“He needs some sort of guidance,” she began, unable to speak the words that would condemn the child, that would make his life any more difficult than it already was. Having Jake McPherson as a father was problem enough. Motherless, and part of an unstable household, the boy didn’t stand a chance of making anything of himself. Unless Jake took hold and changed his style of fathering.
“He gets guidance.” Jake looked at her from dark, angry eyes. “He doesn’t need any Goody Two-shoes coming around trying to reform him. He’s a boy, and boys get in trouble once in a while.” He settled back in his chair and his chin jutted forward. “What’s he done?”
Alicia felt like crying. For no earthly reason whatever, she felt tears burn against her eyelids and she turned aside, lest they be visible to the man before her. Not that he’d be able to make them out in the dim hallway, where tall, narrow panes of fly-specked glass on either side of the front door provided the barest minimum of light.
Beyond the wide parlor doors only gloom existed, apparently, for the curtains appeared to be closed tightly. At any rate, the man would have to peer intently at her to notice whether or not her eyes were shiny with tears.
This house…this man…the boy in the kitchen—all merited her concern, and that rush of emotion that threatened to melt her reserve held her stock-still where she stood.
HE WAS A MAN ISOLATED by his own choice. He admitted it freely to himself, and knew that the people who lived in Green Rapids were fully aware of his desire for solitude. Seldom in the past had anyone crossed his threshold, only the train of servants he’d hired intermittently, and then watched depart.
Housekeepers were hard to come by, a fact Jake was only too aware of. A decent cook would come in handy. As it was, his only household help was a widow lady who picked up their laundry once a week, then delivered it back to them a day or so later.
Beyond that, he and Jason were on their own, except for the occasional visit from his brother’s family. That the boy needed a woman’s touch was true. That he was likely to be the beneficiary of such a luxury was out of the question, unless some miraculous creature turned up on their doorstep and waved a magic wand over the household.
The woman who stood before him did not fit that description. Yet, she held his interest, as had no other woman in his recent past.
“I repeat, madam—what’s the boy done?” Hearing the harsh tone of his own voice, Jake restrained himself a bit. If Jason was really in trouble, he needed to know. “I’m sure I can handle the problem, once you fill me in on the details,” he continued, forcing his voice to be civil.
From the kitchen door, a scurrying sound that might have been mice, but was, no doubt, Jason’s attempt at eavesdropping, caught Jake’s attention. It was just as well, he decided, that the boy hear what his teacher had to say.
“He broke the windows in the schoolhouse today,” she said quietly. Her eyes offered a mute appeal, glancing up at him, shining with a film of tears, unless he was mighty mistaken. “Not all of them,” she was hasty to add. “But the two closest to my desk.”
“Where were you when it happened?” he asked, his gaze focused upon her person.
“Sitting at the desk, going over my pupils’ work. I’d just let school out for the day.” She looked at him directly. “Before you ask, I have to tell you that Jason did not attempt to hide his mischief. He stood not more than ten or twelve feet from the building, and when I looked out through the first broken window, he lifted another rock and threw it at the one closer to where I normally sit.”
“You’re telling me you saw him break the windows?” His heart sank within him. Jason was belligerent at times, hard to handle for the past year or so, but his actions today went beyond mischief.
The woman only looked at him, as if she would not further verify the story she’d told. It was no doubt true. She had no reason to lie, or even stretch the truth. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The boy needs help, and he won’t accept it from my hand. He resents authority.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Jake said. “I’ll find some appropriate punishment to deal out, and settle the matter.”
“At least he’ll know you’re paying attention, won’t he?” she asked quietly.
Jake’s head came up abruptly, and his glare dissolved any small amount of amity he’d projected. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“He seems to be asking for you to notice him, and he doesn’t care how he accomplishes it, Mr. McPherson. This isn’t the first time he’s been in trouble.”
Jake winced inwardly. She was right. He’d received a note from the sheriff, asking for reparations when Jason had ruined the flower bed in front of the bank. The boy had come home with a black eye more than once, and his trousers were continually needing repair, where he’d fallen in the dirt, tussling with several boys in town. But then, fighting was something all boys indulged in, Jake had told himself.
Now he viewed the signs he’d ignored—and didn’t relish the picture they drew.
“Do you have another idea, Miss…” His voice trailed off, wondering for the first time just who this woman was.
“I’m Alicia Merriweather,” she said. “I teach the first six grades at the schoolhouse. Jason has been a student in my classroom for almost two years.”
“You’ve been in town that long?”
Her smile was cool. “You don’t get out and around much, Mr. McPherson. I’ve lived here for a bit over two years.”
“My social life has nothing to do with you,” he said harshly.
“I’ve had articles in the weekly newspaper,” she said. “I’d have thought you read the Green Rapids Gazette, and might even have recognized that there was a new teacher at the school.”
She was smart-mouthed, he decided. A woman who spoke her mind. He could just imagine the sort of articles she wrote. A smile begged for existence on his lips as he considered her. Her writing was no doubt aimed at cleaning up the saloons and driving the women who worked there out of business.
“Get to the point, Miss Merriweather.”
She inhaled and her ample bosom rose in response. He’d never been overly fond of women so well endowed, but she was well-formed, if a bit too full-figured for his taste. Even so, the dress she wore concealed a shape beneath its folds that would bear further study. And suddenly that idea appealed.
“I think Jason should be made to come to the schoolhouse, and at least sweep up the mess he made, and then help me board up the windows until I can get Ben from the hardware to replace the glass.”
“You’re going to board up the windows?” he asked. “And you want Jason to clear up the broken glass?”
She shot him a level glance. “He broke it, didn’t he? He needs to learn that there are responsibilities that go along with his actions.”
“And if he cuts himself in the process?” Deliberately, he was making this difficult, but the woman was persistent and he was rising to the challenge.
“What if he burns himself cooking on your stove, Mr. McPherson?” She pursed her lips and then lifted a brow as if she awaited a reply.
“Well, you have me there, ma’am,” Jake answered. “The difference is in who takes the blame for his injury.”
“In the case of the windows, he takes the blame, sir. Both for the damage he wrought on the school, and for any harm he comes to in the resolution of the problem.”
“He’s only nine years old,” Jake said, intent on continuing the argument, the best one he’d had in a month of Sundays. This woman knew how to hold her own.
“He may never reach his tenth birthday if he doesn’t learn some rules of decent behavior,” she said firmly. “He has half the parents in town out for his hide. There isn’t a boy in school safe from his fists, and the little girls have suffered ink splattered on their dresses and skinned knees from being pushed down in the schoolyard.”
Jake was silent, absorbing her words. If it was indeed as bad a
s all that, the boy had to be taken in hand.
“I’ll agree to him cleaning up the mess,” he said grudgingly. “As soon as he’s eaten his supper, I’ll send him on over.”
She gritted her teeth. He saw her jaw clench and noted the militant gleam in her eyes as she defied him again. “He’ll do it now. I won’t be eating my supper until the windows are boarded up and the school is back in shape for tomorrow. He can just do without his meal until that’s been accomplished.”
“Do you always get your way, Miss Merriweather?” Jake asked, fuming inwardly, yet aware that the woman had a point.
“Only when I’m right.” The words were a taunt, delivered with a smug smile. Then she clutched her reticule and stiffened her spine. “Now, will you tell him to come along with me? Or shall I go out into your kitchen and drag him out the back door?”
“It’s against the law to manhandle a child who is not your own,” Jake told her.
“I have the right to discipline the children in my classroom,” she reminded him. “The school board has put that into my contract.”
He might as well let the creature have her way. She was going to go over his head if he didn’t give in gracefully. Or at least without a fuss.
He raised his hand from the arm of his chair and waved toward the closed kitchen door. “He’s on the other side of that, ma’am,” he told her. “I’ll warrant his ear is glued to it, in fact.”
“Call him in here,” she said, moving to plant herself halfway down the hallway. “He needs to know that you’re aware of what he’s done.”
“Oh, I doubt there’s any question he hasn’t already heard every blessed word you’ve spoken, ma’am,” Jake said harshly. Then he raised his voice a bit. “Jason, come on out here.”
The door opened after a few seconds and the boy sidled into the hallway. His face was pale now, and Jake felt a moment’s pain at the look of confusion his son wore.
“You’ll go with Miss Merriweather and clean up the mess you made, Jason. You’ll help her board up the windows, and then you’ll do extra chores to earn money for the new glass it will take to repair the damage.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “I have to pay for new windows, Pa?”
“You broke the old ones, didn’t you?”
For a moment a look of despair came over the small freckled face, and Jake felt a pang of guilt. When had the boy gotten so far from his reach? Then Jason’s head lifted and a look of defiant pride touched his features.
“Yeah, I broke them.”
“‘Yeah’ is not an appropriate word to use, Jason,” Alicia said quietly. “You may change your statement, please.”
He shot her a resentful look, then turned as if to seek out Jake’s opinion in the matter. When nothing was forthcoming from his father, the boy nodded.
“Yes, ma’am, I broke them,” he said, and for a quick moment Jake thought he saw a bit of himself in the boy. Given to impetuous behavior, frustrated by authority and determined to flaunt his shortcomings in the face of others, he was indeed a problem.
But one, it seemed, Alicia Merriweather could handle.
CHAPTER TWO
JASON MCPHERSON WAS A capable child, Alicia admitted silently. Obviously aware of the purpose of a broom and dustpan, he swept up the broken glass without a murmur, then dumped the shards into her wastebasket. If he still wore the chip on his shoulder, at least it didn’t appear to be quite so large a chunk of wood, she thought.
“I’m finished, ma’am,” he told her as he returned the tools to the cloakroom.
“No, Jason, you’re not,” she said, contradicting his statement. From the quick look he shot in her direction, he’d expected the reprimand, and she noted the taut line of his jaw.
His sigh was exaggerated. “Now what do I hafta do?”
“You know very well what comes next, young man. You had your ear plastered against that kitchen door when I told your father what I expected of you.”
He shifted uncomfortably, standing first on one leg, then the other, as if he readied himself for flight. “I suppose you think I’m gonna carry in all that wood you got layin’ out in the yard.”
“No,” she said, disputing his idea. “You’re going to go out there with me and hand me one board at a time while I nail them in place. If it rains tonight, I don’t want the schoolhouse open to the elements.”
“Elements?” he asked, his look skeptical. “You mean the weather?”
“You know what I mean,” she told him. “You can’t play dumb with me, Jason. I know exactly how intelligent you are.”
His shoulders slumped and she decided it was a ploy, a means to get her sympathy. It would never work. He was slick, but she was ahead of the game.
“Come along,” she said, walking briskly toward the door, hammer in hand, a small brown bag of nails in her pocket. Outdoors, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and she looked upward, thankful that the clouds were not heavy as yet. The idea of working in a downpour didn’t appeal to her, and sending Jason home all wet and soggy might only irritate his father more.
Although that seemed to be an unlikely thought. The man could not be more irritable if he truly put forth an effort.
Jake McPherson had a reputation around town. A widower for well over two years, he had become a recluse, mourning his wife, folks said. And well he might, Alicia thought. The woman had no doubt been a saint to put up with him. A more miserable man would be hard to find.
Yet there had been something about him that appealed to her. Some spark within the man had spanned the gap and touched off an answering response in her soul. Pity? Doubtful, although she respected his need to mourn his wife. Respect? No, not that, for he’d allowed himself to become a hermit and had kept his son apart. Not only from those in the community who might have helped the boy, but from himself.
He’d built a wall of grief and stubborn pride. Even his own child could not surmount the obstacle of Jake McPherson’s hibernation. And yet she’d been drawn to him…perhaps as one weary soul to another.
The hammer was a tool she was familiar with, but the boards she nailed in place were heavy and, as a result, her fingers bore the brunt of several blows that she knew would leave bruises behind.
“You’re not very good at this,” the boy observed as she held the last board in place and took a handful of nails from the bag. “I guess women have a hard time doing man stuff, don’t they?”
She turned her head, caught by the scorn in his remark. “‘Man stuff’? Hammering a nail is something only the male gender is proficient at? I think not,” she said stiffly, holding the nail firmly and raising the hammer. The head caught the nail off-center and the hammer careened onto the board, bouncing off her thumb in the process.
Alicia’s murmur of pain was not lost on Jason, and he leaned forward, as if to offer sympathy. Instead, his words only served to insult. “If I couldn’t do any better than that, I’d find someone else to do the job.”
She inhaled with a shuddering gasp, the pain in her thumb holding all her attention. Extending the hammer in his direction, she turned the tables on the boy. “Here you go, sonny. Have at it.” She placed the bag of nails in his palm, the hammer handle in his other hand, and she stepped back from the partially covered window.
It took all of her pride to keep the throbbing digit from her mouth, and she almost smiled at the thought. As if warming that thumb between her lips would make the ache disappear. Instead, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her dress and watched as Jason fiddled with the bag of nails, extracting a handful from its depths and then placing them between his lips.
The bag hit the ground with a muffled clatter, and as she watched, the boy held the board in place with his elbow, then somehow balanced it as he pounded the first nail into it. That it took almost a dozen thuds with the hammer to accomplish the task was immaterial, she decided. That the nail sat at an angle mattered little. The fact remained that Jason had accomplished what he set out to do.
“Bravo,” she
said softly, and as his features assumed a quick look of surprise, she clapped her hands together in a semblance of applause. “I didn’t think you could do it,” she told him.
His shoulders straightened a bit as he took another nail from his mouth and held it immobile. The hammer rose and fell, the muscles in his upper arms flexing like two halves of an orange.
“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” Alicia said. “Why didn’t you tell me you could have done this job better than I?”
His grin was cocky, the sullen look in abeyance as he shot her a look of satisfaction. “You were doin’ all right, Miss Merriweather. For a woman.”
For a woman. Tempted to scold him for his attitude, she instead chose to change the subject, thinking it the better option. There was no point in alienating the boy unduly.
“Do you handle the repair work around your father’s house?” she asked him, and wished immediately that she’d not chosen to mention his home. For his mouth drooped and he turned back to the hammering, making enough noise to prohibit him from a reply.
She bent to pick up the bag of nails, collecting three that had dropped beside her and adding them to the assortment. Knowing she was out on a limb, she backtracked. “I’m sure you’re a big help to your father.”
“He don’t need any help,” Jason said beneath his breath.
“He says we can get along just fine by ourselves.”
“Nevertheless, I’d say it’s a good thing he has you.” She watched as he finished pounding the last nail, and then moved to stand behind him, admiring his work over his shoulder. The board was just a bit skewed, the nails perhaps not lined up perfectly, and two of them were at a slant and couldn’t be straightened, but he’d done the job, and for that he’d gained her respect.
“Here’s your hammer,” Jason said, handing her the tool and then stepping away from her. “If you’re done with me, I’m goin’ home.”
Redemption Page 2
