"I’ll try," she promised. "What did the pastor think about holding the event on a Sunday afternoon?"
"It was his idea, actually. As he pointed out, many of the families would already be in town for church services. He suggested they make a day of it. There’s going to be a potluck social after services. The spelling bee will start at 1:30." After a moment’s hesitation, Gil added, "Say you’ll come, Miss Dale. I’ve asked Nate to be the moderator this year."
With a wry smile, Amanda said, "Mr. Phillips should enjoy the task, I think. Your friend strikes me as the sort of man who thrives on being the center of attention."
She wondered if Gil would take offense at her remark, but he did not look at all annoyed. In fact, Amanda caught the twinkle in his eye and realized he’d been amused by it.
"You are absolutely right. Nate has always been a bit of a show-off," Gil admitted. "I hope to see you Sunday."
As he glanced casually over her shoulder, the smile slipped from his face. Amanda turned to see what — or whom — he was looking at. It was Ozzie Lancaster and the man she guessed to be his father. They stood beside the empty wagon where she’d left Dolores’s horse and buggy.
"Did you walk, Miss Dale?" Gil asked quietly. A shade of anxiety swept across his face.
"No, I came in Dolores Martinez’s buggy — over there." She pointed.
"Let me escort you to the buggy.
Amanda felt secretly relieved by his offer. She remembered Rex and Ozzie had recently brawled and guessed Gil wanted to spare her an unpleasant encounter with the boy or perhaps the boy’s father.
As they approached the vehicle, Amanda avoided making eye contact with either one of the Lancasters, but she felt their gimlet eyes boring into her. Tossing Rex’s schoolbooks onto the seat of the buggy allowed her the opportunity to sneak a sidelong glance at the young troublemaker, who had taunted her nephew by calling him ‘chicken boy.’ He didn’t look so tough, but she guessed his father would be as mean as a rattlesnake.
"Until Sunday afternoon, Miss Dale," Gil said, assisting her into the buggy.
"Until Sunday," Amanda repeated. She’d already made up her mind to ask Dolores if she would be willing to sit with Ella again on the afternoon of the spelling bee.
****
As Amanda drove away, Gil marveled once again at the woman’s sweetness and strength. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to Oz Lancaster and his son. "Good afternoon, Lancaster," he said. "Have you come to watch the excavation?"
The thick-necked man straightened his broad shoulders and stood taller, his posture indicating he was braced for a confrontation. His close-set eyes gave him a belligerent look. "My boy here says you’re the man to see about hiring on."
"No, you’ll need to speak with Nate Phillips. He’s over there," Gil said, pointing. "Ozzie can introduce you."
The other man’s stance seemed to relax a bit. Gil guessed Lancaster was pleased he didn’t need the schoolteacher’s approval to get the job. Gil also noted Ozzie wasn’t as cocky in his father’s presence as he was in the classroom. Ozzie chewed his thumbnail. His eyes appeared edgy and alert beneath the short brim of his brown wool cap. Feeling sorry for him, Gil guessed the boy could never do anything to earn his father’s approval.
"If you and Mr. Phillips come to an agreement, come see me," Gil went on, addressing the elder Lancaster. "I’ll put your name in the pay ledger. He pays extra for a wagon and team, if you can spare them."
Gil had half a mind to warn Nate against hiring the surly farmer. He didn’t want to deal with the man any more than he had to. But he also realized this attitude was certainly not a Christian one. Oz Lancaster, like every other man in or around the village, could probably use the extra cash Nate dispensed like penny candy.
Turning to Ozzie, Gil said, "I’m hoping you’ll spend some extra time in the evenings at home going over the spelling list. I’d like to see you and the other older boys give Caroline Lister a bit of competition in the upcoming spelling bee."
"I ain’t no good at spelling," Ozzie replied with a sullen growl.
"Ozzie, you’re a lot smarter than you think you are. I told your father so last week."
Gil noted the curious, sidelong glance the boy cast in his father’s direction. He guessed Mr. Lancaster had not mentioned his visit to the schoolhouse. On the other hand, he bet Ozzie had not told his father about the spelling contest or the fight with Rex Stewart either. The two probably did little conversing together at all.
Oz Lancaster shrugged and strode away, headed toward the men surrounding Nate like a loose, wriggling knot. When his father was out of earshot, Ozzie swept Gil with a defiant gaze and said, "I ain’t even sure if I’m coming or not to the spelling bee. You can’t make me. It’s on Sunday."
"The event is not mandatory," Gil replied. "It’s up to you to decide whether you’ll come or not. Choose wisely."
When the boy slid him a cold frown, Gil went on. "So much of life is out of your control — you don’t get to chose your last name or where you’re born or who you’re related to or what you look like. So when life does offer you a choice, you need to consider it carefully. Make up your mind what kind of man you want to be, Ozzie."
Ozzie shrugged, giving Gil a quizzical glance before striding away to where Nate stood talking with his father. When Gil mentioned the conversation later to Nate over a casual supper of cold ham, skillet cornbread, and canned peaches, his friend surprised him by exclaiming in a derisive manner, "Gil, when did you get to be such a prosy old parson?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, flushing with annoyance.
Nate pushed his chair away from the small table that occupied one corner of Gil’s bachelor quarters at the back of the schoolroom. He shook his head. "You’ve been teaching school too long. You’re even giving lectures outside the classroom now. You should hear yourself."
Gil said nothing as he poured himself another cup of coffee. Had he really become so stodgy? On the other hand, maybe it was Nate who was changing. He’d noticed, while saying grace before their meal, how his friend had scarcely bowed his head. When Gil had pronounced the "Amen," Nate slid him a look of slight amusement before helping himself to the ham.
"That fine-looking Amanda Dale stopped by today," Nate informed him. "Did you see her? I must say she’s quite a peach."
"I saw her," Gil replied in between sips of coffee.
"She baffles me though," Nate admitted. "Most women warm up to me in a hurry. When I saw her today at the site, I was certain she’d come to get my attention. But she actually seemed more interested in what we were doing. Her manner wasn’t at all flirtatious. She didn’t even bat an eyelash when I called her ‘my dear Miss Dale.’ In fact, she acted liked she hadn’t heard me at all."
"Leave her alone, Nate," Gil advised. "The woman doesn’t have time to flirt. I told you, she’s taking care of a premature infant and her ailing sister."
Frankly, he was relieved to learn Nate was not making headway with winning Amanda over. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man — even Nate — basking in the warm glow of Amanda’s smile.
Nate stroked his stubbly chin, murmuring, "Hmm." Sitting back in his chair, he said, in a pondering manner, "She must be the sympathetic type, a little mother hen. I’ll look at her soulfully and tell her how lonely I am. I bet I can gain her attention then." He chuckled, as though pleased with himself.
"Don’t toy with her affections, Nate," Gil said gravely.
"Is that a warning?" There was a gleam of interest in his friend’s eyes.
"Miss Dale is a friend of mine and the aunt of one of my best pupils. She’s had a lot of misfortune in her life recently, and it would be cruel to tease her. Besides," Gil went on, putting his cup down on the table, "she’s not your type."
"True, she’s not at all sophisticated," Nate admitted. "But there’s something charmingly quaint about her. I haven’t tried that for quite some time." He studied Gil with calculating eyes.
Gil clenched his jaw, succumbing to silent fury.
He stood up and began clearing the table, fighting an overwhelming impulse to pop Nate in the nose with his fist, to warn him to stay away from Amanda Dale… or else! But in good conscience, he couldn’t do so. After all, he had no claim on Amanda’s affections. He had never declared his feelings for her nor had she expressed any feelings for him. There was no family relationship between them either, so he had no right to tell Nate what he could or could not do.
"C’mon, Gil, you told me there was nothing between you and Amanda," Nate said with an impatient shrug. "Is there or isn’t there?"
"There isn’t," Gil stated flatly. "But I respect and admire her — as a friend. I advise you to do the same."
"Come off your high horse, Gil. I don’t intend to ruin the woman," Nate replied. "I’m just looking for a little carefree flirtation while I’m here. What’s the harm in it, for Pete’s sake?"
"Maybe you should select another victim."
Nate laughed and punched him playfully in the shoulder. "I’m going to the schoolroom to work on my field notes. You can do the dishes. I’ll see you later."
As he carried the dishes back to the small sink, Gil watched his friend pick up his satchel and leave. Nate had always been what some called a lady-killer. Charm seemed to ooze from his pores. The fellow couldn’t help it. Gil lifted a silent but fervent prayer Amanda would be able to resist Nate’s romantic dalliance. If she didn’t, he feared her heart would be broken, and Gil didn’t want to have to pick up the pieces.
Chapter Nine
"Are you feeling all right, Mandy?" Ella asked, giving her sister a searching glance. "You don’t look so good this morning."
Amanda shrugged as she covered Ella’s lap with a small quilt. "I’ve got a headache. It’s nothing to worry about."
"Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit?" Ella suggested. "I can watch Minnie. We’ll be fine for a little while." She glanced down at the baby in her arms with such a look of deep joy and tenderness Amanda wanted to weep with relief. Ella was getting better and accepting her role as Minnie’s mother with loving determination.
"I might, but not right this minute. There’s too much work to be done," Amanda told her. "You sit right there, and don’t try to get up by yourself. You’re still weak, and I don’t want you to over do. If you can keep an eye on the baby, it will be a big help."
Hearing a knock at the kitchen door, Amanda straightened and said, "Now who has come here at this hour of the morning?"
Bonita barked and rose from rug in front of the hearth.
"Not Doctor Morgan again, surely?" Ella said.
With Bonita leading the way, Amanda left her sister comfortably situated in the rocking chair near the fire in the sitting room and went to answer the door. She was mildly astonished to discover Nate Phillips standing there, a horse tethered to the porch railing. He hadn’t bothered to drive out in his impractical automobile this time, she noted, grimly satisfied. With his hat pushed back rakishly away from his smooth, tan forehead, Nate stood on the porch holding four tin cans — two in each hand.
Both curious and annoyed, Amanda swiped her hands down the front of her apron and greeted him with cautious reserve. "Good morning, Mr. Phillips."
"Good morning, Miss Dale. There’s no need to ask how you’re doing today," he said, giving her a silky smile. "You’re radiant this fine autumn morning — if I may say so."
Amanda felt a small flame of anger. Liar! She’d briefly studied herself in the mirror after washing her face earlier in the morning. A lack of restful sleep and a nagging headache had given her pale face a tight, pinched expression. She looked like death warmed over. Even Ella had noticed. It was one thing to be paid a pretty compliment, Amanda admitted to herself. It was quite another to be the recipient of an out-and-out lie.
"What brings you out this way so early?" she asked with forced politeness.
"May I come in?"
With some reluctance, she stepped back to allow him into the kitchen. His grin widened. Presenting her with the canned goods, Nate then reached into the pocket of his corduroy jacket. "I wanted to bring the money I owe you." He propped the folded bills next to the sugar bowl on the table. "I also brought some canned fruit for your sister." He indicated the cans still held in her cupped hands. "I believe the treat may tempt a sluggish appetite."
"Why, thank you," Amanda replied, surprised and a bit mollified. She hadn’t considered Nate Phillips as the sort of thoughtful person to bring treats for an invalid. Perhaps she’d been wrong about him. Not knowing whether to be touched by the gesture or suspicious of his motives, Amanda placed the cans on the table. Two cans of peaches in syrup and two tins labeled fruit salad, with peaches, pears, grapes and cherries all mixed together. What would they think of next?
"You may count the money, if you’d like. It’s all there, the amount we agreed upon. Perhaps you can buy yourself a new readymade dress or some furbelow that tickles your fancy," Nate suggested, patting Bonita on the head. The dog thumped her broken tail happily against the leg of the kitchen table. "Mr. Schwarzkopf has a fine selection of goods at his general store, considering how small the town is."
Amanda felt her cheeks grow hot. "I wouldn’t think of spending any of it, Mr. Phillips. The money belongs to my sister."
"I’ve offended you. I’m sorry." His tone was contrite. He fixed his dark eyes upon her face. His lashes were impossibly long and curled at the ends. He asked in a low tone, "Are you intuitive, Miss Dale? Have you ever met someone for the first time and known immediately she would be special to you? I did on the first day we met. I like you. I like you a lot."
Before she could sputter a flustered response, Nate went on. "You remind me so much of my favorite sister, you know. Perhaps that’s why I feel comfortable talking to you in this frank manner. I miss her. I’m frequently homesick, as you may have guessed. Some think the life of an archeologist is romantic and glamorous. It can be, but it’s a hard life and a lonely one too."
He gave her a hopeful, pleading look, which wrung her heart. His usual manner was so bright and easy, she’d overlooked the fact he might have deeper thoughts and feelings too. Lonely? She’d been lonely most of her life.
"I do understand, Mr. Phillips," she said in earnest.
"I knew you would," he replied, beaming down upon her. "Say you’ll allow me to pick you up on Sunday afternoon for the spelling bee. I’ll come in Atalanta — my little runabout. I bet you’ve never ridden in an automobile before."
He arched an eyebrow. When Amanda hesitated, he hurried on. "Rex may come too, of course. You’ll both enjoy the little adventure, and I’ll delight in your enjoyment. Say yes, Miss Dale." His eyes danced with merriment.
Amanda felt moved by his appeal. She also felt impatient with her own fickleness. What was the matter with her? One minute she was suspicious of the man and his smooth manners, and the next minute, she was beguiled by his charm. He was so temptingly handsome, she thought, smothering a sigh. But surely he was not a part of God’s will for her life? But how could she know?
"Rex would never forgive me if I said no," Amanda replied, taking a deep breath. "So, yes. Come pick us up in that fancy automobile of yours."
"I trust you’ve made arrangements for someone to stay with your sister… and the baby," Nate went on.
She nodded. "A neighbor is coming to sit with Ella for the afternoon." She’d asked Dolores as soon as she’d returned from her visit to the excavation site. Dolores was happy to oblige, as she had no youngsters or grandchildren participating in the event.
"There’s one more thing," Nate said, holding up a finger. "I must warn you I’m having some skeletal remains brought over." When Amanda blinked with surprise, he added, "I don’t want you to take a fright if you go to the shed to peek at the latest discoveries and notice the skeletons there. Some females might consider them to be rather gruesome."
"Thank you for your consideration," Amanda said. "Are these the skeletons Rex and Mr. Gladney discovered?
Nate nodded. "And we fo
und three more yesterday afternoon. One is quite small, perhaps the remains of a child. They are rather fragile, I fear. I may not be able to transport them safely to the museum back East." He shrugged, adding, "We also found a grinding slab and some knives, skinning blades, a spear, and an arrow straightener."
"I can just imagine the excitement among the men at the site," Amanda said. "Speaking of men, what happened to the one who fell? Is he going to be all right?"
"Doc Morgan says the fellow broke his leg. Such misfortune is not unusual on a site like this one," Nate told her. "But I’m hoping it will be the last accident. You might be interested to learn we also discovered a wide assortment of ornaments yesterday after you left — turquoise amulets, mollusk shell bracelets, and abalone beads. Gil insists we add some of these items to the display in the classroom, so the parents and community members at the spelling bee can admire them."
"And Rex is doing the work with the pottery pieces you asked him to do — I mean, doing it to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, my dear Miss Dale," Nate assured her. "He’s a hard worker and careful. I think he has a real interest in archeology and history."
"Mr. Gladney thinks so too," Amanda said.
"Well, I need to get back to work," Nate said. He stuck out his hand as though offering to shake hands with her.
When she put out her own, he squeezed it with both of his. It wasn’t a caress, nor was it a friendly handshake. Amanda, embarrassed, likened the gesture to the kneading of bread dough. Annoyed and shy, she tugged her hand from his grasp and shoved it into her apron pocket, fearing he might take possession of it again.
"Goodbye, Mr. Phillips. We’ll see you Sunday afternoon," she said in a dismissive tone.
"Goodbye, Miss Dale," he replied, his eyes twinkling.
As soon as Nate took his leave, Amanda returned to the sitting room. She carried a can of peaches with her and one of fruit salad.
"Guess what I’ve got, Ella? Tinned peaches." She held them out for her sister’s perusal. "Want some? Or would you rather try the can of fruit salad?"
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