became routine and were greeted with moans each day.
It occurred to Holly that her reputation as a teacher might be at stake. But that was the least consideration. After all this was only a "way station" along her own path of life. Being Riverbend's teacher was not a career goal. It had simply been a means of escape from an unbearable situation. A straw she had grasped at for self-preservation.
Consideration of her own reputation paled beside the benefit and encouragement the children would receive by doing well in the District rolls. As one of the smallest and newest schools, Riverbend's status was in question.
Nerves frayed, Holly woke up on Monday the week of the superintendent's expected visit with a feeling of dread. She dragged herself out to the kitchen. While the water in the kettle boiled, she stared gloomily out the window. The scene did nothing to lift her spirits.
The sky was heavy, gray with clouds, the wind gusty. As she dressed, she heard the patter of rain and knew a rainy day meant the children would be inattentive, restive, and distracted.
As one by one they straggled in, Holly tried to be especially cheerful, promising that if everyone knew their times-tables and spelling words, she would read them another chapter of RobinHood, a story they all particularly enjoyed, both the boys and the girls.
Outside, the wind was rising, hurtling rain in increasing violence against the schoolroom windows. The storm mounted during the early afternoon and, since some of the children had to walk long distances home, Holly decided to dismiss them early.
If Holly had known the storm would work to her advantage, she might have spent a more peaceful night. But she slept fitfully, awakened often by the wind shrieking around the edges of the schoolhouse and rattling the windowpanes. It was still raining hard when she awoke the next morning.
Only a few students showed up for school. These were mostly children who lived in town. The Brysons were the only ones from the outlying farms who came, and that was because their father delivered milk to customers in Riverbend. They told of ankle-deep mud on the roads that had become quagmires and were flooded in some places.
It rained steadily all through the day and throughout the week. On Thursday she received a letter from the District Superintendent stating that due to the weather and the impassable condition of the roads he would be unable to make his annual visit and would have to postpone it until spring. If she hadn't been so relieved Holly might have been angry. All that preparation, all the anguish, all the punishing, grinding repetition she had put the children through for nothing!
As it turned out, it hadn't been useless. Within a week Holly realized that every one of the children had benefited in some way from her insistence on their learning their lessons. Happily she sent away her order for the second volume of the McGuffyReader to replace the ones they had all passed successfully.
Later, when discussing the entire matter with Vi, Holly complained, "And to think of all my prayers about the superintendent's visit going perfectly, and then it never even happened!"
Vi smiled. "Remember, Holly, God always answers prayers even if not the way we think He will." She paused significantly. "Who do you think is in control of the weather?"
One day, three weeks into the new school term, Holly sensed there was something indisputably wrong. She felt it almost from the moment she opened the school door and rang the bell. The children came in sluggishly, in a disorderly line, shovin
g and pushing. There seemed to be more confusion and quarreling than usual as they put down lunch buckets and slung their outer garments on the hooks at the back of the room. There was more than the usual amount of noise as they shuffled to their places, banged slates on desk tops, and dropped books.
Holly had difficulty getting the children's attention. The big boys were unusually disruptive during the geography lesson. Every time she turned her back to the classroom to point out something on the map, she would hear scuffling and whispering.
Beside herself as to what to do to get control of her pupils, Holly called an early lunch period. Since it was too cold for them to play outside, she read them aloud a chapter from Robin Hood. This time, however, it seemed to have lost its flavor. Even Molly Spencer, one of her best and brightest students, put her head down on her crossed arms on the desk during the reading.
Holly was really concerned as the wall clock inched to dismissal hour. When asked to erase the blackboard, Luke Healy moved without his typical energy, and Holly noticed he was flushed. Little Cissy McKay's eyes were glazed, and when Holly touched her cheek with her hand it felt like fire.
As Holly watched them straggle out the door and walk out of the schoolyard, she was worried. Were these children all coming down with something?
Within forty-eight hours Holly's premonition came true. Only a handful of children showed up for school the next week. They each told of a brother or sister who was sick. Each day it seemed one or two other children failed to appear. By the end of the week it was known that the cause of these absences was the dread disease—smallpox.
Holly had been vaccinated as a child and so was in no danger of contagion from exposure to her pupils. Since vaccination had been prevalent in America for at least 150 years, Holly wondered why some of the Riverbend people had not been vaccinated. At first no one seemed unduly concerned. The parents Holly spoke to about it seemed more worried about the possibility of diphtheria which had taken its toll of Riverbend children in past years.
