A Chance at Forever

by Melissa Jagears

  She put her weight against the heavy door, but it swung open easier than expected. She stumbled forward, and a huge bear paw of a hand caught her short arm under the elbow. She lost her grip on her papers, and they flew across the floor.

  “I’m so sorry. I just meant to help.”

  “Help?” She stepped out of Aaron’s hold.

  “Yes, though I certainly failed to do so.” He stooped to pick up her papers.

  She crossed the hallway to grab the pages that had slid the farthest, with the added bonus that she’d be out of his reach. “I didn’t imagine helping others would ever be an ambition of yours.”

  “Neither did I.” He grabbed one last paper and held them out to her. “So I reckon I didn’t get the job?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So it’s not a straight no?” A smile split his nearly black beard.

  Hmmm, she should have expected this. Caving to his pitiful please only guaranteed he’d dog her every step until she gave him what he wanted. Once a bully, always a bully. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell them why I’ll not vote for you. Did you think a simple name change would keep people from recognizing you?”

  “No.” He fidgeted for some reason. “I didn’t change my name to hide.”

  Then why had he changed it? The desire to ask made her fidgety, but small talk with George Aaron Firebrook was not on her list of things to do in this life. All he needed to know were the facts. “Well, we plan on interviewing other applicants, and to be clear, I will vote for one of them and encourage the board members to do likewise. Don’t bother attempting to change my mind, for I am no longer a child you can intimidate.”

  “I’m sure you’re not.”

  She snatched her papers back from him, stuffing them into her disorganized folder. “Besides, it’s only a matter of time until Dr. Freedman remembers you, and his opinion usually sways the board.”

  She turned and marched toward the doors at the far end of the hall, where the afternoon light beckoned to her through the windows, promising warmth and the opportunity to get far away from Aaron.

  But he followed right behind her, taking big strides to catch up.

  She should’ve known he’d not leave her alone. Her nerves shook at his nearness, belying her assertion that he couldn’t intimidate her anymore.

  “Freedman?” Aaron scratched his chin through his thick beard as he kept pace beside her. “I can’t remember any Freedmans. Of course, first names are more helpful to me, considering how many people I pestered.”

  Pestered? She nearly laughed at the understatement. Of course he couldn’t remember the names of everyone he harassed. Not only were there too many to count, he probably hadn’t bothered to learn their names to begin with.

  “But I tell you this, Mercy—”

  “Miss McClain to you.” She clenched her fist.

  “Of course, Miss McClain, I apologize—for that and the past anguish I caused you. But that’s partly why I want to teach in Teaville. I think it’d be a good way for me to make up for my past. At least some would think so.”

  She stiffened and increased her pace. How did he have the nerve to imply anyone would want him in charge of children?

  Her boss, Nicholas Lowe, and his wife, Lydia, ministered to the women who populated the red-light district, believing they could reform and hold better jobs, yet they wouldn’t consider placing a reformed prostitute in a brothel as cook or chambermaid.

  Aaron ran the brim of his felt hat through his hands. “What can I do to convince you I’ve changed?”

  “Nothing.” She continued toward the front doors. But what if he followed her off school property?

  “But—”

  “Trying to badger me into trusting you isn’t going to get you anywhere.” She stopped at the door and faced him. “There is no possible way you’ll convince me you’ve changed in time for you to get this job. I’d suggest seeking employment elsewhere. Good day.”

  “I-I’m sorry. Thank you for your time, Miss McClain.” He stepped back and turned away, freeing her to breathe.

  His huge figure seemed slumped as he walked down the hall.

  But it was likely just an act. Had to be.

  He would have to change tactics to get what he wanted now, considering tripping grown women and taunting them all the way home would not be tolerated by his grown-up peers. His manipulations would have to become more underhanded or he’d end up in jail.

  If Mr. Gray hadn’t fallen under his spell and recommended him for the job, she’d never have seen him again.

  But he’d actually acquired a teaching license. . . .

  She pushed out into the cool spring afternoon before Aaron could change his mind and return to badger her.

  She could save the children of her own district from his influence, but what of others? She couldn’t spend her days following him around the United States telling each school about his past. She’d just have to pray that God would put him where he belonged—which was not in a classroom.

  The brisk walk toward the south of town where the mansion-turned-orphanage sat perched above the railroad tracks was not as enjoyable as usual. She couldn’t keep herself from looking over her shoulder to make certain Aaron wasn’t following her.

  Perhaps she needed to talk to Mr. Gray and convince him to withdraw his recommendation before Aaron used it to get a teaching job elsewhere. And why had Mr. Gray recommended him anyway? He’d taught Aaron in the ninth grade, and from what she’d heard, he’d not become a model citizen that year or any of his remaining high school years in Teaville, not by a long shot.

  She climbed the driveway that meandered up a small hill to the three-story white mansion at the top, its red-shingled roof a shot of color amid the new spring greenery surrounding the town’s fanciest residence. When she’d moved back to Teaville last year, she’d been amazed that such a grand building would be erected in this out-of-the-way prairie town. And even more amazed when she learned the owner had given up living in it to use it as an orphanage for the cast-off children of the red-light district.

  And when Mr. Lowe had hired her and her brother and sister-in-law at the beginning of this year to run it for just a handful of children, she’d almost had to shake her head at the expense of it all. But Mr. Lowe and his wife had stressed that money wasn’t nearly as hard to part with as children who needed help.

  Slightly out of breath, Mercy slowed as she crested the hill. Worrying about her old nemesis seemed to have put speed into her steps. However, she needed to be calm before she forged into the chaos that would likely meet her.

  She strolled up under the mansion’s magnificent two-story portico. Its half-moon ceiling supported by four grand white columns always made her feel as if she were entering a castle instead of an orphanage.

  Her sister-in-law’s shrill shriek broke the spell. The only person who could elicit that sound from Patricia was Jimmy.

  Mercy let herself in and followed the sound of her sister-in-law berating the thirteen-year-old for back-talking. His retorts were filled with more taunt than remorse.

  Near the library, she scrunched her nose at the pungent aroma of pipe tobacco wafting from the room.

  Patricia was attempting to wrestle a pipe from Jimmy’s hand as he sat on the large leather couch, an amused, malicious gleam in his eye peeking out from under blond bangs in desperate need of a trim.

  “Stop.” Mercy rushed over and grabbed her sister-in-law’s shoulders. “Please.”

  Patricia let go and huffed, tendrils of her nearly black hair hanging loose about her face. “I told him he can’t smoke in here, and all he said was, ‘Watch me.’”

  The young man’s smirk indicated the truth of it—and he’d probably done so just to set Patricia off.

  Though he’d yet to hit puberty and was skinny despite his wide shoulders, Jimmy was already too much for either of them to handle alone, especially when one had a weak will and the other was missing a hand. Every time the
y lost a battle, his attitude and shenanigans worsened. Mercy moved past Patricia and swiped the bag of cherry-scented tobacco off the side table. Where had he gotten it? “Enjoy your last puffs, for my brother will deal with you when he gets home.”

  Please, God, let Timothy get home before dinner so he can take care of this.

  Her brother had an hour before he was due home from his bank job. With only four orphans right now, three of school age, two women should easily have been able to handle the children. But they hadn’t accounted for an orphan like Jimmy. He’d only been a resident for four months, and yet he’d made this job more trying than any of them had anticipated.

  And now that Timothy rarely came straight home from work, Jimmy grew even more defiant.

  From under his shaggy blond bangs, his squinty eyes glared at the tobacco in her hand. Then he shrugged and hiked a leg over the chair’s arm. “Who cares?” He leaned back, took a puff from his pipe, and blew a slow stream of smoke in their direction.

  “You see? You see what I mean?” Patricia gestured wildly at the boy, whose freckled cheeks made him look more innocent than he was.

  Mercy put her good arm around Patricia’s slight shoulders and whispered, “Calm yourself. He feeds off you getting hysterical.”

  Once they exited the library, Patricia shrugged out of her hold. “It’s your turn to deal with him.” She stomped forward, gesticulating wildly. “I can’t take it anymore. Not only is he still smoking, but I found him rifling through my drawer of unmentionables after lunch. I didn’t find anything missing, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find one of my chemises fluttering from the flagpole someday, and I shall die of mortification. On top of that, he spit on my shoes. Spit! And then, as if Jimmy wasn’t bad enough, Owen insisted on racing around the hallways hooting and hollering until he broke a lamp, just as I always said would happen.” Patricia pulled at her hair.

  Probably not the time to remind her sister-in-law that five-year-old boys tended to be loud and clumsy.

  “Even Max rolled his eyes at me today.” Her hands dropped to her sides, and she closed her eyes. “I’m done. I’m going to my room.”

  Mercy nodded, though Patricia didn’t open her eyes before turning and marching for the stairs.

  She’d known she’d be better at managing the orphanage than Patricia, but she hadn’t expected to be the only one doing the work or having to deal with an orphan as hard as Jimmy.

  A crash sounded down the hall.

  “Owen!” Cook hollered at the top of her lungs. Evidently she was ready for the day to be over as well. “Get back in here!”

  Mercy sighed and headed toward the kitchen. If her brother didn’t start coming home earlier, she and Patricia might both end up in the asylum.

  3

  Aaron swallowed his last swig of campfire-strong coffee while his former teacher frantically searched the kitchen for his class notes. Aaron looked at the clock and frowned. Should he tell Mr. Gray it was already half past the hour?

  Mr. Gray’s wife, Charlotte—or Charlie, as she preferred to be called—bustled back and forth with a tiny infant attached to her in a cocoon of sorts as she prepared a large pot of oatmeal and fried bacon for her ranch hands. She’d told Aaron that Indians carried their children in a similar fashion so they could get work done.

  Still, there was something strange about a woman not only wearing trousers but wearing an infant as if she were a bauble.

  The tiny girl didn’t seem to mind though. She stayed as still as a pin, her big, dark eyes fixed on the ever-changing scenery her mother’s harried movements provided.

  And she was much, much quieter than she’d been all night last night.

  Aaron yawned and picked up his empty coffee cup. Could his stomach handle more? He didn’t know what job interviews he might get today, but he ought to be awake for them.

  “You know what?” Charlie lifted a wooden spoon coated with oatmeal clumps and pointed it at her husband. “I think they’re by the bassinet.”

  “That’s right.” Mr. Gray stifled a yawn. “I worked on them while putting Alice back to sleep.” He disappeared into their room off the kitchen.

  His teacher had put the baby back to sleep? Aaron yawned again and scratched the back of his head. When had his own father done anything with him besides mete out punishment his mother said he’d deserved?

  Of course, Charlie was no ordinary woman either. They were the oddest couple he’d ever met. Who’d ever heard of a woman rancher with a husband who didn’t know how many head of cattle they owned?

  He vaguely remembered Charlie from a few weeks of his ninth-grade year. Mr. Gray had broken his glasses, and she’d come to help teach. She’d made the students do strange things like stand and walk around while reading. But how had she gotten his teacher romantically interested in her? Mr. Gray’s manners were refined, certainly not the rough-and-tumble sort.

  “Found them, darling.” He gave his wife a peck on the cheek and then planted one atop his daughter’s fuzzy head. He turned to Aaron. “I hope you’re ready. I’m late.”

  “Yes.” He grabbed his jacket and thanked Charlie for breakfast before running after Mr. Gray and climbing onto the wagon seat.

  Mr. Gray drove quickly toward the ranch’s wide gate. He looked at his watch, then encouraged his horse to go faster. “I’m sorry about rushing you. But with Alice, we’re barely getting anything done. Charlie usually has breakfast ready before the sun rises, but we didn’t sleep much last night.”

  He’d not bother to tell him their infant had stolen his sleep as well. “That’s all right. The food was nice and hot. Can’t start your day off much better than with a hot breakfast.” Tasty would’ve been good, but one out of two had kept it from being a complete failure.

  “What are you planning to do today?”

  Aaron stared at the brush-covered ridge in front of them, still dark with early-morning shadows. “Look for work.”

  “Do you really think your interview went that poorly?” Mr. Gray pushed up his glasses, as if seeing Aaron better might change his answer.

  Last night, he’d told the Grays he didn’t have a good feeling about getting the job, though he’d not mentioned why. “As I said, they plan to interview others, and you know what my reputation was.” Though he hadn’t quit his bullying ways until after high school, he’d curbed his mistreatment of others whenever his English teacher was around. For some reason, the man had actually thought him worth something and had even helped him learn to read better instead of making fun of him.

  He’d ended up in Mr. Gray’s class after being kicked out of Mrs. Beach’s. He’d thrown his book at her after she’d laughed at him for mispronouncing Voilà! while reading aloud.

  How was he supposed to have known that was a French word? They weren’t reading a French story.

  He forced his hands to unclench and his jaw to relax.

  “I think you’ll get the position. You’ve got my recommendation, and there aren’t many unemployed teachers around here.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think it’ll hurt to see what’s available. Besides, I need a job for the summer if I don’t plan to be a burden.”

  “Charlie said you’re welcome to help with the ranch.”

  “Yes, thank you.” But she had plenty of hands and didn’t need to spend her time teaching him what to do. Besides, he had forgiveness to seek and couldn’t do that at a ranch outside of town. “But I’m hoping to do something along the lines of teaching, even if not with the school.”

  Fred Hopper had answered his letter asking for forgiveness over a year ago. Aaron hadn’t expected a reply since he’d treated him worse than most. Fred’s manner of walking and talking indicated his brain wasn’t working properly and had made him an easy target whenever Aaron had gone to school feeling his worst.

  But Fred had forgiven him, and he was the one to suggest Aaron teach children who struggled to learn, to see how difficult it was for them.

  He’d thought Fred’s suggest
ion was as ludicrous as Mercy had—initially. But if he wanted to make up for his past, was that not the best way to do it?

  Where he’d once tormented children, he could now protect them. Where he’d once been so angry he wanted everyone to be unhappy, he could now sympathize. Who better to turn a bully around than someone who’d spent years believing no one could ever care for him? He could be a Mr. Gray for a child who desperately needed a Mr. Gray.

  Aaron pulled the list he carried from his pocket. As they bumped along at high speed, he read through the names he’d not been able to attach a surname to and descriptions of the children he’d hurt but couldn’t remember anything else about. “Do you know Dr. Freedman’s siblings’ names or what they look like?” Mercy had said it was only a matter of time before Dr. Freedman remembered who he was. Probably would be best to figure out who they were before he ran into them.

  “Quentin has two sisters and two brothers, I believe. I don’t know the girls’ names, but I had his brother Thomas in class. He died the following year, thrown from a horse.”

  “Was he in my class?”

  “Oh no, he was a year ahead of Quentin. The younger boy was Jack, I think.” Mr. Gray flicked his reins, calling for his horse to go even faster. “They all look alike, have the same dark hair.”

  Aaron read the list again in an effort not to panic at the rapid speed of the landscape passing by. He paused on Fred’s name and his request.

  Would he have to hold off on getting a teaching job? He didn’t want to leave Teaville until he’d figured out whether the people on his list still lived here or not.

  Mercy certainly did. But since she’d told him yesterday he could do nothing to make up for how he’d once treated her, he would let her cool down before asking for her forgiveness.

  Iris Baymont lived here as well, last he knew. She’d been the only other person who’d answered the letters he’d sent and was the reason he’d decided to ask Mr. Gray about a job. She’d not answered his second letter, and considering the content of her first, he couldn’t stay in California and do nothing to help her. Thankfully his parents had moved away from Teaville after the death of his uncle; otherwise he might not have been willing to return. “Do you know of any teaching-type jobs that aren’t a part of the school district?”