Beyond This Moment

by Tamera Alexander

  She struggled to maintain her composure. It had galled him to tell her that, but she felt not a single ounce of pride or gloating. On the contrary-she would have thanked him, if she could have spoken, but she couldn't with the glut of emotion rising inside. Though he'd obviously shared her report with the intent of furthering the town's standing, and therefore his own, God had used Davenport's efforts to answer a prayer she'd had for as long as she could remember.

  She wanted to make a difference in this life.

  And she'd wanted to do that by teaching, in some way, somewhere. She'd imagined it in the halls of prestigious Franklin College, but no, God had answered her prayer in a tiny, dot-of-a-town-on-a-map in the hidden heart of the Rocky Mountains. And this after all she'd done wrong. Regardless of how Davenport had treated her, she wanted to do anything to help James save face, knowing that the mayor would lay the blame for any and all of her failure at James's feet.

  She swallowed, hoping her voice would hold. "If it benefits Timber Ridge, Mayor Davenport, and if you and the rest of the town council deem it appropriate, I would be honored to continue teaching until after the committee from Denver has completed its visits or ... until my baby is born"

  After which time she would return home to Georgia to rebuild her life-this time without pretense, without deceit. But also without half her heart.

  The next morning, Molly purposely left her cabin later than normal in order to arrive at church right when the service began, perhaps even a few minutes after. She'd debated whether to go at all, knowing how quickly news spread in Timber Ridge, and feeling relatively certain that the men on the town council wouldn't keep her news to themselves.

  But if she chose to stay home today, she would simply have to face people tomorrow. There was no hiding.

  When she rounded the corner and the church building came into view, she spotted a line of people filing slowly up the stairs. And drawing closer, she realized why. A circuit preacher stood in the entryway greeting members of the congregation as they walked inside.

  This particular preacher-a Pastor Carlson, if she remembered correctly-had been there several times before, and it lifted her spirits to see him again. She remembered him not only because of his manner of delivering sermons-as if he were having a conversation with you in your front parlor-but also because of his resemblance to the late President Lincoln.

  She joined the line behind the Taylor family, wishing now that she'd walked more slowly. Mrs. Taylor glanced back in her direction and Molly smiled.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Taylor. How are you today? Rebecca:" She nodded to her student, including her in the greeting.

  Rebecca smiled her usual shy smile, but Linda Taylor's response was delayed, as though the woman was deciding how to react.

  "Morning, Mrs. Whitcomb;' she finally managed, then did an immediate about-face.

  What little doubt Molly had disappeared. People knew.

  A thought occurred that probably should have before-she hoped none of the parents would withdraw their children from her class because of her confession. She told herself the chances of that happening were slim, that she was overreacting, and hoped she was right.

  When it came time to greet the preacher, Molly worked to find a smile. "Good morning, Pastor:"

  "Good morning, Dr. Whitcomb."

  She raised a brow, surprised he remembered her name.

  He grinned. "My wife, Hannah, and I"-he motioned to a woman standing a few steps ahead, speaking with a group of ladies-"we stay with Ben and Lyda Mullins when were in town. They've told us all about you, and the good you've done here in Timber Ridge:"

  "Mr. and Mrs. Mullins are very kind, but I'm sure they've exaggerated."

  I don't think so. Ben told me last night that a group is traveling all the way from Denver just to observe what you've done. I wish our daughter could meet you. Lilly fills in, on occasion, for the teacher in Willow Springs, where we live. But she has such hopes of having her own school one day."

  It pleased Molly to know Ben would share that news with the pastor and his wife. But had he also shared that she wouldn't be teaching for much longer, and why? Knowing she needed to move on in line, she didn't want to leave the pastor with the wrong impression. "I'm not sure if the Mullinses informed you, Pastor Carlson, but the position of teacher here will be opening soon. I'm stepping down;' she said quietly, and watched shades of understanding move across his face, answering her earlier question as to whether the Mullinses had told him or not. "So perhaps your daughter should consider making an inquiry about this school:"

  He nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb. But I think we'd be hardpressed to get Lilly to leave Willow Springs. You see.. " He leaned closer. "There's a young man named Peter who's fairly well wrapped up her heart:" The knowing look in his eyes said that was an understatement, while it also hinted at his pleasure in the arrangement.

  After greeting the pastor's wife, Molly spotted LuEllen Spivey and Mrs. Foster standing off to one side, speaking in hushed tones, staring in her direction. Molly quickly looked away before the daggers LuEllen Spivey was sending her way could sink any deeper.

  She chose to sit in the back, on the opposite side from James, Rachel, and the boys, and didn't steal but half a dozen glimpses in James's direction during the service, selfishly appreciating the opportunity to watch him from the side. Ruggedly handsome, he looked as if he'd been born in the wilds of these mountains rather than on a plantation in Franklin, Tennessee.

  The amen was scarcely uttered on the closing prayer before she skirted down a side aisle and out the double doors, not looking back. She didn't want James to feel forced to speak to her, and she wanted to spare others-and herself-the discomfort of overlong stares, stiff smiles, and cool responses, despite knowing she deserved them.

  She spent the afternoon and evening reviewing her lessons for that week and preparing for the committee scheduled to arrive from Denver the following week.

  Monday morning came and every student returned, to her relief. Some of the children looked at her a little differently, but Molly tried her best to act as if nothing had changed. Kurt Boyd was quieter than he'd ever been, but unfortunately, that didn't translate to his customary good marks, despite the extra encouragement she gave him.

  Midweek brought more snow, and after leaving Dr. Brookston's office on Friday afternoon having received a good report, she decided to treat herself to dinner at Miss Clara's Cafe. The cafe had moved inside for the winter, and the building was only a fourth the size of Miss Clara's outdoor setting. But as the woman had told her, "My business slacks off something fierce come winter, so it's just as well:"

  Molly passed the sheriffs office, wishing she felt at liberty to ask James to join her, but that was out of the question. And the windows were dark anyway. She'd seen him twice that week and they'd spoken. Somewhat. Things were more than civil, but there was a distance between them that hadn't been there before. The determined set of his jaw and the invisible weight on his shoulders revealed the burdens he was carrying, and she regretted having contributed to them.

  It would be better for him-for them both-once she'd left Timber Ridge. But if she missed him this much now, living in the same town and seeing him on occasion, how much more would she miss him when he was out of her life for good?

  Somehow she knew that "out of sight, out of mind" wouldn't hold true in this instance.

  She stayed to the road instead of chancing the icy boardwalk, appreciating the warmth of her snow boots. The snow had ceased falling, but an obstinate wind worked its chill inside her coat. Before she even opened the door to the cafe, she caught the mouth-watering aroma of fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits. She hurried inside, shutting the wind and chill outside behind her.

  The cafe was busier than she'd anticipated, and the hum of conversation dropped a level as she stood by the door, lightly stamping the snow from her boots. Though she knew nearly everyone in the room either by face or by name, she felt as conspicuous as she had the first eve
ning she'd eaten at Miss Clara's earlier that summer.

  Except this time she had good reason.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Whitcomb!" Miss Clara waved to her from back by the kitchen. "Wonderful to see you bravin' the Colorado cold, just like a true pioneer! Come on in and grab a seat somewhere. I'll bring you a plate:'

  Molly pasted on a smile, finding others doing much the same when they looked her way.

  She glanced around the room and saw two open seats. One was at a table occupied by two gentlemen on the town council who agreed with everything Mayor Davenport did or said. The other was in the far corner, right by the kitchen door, where Lori Beth Matthews sat alone, her attention fixed on her plate. Yet somehow Molly knew Lori Beth was aware of her presence.

  Just as Molly knew that everyone in that restaurant was waiting to see where she would sit. Or if under the weight of their stares, and her only two choices, she would decide to leave.

  With the same certainty that told her she would teach Angelo English all over again if given the opportunity, and that she would share her books with Elijah, Molly knew that sitting with Lori Beth Matthews somehow played into the reason she was standing there right then.

  She made her way through the maze of tables, feeling the stares as conversation dropped another notch. She wished her decision were more altruistic. But in reality, she had little left to lose.

  "Good evening, Miss Matthews. Is this seat taken?"

  When Lori Beth looked up, the emotion in her eyes betrayed her foreknowledge. "No, Dr. Whitcomb ... it's not;' she whispered.

  Molly's back was to the rest of the patrons, but she sensed their close attention. She and Lori Beth ate dinner together enjoying pleasant, "safe" conversation, aware of eavesdropping ears. The more she and Lori Beth chatted, the more Molly grew to like her. Lori Beth was real. She knew who she was, and who she wasn't-something Molly was only now beginning to grasp about herself.

  When they finished dinner, they left the restaurant together and headed in the direction of Molly's cabin, the frozen snow on the street crunching beneath their boots.

  "May I ask you a question, Molly?" Lori Beth's voice held a candor it hadn't before.

  Molly looked over at her. "Of course:"

  "Would you have treated me any differently the first time we'd met, then again when you saw me with Charlie, if you'd known who I was and what I'd done?"

  Ashamed, Molly thought back to the night of the town celebration and to that awkward moment of silence at the table when Lori Beth had stared from James, back to her, seeming to have known they'd been speaking about her. "It shames me to say it;' Molly whispered, not allowing herself to look away. "But, yes, I probably would have:"

  A faint smile touched Lori Beth's mouth. "Thank you ... for being honest."

  For being honest ... Molly shook her head, laughing softly. "You wouldn't say that if you'd heard the latest news in town this week:"

  "That you're with child?" Lori Beth's brow arched. "Charlie told me. He heard from someone at the livery." She glanced down, her smile inching wider. "How far along are you?"

  "I'm in my fifth month, and I just received a good report from Dr. Brookston this afternoon. He thinks everything should go well for the-"

  Wistfulness moved into Lori Beth's expression, and Molly wished she could take back what she'd just said. She paused in the street. "I'm so sorry, Lori Beth, I shouldn't have-"

  Lori Beth shook her head. "No, please. There's no reason to apologize. I'm happy things are going well for you:"

  Molly winced inwardly, the sincerity in Lori Beth's voice deepening her regret. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your baby, Lori Beth. I've thought of you often since finding out, yet didn't feel at liberty to say anything:"

  "That's all right. And thank you;' Lori Beth whispered, motioning for them to continue walking.

  "May I ask you a question now?"

  Lori Beth smiled. "It only seems fair."

  Molly could think of many things to ask, but only one question held significance for her at the moment. "Why, after all that happened to you, did you choose to stay in Timber Ridge?"

  Lori Beth gave a soft sigh. "That's a question that took me a long time to answer" A moment passed in silence. "I know this is going to sound strange, but ... it's because of my son:' Her voice was feather soft. "I can't bear to think of leaving him here. It would be like abandoning him. And I ... I can't bring myself to do that.... Not when I know so well how it feels:'

  Tears filled Lori Beth's eyes, and Molly felt her own eyes burning. A familiar fear crept in as she imagined a too-small box being lowered into the earth. Not knowing what to say, Molly did something that didn't come naturally for her but that felt right for the moment. She looped her arm through Lori Beth's, much as Belle Birch had done with Miss Clara that time, and Lori Beth smiled.

  As they passed the general store, Molly glimpsed Ben and Lyda Mullins inside. The couple had treated her kindly when she'd stopped in to thank Ben for taking up for her during the town council meeting. They'd been quieter than usual, as was expected, but kind.

  "What will you do, Molly.. " Lori Beth asked after a moment, "after your baby is born?"

  Molly started to shrug off the question and give an evasive answer, but then stopped herself. She was sick to death of pretense. Of lying. If there was one woman she could be honest with about what she'd done, it was Lori Beth Matthews. "I'll be leaving Timber Ridge, Lori Beth. I can't stay here because-" She exhaled, feeling a tiny sliver of relief. "Because ... I'm not as strong as you are;' she whispered, watching. Waiting.

  Lori Beth's attention never wavered. She showed not a trace of surprise.

  "You know," Molly whispered.

  Lori Beth shook her head. "I only suspected ... at the town celebration, after Sheriff McPherson told you about me." She smiled briefly, with a look that said she knew she'd been the topic of conversation. "But afterward, you kept looking at him. Not me. And it seemed you weren't so shocked to find out about me that night, as you were to find out about how James McPherson felt about someone like me:"

  Remembering his reaction, tears rose to Molly's eyes. She nodded.

  Lori Beth grasped her hands. "Pain has a way of cutting through to what lies beneath. It lets you see into people in away you couldn't before, I guess. But don't worry, I haven't said anything to anyone, Molly. And I won't. Your secret is safe with me, I promise:'

  Molly didn't doubt Lori Beth's promise for one minute. But as she continued home by herself, she wondered if what Lori Beth had said about pain was right. And if it was, what had James endured in his life that gave him such insight into people?

  36

  onday morning came, and she was prepared. Mayor Davenport arrived at nine o'clock with the group from Denver. Four of them. All men. And all stern looking.

  She greeted them at the back of the room, then introduced them to the students. "These four gentlemen will be with us through Wednesday afternoon. They're here to observe how we learn, and they might even ask you some questions. All you need to do is answer their questions and then do exactly what you've been doing before they arrived-which is your very best:" She smiled, and held Kurt Boyd's gaze a few seconds longer than that of the other children, praying he didn't have any snakes or mice in his pockets. Or worse.

  Over the course of the next three days, the guests first observed from the back, then closer to the groups of children, then spoke with the students one on one. By Wednesday afternoon, they were evaluating the children's skill levels and making lengthy notations. Molly wasn't sure if she heard her future in the scribbling of their quills, or the death knell of her teaching career.

  But whichever it turned out to be, she trusted that God had brought her this far and that He surely wouldn't leave her now.

  On Friday afternoon when the last students left bundled against the cold and wind, she set the room aright so that it would be ready on Monday morning. She still hadn't heard from the town council as to whether or not she wo
uld be teaching the following week. But she assumed they would let her know when she was through. Until that time, or until her baby was born, she would show up each morning prepared.

  She slipped her coat on and buttoned the buttons over her expanding middle. No movement from the baby yet, but she was definitely growing-according to Dr. Brookston's scales yesterday-so that had to be a good thing. And Dr. Brookston had assured her there was no cause to worry. So she determined not to, again.

  Dark gray clouds hung close over the mountain peaks, and a smell similar to that of rain but with a sharper edge to it scented the afternoon air. More snow was coming. If not tonight, then by tomorrow morning for sure. She'd "gotten good at readin' the signs;' as Charlie had told her the other day. And a trip into town would be easier this afternoon than tomorrow, so she bent into the wind and set out.

  Typical of an afternoon before a storm, patrons crowded Hank Bolden's place, and business at the general store was bustling. Ignoring Hank Bolden's glare, Molly was thankful when he didn't slam her bread and sweet rolls unwrapped on the counter the way he had Lori Beth's. The possibility of that day loomed in her future, but she planned on leaving Timber Ridge before it came to pass.

  At the Mullinses' store, she gathered what she needed and deposited the items on the counter, hoping Charlie Daggett was around to deliver them for her, as usual. Preferably this afternoon, before the storm hit.

  Ben Mullins tallied her order, the satisfied look on his face becoming more so by the minute. He slid the bill toward her on the counter.

  Her reticule open, Molly read the receipt and looked up. "But I don't understand. Why did you-"

  "The other day, after you'd been in, Lyda told me where you asked for the food to be delivered, Dr. Whitcomb. It wasn't any of my business, ma'am, so I'd never asked you what you were doing with it all:" He looked down at the counter. "But this is a good thing you're undertaking, and I'd like to help, if you don't mind, by discounting the price:"

  Molly's admiration for this quiet, somewhat timid, giant of a man grew tenfold. "I'd be honored to have your help, Mr. Mullins. As will Angelo Giordano's family, and the others. But, please, I'd like to spend the amount I'd budgeted. Let's just add more food to the pile:" She had a second thought. "Or perhaps some blankets, if you have them:"