by Gina Welborn
“Oh, come now, Bennett. You can do better than that.” The criticism in both words and tone of voice accelerated Roy’s heartbeat.
He pressed his lips together and thought about every moment he’d spent with Luanne. Which wasn’t actually much, come to think of it. Just the precious half hour after she came home from her evening activity. One good thing about her ridiculous teaching contract rules was the eight o’clock curfew. Forced home at least an hour before retiring, she usually came out to watch the progress on the walls, and conversation would turn to Roy’s travels or ballooning. It was his favorite part of the day.
Did she have to be gone every night?
Roy exhaled. “Except . . .”
Palmer lifted his chin. “Except what?”
Was he upset? He had asked for flaws. Roy fiddled with the coins in his right pocket. “She’s always doing some charity work. Helping the needy is good and all, but she does more than anyone I’ve ever known. I hate to say it, sir, but I almost think she’s obsessed with it. No one does that much for others unless she has a good or bad reason.”
“And what do you think that reason is?”
Roy’s shoulders inched toward his ears. “Wish I knew, sir.”
“I see.” Neither the man’s facial expression nor tone of voice gave away his thoughts or feelings. “What have you done to further your cause?”
“Sir?”
“Other than building fires in her classroom, what else have you done to show your regard for my daughter?”
Plenty, although Luanne hadn’t seem to notice. “I’ve engaged her in conversation, sat beside her at church, and asked her repeatedly to take a stroll with me.”
“Repeatedly?” The way Mr. Palmer asked made it sound like Roy had pestered Luanne.
Hackles rising at the accusation, Roy kicked a loose nail near the pile of shiplap. This was Luanne’s father. He had every right to interrogate potential suitors. But knowing it didn’t calm the storm tossing Roy’s stomach to and fro. “Twice. I’ve asked her to walk out with me twice, and been declined both times. It’s like she wants to avoid me or something.”
Not a good sign considering the woman had so much trouble saying no.
“One last question.” Mr. Palmer leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “What do you know about her that no one else—not me or my wife, her siblings, maybe not even Luanne—knows about her?”
“She longs for adventure.” The answer sprang from Roy’s lips with complete confidence. “Every time I talk about my travels, her eyes light up and she can’t ask enough questions.”
The edges of Mr. Palmer’s lips turned down. Not a frown, exactly, more like pondering something he’d never considered before. He slapped his thighs and stood. “Well, you may be right. Shall we find out?”
“Sir?” Roy was having trouble keeping up with the conversational pace.
Mr. Palmer opened the door, peeked outside, then shut it again. “Sorry. Need to make sure there are no listening ears. My youngest has a knack for knowing everyone’s secrets. I’m not sure if people whisper them in her ear because they know she’ll keep her mouth shut, or if she overhears them”—he dipped his head toward the closed door—“but Yancey always seems to know the town gossip long before it becomes public knowledge. I doubt she knows this one, though, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Foreboding tingled up Roy’s arms.
“Professor Tate has proposed to Luanne.”
The news was like a punch to the gut. “I met him this morning. Can’t say I liked him much.” And the thought of the weasel-faced man getting anywhere near Luanne curled Roy’s fingers into fists.
“I’ve known him for years, and wholeheartedly agree with you.” Mr. Palmer shot a glance at the door as though his first check for listening ears wasn’t good enough. “The bigger problem is that Tate also knows Luanne. They’ve worked together for nine years. He knows my daughter’s strengths . . . and her weaknesses.”
The last word jangled around the littered room like falling nails.
Roy went cold inside. “And you think he’s relying on Luanne’s niceness and inability to say no to a cause . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t think about Luanne marrying a man just because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying no.
“Precisely.” Mr. Palmer looked at the wall Roy and Geddes had almost finished siding. “I don’t know everything about you, Mr. Bennett, but a man who takes that much care building another man’s house is worthy of respect. Can’t say that about . . . other men.”
“Are you offering to help me woo your daughter, sir?” Roy pressed his back deeper into the support beam.
Mr. Palmer laughed. “If you’re desperate enough to take advice from Geddes and Yancey to build fires in a classroom at this time of the year, I’d say you need it.”
Later that night
Roy snatched the pillow from under his face and smashed it over his ears. It barely muffled the noise. Back in Butte, when Geddes had first issued the invitation to come stay at his home in Helena, he’d warned Roy about the snoring. Hadn’t been a problem until tonight.
Though, to be fair, the insomnia wasn’t due to Geddes’s thunderous breathing but Mr. Palmer—or, more accurately, what he’d said about Luanne and Professor Tate. Roy had stayed out in the carriage house longer than normal waiting for her to come home from her meeting tonight, but the moment she arrived back home, Luanne disappeared into her room for the rest of the night. Amazing how much he missed just talking with a woman he met a mere six weeks ago.
A different sound leaked through the pillow. Roy pulled it off his head and listened. A slight scratching noise had him looking around. An envelope slid under the door. Flickering light and soft footsteps grew dimmer.
He tossed the wool blanket aside and hurried to the door. The click of wood on wood from down the hall said he was too late to catch whoever the culprit was, but he opened the door a crack anyway.
Pale moonlight illuminated the empty hallway.
Swinging the door wider, he checked the other way. Nothing.
Roy bent and picked up the envelope. Mr. Roy Bennett was printed on the front in perfect script, and the faint scent of lilac lingered in the air.
Luanne. What on earth could she be writing in a letter that she couldn’t say to him face to face?
Dread fisted his stomach. Had she accepted the weasel’s proposal?
Geddes snorted, rolled onto his side, and resumed a steady breathing that would soon descend into trainlike rumbles.
Knowing it wouldn’t wake his friend, Roy lit the candle beside his bed and ripped open the letter.
Dear Mr. Bennett,
Please accept my apology for my brother volunteering you to speak to my class about ballooning. Your acquiescence is most noble; however, I would be remiss not to free you from any obligation you may feel. Preparations for the race and your imminent departure to wonders unknown shortly thereafter must take precedence. After all, time is one of your most valued commodities.
Your proclivity to helping those in need is a testament to your generous nature. Thus, it saddens me to ask you (and, yet, I must) to cease giving of your precious time to build a morning fire for my classroom. Your intentions have been kind and chivalrous; however, my teaching contract limits me from associating with men unsupervised. My students are my life. I must protect my position at all costs.
Again, thank you for your many kindnesses.
With sincere regard,
Luanne Palmer
Sincere regard? Many kindnesses?
Roy squeezed the paper into a ball and threw it on the floorboards. It skittered across the dark beams and lodged in the corner. He was half-crazy in love with the woman, had just received permission from her father to court the gal, and she thought he’d been building fires and spending every moment making himself useful out of kindness?
He should. Be kind. Just because it was the right and godly thing to do, but . . .
&nb
sp; Didn’t she realize he’d done it all to be near her? To impress her? To make her fall in love with him as he had fallen for her?
And women thought men were dense.
He cocked his head listening to the echo of his voice reading her words. What had she said about not coming to her class to lecture? Roy tiptoed across the room and retrieved the crumpled letter. Holding it close to the candle, he peeled it open.
Wicked delight tugged his lips upward. She hadn’t forbidden him to do it.
Tempted to confront her in the morning, Roy ran his finger over her uniform script. Dear, sweet Luanne . . . so afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings. Well, then one good letter deserved another. He eased the writing box from under the bed with slow care, but he needn’t have worried. Geddes continued his rhythmic snoring.
Roy selected the sharpest pen, dipped it in black ink, and began:
My dear Miss Palmer,
Thank you for your kind letter releasing me from any obligation to speak to your students. Although time, as you say, is a most valued commodity, I can think of no better way to spend it than with you—
Roy held the pen aloft. Getting too personal would ruffle her. Better to take a more casual approach. He dipped the pen and added an r to you followed by class. He reread the sentence . . . no better way to spend it than with your class. Good. Next paragraph:
In truth, ballooning has opened up the world to me, and it is a joy to share the experience with a new generation. As my schedule is free on Monday and then begins to get crowded as the week wears on, unless I hear from you to the contrary, I will arrive at ten in the morning ready to address the science, engineering, and geography of ballooning.
With kind regards,
Roy Bennett
He poured sand over the ink to dry it, blew away the granules, and sealed the letter inside an envelope. After tucking it in the pocket of his robe, Roy slipped into the hallway. No light illumined the floorboards under her door. He checked both ends of the hall, listened for any sound, his heart pounding like it did during the last moments of a balloon race when everything depended on skill and a little luck from the weather. One step. Two. Roy crept closer and closer, staying alert to avoid a direct confrontation with Luanne . . . or anyone else. Pressing his ear against her door, he heard the bed ropes creak.
Was she facing the door or away from it?
No way to know, but chances were he could make it back to Geddes’s room before Luanne got out of bed even if she saw the envelope slide under her door.
Roy bent and, as silently as possible, pushed the letter through the crack. A short shushing and then utter silence. Not even a snore from down the hall.
Victory!
A bubble of laughter filled his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth and hustled back to Geddes’s room.
He’d won this round. Not only would he give her students the best lecture they’d ever had, he’d find some way to make Luanne spend time with him—supervised, of course—and convince her that life with him was worth giving up her home, family, and job.
He had twenty-four days.
Chapter Five
Monday morning
Central Secondary School
“Mr. Bennett, how do you fill the balloon envelope without it catching on fire from the burners?”
Happy to give her feet a rest, Luanne settled in her desk chair while Roy Bennett answered Margaret’s question. Never before had a class been so focused on a guest speaker. Luanne gazed about the room, in awe at what she saw. Her students were enraptured. True, a few of the girls, like Florence, were more dreamy eyed than intellectually engaged, but at least they were motivated to raise their hands and—once the handsome guest speaker turned his full attention on them—they asked good questions in an effort to impress him. The boys leaned forward in their desks, eyes locked on Roy, without rolling a single spit wad of paper.
She had to admit it. Roy Bennett was an excellent guest lecturer. Certainly being more of an expert on ballooning than Geddes was factored in his favor, too. Roy’s travel experience enabled him to broaden her students’ horizons more than she ever could with her book knowledge of life outside Montana. She’d been wrong to fear his drifter lifestyle would negatively impact her students. The remaining irritation she had with him faded as he spoke, giving her ideas of how she could connect his lecture to the first quarter’s lessons.
“Hands up for the next question,” Roy said, his enjoyment of the discussion evident in his tone. “How about . . . you . . . there in the blue-striped shirt and suspenders?”
Luanne looked up from her notes just in time to see Wilber’s hand lower.
“Mr. Bennett, sir, how did you transport your balloon to Africa and Australia?” Wilber leaned over his desk, his shaggy brown hair hanging in his eyes. “Did you fly it over the oceans or put it on a steamship? How hard is it to take a train? And what about the cost? How did you earn money to do that?”
Luanne studied Wilber. Was that longing she’d heard in his voice? She looked down at her list and wrote jobs that take people to other places, ways to and costs of traveling, and tips for saving money and making a budget. Not that Wilber Fisk needed help with the latter. The Fisks were a prominent Helena family. Wilber’s grandfather was the treasurer of the Board of Trustees. But if Wilber was interested in traveling, then maybe some of her other students were as well.
New York City was where she would go if she could visit anywhere. She wanted to see the pedestal on which the Statue of Liberty would soon stand. Every penny from the thirty-eight dollars that she’d raised over the summer went to Joseph Pulitzer’s fund drive so the pedestal could be completed. Seeing a photograph in the Helena Independent of Lady Liberty’s unpacked head had brought tears to her eyes. To see it in person . . .
As she pondered how to include information on the statue in her lessons, she paid little attention to Roy counting, “One . . . two—”
“Miss Palmer!” yelled the class.
Luanne jolted. “What? What is it?”
Several students laughed.
She looked to Roy, who stood a few feet away at the chalkboard grinning like a proud pied piper. She couldn’t fault Florence or any other girl staring dreamy eyed at him. Roy Bennett was extremely handsome, with dark hair and dark lashes framing his lovely blue eyes. And he spoke to his students as if they were equals, not children half his age, which she couldn’t help but view as another lure. On cue, the flutters began again.
“Miss Palmer, do you have a world map?” Roy’s question was like a caress.
“A map?” she repeated, stalling for time as her mind searched to remember what the discussion had been about. Travel. Yes, that was it. “Of course.”
Before she could move, Wilber slid out of his desk. “I’ll get it, ma’am.” He hurried to the chalkboard and pulled down one of the rolled-up maps.
First a question, now active participation? Roy Bennett had just worked a miracle with the shyest boy in her class.
As Roy pointed out train lines and discussed shipping routes, Luanne admired the way he interacted so effortlessly with her students. From the moment he’d arrived in Helena with his arm in a plaster cast and his balloon basket in need of repair, he seemed at ease with whomever he spoke with. Roy Bennett was as sociable as her never-met-a-stranger sister. He’d risked his life to capture the perfect photograph. While Luanne had been up in a hot air balloon enough to know how safe it was, she also knew the dangers. Living that kind of life was easy to do without someone on the ground fearing the worst, without fearing it would be the last time she’d see him alive. Perhaps that’s why he’d never married or had children. Maintaining his bachelorhood might, in all actuality, be quite selfless of him. Maybe it was good he was alone.
It is not good for man to be alone.
Something caught in her throat. She knew what scripture said, but it also said it was good not to marry and to instead dedicate oneself in service to the Lord.
Roy’s eyes met h
ers in an oddly intimate manner. He looked puzzled and concerned . . . and just a little bit like he wanted to know what she thought and even feared.
Luanne jerked her gaze away. She smiled at her students. “We have time for a few more questions.”
“And you . . . make money . . . for writing stories?” The hesitant question came from Marcus Merryfield, another boy who so far showed little interest in anything but dipping Eleanor Snowe’s braid in ink or inciting fisticuffs on the school yard.
With a smile that lit the room and caused several understandable sighs in response, Roy focused his brilliant gaze on Marcus. “I most certainly do.”
As Roy shared about how he also supplemented his writing income with prize money from balloon racing, Luanne glanced at the stack of essays she’d yet to read. Her fingers itched to sift through them. Marcus had turned one in this morning. When he’d slid his paper under the bottom of the stack, instead of laying it on top like the other students had, she’d assumed he was ashamed for others to see his penmanship. Could the next Mark Twain reside in that lanky body?
Tonight after dinner, she would ask Roy for information on what magazine publishers wanted and how to submit articles. On her list, she added contact Helena Independent editor about being guest speaker.
“What’s the prize money being offered for the race being held here in Helena?” Betty Knipper’s question drew Luanne’s attention. “And what will you spend it on?”
Roy laughed. “The prize money is a hundred dollars. And thank you for believing I will win.”
“I’m just sure you will. How could you not?” Betty’s wistful prediction drew laughter.
Except from Luanne. She turned to her list and underlined tips for saving money and making a budget.
