Sycamore Hill

by Francine Rivers

  I was well across the yard when a familiar voice hailed me. I reluctantly drew in and waited, forcing my face to a calmness I was far from feeling.

  “I noticed the horse was tied to the front railing this time,” Jordan taunted as he came up to stand next to me. I flushed at his unkind reminder of my last arrival at the ranch. As if I were likely to forget, I thought in exasperation. But I gave a self-conscious laugh.

  “Yes, well, I made sure he had plenty to eat before we left town this morning.” Somehow, I managed to sound calm, though my heart was doing calisthenics as it always did whenever I looked at Jordan Bennett. He was tall, and the horse with its slightly swayed back had me just above his head. I felt the position put me on a slight advantage, though not nearly enough of one.

  “He still managed to down a tidy amount of oats,” Jordan commented, and I noted the twitching muscle in his cheek. I always felt a fool when I was around this man. It was easier to laugh at him than allow myself to be the brunt of his joke.

  “Who do you suppose is responsible for keeping the schoolyard trimmed to the ground?” I asked, smiling slightly. Jordan Bennett laughed. My senses stumbled to a stop and then lurched forward again. He looked so young and reckless when he laughed like that. His eyes were bright, all their usual mockery and hostility gone. I wished my pulse would slow down.

  “Studebaker told me the plug was a hay-burner,” Bennett commented.

  I blinked, hardly aware of what he was saying, but watching the change of his expression with a mesmerized gaze. He stopped and looked at me. Neither of us said anything for a moment, and then he frowned.

  “How long did it take you to ride out here this morning?” he asked.

  “A... about two hours,” I answered warily. His mouth had tightened fractionally, and there was an odd glimmer in his blue eyes.

  “Did anyone see you leaving town?”

  “I didn’t pay any attention,” I answered truthfully. And then I added lightly, “Should I have been looking over my shoulder the whole way?” My attempt at joviality irritated him.

  “That might not have been such a bad idea,” he commented dryly.

  “If anyone had asked me, I would have said I was taking a ride,” I told him, realizing that he was worried that someone would stop me from teaching Diego.

  “For seven hours?” he snorted derisively. “What are you going to say when you’re asked about that, Miss McFarland? Or why the schoolhouse isn’t spotless and disinfected for the coming school week?”

  “What makes you think the schoolhouse isn’t spotless, Mr. Bennett?” I queried with a daring smile. “You may inspect it anytime you like.”

  “Anytime? ...” He provoked me with an insinuating smile. His expression made the color flood my cheeks, and I longed for some quick-witted answer that would wipe the smirk from his handsome face.

  “When did you find time to clean that old haunt?” he asked, after a disturbing study of my red face.

  “I’m an early riser,” I answered tautly. “I’m sure I’m keeping you from your work, Mr. Bennett. So if you will excuse me,” I said, loosening the reins in my stiff fingers. His hand came up and covered mine, pushing them down onto the saddle horn. His other hand rested on the cantle. He was much too close for my liking.

  “How’s Ross Persall these days?” he asked with deceptive softness.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Not you too!” I sighed in exasperation, unwarranted except that I wanted him to move away. I pulled my hands from beneath his. Then I didn’t know where to put them and curled them tightly into fists as I crossed my arms over my abdomen.

  Jordan watched my agitated movements and smiled slightly. He eased forward, resting his arm across the horse’s back. My knee was against his chest, and I shifted restlessly in the saddle. My color was rising again in embarrassment at his proximity. “Why are you looking so nervous?” he taunted.

  “I’ve nothing to be nervous about,” I snapped.

  “What did you mean by your comment? Have you been receiving warnings from other people?”

  “Emily Olmstead said something about Mr. Persall having a questionable reputation.”

  “There’s no question about Ross Persall’s reputation.” Jordan grinned. He need not have added that it was as bad as Emily ascribed.

  “I’ve only met the man a few times. Why all the fuss?”

  “I suppose any warning you receive about him will only make you seek him out,” Jordan commented unpleasantly.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that whatever you’re told to do, you do the opposite,” he said grimly.

  “Maybe it’s how and why I’m asked, Mr. Bennett,” I managed to say coolly. “And I think it’s time I said good day and allowed you to get back to your work,” I rattled, my hands going again to the reins when he had moved away from the horse. But quickly Jordan captured my hands in one easy movement, and when I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened painfully.

  “Not so fast,” he said under his breath. “You don’t dismiss me like one of your students.” He moved his other hand from the cantle.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped in alarm, my eyes widening in my pale face as I felt his hand slide beneath my skirt and curve tightly around my ankle. Through the leather of my high-buttoned shoes I could feel the strength of his fingers.

  “You have slender ankles,” he commented with a smile. “What’s the matter, Miss McFarland? Haven’t you ever been touched by a man before?”

  “Let me go,” I managed through the constriction in my chest. My voice wavered and sounded raspy with tension.

  Jordan Bennett’s hand moved upward in answer. When it contacted the smooth skin of my calf, I jerked, intending to kick out at him, heedless of any consequences. His fingers caught my ankle, stopping my defense.

  “I’ll bet you’re soft all over.” He grinned.

  “I’m not very good at parlor games, Mr. Bennett,” I answered, shaking.

  “If that’s true, you’d be wise to stay away from Ross Persall. Parlor games are his favorite pastime.” His face was hard, and his eyes blazed. He released me abruptly, and, free of his disturbing touch, my courage returned.

  “I’d be even wiser, Mr. Bennett, if I stayed away from you,” I said coldly. His mouth twisted derisively as he hooked his thumbs into his belt and stood with his legs splayed.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, Miss McFarland,” he returned smoothly. “However, since you promised to see to Diego’s lessons every Saturday, you’ve made that virtually impossible. We’re going to see quite a lot of one another over the next few months. And believe it or not, I look forward to it!”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet you do!” I cried, thinking what fun it was for him to ridicule me. “Perhaps Diego should ride to the schoolhouse. I could carry on his lessons there.”

  “Oh, no, my dear.” He shook his head. “I like this arrangement very well. It puts you in the exact position that I want you.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “On the crumbling edge of a yawning precipice.” He grinned. “And you aren’t the least bit sure-footed, are you?” I remembered our first meeting and fumed.

  “I’m watching where I’m going now.”

  “Are you? Are you indeed?” He laughed low and unpleasantly. “It’s only a matter of time until you’re found out. And you’ll get dismissed two minutes after that happens.”

  “I’m not doing anything wrong,” I defended my actions.

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You’re going about everything wrong. And you’re creating a maelstrom of trouble as you go.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Bennett shook his head, making another low, throaty laugh. “You do know,” he disagreed scornfully.

  I was beginning to feel very confused. My senses were telling me one thing, while my mind was telling me another. Why didn’t I just ride away from this man? Why was I sitting here, a
llowing him to plant so many seeds of doubt in my mind? I knew the school board would be furious if they ever found out about my weekly trips to Eden Rock on Diego Gutierrez’s behalf, but I had resolved that in my own mind. My efforts to help Diego were not interfering with my duties. So there should be no objection to what I did with my own time.

  “I can’t see how things could have worked out any different from the way they have,” I defended myself. “What I do with my Saturdays should be my own concern... not the school board’s or yours, Mr. Bennett.”

  “The schoolmistress is to mirror the opinions and dictates of the school board,” Jordan said flatly.

  “Even if I don’t happen to agree with them?” I snapped, my voice higher than normal.

  “You should keep your disagreements to yourself. It’d be good practice in self-control.”

  I ignored the glint in his eyes. “And what about Diego?”

  “What about Diego?” he demanded.

  “You know very well what I mean about Diego,” I retorted. “A protest could have been leveled against the board’s decision.”

  “By whom?” I asked wryly. “You?”

  “You can be very insulting, did you know that?” he uttered in a baleful tone, his eyes narrowing unpleasantly. “Don’t you think I’d fight for my own son, Miss McFarland?” he went on sarcastically. His face grew hard as his temper rose. I remembered his previous outburst and realized the incautiousness of my question.

  “I’m sorry,” I said lamely. I thought of what Ellen Greer had asserted. There was no physical resemblance between Diego and Jordan Bennett, yet the boy shared mannerisms of the older man. I did not want to think about that, for it aroused other questions. If Diego was Jordan Bennett’s son, what was Jordan’s relationship with Reva Gutierrez now? Surely the woman would not stay if she had been scorned. So that implied that the relationship was an ongoing one. That thought hurt me, and I did not want to analyze my reasons for caring what Jordan Bennett did.

  “You have confirmed in your own mind that Diego is my son,” Jordan said, his mouth curling cynically.

  “Do you want me to doubt it?” I had intended to sound flippant, but the words came out almost pleadingly. He muttered a harsh sound.

  “No. You go ahead and believe what you want.”

  “I’m not trying to interfere—”

  “It’s a little late for that,” he interrupted. “You made a promise to the boy, and I’m going to see that you keep it.”

  “That’s entirely unnecessary,” I said, stung. “I don’t make a habit of breaking promises.”

  “Then you’ll be the first woman I’ve known who doesn’t,” he sneered.

  “That doesn’t say much for the women you’ve known, Mr. Bennett,” I retorted.

  He laughed haughtily. “I’ve known quite a few.”

  I liked that statement even less than all the others put together. “Well, you don’t know me!”

  Jordan Bennett looked at me, allowing his eyes to move slowly over my face, lingering for an instant on my mouth and then trailing down to dwell purposefully on my breasts rising and falling with my indignation.

  “Not yet, perhaps, Miss McFarland.” He smiled slowly.

  “Not ever,” I asserted definitively and encouraged the gelding to move out.

  “Don’t count on that!” Jordan’s assured voice came from behind me, turning quickly to a taunting laugh.

  Chapter Eleven

  Another week flew by. As dawn was peering her brilliant golden head over the hills, I set my breakfast dishes into a low pan and poured scalding-hot water over them. Adding a dash of soap, I scrubbed away the residue of my customary scrambled-egg and bread breakfast. I set the old chipped crockery on the table to drain and stepped to the back door and tossed the tepid water out.

  Coming back into my warm room, I saw Orphan stretching from her tightly curled sleeping position. She cast me a disgruntled look.

  “Good morning, you little beggar,” I said cheerfully. I was in the habit now of carrying on one-sided conversations with the cat. “Sorry if I disturbed your majesty, but I’ve got to get an early start to Eden Rock if I want to be back here by two o’clock to clean the schoolhouse.”

  Orphan, now well nourished and overindulged with affection, stepped sedately from her commode drawer and glided across the room to rub against my skirt. The cat’s long, black tail stood at attention as she arched her sleek back and let out a low rumbling of satisfaction. I leaned down and scooped her up, nuzzling the cat against my neck and stroking the satin back.

  “Your milk dish is next to the stove, lazybones,” I told the purring animal, which stretched up its neck for my fingers to scratch. “Now, why don’t you do your share of the work around here and catch those mice that are walking around at night? Hmmm?”

  I set Orphan down next to the milk dish and watched for a moment as she began to lap. It was silly, perhaps, but I had become very attached to the stray cat. I smiled slightly as I thought what people would think if they could hear me talking to the animal in the lonely hours after the children had gone home.

  Orphan paused in her meal and sat down. Licking a paw slowly, she wiped her face, clearing away the beads of milk that had collected on her long whiskers. Then she went back to work on the milk.

  I stacked several books together, including a new novel that Bradford Dobson had sent as a gift, then bent down to give Orphan a last scratch behind the ears before heading to the livery stable to get the horse.

  Charles Studebaker had taught me how to saddle and bridle the gelding when I had explained that I liked to take early-morning jaunts each Saturday. When he had looked at me curiously, I had quickly explained that I needed the exercise and the solitude after a week of working in close quarters with 62 children. He had seemed to understand then, grinning and nodding his gray balding head, his eyes twinkling.

  “Frankly, ma’am,” he’d said with a chuckle, “I’d understand if you rode that horse straight out of California.”

  Several homes showed wood smoke coming out of kitchen chimneys. Some hens were cackling in a small coop at the back of a white house. Main Street was quiet, however, and I proceeded quickly to the livery stable before I could be detained by some chance passerby.

  Feeling ridiculously happy, I walked with a swing to my skirts, smiling to myself. Sycamore Hill was becoming home to me. I was still having my tussles with stiff James Olmstead. I still carefully plotted my Bible study so that the fire-breathing Reverend Hayes could find no cause for complaint. But I was also making friends. Emily Olmstead, in spite of her husband’s discouragement, always greeted me cheerfully and chattered inanely but entertainingly. Charles Studebaker, Marba Lane, and even dubious Ross Persall were friendly acquaintances who might possibly later develop into more. Reva Gutierrez and Diego were still slightly in awe of me, but would gradually lose that stiff formality.

  Passing by the boarding house, I looked up and thought with special fondness of Ellen Greer, my closest friend in town— my closest friend in all my life. The old lady was often difficult, but she offered me stimulating companionship for at least one short visit each week.

  My thoughts turned to Jordan Bennett. I did not want to admit to myself that I was looking forward to seeing him today. There was no guarantee that I would. After last Saturday’s argument he had sent in a ranch hand to escort Linda to and from school.

  The horse was saddled and waiting for me in front of the stables. Surprised, I looked past the horse to see Charles Studebaker covered by his work apron and pulling a redhot horse shoe from his forge. He looked up and saw me. He gave me the high sign and then shoved the shoe back into the forge.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he called, coming out of the shed toward me.

  “Good morning.” I smiled back, taking my saddle bag and securing it to the cantle.

  “What you got in the saddle bag?” he asked, showing the curiosity of a friendly neighbor.

  “Books,” I answered as I manage
d to get astride without too much difficulty. Since I was rather adept with a needle, I had altered one skirt into a culotte for riding. It was not the most ladylike way to travel, but I did not have the time nor inclination to learn to use a sidesaddle.

  “Looks like you got quite a few in there,” he observed. “You going anywhere in particular?”

  “Just riding,” I said, remembering Ellen Greer and Jordan Bennett’s warning, and knowing only too well my precarious position with the school board. “I thought I’d do some school lessons this morning.”

  “Someplace where it’s quiet, you mean,” Studebaker said, “and there’s no chance of interruption.” He gave me a brief wave as he turned back to the shed and his work.

  I enjoyed the morning ride as I turned west and rode through the flat meadow that preceded the rolling hills. Meadowlarks sang, while sparrows dipped and soared. Once I even spotted a tall-eared jack rabbit bounding for cover in the high, pale grasses.

  The jarring walk of the horse no longer bothered me and I let my body relax with the rhythmic walk. Remembering my first ride to Eden Rock, I smiled. At least I would arrive with more dignity now. I had learned the horse’s weakness and had developed a firmer hand.

  Quickening my pace, I narrowed the distance between town and Eden Rock. Ahead of me I saw the ranchhouse and outbuildings stretched out against the hills. Several men were driving a small herd of horses in from the hills. Turning toward the house, I drew my gaze from the riders to the peaceful, wisteria-covered veranda. Reva Gutierrez had seen me and was already appearing at the front steps with a welcoming wave.

  “Buenos días,” I called and Reva laughed delightedly.

  “I did not know you spoke Spanish, Miss McFarland,” she said teasingly, and I grinned.

  “You’ve just heard the extent of it!”

  Reva was wearing a crisp white blouse with colored embroidery work around the square neckline. The long dark skirt was smooth over her slender curving figure. She looked very pretty and I felt suddenly drab and unattractive. I was several years younger than Reva Gutierrez and yet I felt older and less alive.