by Gina Welborn
Accusations of cheating and shouts of disgust at Luanne filled the air. A few voices called for reason, but not enough. Not nearly enough!
Roy pushed through the wall of bodies keeping him from the woman he loved.
He cleared the mass to see the board chairman shaking his finger at Luanne’s nose. Roy dashed closer in time to hear, “. . . called an emergency meeting of the trustees at five o’clock tonight. Do not be late.”
Chapter Eleven
Later that afternoon
“Don’t go in.” Professor Tate blocked the arched double doors, stopping Luanne’s entrance into the church sanctuary. He spoke softly even though they were the only two in the foyer. “Two trustees have already called for your dismissal.”
“My dismissal?” Luanne echoed. “Why? You heard the Fisks admit they gave Wilber permission to enter. We were justly disqualified from the race. Mr. Bennett won fair and square. End of story. Where is there a problem?”
He leaned slightly toward her. “This is not the first teacher interrogation I’ve sat through. Last year when Miss Kaufman—” He broke off. His head slowly wagged side to side. “The trustees’ questions were not limited to what had been discovered in her classroom. The questions you will be subjected to will not be limited to you entering an illegal balloon in the race. Your actions impugned the goodwill the festival had created. Please, Miss Palmer, for the sake of your reputation, resign quietly.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Thus said the accused during the Salem Witch Trials.”
Luanne gasped, her hand coming to her mouth. From the seriousness in his expression, she saw that he truly believed the trustees’ questioning would turn hostile. Yet there in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen before—possessiveness.
She looked at him earnestly. “Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t you know?” he asked, his voice soft. “I care about your reputation, as if it were my own. Give me leave to inform the trustees of your resignation. We can marry quietly and all will be well.”
All wouldn’t be well. She would become mother to his six children. Although, in time—and with love, patience, and a firm hand—she could mold them into well-behaved citizens. Was his desire to protect her reputation for her sake? Or for the sake of his future wife? She didn’t know. From the way he was gazing upon her with ardent—good heavens, why could she not see something besides possessiveness?
“My dear Luanne, we could be good for one another.”
His words landed with a thud on her heart. She didn’t want good. She wanted wonderful. She wanted passion.
She wanted Roy.
Luanne gave him a gentle smile. “Thank you for the honor of being asked to be your wife. You are a good man, Professor Tate, and there are many women in Helena who would love to be a wife to you and mother to your children. I am not one.”
His chin tilted down, and he gazed at her over the top of his glasses. “I advise you to reconsider,” he said coldly. “This is the last chance I can do anything to help you.”
“I know.” With less fervency, she repeated, “I know. This I must face on my own.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Just when she thought he would offer another argument, he stepped to the side and opened the door.
Every seat in the sanctuary was filled, with people standing in the side aisles. The five-member Board of Trustees sat on the podium.
Luanne strolled down the center aisle, passing her parents, Yancey, Roy, her students, their parents, and a host of curious townsfolk. She then took her seat in the front pew. Miss Helen Clarke, the county superintendent of schools, began by asking her to explain how the balloon came about. Contrary to Professor Tate’s warning, the questions were friendly. Luanne smiled and answered openly and honestly. While she did not know using four burners was illegal, she admitted she failed in checking the race rules. In that, she was at fault.
For thirty minutes, the questions were genial and routine. Even after testimony from Wilber and his parents, all in her favor, Luanne agreed she should have followed through with verifying the race rules. Just when she thought the meeting was drawing to an end, the chairman of the trustees walked to the podium, gripping a black journal in his right hand.
“Mr. Ruben Orey,” said Mr. Watson, “please come to the front and tell the board what you saw.”
Luanne frowned. The janitor? Other than opening the school this morning so they could remove the balloon from the basement, he hadn’t been involved in the race.
Mr. Orey stopped next to the organ. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I seen Miss Palmer alone in her classroom with a man. It was”—his gaze shifted to the pews, and then he pointed at Roy—“him. The balloon man.”
Oh, no, not this. Luanne drew in a breath, horrified at the sudden change in questioning.
Murmurs went about church.
“He built her a fire,” Mr. Orey continued over the increasing murmurs. “Don’t know why, seein’ it was the second week in September and not cold outside. I told him he didn’t have ta, but he insisted. Miss Palmer never told me not to let him in the building.”
“I thought it would be helpful,” Roy blurted.
Luanne looked over her shoulder. There he was standing, red faced. Yancey, sitting next to him, tugged on his coat sleeve, but he shrugged her off. Mother started to stand, but Father stopped her, leaning close to whisper something. Where was Geddes?
“I did it out of my own volition.” Roy’s gaze found hers. Tender. Contrite. It was as much of an apology as one could give in front of a church packed with people. “I knew what Miss Palmer’s contract stipulated. To honor it, I left her classroom as soon as she arrived.”
“Professor Tate,” Mr. Watson called out, “was she cautioned?”
A loud “She was” came from the back of the church.
The crowd grew noisy again.
Mr. Watson pounded on the podium. “Silence.”
As the crowd quieted down, Luanne focused on her hands to keep from seeing the disapproval in the faces of the trustees and the city and county superintendents. Even with gloves on, she could tell her palms were sweating. She didn’t, though, have to see Mr. Watson’s disapproval. She could hear it in his words.
“Mr. Bennett, is it true you have been living in the Palmers’ home since arriving in Helena?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The trustees had been notified,” came her sister’s voice. “Everyone knew. Luanne insisted the rules be followed.”
Thank you, Yancey.
But her sister clearly couldn’t leave her interruption at that. “Because if anyone is going to follow the rules—even ones as ridiculous as in the teacher contract—it’s going to be Luanne.”
A throat cleared.
A loud breath (Yancey’s, most likely) expelled.
Mr. Watson’s questioning continued. “Mr. Bennett, in all the weeks you’ve been living under the same roof as Miss Palmer,” he said somewhat peevishly, “have you two ever been alone in a room, in violation of her contract?”
“Her family was always in the house.”
“But were they always in the same room with you and Miss Palmer?”
Luanne’s heart pounded against her chest. Someone in her family had always been in the room with them. Always. Her throat tightened.
Except that one time. The time he kissed her.
Roy did not answer for a long moment. “Always . . . save for a few minutes on Thursday.”
The murmuring resumed.
Luanne pinched her eyes closed. Professor Tate had been right. It was a witch hunt.
“Has there been any courting between you and Miss. Palmer?”
“Not by Miss Palmer.” Roy’s voice was slow and careful, as if being tortured into honesty. “She has done nothing to encourage my attentions.”
“I see.”
Shoes shuffled, and the floorboards squeaked. Curious, Luanne looked up to see the trustees and ci
ty and county superintendents standing in a circle, speaking too low for their words to be heard even if the crowd wasn’t murmuring. And it was.
Miss Clarke approached the podium, and all noise in the room silenced. “Miss Palmer, have you ever received any improper advance from Mr. Bennett?”
Luanne paused. As her heart beat with wildness, it was all she could do not to crawl under the pew. “Advance, yes,” she said in a calm tone. “Improper, no.”
With a sad shake of her head, Miss Clarke turned and looked to Mr. Watson. She stepped to the side. He returned to the podium.
“In light of the violation of the teacher contract, the Board of Trustees has no choice but to relieve Miss Luanne Palmer of her teaching duties. The damage to her reputation can only be repaired by marriage to a reputable man.” He glanced about the church until his gaze settled on someone. “I nominate Professor Archibald Tate.”
Someone gasped.
Luanne shifted in the pew, aware everyone else had also turned and was staring at the bespectacled man standing against the back wall . . . and with her brother next to him. Geddes was frowning. Professor Tate, strangely, was too. Why? Earlier he had all but begged her to resign and marry him. This was what he—
Luanne eyed Mr. Watson, then looked back at Professor Tate, who now looked tortured over how to respond.
“Professor Tate,” Mr. Watson bellowed, “will you do the honorable thing and offer for Miss Palmer?”
“I would—”
Geddes cleared his throat and crossed his arms.
Professor Tate’s face reddened. “I would, uhh, be honored to, uhh, marry Miss Palmer. However, the choice should be, uhh, hers.”
Roy jumped to his feet. “I will marry Luanne. I love her.”
Everyone looked to Luanne, awaiting her response.
Her face flamed. This was what she wanted—to marry Roy. For goodness’ sake, he’d declared his feelings!
And she loved him, too.
If she didn’t love him, if he didn’t love her, then did it make it right that they marry solely to restore her social honor? No. That they loved each other should not make being forced right either. What type of example did that set for her students? Marriage was a sacred covenant between two people before God. No one should be manipulated, guilted, or coerced into marriage against his—or her—will.
Luanne stood and in a firm voice said, “No.”
This time numerous people gasped.
“I will not be forced by anyone into marriage.” She looked to Roy and gave him an apologetic smile. He had to understand her answer. He had to.
They stared at each other for a long, heavy moment.
And then he slapped his hat on his head and strode out of the church.
* * *
Roy ran the entire twelve blocks from the church to the Palmers’ house. Almost ran past it. Wanted to keep running until he got to the train station to buy a ticket on whatever train left Helena next.
He didn’t know which made him angriest: that Luanne had rejected him so publicly or that he’d put her in such an untenable position. He’d once accused her of thinking of him as the villain in some melodrama. Well, the cap fit. But a part of him—a very small part—was proud of her for standing up for herself, for saying no, for not bowing to pressure applied so thick you could breathe it.
As he tromped up the front steps to the Palmers’ house, he imagined Professor Tate’s face under his boots. Thank goodness for Geddes’s insistence on standing beside the wart to make sure he didn’t say or do anything to force Luanne into becoming the mother of his children.
Not that he’d met the children, but if even half of what Yancey and Geddes relayed was true . . .
Listen to him going on about how horrid Tate and his children were when he wasn’t the one who had caused Luanne to lose her job and social standing in the community she loved.
No, that distinction fell to Roy Almonzo Bennett, who’d once boasted—albeit privately—that he never left a mess in his wake.
Ha!
He marched into the house and straight to Geddes’s room to pack. Before the family came home, Roy intended to be cleared out and in a hotel room. He’d not injure Luanne further by making her endure his presence in the home she’d need as a sanctuary until the scandal he’d brought her passed.
The sound of a door opening and closing startled him. Whichever family member followed him home must have run the entire way, too. That meant it was either Geddes or Mr. Palmer. The first he could ignore, the second—?
A knock sounded at the door. “Roy?” Mr. Palmer’s voice. Blast it all! “I know you’re in there, and I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”
Fine.
Roy yanked open the door and returned to packing.
“Quite a day.” Mr. Palmer sat on Geddes’s bed and looked around the room like he might tell his wife it needed wallpaper, too.
“Shouldn’t you be at the church to support your daughter?” Roy paused long enough to shoot a glare at the unwanted man.
Mr. Palmer chuckled. “Somehow I think I’m supporting her better by being here.”
Whatever that meant.
“Do you know what my dream was when Ellen and I first got married?” Mr. Palmer tapped his fingers against his knees. “To move out west and own a telegraph office. Do you know what Ellen wanted? To stay in Pennsylvania near her family. Guess what we did?”
Roy stopped packing and stared at the man. Had he gone daft?
“That’s right.” Mr. Palmer nodded once. “We stayed in Pennsylvania.”
“What?” Roy’s spine snapped straight at the unexpected answer. “Then how did you end up in Montana with two telegraph offices?”
“Do you know what happened when the Civil War broke out?” Mr. Palmer continued like Roy hadn’t said anything.
“You answered the call.” Everyone who’d been inside the telegraph office had seen his medal for bravery proudly displayed on the wall.
“Nope. I stayed home.” Mr. Palmer grinned. “Ellen asked me not to go unless I was drafted, so that’s what I did. Luanne and Geddes were just tots at the time, and she didn’t want to be a war widow.”
Roy sat down on his bed. “Cut to the point, please.”
“In a minute.” Mr. Palmer leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “What does the Bible say about how a husband should love his wife?”
“As Christ loved the church and gave himself up for it.” Roy knew the verse by heart. “I’d lay down my life for Luanne, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for her, so . . .” He stood up and stuffed a white shirt into his travel bag.
“See, that’s where most men get the meaning of that verse wrong.” Mr. Palmer pushed his hands against his thighs and sat straight. “Men read that and think physical death. I read that and see death of my own goals and ambitions.”
Roy’s hand tightened around the shirt inside his bag.
“Do you know what I want right now? A third telegraph office. But my wife wants a surrey, a carriage house to keep it in, and new wallpaper in the parlor.” Mr. Palmer waited until Roy met his direct gaze. “But let me tell you the funny thing about that. Pretty soon, Ellen will say to me, ‘Honey, I think you should open that third office like you want.’ Now, why do you think she’s going to do that?”
Cynicism rose in Roy’s breast. “Because you’ve given her everything she wants?”
“No.” Mr. Palmer’s voice hardened. “Because I’ve made sure she knows her needs are my highest priority. Do you understand the difference? Over the years, I’ve made sure Ellen knows that nothing—not my job, not my patriotism, nothing excepting God alone—is more important than she is. As soon as she was secure enough in my love for her, she gave me the go-ahead to pursue my dreams. That’s how we ended up in Montana.”
“So, I’m just supposed to give up a job at the National Review, which I’ve been trying to get for years, for a woman who may or may not want to marry me?” The idea scraped Roy’s gut raw
. But it was essentially the same advice Mrs. Hollenbeck had given him a couple nights ago . . . to make Luanne secure so she’d be willing to move forward. “What about a man leading his house, doing what’s best, and a woman following? Isn’t that biblical, too?”
“Of course.” Mr. Palmer lowered his chin and speared Roy with a look. “Someday I may be forced to tell Ellen that we must do something she doesn’t want because, as the head of the house, I see no other way. That day hasn’t come in nearly thirty years. But if it ever does, I have built a legacy of trust that I can call on.”
“This job pays better than any I’ve ever had. Shouldn’t Luanne be willing to follow me for that?” The argument sounded weak to his ears. Was he right? Or was he selfish?
Mr. Palmer stood. “I don’t know, Roy. I only know that a woman is right to expect a man to sacrifice for her. It’s the truest test of love there is. Which leads me to my last question. How much do you love my daughter?”
* * *
As the church door closed, following the departure of the last set of parents wishing to extend their apologies, Luanne plopped back down on the pew in front of where her mother and Mrs. Hollenbeck sat. “I suppose that could have gone worse,” she said with a sigh.
Mother nodded. Mrs. Hollenbeck did, too.
Yancey rolled her eyes. “You have no job. Your reputation is in tatters. You turned down marriage proposals from two good—”
Luanne gave Yancey a pointed look.
Yancey grinned, eyes aglow with amusement. “Correction, one good man and one influential yet creepy one with six tornados called children.”
“I wouldn’t say her reputation is in tatters,” Mother remarked. Because if anyone was to find the good in a situation, Ellen Yancey Palmer would. “Nor is it the end of the world. Given time, this will all blow over. People have short memories.” She fingered the blue lace trimming the neckline of her dress. “Besides, I am quite confident Luanne is not the first lady to have been alone with a man she did not marry . . . or, before the wedding, kissed the one she did marry.”
