Suddenly Married

by Loree Lough

  She watched his children carefully. The boy, blond, blue eyed, was the spitting image of his father. Would he be tall and muscular someday? With a thick burnished mustache and a barrel chest?

  Dara turned her attention to Noah Lucas’s daughter. His wife must have been a dark-haired, dark-eyed, delicate beauty, if her little girl was any indicator.

  What must it be like, Dara wondered, growing up without a mother? She’d been twenty-seven when her own mother had died two years ago, and still Dara missed the maternal love that had flowed steadily and easily from parent to child. But to be so small, so young and vulnerable, when death stole a beloved parent…Dara’s heart ached for these two motherless children.

  They sat side by side, front and center, and folded their hands on the desktops. They were by far the bestdressed, most well-behaved children in the classroom. But there was something about them that gave Dara an uneasy feeling. Was it their tight-lipped, somber-eyed expressions? Or the way they stared straight ahead, as silent as little statues? Looks as though a serious nature runs in the family, she thought, frowning as she recalled their father’s grim, taut posture.

  “Okay, kids,” she called, clapping to get the class’s attention. “Let’s settle down and get to work.”

  “Where’s Mrs. King?” Marie wanted to know.

  Dara smiled as a moment of warm wishfulness fluttered inside her. If only someone could be making this announcement about me.…“Mrs. King’s baby was born last Sunday afternoon.”

  “After Sunday school?”

  “That’s right. She went straight to the hospital from here.”

  “Is she all right?” Lisa asked.

  “She’s fine, just fine,” Dara assured her.

  “Boy or girl?” Pete demanded, grinning mischievously. “A boy, I hope—we already got too many girls in this town!”

  The boys snickered and the girls groaned in response to his commentary, while Dara smiled fondly. “I hate to disappoint you, Pete, but the baby is a girl.”

  Tina raised her hand. “Have they named her yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, they’re going to call her Sarah. Sarah Naomi King.”

  “Yuck,” Pete grumped. “What’d they go an’ give her such a sissy name for?”

  “Hush,” Tina scolded, frowning. “Sarah isn’t a sissy name. It’s beautiful.” One hand on her hip, she bobbed her head back and forth. “It’s from the Bible,” she singsonged, “isn’t it, Miss Mackenzie?”

  “That’s right.…Now, can anyone tell me anything about the biblical Sarah?”

  “She was Isaac’s mother,” Bobby Lucas volunteered.

  “But before she was Sarah,” his elder sister injected, “her name was Sarai.”

  “What did she go and change her name for,” Pete teased, “if it was so beautiful?”

  “Because,” Angie said, lifting her chin, “God told her husband to change it.”

  She seemed so pleased and proud to possess knowledge the other children did not have. Was the behavior something her father had encouraged? Or had his straitlaced personality sent Angie the message that this demeanor was required if she hoped to gain his approval?

  “Everyone said Abraham was too old and feeble to have more children,” the girl continued, “but he believed he could, and because of his faith, God gave him a child,” Dara reported in a somber, quiet voice.

  These were not ordinary children, Dara decided. Did Bobby play with trucks? Did Angie and her dollies have tea parties? Did they splash in their tub, dunk cookies in their milk and make snow angels? Something told her they did not. Dara could almost picture them sitting inside, noses burrowed in the pages of some edifying book, peeking up only now and again to watch the fun going on outside.

  Of course youngsters should pray and read the Word, she acknowledged. They should respect their elders and do their chores and work hard in school. But they should never be made to forget that Jesus loved the little children, because of the innocent playfulness born into them! What kind of parent was Noah Lucas that he had seemingly discouraged his son and daughter from doing what should come naturally to all kids—enjoying life!

  “When is Mrs. King coming back?” Tina interrupted.

  Dara sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenward for the question that diverted her from her thoughts. “Well, she’s so excited about being a new mommy I don’t think even Mrs. King knows the answer to that question.”

  “Are you going to be our teacher?”

  She inspected the wide-eyed, expectant faces of her students. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Silence blanketed the classroom. “Good,” Pete muttered to the boy behind him, “‘cause she’s really pretty.”

  Dara clasped her hands. “Now then, I had intended to talk about the Golden Rule today. Who knows what the Golden Rule is?”

  “Jesus said, ‘Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you,’” Angie offered.

  “Very good,” Dara said. “Can anyone tell me what that means?”

  “Don’t do stuff to other people that you wouldn’t want ‘em doin’ to you?” Pete chanced.

  “Absolutely! Someone give me an example.”

  The children thought about that for a moment. Then Donny shouted out, “Oooh-oooh! I know, I know! Like…if I don’t want my sister hogging the swing, I shouldn’t hog it, either.”

  “And if I wouldn’t like my brother changing the channel in the middle of a show I’m watching,” Lisa added, “I shouldn’t do it to him.”

  Dara walked to the supply cabinet and swung open the doors. “That’s right!” She stood in front of shelves that housed colorful stacks of construction paper, bluntedged scissors, bottles of glue and boxes of crayons. “But it can also mean doing good things.”

  “Like what?” Marie asked.

  “Like helping people finish chores so they can get outside and play sooner, or sharing the last slice of chocolate cake.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she winked and gestured toward the cupboard. “Or making greeting cards that will let Mrs. King know how happy we are that she and Mr. King finally got that baby they’ve been praying for.”

  Giggling and squealing with glee, the first and second graders grabbed materials from the cupboard and began working on their cards.

  “How do you spell congratulations?” Tina wanted to know.

  Dara was about to print the word on the chalkboard when Bobby Lucas said, “C-o-n-g-r-a-t-u-l-a-t-i-o-n-s.”

  “Not so fast,” Pete complained.

  How many first graders could even read the word? Dara wondered as Bobby spelled it again. It was beginning to look like Noah Lucas had the discipline part of fathering down pat. But what about the loving part? she asked herself.

  “Thanks, Bob-oh,” Pete said, grinning. “How’d you get so smart?”

  Dara thought she saw the hint of a smile tug at the comers of Bobby’s mouth when he shrugged.

  “His name isn’t Bob-oh,” Angie corrected. “It’s Bobby, which is short for Robert.”

  “You mean robber,” Pete stuck in. “Your brother stole my pencil.”

  “Didn’t steal it,” Bobby defended. “I only borrowed it” He handed it back to Pete, then crossed both arms over his chest.

  “‘Thou shalt not steal,’” Pete teased, wagging a chubby finger at his classmate.

  The statement made Dara think of her father. Heart pounding, she looked around the class, saw that Angie was looking directly at her. For an instant, Dara wondered if the little girl had read her thoughts, for her understanding expression seemed far too old and wise for one so young. But she said, “My mother called him Bobby, right up to the day she died.”

  Dara wanted to wrap her in a hug—something she suspected her father didn’t do nearly often enough—but Angie had already turned her attention back to the artwork. She glanced at Angie’s younger brother, who shrugged again and in an equally matter-of-fact voice announced, “Don’t pay any attention to her. She says things like that all the time.” He raised one blond brow, loo
king amazingly like his father when he did. “Father says she does it to shock people.”

  Father says? Dara forced a laugh and ruffled Bobby’s honey-blond hair. “Well,” she whispered, “it works. I’m shocked!”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Pete’s right.”

  “About what?”

  The smile that lit his face was contagious, and for a moment, she almost forgot there were a dozen other children around her.

  “You’re very pretty.”

  Angie, who had been hunched over Mrs. King’s card, sat up straight and gave Dara a once-over. “Yes, yes,” she agreed. “You are rather pretty.” Furrowing her brow, she added, “Are you married?”

  The enrollment forms clearly stated that Bobby Lucas was six years old and Angie was seven. Because they’d been born in the same calendar year—Angie in January, Bobby in December—the children had been in the same grade since preschool. But surely there had been a clerical error, Dara thought, a typo on their registration forms, because neither child behaved even remotely like first graders.

  “Father says ladies can sometimes be sensitive to that question. Since you didn’t answer, it must mean you aren’t married.” Angie tilted her head slightly, as if considering all the possibilities. “Have you ever been married? I mean, you’re not divorced or anything, are you, because Father says divorce is a sin.”

  Why would his children even be asking such a thing, let alone asking it frequently enough to require adult discussion on the subject? Dara could answer Angie’s questions—questions that would not have seemed overly personal or inappropriate if they hadn’t been asked in that eerily controlled voice—or she could divert the child’s attention. Her father may choose to speak to her like a miniature adult, Dara thought, frowning slightly, but here in my classroom, she’ll be treated like a seven-year-old!

  “The card you’re making for Mrs. King is lovely,” she said in an upbeat, friendly voice. “I especially like the pretty house you’ve drawn there.”

  “It’s like the one we lived in up in Pennsylvania, when my mother was alive.” She tucked in one comer of her mouth. “It was a very nice house.”

  Angie took a deep breath, then said, “It happened when I was four.” She put the red crayon she’d been using back into the box, and withdrew a blue one. “It was cancer, you know, the kind that eats your blood.”

  “Leukemia,” Bobby said. But unlike his sister’s nonchalant tone, the boy’s voice trembled slightly.

  “Yes. Leukemia,” Angie agreed. “Father says we should try not to think about it, but when we do, we should never be sad because Mother is with Jesus in heaven, where she’ll never hurt ever again.”

  It had been nearly a decade since Dara had taken the psychology courses that helped round out her education major, but Dara recognized repression when she saw—and heard—it. And though she’d been a full-grown adult when her own mother died two years earlier and lost her father just months ago, she understood the importance of mourning openly and honestly. Dara didn’t know how or why a loving father would talk his children out of grieving for their mother.

  And she understood it on a completely different level: hadn’t she repressed her fears that her father might have stolen Pinnacle’s money?

  She wouldn’t even suspect it, if it hadn’t been for Noah Lucas! It wasn’t hard to believe he could do such a coldhearted thing. Dara’s eyes and lips narrowed with anger toward the man who, without ever having met her father, had chosen to believe the row of numbers that said Jake was a thief rather than the daughter who believed in his innocence. That same harsh and judgmental behavior had his own flesh and blood moving through life like windup toys.

  Dara had prayed before class began that the Lord would show her what to do, tell her what to say, to help her teach these children His word. These two, especially, needed to hear about His loving mercy now.

  Dara slid an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, leaning her forehead against Angie’s, “of course your mommy is in heaven with God and all His angels.” She pressed a soft kiss to the child’s temple. “But it’s okay to miss her sometimes.…”

  Angie looked up from her picture and stared deep into Dara’s eyes. For a second there, Angie was every bit a seven-year-old girl as her lower lip trembled slightly and a flicker of sadness gleamed in her big dark eyes. Dara felt the fragile shoulders relax, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from them.

  But then Angie blinked.

  And just that fast, the frosty restraint was back, and she became a pint-size version of a full-grown adult again. It was more than a little frightening to have witnessed the transformation, and Dara shivered involuntarily, because she doubted if she could name one adult who was so self-contained.

  Well, that wasn’t true. She could name one.…

  “Can I get a drink of water?” Tina asked.

  “Sure,” Dara said, smiling gently.

  “Would you like to see the card I made for Mrs. King?” Pete wanted to know. “I drew baby Sarah on it.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Reluctantly, Dara drew away from Angie. If the child noticed, she gave no clue. God bless her, Dara prayed.

  Something told her that in the months ahead, she’d be petitioning the Lord often on behalf of the Lucas children.

  “Sorry, Dara,” the principal said. “I’ve pulled every string I could get my fat little fingers on. There’s just no money left in the budget for you.”

  Budget cuts, or had someone on the board heard that her father had been accused of embezzlement and decided it wasn’t good press to have a teacher like that working for the Howard County school system?

  She took a deep breath. Stop assuming the worst, Dara, she scolded herself. It’s your own fault, after all, for asking to be assigned a job in your own district. If she’d taken the teaching job at Wilde Lake instead of Centennial High, she wouldn’t be low man on the totem pole now.

  “It isn’t your fault, John,” she said, smiling halfheartedly.

  “Who’d-a thunk seniority could be an ugly thing?”

  “Better watch it,” she warned, wagging a finger under his nose. “If the kids hear you breaking the rules of grammar that way, they’ll—”

  “They’ll what?” he teased. “Most of ‘em have been abusing the King’s English since right after they learned to say ‘Dada’!”

  Dara and her boss laughed for a moment, until the seriousness of the situation shrouded his cramped, crowded office.

  “So when do I have to clear out my desk?”

  Wincing, the principal sighed. “Not till the semester ends in February. That’ll give you plenty of time to send your résumé around.”

  It gave her four months, give or take a week. Dara sighed, staring out the window, where Old Glory popped and snapped in the brisk winter wind. She’d sat right here as a Centennial student when she’d served as an office aide to Mr. John Westfall, and again nearly nine years ago when he’d interviewed her to fill the open math teacher slot. There were other teaching positions available here in Howard County, and more than likely, she’d accept one. But it wouldn’t be the same, because those schools wouldn’t feel like home.

  “Should I put in a good word for you over at River Hill?” Westfall asked, standing. “I hear there’s going to be an opening there.”

  “Sure,” Dara said, getting to her feet. “That’d be great.”

  “I hate to lose you, Dara. And so will the kids.”

  He extended his hand; she clasped it gratefully.

  “It’s gonna be like sending one of my own daughters off into—”

  “Hush,” she said, smiling sadly, “or you’re going to make me cry.”

  “Don’t want to start up any waterworks, now do we?”

  Dara focused on their hands. He’d been jerking her arm up and down like a pump handle. “I’ve heard of trying to get blood from a turnip,” she teased, “but I don’t think this is the way you go about it.”


  Chuckling, Westfall let go of her hand, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “If there’s anything I can do,” he said softly, “anything, you just ask, you hear?”

  “Thanks,” she said, heading for the door. “I will.”

  “You’ll come see me once in a while, won’t you? Let me know how you’re doing?”

  Another nod, one hand on the doorknob. “Now, let me leave before I start blubbering all over this gorgeous green-and-orange carpet of yours!”

  She closed his office door. Could things get any worse? she wondered. The second anniversary of her mother’s death was just around the corner; in a week, her father would have been gone six months. Then there was the news about his so-called embezzlement. And now she was out of a job. If you had any sense, she said to herself, you’d make reservations and take that cruise you’ve been saving up for.

  Immediately, she shook her head. No telling what Noah Lucas might do on Kurt Turner’s behalf while you’re off in the sunny Caribbean worrying yourself silly.

  The janitor flung open the door, rolled his oversize metal trash can inside. As he banged and clanged down the hall, a huge gust of wind whipped in behind him, blowing the papers from Dara’s hands and scattering them across the floor. Some fluttered out the door; others skidded under lockers. “That cruise is gone with the wind, too,” she muttered as she gathered the papers that hadn’t escaped.

  Look at the bright side, she told herself. Now you have two projects to distract you from the Pinnacle mess—Sunday school and job hunting!

  As she headed for her cubicle in the teachers’ lounge, something told her neither would be a very good diversion.…

  *

  The weather bureau was predicting snow. Lots of it. But it wasn’t supposed to start until late afternoon, which meant Sunday services and Dara’s class would take place as scheduled. If TV meteorologist Norm Lewis was right, there’d be no school tomorrow, and if her students had heard his report, they’d be too busy looking out the windows to learn much of anything this morning.