© 2018 by Melissa Jagears
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1242-6
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates / Minneapolis, Minnesota / Jon Godfredson
Cover mansion photo by Moments of Grace Photography
Author represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency
To Chesley,
for wanting to be involved in my writing though it steals time from you. Thank you for naming my hero. I’ll love you always and forever.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Melissa Jagears
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
SOUTHEAST KANSAS
SPRING 1909
“I wish you luck, George.”
“It’s Aaron now. Don’t forget.” Aaron Firebrook tried not to let Mr. Gray’s slip of the tongue make him even more nervous. Having his former teacher forget to call him by his new name was understandable, but oh how he wished no one would ever call him by his given name again.
If only every day he’d spent as George could be washed away and forgotten.
“Forgive me. It’ll take me time to remember to call you that.” Harrison Gray’s footsteps echoed on the granite flooring of Aaron’s old high school as they walked toward the conference room.
The cold rock walls surrounding them stole the warmth from the sunlight streaming through the narrow windows, and the thick scent of lemon cleaner overpowered the powdery smell of the chalk dust they disturbed as they walked through sunbeams.
This place hadn’t changed at all in the past six years. Yet he’d changed so much, it was as if he were passing through this hallway for the first time.
Mr. Gray stopped in front of the conference room door and readjusted his glasses, his blue eyes small and squinty behind his lenses. “It’ll also take me a while to get used to you sporting that big bushy beard.”
Aaron forced himself not to reach up and tug on his whiskers. “I wanted my appearance to better reflect the new me.”
Mr. Gray frowned as he took in the thick, dark beard obscuring Aaron’s face. “It’s certainly . . . different. Very different.”
“Exactly.” Aaron wiped his palms against his trousers. Hopefully shaking hands with the entire school board wouldn’t prove too embarrassing. If only his hands weren’t such big, sweaty meat cleavers. “I know I’ve already told you a hundred times, but thank you for recommending me for this position. I realize how much faith that required.”
Mr. Gray clamped his hand onto Aaron’s shoulder. “I saw your potential when I had you in class. I figure you can’t have lost it.”
“Thank you, sir.” He’d forever be grateful for Mr. Gray, the only teacher who had seen past his anger when he was nothing but a fifteen-year-old bully and had focused on the hurting boy locked up inside instead.
Mr. Gray opened the door, and Aaron followed his former English teacher into a large room, where the air was thick with the smell of mildew and disuse.
“Good afternoon.” Mr. Gray stopped a few feet inside and addressed the board members sitting at even intervals behind three long tables. “I’m pleased to introduce you to Aaron Firebrook, the man I’m recommending for the high school math position.”
There was a chorus of welcomes, and Mr. Gray gave Aaron a light clap on his back before leaving.
Keeping his hands clenched tightly at his sides so he’d not tug on his collar, Aaron walked forward.
“Please be seated.” The man in the middle of the tables pointed to the solitary chair in front of them. He was dark headed, in his forties, and didn’t look familiar.
Good.
Aaron sat and took his time looking each board member in the eye. Thankfully, the tension in his body lessened with each man he didn’t recognize and with each polite smile that didn’t turn into a frown.
Maybe things would be all right.
Except the last member was not a man, but a woman. A blonde whose smile wasn’t nearly as welcoming as the others, but then, his big size was often disquieting.
He gave her the best smile he could, considering how nervous he was. Pretty women were always a bit intimidating—especially when they held a man’s future in their hands. He tore his gaze off her and faced the group.
The man in the middle consulted the paper in his hand. “Harrison says you attended school here but moved to California. What brought you back?”
Aaron quickly scanned the board members, trying once more to determine if he knew any of them. He forced himself not to pull at his tie. “Well, Mr. Gray was a good influence on me as a student. I figured if I were to teach anywhere, I would prefer to do so as his colleague. I’d love to have his advice during my first year so I might have the same impact on Teaville’s children as he had on me.”
He’d not mention he’d also come in hopes of righting as many of his wrongs as possible.
The men ducked their heads, consulting the copies of his application, but the woman did not. She sat still, staring directly at him, her eyebrows slightly scrunched.
He gave her a smile, but she didn’t smile back.
Blond hair swept up simply, green eyes, curvy with plump cheeks. Early twenties?
He let loose a long, slow exhale and pulled his gaze away. If only he’d asked their names. But now was not the time to think through every child he’d ever known, hoping she wasn’t as familiar as she seemed. If he had any hope of procuring this job, he needed to focus on giving good answers.
“So you have no teaching experience?” This from the balding man on the left. Much too old to have been in school with him.
“Correct. This would be my first year, but we all have to start somewhere.”
“Why math?”
“I wasn’t the best student, to be honest.” In more ways t
han one. “But math was one of the few things I enjoyed. It had structure, and in a time of chaos in my life, I could count on it to function as expected.” He’d needed what little stability he could find back then. “Though Mr. Gray was my favorite teacher, trying to interpret what some dead author wanted me to learn about life through the story of a man hunting a whale was nebulous in comparison to solving for n.”
The man in the middle looked up from the papers in front of him. “So if you weren’t the best student . . . ?”
“It’s an advantage. I can understand those who struggle better than most. I think it must be hard for teachers who excelled in school to explain over and over what they found to be easy, but that certainly isn’t true of me. I’m hoping my learning background makes me more patient, perhaps more understanding.”
“It’s not always understanding they need. Sometimes it’s discipline.” The white-haired gentleman who had to be in his eighties peered down his spectacles at him.
“Of course, sir.” He’d not bother to explain how punishment for failing to comprehend his lessons would’ve made things far worse during that period of his life.
“And how exactly would you discipline them?” The woman’s voice rang out with an undertone of suspicion. Had she realized he’d held his tongue to keep from elaborating on that last answer?
“I assume there’s a policy I’d adhere to.”
She only stared at him, her head cocked to the side.
The other board members started a list of rapid-fire questions he tried his best to answer as honestly and tactfully as possible, all the while feeling the woman’s gaze boring into him. Since she wasn’t asking questions, he forced himself not to look at her. It wouldn’t matter if he figured out whether he knew her or not. If she knew him, he was as good as sunk. But if she didn’t, this interview was his best chance to get the job he needed.
“I thank you for your time, Mr. Firebrook.” The board president tapped his papers together, signaling the interview’s end.
“The same to you.” He rose, went to the right side table, and shook the first man’s hand. Thankfully his hands weren’t too sweaty. “I hope to work with you in the future.”
The man nodded. “Dr. Freedman. Nice to meet you.”
Each board member stood, gave him a quick handshake, and introduced himself. He worked his way to the woman at the other end, but when he got to her, she stayed seated, her chin tilted, her jaw tight.
Did she not think it appropriate for a man and woman to shake hands, despite her being on an all-male school board?
Or worse, had she realized who he was, though he still hadn’t recognized her?
He held out his hand and she stared at it, her mouth scrunched to one side, but then she brought up her left hand to shake his right, giving him the most awkward handshake he’d ever received.
“Nice to meet you . . . ?”
“Miss McClain.”
He blinked. That name . . . so familiar.
McClain . . . Oh.
“Mercy,” he breathed, and his gut sank into the abyss.
She gave him a slight nod, and he looked down behind the table at the right hand she’d not used to shake his. Her sleeve ended a few inches past her elbow. No hand.
He’d need to start looking for a teaching position elsewhere—unless she chose to live up to the name her parents had given her.
“Mercy.” He swallowed hard while keeping his gaze connected to hers. “Please.”
She didn’t say anything, so he backed away and excused himself from the room before he made a fool of himself.
Once in the hallway, he leaned against the wall, tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, and let out a noisy exhale. If Mercy told the others how he’d treated her years ago, he might as well wait for the meeting to adjourn. It wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds of discussion before they decided against him.
2
Please?
Mercy watched George—now going by Aaron, apparently—leave the boardroom.
How did he have the gall to return to Teaville and seek to work with children? Did he think changing his name would fool the people he’d tormented? She looked back down at his signature.
Aaron Firebrook.
Upon seeing his application, she’d figured he was likely related to the worst bully she’d ever known, but to actually be him?
Ah, there. His signature started with a barely discernible G before the giant A that figured most prominently.
The man she’d known as a child as George had walked in with confidence, his wide shoulders and height filling the room as the legendary lumberjack Paul Bunyan might have.
But something hadn’t felt right. With his beard and the way he spouted all the right answers, she’d not recognized him. But then one seemingly innocuous glance in her direction had thrown her back to her fifth-grade year. The last year she’d lived in Teaville.
The worst year of her life.
It hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t even in her class. He’d tormented her, calling her Stumpy every day without fail, making her his target in every game of tag, intimidating her friends into abandoning her, blaming her for things she’d never done, taking whatever he wanted from her lunch box.
Her fifth-grade year had been hard enough—she hadn’t needed his escalating taunts to deal with as well.
And now he had the audacity to say please before he left the room? As if he wanted this job so desperately he’d beg?
How often had she begged him to leave her alone and he’d only laughed?
“So I’m not opposed.” Mr. Hicks, the school board president, tapped his neat little stack of papers and leaned back in his chair. “He had plenty of good answers, and his size will surely command respect from the students.”
“It’s not as if we have more applicants,” said Mr. Carter.
Mr. Lafferty, the oldest board member, squirmed in his seat, his leg likely making him uncomfortable. “We haven’t had the position advertised for long. There could be more.”
“Yes.” She piped up. “Let’s wait for more.”
Mr. Hicks turned to her. “Was there something you didn’t like about Mr. Firebrook?”
Please.
She closed her eyes against the image of George’s—Aaron’s—dark brown eyes practically dripping with desperation. Why would a man big enough to tackle and subdue any person he disliked beg her for mercy?
Mercy.
How her name plagued her sometimes. How could a woman named Mercy refuse to offer leniency without feeling as if she’d betrayed herself?
Please.
But giving Teaville’s biggest bully power over innumerable children would not be merciful to them.
Discipline per the policy, he’d said.
Unlikely.
Please.
She scrunched her eyes tight, as if that would stop his plea from echoing in her brain.
Well, she could show him mercy by not outright exposing him, but she’d not let him have whatever he wanted. “As Mr. Lafferty said, we haven’t had the advertisement up for long. There’s bound to be more than one applicant, and though Mr. Firebrook has Mr. Gray’s recommendation, he has yet to teach. Wouldn’t we regret hiring him if an experienced teacher came along? We have two months before we have to stamp our approval on anyone.”
“Is the lack of teaching experience your only hesitation?” Mr. Hicks inquired. “You agreed to Miss Jenkins for the fourth-grade position, and she didn’t have teaching experience.”
The young woman was a sweetheart—she posed no danger. “She teaches Sunday school.” Mercy shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “But I’m afraid it’s more that I didn’t exactly believe everything he said. His answers were too perfect and practiced.”
“So you’d rather hire someone who answers poorly?” Mr. Hicks raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.
She looked to Dr. Freedman, who’d grown up in Teaville. He was leaning back in his chair, fiddling with
his pencil, seemingly bored and ready to be done. Had he not recognized Aaron? He was a few years older than they were, but Aaron had been big enough to terrorize quite a few children older than him. Plus Dr. Freedman had several younger siblings.
Please.
Surely God would not want George Aaron Firebrook working alone with children all day, every day. Another teacher would apply soon and be the obvious choice. “Let’s just say I have an uneasy feeling about him. I’d like to wait.”
“A woman’s intuition.” Mr. Carter let out a condescending huff.
It was no secret Mr. Carter found having a woman on the board to be a great inconvenience. But it was the first thing in her life she’d ever fought to attain, so she wouldn’t let him make her feel bad about being elected.
“Yes, perhaps intuition has something to do with it.” Oh, why couldn’t she be as mean as George—er, Aaron—and rip him to shreds in front of everyone? “We’ll lose nothing by waiting. As of right now, I’m not willing to vote for him.”
“He could accept another job in the meantime,” said Mr. Carter.
Hopefully a job that didn’t involve children. “Then our next applicants will find themselves lucky.” Though since Aaron had a teaching license . . . Her stomach churned. She could keep him from this position, but what if he sought another where no one knew who he really was?
Mr. Carter scooted his chair back. “I need to get to the bank. We can decide this just as easily at another meeting. I have no reservations about hiring Mr. Firebrook.”
“Then let’s adjourn, and you, Miss McClain”—Mr. Hicks pointed at her—“will be the one to tell him we’ll decide at a later date.”
Her heart thumped in her throat at the thought, but at least she’d convinced them to wait for more applicants. “I will.”
“All right—meeting adjourned.”
Despite Mr. Carter’s declaration of needing to get to the bank, he turned toward Mr. Lafferty and started talking stocks while she gathered her things. The others chatted as well, but she wouldn’t bother trying to join them. They were wealthier and far more important than a young woman who did nothing more than help her brother and his wife run the orphanage. Just getting voted onto the board had been quite the feat.
Tucking her folder into the crook of her short arm’s elbow, she sidled out from behind the table and headed for the door. Should she go to Mr. Gray’s classroom in hopes of finding Aaron with him, or go later this week to the Grays’ ranch, where Aaron said he’d be staying?
A Chance at Forever Page 1
