Gift of Fortune

by Ilsa Mayr

  "Aileen?" He waited a beat and then pushed the door open.

  Quint would be the first to admit that he knew nothing about antique furniture, but he was intuitively sure that what he was looking at would qualify as antiques. Beautiful antiques. The dark, polished pieces looked as if they had been made for the room.

  Quint had been in enough women's bedrooms to expect a certain amount of frills and fussiness, but aside from the delicate floral wallpaper and the plants on the windowsill, the room was simple, uncluttered, serene. He didn't even see a single stuffed animal. That shouldn't have surprised him. Aileen's room would be classy, like the lady herself. He grinned when he saw the books piled on her night table. There wasn't a room in the house that didn't contain books.

  The four-poster bed drew him like a magnet. He picked up the white nightgown that lay folded at the foot of it and raised it to his face. It felt as silky as her hair. He inhaled the scent. Aileen's scent. For a moment he closed his eyes and reveled in the intoxicating sensation. When he realized what he was doing, he hastily but reverently refolded the nightgown with shaky hands and backed out of the room.

  Quint tried not to look at the four-poster again, but his traitorous eyes strayed to it. He knew with certainty that from now on that bed would play a prominent role in his heady dreams of Aileen. He groaned. He surely didn't need anything else to rob him of his sleep or to fuel his fevered imagination, or to accelerate the pulsing needs of his body. He muttered a few four-letter words and called himself several unflattering names for having been rash enough to go upstairs.

  She had to be in the garden. He rushed outside. Quint heard the thumping noise before he saw her. He stopped and watched her for a moment. The way she smashed the back of the rake down on the clump of earth would have told a blind man that she was upset.

  "Do you need any help?" he asked.

  She paused. Leaning on the rake, she raised her arm and used her sleeve to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

  "You're upset. What happened?"

  Thump. She smashed a few more clumps. Quint waited for a moment before he picked up the extra rake and worked on the small clumps until the earth was reduced to black powder, ready to be planted. They worked side by side for several minutes. Finally, he asked, "Are you going to talk to me or keep on smacking these poor clumps?"

  Aileen stopped. Facing him, she said, "I can't believe my colleagues. People I've known for years, people who have known me for years, if not for most of my life. You'd think they'd give me the benefit of the doubt. But no. They choose to believe the worst their gutter minds can think of. There isn't a single one who isn't convinced you and I are living in sin."

  "Ah." Quint watched her face. She was angry, but beyond the anger he glimpsed disappointment and embarrassment. That riled him enough to want to inflict some serious bodily harm on those who had hurt Aileen's feelings.

  He watched her wield the rake forcefully a couple of more times before he laid his hand on her arm to stop her. "What did they actually say?"

  "Quint! I'm not going to repeat the innuendos."

  He gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry. I didn't anticipate that they'd embarrass you, but this is going to blow over. As soon as something else happens to catch their interest, they'll shift their focus to it."

  She sighed. "Probably. The bad thing is that around here not too many exciting things happen, so you and I may be the focal point for a long time."

  "Aileen, look at me."

  "Why?"

  "I need to see your mouth."

  "What on earth for?" she asked, thoroughly puzzled.

  "To see if it has that much-kissed look."

  "What?"

  Quint placed his hand under her chin and lifted it. He looked intently at her mouth.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" she managed to ask in a voice that rose barely above a whisper.

  "Nope, your mouth has that innocent, virginal look."

  Aileen almost jumped out of her gardening clogs. Had he guessed that she was still a virgin? Her glance flew to his face. Relieved, she saw that he was still preoccupied with her mouth. He hadn't noticed her startled reaction. Maybe her mouth having that virginal look didn't mean what she feared it might mean.

  "Your colleagues aren't nearly as smart and observant as the think they are. Trust me on that and ignore them."

  "That's easier said than done."

  "You didn't let them get to you?"

  "No. I kept my cool, but just. That's why it was necessary for me to demolish a bunch of clumps."

  "You feel better now?"

  "Yes," she said, a little surprised. "I do."

  "Then let's go inside. It's getting dark. You must have worked up an appetite," Quint said. "And whatever is in the crock pot in the kitchen smells great."

  "Oh no! I completely forgot to turn the crock pot off."

  Aileen rushed into the house while Quint picked up the tools and set them on the back porch.

  "Just as I thought," Aileen said the moment he entered the kitchen. "The meat's falling apart."

  She looked defeated, as if this were the last straw. Quint stood next to her and casually draped his arm around her shoulders. He looked into the pot. "Still looks and smells delicious. We could put the meat between pieces of bread. I bet it would taste good," he said encouragingly.

  Aileen perked up. "I know what we can do: I'll shred the meat and heat it in some barbecue sauce. You like barbecue sandwiches?"

  "Love 'em," Quint said.

  "Oh, good. Why don't you get the buns?"

  Quint squeezed her shoulder before he did as she asked.

  Aileen started to wash her hands and let out a cry.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, rushing to her side.

  "Nothing."

  "Yeah, right. Let me see your hands." He turned her hands over and winced. "Weren't you wearing gloves?"

  "Yes."

  "Didn't you feel the pain? The skin on your palms is rubbed raw."

  "I guess I was so upset that I didn't notice the pain."

  "We better get your hands cleaned up. Do you prefer soap and water or iodine?" Quint asked.

  "Soap and water is fine."

  Quint watched her bite her lower lip while he cleaned the raw areas, and although she tried hard not to cry, a couple of tears escaped her eyes. "Hold up your hands to dry," he said. When she did, he placed his arms around her waist. "You've had a hard day, haven't you, darlin'," he murmured. He kissed the tears from her face and drew her closer.

  Aileen resisted for a moment before she melted into his arms. It felt so good to be held and fussed over. She sighed and kept her eyes closed.

  "I'm tempted to give your dirty-mouthed colleagues a piece of my mind, but it would only make it worse for you. I wish I could do something. I wish-"

  Aileen wrenched herself out of his arms and took three steps back.

  "Aileen, what's the matter?" he asked, bewildered.

  "You can't touch me! Don't you see? If anyone saw us," she said, her panicked glance darting to the window. "The blinds aren't even drawn!" She rushed to the window and tugged on the blind impatiently.

  "For heaven's sake! I was only comforting you, not making passionate love to you."

  "You know that and I know that, but to anyone else it would not have looked like comforting. We can't give anybody any ammunition against us. No touching of any kind. Agreed?"

  "You're overreacting. Nobody is skulking past our kitchen window to spy on us. Okay, okay. I agree," he added quickly, seeing her anxious expression. "But I'm going to have to touch you long enough to put Band-Aids on your hands. All right?"

  Mutely she nodded.

  Quint mumbled under his breath while he went to fetch the first-aid kit.

  The week passed slowly. Aileen kept a low profile, avoiding contact with her colleagues. She steered clear of the teachers' lounge, as if the place smelled to high heaven. She brought her lunch, which she ate at her desk. She left school as soon as she could
in the afternoon. Aileen even stopped going to aerobics, choosing to exercise at home. Though she admitted to herself that this was a little cowardly, she just wasn't up to more innuendo-filled encounters.

  When she was summoned to the principal's office on Friday after school, she was puzzled. Mr. Russell rarely detained any of the staff on a Friday.

  The meeting didn't take long, yet Aileen felt as if she'd received blows to every part of her body. She made her way to her car, barely aware of her actions. Trying to unlock the door, she fumbled. She felt a hand on her shoulder and gasped.

  "Quint, you scared me half to death. What are you doing here?"

  "Dora phoned. She asked that I meet you here and take you to her place. Come on."

  "My car-"

  "We'll pick it up on the way home."

  Seeing that several people lingered at their cars to watch them, Quint didn't offer her his arm, but he walked close enough that if she needed to, she could lean on him.

  She sat still and quiet in the truck, her hands clasped so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  Dora must have been watching for them, for she opened the door before Quint had a chance to ring the doorbell.

  "Come into the kitchen," Dora said, after taking one look at Aileen's distraught face. "I've got tea brewing."

  They followed her into the kitchen.

  Aileen sat down at the kitchen table, her back straight, staring at the wall. Quint sat on her right side, Dora on her left.

  Quint finally broke the silence. "Will somebody tell me what happened?" He watched Aileen take a deep breath, trying to get control.

  "Mr. Russell sent for me."

  "The principal," Dora added, for Quint's benefit.

  "And what did Mr. Russell say to you?" he asked.

  Aileen bit her lower lip. Finally, her voice thick with tears, she said, "The school board is considering the moral turpitude clause."

  Quint frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "It means that they think I'm a morally reprehensible person. Vile. Base. Shameful and not fit to teach kids. I may lose my job." Aileen burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Speechless, Quint laid his hand on her shoulder.

  Dora got up and brought a box of tissues, which she set in front of Aileen.

  "Can they do that?" Quint asked Dora.

  "They might. We never removed that darn clause from the contract," Dora said. "I've served on the negotiation team several times, but we never even talked about that clause. I guess we all thought it was so archaic, so outmoded and ridiculous that it would never be invoked. It was almost a joke." She shook her head, her expression grim.

  "I assume this is because we live in the same house?"

  Dora nodded.

  "Well, I'll pitch a tent and move out."

  "I'm afraid it's too late for that," Dora said.

  "Then what can we do?" Quint asked.

  "Nothing," Aileen wailed. "There's nothing we can do."

  "I wouldn't say that," Dora said, handing Aileen a tissue. "We can take them to court. A court battle will be messy and it'll drag on, but it's our best bet. I called my lawyer as soon as I heard, but he'd already left on a fishing trip. Won't be back until next Friday."

  "How did you hear?" Aileen asked. "This just happened."

  "Joanne called to warn me." Looking at Quint, she added, "Joanne is the assistant principal and a longtime friend." Dora poured the tea and placed a cup in front of Aileen. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

  "Nothing will ever make me feel better!"

  "Nonsense. Blow your nose and drink your tea." Dora's voice rang with authority, the same authority that had forced hundreds of disinterested students to plunge into the annals of American history.

  "Why? Why is the school board doing this?" Aileen asked. "It's not as if I were the only one who ever transgressed. What am I saying? I haven't even done any transgressing!" Aileen pressed her hands against her temples.

  Quint moved behind her chair. "Here, let me, before you come down with a migraine." He nudged her hands out of the way and gently massaged her temple.

  "I would like to know the answer to Aileen's question, too. Why is she being singled out?" he asked.

  "I've been wondering about that myself." Dora sipped some tea. "I can come up with several answers. Envy. Jealousy. Resentment. Revenge."

  "Are you serious?" Aileen asked, her voice incredulous. "What do I have that anyone could envy? Or what could I have done that anyone would want revenge for?" Aileen asked, her eyes never wavering from her mentor.

  Dora sighed. "I could be wrong."

  "But you're fairly sure you're not," Quint said. "Is this a hunch, or do you have some evidence for your suspicions?"

  "The push to make use of that antiquated clause in the contract came from one source," Dora said. "Sam Jensen. Or, more accurately, from his wife."

  "Myrtle Jensen?" Aileen asked. "I know she's a gossip, but I didn't think there was any real harm in her."

  "All gossip isn't necessarily silly or innocent. If you repeat things that are hurtful to people, you can inflict a good deal of pain," Dora said. "And Myrtle doesn't differentiate between frivolous and damaging gossip."

  "And she can push her husband into doing things for her? I wouldn't have thought she had that much clout. How does she do it?" Aileen asked.

  "Enough whining and nagging can drive most men to do anything," Quint said. "And Myrtle struck me as a whiner and a nagger."

  "Good observation," Dora said, with a trace of admiration. "That's exactly how she does it."

  Aileen shivered. "But why? I've never done anything to her."

  "You haven't, but your mother did, by always being a little smarter, a little prettier, a little more popular. All through high school Myrtle tried to compete with your mother. She always came in second best. Myrtle pretended that she didn't mind, but she did. The final straw was Jack Bolton. He took Myrtle out a few times. Then he met your mother, and three months later he married her."

  "But that happened thirty years ago! Nobody can hold a grudge that long," Aileen protested.

  "It appears some people can," Dora said.

  "I don't believe this is happening!" Aileen whispered.

  "Nothing's going to happen this weekend. I want you to go home and put this out of your mind."

  "How can I? For all I know, I'll get fired on Monday."

  "I don't think so. There has to be at least one school board meeting first. My lawyer, who's an expert on con tracts, will be back next Friday. He'll advise us on what to do."

  They said their good-byes. Aileen was silent on the drive back to the school parking lot. Quint walked her to her car.

  "How's your headache? Are you up to driving home?"

  "Yes. Quint, I'm fine," she added, seeing him hesitate.

  "Okay. You go on. I'll be right behind you."

  Aileen drove slowly, carefully, trying not to think of the enormity of her problem. She didn't quite succeed, but at least she didn't burst into tears and drive off the road.

  She waited for Quint on the porch. He walked like a man on a mission. Surprised, she noted that his expression was almost cheerful.

  "Let's have a root beer," he said. Quint took her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen.

  "Quint, have you already forgotten about the no touching rule?" Aileen tugged, but he refused to let go of her hand.

  "Forget about that rule. I have the solution to our problem."

  "What? Putting Myrtle Jensen on the next unmanned space flight?"

  "Forget about her. What I have in mind will shut up her gossiping mouth once and for all."

  "And what's that?"

  "Us getting married."

  Aileen stopped so abruptly she forced Quint to stop as well. Blood rushed to her head and sang in her ears. She couldn't have heard him right.

  "What...what did you just say?" she asked, her mouth dry, her voice whispery.

  "It seems to
me there's just one thing to do to solve our present problem: get married."

  Her heart hammered so wildly its beat echoed in her temples. "That's what I thought you said," she murmured. He tugged at her hand. Aileen followed him into the kitchen. She had no choice, for surprise and confusion were crushing her ability to think.

  "Sit down, please." Quint pulled out a chair and held it for her.

  Still in a daze, Aileen sat. Thoughts raced through her head faster than she could process them. Marriage? To Quint? She felt heat rush to every part of her body. Then she shivered as if struck by an icy blast.

  "Drink this," Quint said, placing a can of root beer in front of her. He sat, facing her, his expression grave. "I know this idea caught you by surprise. It did me too. I almost drove off the road when it first hit me. But the longer I've been considering it, the more sense it makes."

  Aileen stared at him. She met the serious gaze of his stunning green eyes and couldn't have uttered a word if her life had depended on it.

  "Think about it, Aileen. Once we're married, no one can object to us living in the same house. It'll be expected. It would be odd if we didn't."

  Aileen moistened her dry lips. "Isn't getting married an extreme solution?"

  "No, not after you've thought about it. What other choices do we have?" he asked. "As I see it, you could resign before the school board can invoke that dumb moral turpitude clause."

  "No! That would be like admitting that I've done something wrong, and I haven't. I won't resign."

  Seeing her agitation, Quint laid his hand on hers soothingly. "Okay. You could let them fire you and fight the dismissal. Maybe you'd win and maybe you wouldn't. How can they prove that we're sleeping together? How can we prove that we're not?"

  "This isn't anything that can be proved one way or another, is it?" Aileen closed her eyes and shook her head. "The whole thing is insane!"

  "When it comes right down to it, I'm afraid that most people will find it easier to believe that we have an improper relationship than that we don't. After all, we share a house; we're both young, healthy, and unattached." Most men, Quint knew, would think there was something seriously wrong with him if he didn't make the moves on Aileen.