by Tanya Hanson
And it was. Within minutes, the other five teachers in the “Small Hall” welcomed her, also offering assistance. And Mr. Scovell dropped in as the rows of desks filled with the homeroom group.
“This is Ms. Gibson,” he told the students with both a smile and stern eyebrows. “Give her the best Mountain Cove welcome you can.”
About thirty howdy’s ensued, and Mary Grace relaxed. The principal himself had her back. It’s just…some of the boys were bigger than she was. She remembered that fact from her short teaching career back then, but she’d born the confidence of a first-year newly graduated teacher full of idealism and, well, Grant Gibson having her back.
Becky herself settled the homeroom crowd and explained how to send the attendance record to the office via the computer. Sweet girl. Mary Grace reckoned she’d find such a helper in each of the four English classes, which would run until the noon hour. Like the entire teaching faculty, Kenn had one preparation period for grading and computer work. His prep came right after lunch, and the last period of the day was devoted to his administrative duties as head of the English Department. Since these duties did not involve Mary Grace, she was free to leave after lunch, or stay and eat with the other teachers and remain on campus for any prep work of her own. Since she knew a few of the faculty from her time here, she decided she’d stay at least today, and get everybody met and greeted. She’d still get back to the ranch in time for an afternoon ride with Scott.
Scott.
How could the thought of him not send her blood racing through her veins? The kids, busy with last-minute homework half-listened to the intercom announcements, and Mary Grace found opportunity to let her mind wander. She almost laughed out loud at the fairly absurd reality that way back when, she’d faced Scott Martin from a teacher’s desk, roll-called his name, graded his art work. Ah, what a man he’d grown up to be. A trill of longing tickled her. At least she hadn’t let the age difference or student-teacher thing hang her up. More than ever, she knew the Lord had placed her here in Mountain Cove, at Hearts Crossing Ranch, for a purpose, a purpose her heart told her went far beyond substitute teaching.
The freshmen classes weren’t any trouble at all, and the nerves, having found new body parts to torment, finally stopped their decathlon across her body. Surely it was the Lord himself helping soothe things.
Ah, prepositional phrases. Twenty-three fresh little faces smiled at her, rapt. She remembered this grammar rule well, and the fourteen-year olds retained enough childhood sweetness to warm her heart. A knot of them, boys and girls both, even hung around her desk during the nutrition break, enriching her with the confidence to stand tall in front of the juniors. No matter what size they had grown to be.
“Let me go to the teachers’ lounge and get you a cup of coffee,” one ninth-grader offered, but right there in the doorway, Becky Ahearn stood with a steaming cup.
Black. Mary Grace preferred cream, but straight-up caffeine racing through her veins just might be a good thing.
“Thanks, Becky. How did you know?”
With a shrug, Becky smiled. “Mr. Martin always had one between second and third period. I just guessed.”
“Good guess. I appreciate it.”
Becky took a seat in the front; Mary Grace had already realized Kenn arranged his rows alphabetically. For a quick fortification, Mary Grace chugged as much coffee at the heat would allow, straightened her shoulders, and introduced herself.
A boy raised his hand and Mary Grace promptly flicked a glance at the seating chart to use his name. Learn it, too.
Jeffrey Olson.
“Yes, Jeffrey?”
The boy grinned, cheeks pinking. “It’s Jeff, ma’am.”
“Used to be Jeffie,” somebody sing-songed from the back.
Mary Grace laughed, too. “OK, Jeff?”
“Is Mr. Martin doing better?”
She nodded. “Yes, he is.” She told them what Kenn had agreed she could share. “He badly sprained his ankle and had arthroscopic surgery on his right knee and right shoulder. He’s already started some physical therapy. The doctor is pleased with his progress.”
“Will he be back soon?” Jeff persisted.
“What?” Mary Grace smiled, already feeling comfortable with this group. “You that anxious to get rid of me?”
“Oh, no. I like him, but I hope he’s gone a while. You’re a babe.”
The class gasped, then burst into uneasy laughter. In a flash, Mary Grace had to decide whether to chide the boy or join the fun. From his blushing face, she figured he wasn’t usually troublesome and had misspoken. She decided to make light.
“Well, thank you for the compliment, Jeffie.” Everybody laughed in real amusement and she figured she’d handled the moment well. “Mr. Martin hopes to be back next week, but we can’t quite say for sure at this point.” Without a pause, she launched into the day’s topic. “We’ll be starting the writings of Henry David Thoreau tomorrow. You’ll notice I say Thorough, like a thorough exam or thorough questioning. That’s the correct way. Most people will say Tha-ROW. That’s not correct….”
Right away the class, including the still mortified Jeff, settled down to complete the worksheet she handed out on the new vocabulary pertinent to the transcendental writers. “You’ll find most of the definitions in the glossary in the back of your textbook. For the others, you can leave your desks one at a time to get a classroom dictionary. Expect a quiz tomorrow.”
The class emitted a universal requisite groan, and she hid a smile. So far, so good. And only one class to go. The Advanced Placement American Lit class. The cream of the crop baked into a piece of cake.
She wandered around the rows for a few minutes, checking that all the students were working on the assignment, and then settled back with her coffee at Kenn’s desk to memorize the seating chart. Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to think about Scott.
Outside, the autumn day blazed behind the tall windows of Kenn’s classroom. With Scott returning to her thoughts, her gaze drifted from the papers in her hand. Even hung with elderly Venetian blinds, the windows framed an awe-inspiring mountain panorama, and she shook her head in wonder. She’d been here once before. Maybe this time she wouldn’t have to leave. More of the same contentment she hadn’t felt for a long time settled around her shoulders, but she stiffened when the guilt mixed up in it. Had she tried hard enough with Creighton to be his physical caregiver? Had she leaned enough on God to give her the strength? Or had God truly answered her prayer and given her the resolve to place him in a home with professional attendants and specialized teachers?
Whew. Maybe she’d never know for sure. Doubt and the pain of missing him started to cloud the view outside, and she forced her eyes back to the seating charts.
A half hour later, she stood in front of the last class of the day. The smallest of the groups, sixteen kids, the brightest and the best.
“I’m Ms. Gibson. I’ll be taking on Mr. Martin’s classes for at least a week.”
“Are you trained to teach an advanced placement class?” One boy blurted without a raised hand.
Both his rudeness and the question caught her off guard. While the class took a collective breath, she found his name on the chart and gathered her wits. Keith Murphy. “You’ll raise your hand next time you speak to me, young man. Both Mr. Scovell and Mr. Martin have complete faith in me.”
Without giving Keith any more time, she tried to surge on into her short introductory lecture on today’s material, seeing shaking heads and sympathetic eyes, hopefully in support of her. “Today we’ll continue with…”
Keith Murphy burst forth. “So what? That doesn’t mean anything. Are you trained to teach us? Mr. Martin had to take special classes and stuff.”
The “and stuff” at the end of the boy’s criticism reminded her he was just a kid. She was the one in charge and had to step up to the plate now even as her barely-there confidence started tumbling to her feet.
“I am completely qualified to tea
ch this class. Now, Mr. Murphy, I recommend you take notes. There’s a quiz first thing tomorrow, and your mid-term test is coming up. And that little outburst has rewarded you with a one-hour detention tomorrow.” She glared at him, then smiled at the rest of the students. “Class, Henry David Thoreau lived at Walden Pond just twenty-two months…”
Keith sneered at her, but with the rest of the class settling down, the irksome boy started to take rapid notes, and her disquiet started to dispel. After her prepared remarks, she debated on whether or not to ask for questions, deciding on the former. Might put her in harm’s way but it was the right educator’s move to make.
“You have a few minutes to begin tomorrow’s assignment, ‘Civil Disobedience,’ before the bell rings. Does anybody have any questions before you start?”
With a smirk, Keith Murphy raised his hand, and his classmates regarded him warily, many tossing her glances with eyebrows raised high.
“Yes, Keith?”
“You taught here before, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. Just for one year, and quite a long time ago.” She smiled. “You’d have been in preschool, probably.”
“You married Grant Gibson, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I did. But we’re no longer together.”
“You got kids?”
“Yes.” She frowned. This was uncharted territory. “One son.”
Before she could assure him of her privacy, he snapped out, “So why’d you dump him? He was a hall of famer. He’s a good man. And now he’s hurt…’” He pretended to spit on the floor.
She all but choked in shock, and almost as one, the class regarded the boy in horror.
“Shut up. What’s wrong with you, man?” His nearest neighbor punched his arm.
“My private life is none of your business,” she managed to announce just as the bell rang. Except for Keith, all of the students muttered goodbyes as they filed out, eyes sympathetic. Keith shot her a baleful glance, and her quick silent prayer for comfort and patience didn’t help one single bit.
“Excuse me. Mr. Murphy?”
He actually stopped at the doorway. “What?”
“You owe me an hour’s detention. Tomorrow after school.”
As he opened his mouth to protest, she turned her back, practically expecting a dagger.
****
Scott unwound the knots in his shoulders after a long morning at the computer, working on Cady Lomax’s book trailer. The storyboards she’d suggested had been awesome; he needed to find music and a few copyright-free pictures. The software had worked slick and quick like a rain shower pouring through an arroyo. Although he wasn’t much for female literature, Ma was crazy about the Christian inspirational romance novels Cady produced. Scott had gotten the trailer gig when the author had recently held a book signing in the Fireside Room at church. Wholesome stories, sweet romance, rugged western landscapes, beautiful women and cowboy heroes. Just like Hearts Crossing. With a grin, he got up, images of Mary Grace racing through his mind.
Might as well grab some grub. Kenn was napping. Who knew where anybody else was? Scott headed to the kitchen. Last night Mary Grace had explained she’d be eating lunch with the teachers, hanging around to introduce herself. Therefore they’d hit the trails as soon as she got home, before he started afternoon chores and she took to grading papers.
So he was shocked to see a dusty contrail on the air outside and her car heading up the drive. Barely noon. He waited eagerly at the front door to take her in his arms, to congratulate her on her first day. But she didn’t get out, instead hunkered behind the steering wheel, head in her hands.
Ah, nuts. Nothing like a bad first day. Should he go to her? Should he give her privacy? Although they’d kissed—his blood still raced—they weren’t a couple yet. Yet his heart panged to see her cry.
Creighton? His blood pounded. Maybe it was bad news about her son? That made all the difference. She didn’t have anyone around to help her through something like that. Decision made, he ran down the porch steps to her car.
Although she shook her head, she opened the door and stepped out, giving him a watery-eyed smile.
“Everything all right?” he asked although of course something was wrong. “Your boy?”
Surprise glazed her eyes. “Oh, yeah he’s fine. I just…”
Suddenly he got it. Somebody had hassled her. Wouldn’t be the last time or the first a substitute had taken guff.
“How was your day?” He trod carefully. Without really asking, he took her laptop and briefcase while she manhandled her big purse.
“Fine. Absolutely fine. Until some jerk in the very last class.” Her frown deepened. “I shouldn’t have asked if anybody had any questions. My fault! I set myself up big time.”
“Asking and answering questions is what teachers do.” He kept his voice soft and jerked his elbow, hoping she’d take his arm. Disappointment raged when she didn’t. But she did nod. He’d called it right. “You know, kids always mess with substitutes.”
“Oh, I do know.” Her deep down sigh busted his heart. “And I even expected it. To some extent, you know. But I didn’t expect getting put on the spot about Grant.”
“What?” Scott stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the steps, stopped so hard their bodies clanked together.
And stayed that way. His breath hitched.
As she leaned against him, she looked up at him, so beautiful he couldn’t look away, but so sad he wanted to smack whoever had done it to her.
Wanted to smack himself because he couldn’t think of what to say. Instead he dropped a quick kiss on her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“Wanna talk about it? I think there’s fresh coffee on.”
For a moment, her face crinkled as if she had to think about it, really think about it. And his spirits damped. Something down deep wanted her to turn to him when she had things on her mind.
They walked up the porch into the house, its fragrant ambience almost a slap in the face.
“I guess I could find Kenn.” Mary Grace stopped inside. “Maybe he’s had problems with this kid before.”
“He’s taking a nap. The physical therapist was here this morning. PT really beats him up. But…”
Suddenly her face turned soft. “I’d love a cup of coffee. And yeah, I think I do want to talk about it. If you don’t mind.”
If you don’t mind? Scott hadn’t been in such a great place for a long time. After setting her gear in the study, he filled two huge white mugs and added hefty doses of half-and-half. She was already lounging on one of the sofas in the front room. A fire blazed.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Somebody remembering I’d been here before and married Grant,” she said as he sat beside her. “But I don’t know how it would be common knowledge already. I just got hired Saturday morning. Mr. Scovell changed our interview from Friday.” She looked away for a second. “I…had something to do with Creighton that I couldn’t change.”
The hot mug comforted, but Scott’s ears pricked. Wasn’t Creighton living with his dad? Grant Gibson never lived in Colorado far as she’d said. “With him? I thought…”
She shook her head. “Oh, sorry. I meant I had something I had to do for him. I’m messed up right now. Can’t speak straight.” Resting her chin in her hands, she smiled at him, and then stared. “I guess the faculty could have known I was being interviewed. I don’t know. I just didn’t like it. The kid said…”
She hesitated, and Scott more than ever needed her to know his was a shoulder she could lean on, his was a confidence that didn’t leak. The old grumble clenched his jaw. Obviously something he hadn’t let Lori feel. Well, that was then. This was now. He had to let Mary Grace know she could depend on him for anything. After all, trust was the first step in a relationship. The most important keystone.
“He asked why I dumped Grant. Said Grant was a good man. Then he pretended to spit on the floor. I didn’t leave Grant, Scott. He left u
s. Maybe I should have taken my own name back, but there’s Creighton…”
Pain tightened her eyes as the words tore from her throat. Scott’s anger at Grant Gibson hurting her, abandoning her, churned in his gut even more than some gnarly impolite kid. As the fountainhead of tears overflowed down her lovely face, constricting his heart, he pulled her close, her pounding heart loud in his ears, her heaving breath soft against his neck. Her spicy scent living real in a haze around them.
“I’m so sorry, Scott.” She mumbled against his chest. “It’s just…just. I want to do well. I need to do well. I…”
“Shhhh.” He crooned into the top of her head, telling the rustle of desire ripping through him now was not the right time for a kiss. “You’re doing well. I’m sure it’s hard, but don’t let one ornery kid ruin your day. Everything else was okay, right?”
She shrugged, shifting a little to peer up at him. “Yeah. And the rest of the class did act shocked at him.”
“There you go. You’ve got fans.” He grinned, waggled a finger under her chin, and tried to coax a smile from her. He was rewarded with a misty one.
“Do you know him? Keith Murphy? Know his family?” she asked.
Sitting back again, he settled her against his shoulder. “Small town. Mrs. Murphy is a single mom. Runs the mercantile. When I did some website work for her, Keith hung around a little, but I don’t know him too well. Likely Kenn can shed some light.”
She scrunched her face. “Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t bother Kenn. I should figure this out on my own.”
“So you didn’t tell Principal Scovell?”
“No. And…” her face turned bright red. “Maybe I should have kept it to myself. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
Hearing those words saddened him a little. He had to admit wanting to be her rock. “Anything, anytime you need. Hope you know that, Mary Grace.”
“Yes, of course.” She snuggled into his warmth for another second. “And I did assign Keith a detention tomorrow after school. For an earlier infraction.” Suddenly she started to laugh out loud, but a derisive sound that soon ended in a groan as she pulled away from him a little. “I just cut off my nose to spite my face. That means we probably won’t get a trail ride in. I’ll have to stay on campus the entire school day and then some.”
