by BJ Hoff
Nature’s law is that all things change and
turn, and pass away.
Marcus Aurelius
How very odd this was!
Maggie sat across from Jonathan Stuart, trying, with little success, not to stare at him. Had she ever imagined that she would one day sit across the dining table from her former teacher—the hero of her childhood—not as a student but as a woman grown?
Hardly. She forced down another taste of pumpkin pie, which under any other circumstances would have been delicious, but under present conditions nearly choked her with every bite.
If she could have imagined this night, she would have thought she’d enjoy it. Here she was, being treated like an adult by someone she admired beyond all telling. She was finally the recipient of his undivided attention, free to listen to and savor the low, mellow voice she had always, even as a child, found so soothing. Yet so anxious was she to be thought of as a woman rather than his former student that she couldn’t relax and simply be herself.
At least she’d learned some things about him, things she might never have known had it not been for this night. Before now she had known him only in the way a child, or, later, a teen, can ever know an adult, given the years between them and the different places they occupied in the world. Always he had compelled her respect, her gratitude, and a kind of schoolgirl adulation. But she had never really known him as a person, as a man. As a most attractive man.
She had noticed in the classroom that he often used his hands to elaborate or emphasize. During his illness, she’d been aware that his hands sometimes trembled. But not until tonight, when he rested his hands on her shoulders as he helped her out of her coat had she realized the strength those hands could convey.
She vaguely remembered that he had an older sister named Patricia, but only tonight did she learn that his sister was married with grown children, that she was several years older than he and consequently had been influential in his upbringing, and that he admired her tremendously.
She knew that her former teacher greatly respected his parents, but not until tonight had she known that they had been middle-aged when he was born. She discovered they had done their best to take an active role in his life, and that he still found it difficult to talk about his mother, who had died while Maggie was at the university.
She knew his father was an attorney, that he now shared his home with his daughter in Lexington, and that in spite of needing to use a wheelchair much of the time because of near-crippling arthritis, he maintained his independence as much as possible.
She had always thought of Jonathan Stuart as an extraordinary teacher, but not until tonight had she known that he very nearly had gone into the ministry instead of education. She also learned that he had a peculiar interest in the weather. Even as a student she had seen him often go to the classroom window and look out, but not until tonight did she discover that thunder and lightning—and snowstorms—held a great fascination for him.
As a child, she’d been aware that his dark, deep-set eyes—such a surprising contrast to the fairness of his hair—conveyed an incredible depth of kindness. But only now did she experience the way those eyes could make her heart swell or warm her skin like a physical touch.
And not until tonight did she realize that the smile that could bathe even the most woebegone child in approval and encouragement could also find its way to the loneliest, emptiest part of her, stealing her breath as something new and wonderful gradually opened and bloomed in celebration of her senses.
Nothing had ever made her feel this way before.
Whatever he’d been saying, he suddenly stopped. “You’re not making much progress with that pie,” he said, a touch of humor pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Oh! It’s very good. I was just…listening.”
“And I’ve given you far too much to listen to,” he said dryly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’ve managed to get me to talk about myself a disgustingly long time. It’s your turn now.”
Maggie shook her head. “There’s nothing to tell. You probably know everything about me there is to know, and none of it is very interesting.”
“I rather doubt that either is the case.” His tone was mild, even casual, but his gaze was almost unsettling in its intensity.
For a time he asked her the kind of questions any acquaintance might ask after an extended absence: about her work in Chicago, her family, her plans for the future. Then he caught her off guard. “What do you hear from Kenny these days? Or do you hear from him?”
“Kenny Tallman? Goodness, I haven’t heard from him in years.”
“Not at all?” He looked up from his plate, his expression questioning. “That surprises me. There was a time when everyone thought the two of you would probably…marry.”
Maggie felt heat rise to her face. “It wasn’t like that with Kenny and me. We were too young to know what we wanted. We were mostly just good friends.”
The truth was that although she and Kenny had been “boyfriend and girlfriend” all through school, once he decided to go to seminary and the mission field, he’d made it clear he had no intention of cleaving to anyone or anything in Skingle Creek. He wanted to be “free to follow God’s plan” for his life.
And God’s plan didn’t include Maggie.
“Any regrets?” Jonathan Stuart asked, his voice soft. “Or should I not ask?”
Maggie fumbled for a truthful reply, yet one that wouldn’t reveal more than she wanted him to know.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said, managing a smile. “I’m just not sure how to answer. I did miss Kenny at first. He was such a special part of my life for so many years. He was a good friend to me. But eventually we stopped writing, and finally we just drifted apart. I’m sure it was best that way. Kenny had a strong sense of God’s call on his life, and by then I knew I had to go in a different direction.”
What she didn’t say was that by then she had also known it wasn’t Kenny she wanted to spend her life with. It had never been Kenny. She simply hadn’t wanted to face the truth that she wanted something…someone…she couldn’t have.
When had she realized that Jonathan Stuart meant too much to her, that he had become more than a revered teacher, a mentor, or the object of a schoolgirl crush? It might have been during the week just before she graduated from high school. She’d had questions about some of the university courses and had stayed after class one day so he could help her with the syllabus.
The room had been quiet, the breeze sifting through the open window warm and fragrant from all the springtime blooms and buds outside. He was seated at his desk; she was standing beside him. Maggie leaned over his shoulder for a moment to point something out, when he suddenly turned and looked at her. Their eyes locked and held, and in that instant something turned in Maggie, something new and unfamiliar and so unexpected it was as if he’d touched her. With a fleeting but piercing clarity, she realized she wanted him to touch her.
Shaken, she took a step backward, and just as quickly he turned back to his desk.
Later she told herself that she’d only imagined the feeling that had seized her. And of course she’d imagined what she thought she’d seen in his eyes. Even so, she knew she must never again risk being alone with him in such close circumstances.
At that time in their lives, as her teacher with several years standing between them, he was as forbidden to her as if he’d been married.
And now?
Now…she wasn’t so sure she was willing to relegate him to that same safe place. True, the years still stood between them. And even though he was no longer her teacher, he was still her supervisor. But she was no longer a child.
And she was no longer convinced that he was forbidden.
Suddenly the question that gnawed at her was how he saw her after all these years. Would it be possible for Jonathan Stuart to change his conception of her? To look past what she had been all those years ago to what she was today
? Or would she forever be the child-Maggie instead of the woman she knew herself to be?
“I’d hoped Eva Grace would stop by the school. It seems I may have to come to her if I’m to see her before she leaves.”
So deeply had Maggie been immersed in her thoughts that it took her a moment to take in what he was saying.
“Maggie?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “In truth, I’m a little worried about Eva Grace.
He frowned. “Is she ill?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. But—” She stopped, but her need to confide in someone she could trust was too strong. “There’s something wrong with Eva Grace, Mr. Stuart. I know there is. But she won’t talk about it—not to me, and not to Mum either.”
She told him about the late-night weeping, and how Eva Grace neither looked nor acted like herself. “She’s made no effort to see any of her old friends. She won’t even leave the house. Mum says she mostly just sits around during the day. That’s not a bit like Evie. She’s always wanted to be on the go, to be doing things and to be with people.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right, it doesn’t sound like the Eva Grace I remember. But people do change. Your sister has been married and living away from home for several years now. Couldn’t that be all it is?”
“I suppose,” Maggie said reluctantly.
“But you don’t think so.”
“Just being married and living away from home wouldn’t make her cry herself to sleep every night, would it?”
His frown returned. “No. No, it wouldn’t.” He paused. “Is there anything I can do?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know what it would be. But you’ve already helped by just letting me talk about it. I’m trying not to worry Mum any more than necessary. And Da—well, I don’t think he feels up to talking much at all anymore.”
“Matthew is no better?”
Again Maggie shook her head. “No. But with Da, at least I know what’s wrong. Mum says the pain has worn him down something fierce.”
He nodded. “Matthew needs the kind of medical help he’s not going to find in Skingle Creek, I’m afraid.”
The drift of the conversation toward her father prompted Maggie to glance at the large clock on the far wall. “I should be going, I expect,” she said reluctantly. “Da still fusses if I’m not home when he thinks I should be.”
He smiled a little as he got to his feet. “Once a father always a father?”
“Oh, Mr. Stuart, you’ve no idea!”
Maggie stood and reached for her coat, but before she could slip into it, Jonathan Stuart came round the table and held it for her.
Oh, my. I could get used to this!
“I’ll see you home,” he said.
Maggie turned around. “You needn’t do that, Mr. Stuart. I’ll be just fine.”
But he had already taken her by the arm, stopping only long enough to pay Mrs. Hubbard.
Outside, the musicians and crowd had dispersed, though several people were strolling along ahead of them as they started up the road.
“Really, Mr. Stuart, you don’t have to do this.”
Maggie knew her protest to be a feeble one, and the fact that he was still clasping her arm pleased her no end. Even so, she wasn’t mindless of the curious looks they encountered as they went on.
There might be much to be said for a small town, but there was also the fact that when one had grown up in the same place a move couldn’t be made without someone noticing. She had the annoying feeling that everyone they met still thought of her as “little Maggie MacAuley” and wondered what in the world she was doing walking along with her teacher after the sun went down.
Mr. Stuart, however, seemed oblivious to the inquisitive glances. He spoke easily to all they passed and even stopped to exchange a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Riley from the church, and then again with Mr. Gibbon, the bank president, who seemed friendly enough in spite of the questioning looks he kept shooting at Maggie.
She was almost relieved to get past the main part of town and start down the more isolated road toward home. Mr. Stuart made a few comments about the poor condition of the road and the need for more gas lamps along the way, which, of course, would never happen because of lack of funds. Maggie mostly listened and nodded her agreement.
When they finally reached her house, he opened the gate and walked up the yard with her. At the porch Maggie stopped. “This was awfully nice of you, Mr. Stuart. The pie, and then seeing me home and all….”
He was studying her with a faint smile. “Maggie—do you know my given name?”
“Your name? Why, yes—yes, of course I do.”
“Then do you think perhaps you might use it from now on?”
Is he serious? Can I ever think of him as anything but “Mr. Stuart”?
The look in his eyes told her that he was serious. And after another moment, she realized how pleased she was by his suggestion. So yes…yes, she could use his given name. In fact, she wanted to.
“I expect so, if that’s what you’d like,” she said, clearing her throat.
His smile warmed even more. “I would, Maggie. I would like that very much. And thank you for tonight, for keeping me company. I enjoyed it.”
“So did I, Mr.—” Maggie stopped and swallowed hard again. “Jonathan.”
He took her hand, and then released it. “Goodnight, Maggie.”
At that moment the door flew open.
Chapter Ten
Night of Secrets
A man’s most open actions have a secret side to them.
Joseph Conrad
Ah, there you are! I was getting—”
Matthew MacAuley stood in the doorway, his hair ruffled as though he’d been raking his hands through it. He looked from Maggie to Jonathan.
“Why, hello, Jonathan. I wouldn’t have been worried if I’d known Maggie was with you.”
Jonathan sensed Maggie’s tension and was aware of her watching him. He felt more than a little awkward himself but tried not to let on. Instead he moved to ease the situation for Maggie.
“Matthew,” he said with a nod. “Yes, I ran into Maggie at the square and talked her into keeping me company at supper. I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh, aye. Of course it is. Good of you to see her home. I don’t like the girl out alone after dark.”
“Da—”
Jonathan heard the level of Maggie’s discomfort in that one word and knew that the kindest thing he could do for her was to make as quick an exit as possible.
“Entirely understandable. You can’t be too careful. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you. I was enjoying the chance to catch up with Maggie and lost track of the time.”
Matthew nodded and glanced at Maggie, who stood looking as though she’d like nothing better than to drop through the porch.
“Won’t you come in for a spell, Jonathan?” Matthew asked.
“No, but thanks. I’m sure you need to get to bed early. I’ll just say goodnight to both of you and be on my way.”
He turned to leave and was halfway down the yard when Maggie said, behind him, her voice thin and obviously strained, “Goodnight…Jonathan. And thank you.”
He hesitated, turned back, and gave a quick wave before going on, the sound of his name on her lips echoing all the way.
In spite of the brief moment of awkwardness back at Maggie’s house, his spirits remained high as he walked home. There was something about being with Maggie that could always cheer his heart.
Even as a child, she’d been good for him. During his illness, when he’d had to struggle to make it through each day, something about her no-nonsense, take-charge nature had never failed to give him a lift. And she seemed to sense his “bad days”—when his heart faltered nearly as much from discouragement as the illness itself. He could count on her to look for ways to help, either by working with the younger children or doing small tasks about the schoolroom.
After what he still thought of as his “
miracle,” when his health—and his hope—had been restored, he could always depend on her to lend a hand in the classroom. During her teen years she became almost as much his assistant as a student. She’d been such a help to him that after she graduated and went away to college, he’d been disorganized for weeks, badly missing the order she’d brought to the school.
The truth was that he hadn’t realized how much she’d done until she was no longer there to do it.
Tonight had been a pleasant reminder of the little things he’d missed. Her unexpectedly husky voice that sometimes caught in her throat when she was under stress or taken off guard. The smile, tilted at one corner, that could be impish and warm at the same time. The uncommon green eyes that marked most of the MacAuley children, passed down from their father—eyes that could dance with amusement or flame with indignation. Her way of looking at him as if he were a mythical hero…and making him wish he were. That riot of fiery hair that always had a will of its own, yet never failed to intrigue him.
He suddenly realized his thoughts were leading down a treacherous path—and not for the first time. He slowed his pace, wishing he had the right to think about her as much as he did think about her. He caught himself wondering how she would feel if she knew the way she occupied his thoughts, if she realized that she held an appeal for him that had nothing to do with her once being his student.
Was that altogether true, though? Perhaps what he felt for Maggie had more to do with their past than he realized. How did he separate the child he’d been so fond of from the fascinating young woman she had become? Would she be repelled by his present interest in her, by his affection for her? Was he wrong in hoping that the reason she was so exasperated by her father’s treating her like a child was because she wanted to be seen as older and more mature—in the hope that her former teacher would no longer think of her as a child?
Was he being altogether foolish to assume that she cared one way or the other how he thought of her? Perhaps it had never occurred to Maggie that he thought of her at all. There was always the possibility that she wouldn’t relish the idea if she did know. A man—how many years…fifteen or nearly that at least—older than she, unable to get his mind off her.
