Beyond This Moment (44 page)

"That's actually reassuring to hear:" Daniel laughed softly.

James frowned. "How's that?"

"As far back as I can remember"-Daniel shifted in the saddle"you've had a fire in you for being a man of your word and for telling the truth. And that's a good thing-don't get me wrong. And lest you forget, I know where the seed of that came from:'

James nodded, having told Daniel the truth about his father's infidelities years ago, though he'd never worked up the courage to tell him how closely one of his father's wanderings defined his own story. He was a few months older than Daniel, and Daniel had always held him in such respect. James knew deep down that it wouldn't have changed Daniel's opinion of him, if Daniel had known the truth. But as time went on, the less important it had seemed, and the more James had convinced himself it wasn't necessary for him to know.

"For years, James, you've placed what you thought would be best for the sheriff's office above what might be best for you. Again, that's admirable:" A smile more reminiscent of a boy than a man turned Daniel's mouth. "But I can attest that sharing life with a woman is a mite better than what we used to imagine:"

James smiled, remembering those youthful conversations.

Daniel rested his hand on the pommel. `And now you've met a woman who seems to mean a great deal to you. And as I recall, that's not happened before:' He went quiet for a minute, which wasn't uncommon for him. "I realize you have responsibilities as sheriff, and that you need to be mindful of those, but I'd encourage you not to value those responsibilities over what might be best for you. You deserve the chance to have a life, a wife and children, just like everybody else. And I wouldn't put too much stock in what people might say over all this. There's always going to be `talk. That's the nature of some folks. Mrs. Whitcomb is a widow who's with child. And, yes, she lied about it. But it's not like she's some criminal:' He prodded his horse. "As you've told me time and again, do as God leads you and don't worry about the rest:'

They continued on up the trail, speaking on occasion, but mostly not. James appreciated the time and space to sort out his thoughts in safe company.

From the very beginning, he'd sensed Molly had been hiding something, but never would he have guessed a baby. She hadn't been at church on Sunday morning, which he hadn't found very surprising, not after he'd gotten her home so late, and understanding how their evening had ended. He'd ridden by school on Monday morning to make sure she was all right. He'd only seen her from a distance and was fairly certain she hadn't seen him.

When the trail ended at the top of the mountain, he and Daniel nudged their mounts around and started back down.

"How's Elizabeth feeling these days?" James knew Daniel would know what he meant.

"She's doing well. But getting a little impatient for it to happen. As I am ... I'll admit:"

James knew they'd been trying for a baby, and had hoped Daniel might have good news for him this time. "We missed you both at the town celebration. Miss Matthews offered us her thanks for the elk meat that evening:" He anticipated Daniel's glance.

"How did she know it was us who left it?"

James shrugged. "I'm guessing she saw us." He'd been caught completely off guard when Miss Matthews had thanked him that night. But even more, he'd felt like a hypocrite. Because it had been Daniel's idea to leave the meat for the woman. Not his.

He and Daniel rode on in silence.

`And for courage to follow God's lead, no matter where it takes us." That had been Molly's toast by the fire that night, and with hindsight, it made more sense. She'd been praying for courage to tell him about the baby, and he hadn't taken the news well. That was putting it mildly.

Thinking of the town council meeting that evening, and of what Molly must be going through as she anticipated standing before that group of men and telling them what she'd told him, James offered up that toast as a prayer for them both.

God, give us the courage to follow your lead, no matter where it takes us.

Sitting at her desk, Molly checked her pocket watch, her insides a sick tangle of nerves. Another fifteen minutes until lunch break was over-and another seven hours until the town council meeting when she would find out whether her life in Timber Ridge was over too. No matter what she did, she couldn't erase the memory of how James had last looked at her, and of the hollow disappointment in his eyes.

Though she'd told him the truth-part of it, at least-she felt no relief for having done so. No sense of finally having set things to right. Maybe that was because she'd only told him half the truth, or maybe it was because there would be no sense of "rightness" for her here in Timber Ridge, as she'd grown to hope. The uncertainty of her future corded the knot of emotions tighter in her chest, and she finally rose.

Maybe a brisk walk would help refocus her thoughts. Anything was better than sitting at her desk entertaining dark thoughts. She slipped on her coat and headed outside. Dr. Brookston had encouraged exercise, saying it would help ease the swelling in her hands and feet. Maybe it would also help her nerves.

Being careful of the ice and snow, she took the path that led around where the children were playing. The cool air and movement helped lessen her anxiety, but seeing the smiling faces of the students, hearing their laughter and giggles, and contemplating no longer being their teachereven Kurt Boyd's, wherever he was-only deepened her regret.

Holding on with one hand, Ansley Tucker waved from the high end of the seesaw. "Teacher, is playtime over?"

"Not yet," Molly answered. "You have another ten minutes" She warmed at the surprised smile on Ansley's face when her cute little brother Davy brought her down a little sooner than expected.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Molly continued on around the path, the memory of James's kiss pressing closer than she welcomed. She briefly closed her eyes, recalling his tenderness. At the time, he'd said he hadn't regretted that kiss. But that was before he'd known about the baby. And judging by his silence on the way home, then his response as he'd left her cabin, she guessed his opinion about that kiss-like his opinion about her-had changed dramatically.

And this without his knowing the full story, which she intended to tell him. As soon as she saw him next. Withholding the rest of the truth from him now-only to tell him somewhere down the road-would only make things worse between them. And not telling him wasn't an option anymore. He'd used the word dichotomy Saturday evening, and that's exactly what this was. The more she grew to care about James, the more determined she became not to continue to lie to him, and to everyone else. Even understanding the cost.

Claiming to be a widow who had hidden that she was with child was deceitful. But never having been married and saying she had been to cover for her carrying an illegitimate child-that was unforgivable. She'd been a fool to think the charade would work. She would have to leave Timber Ridge, and there was only one place for her to go-back to Athens and to her family home, at least until the baby was born. Then she would have to figure out her life from there.

She'd made so many mistakes in recent months, and keeping her promise to God was one thing she could do, and would do. No matter what.

Emily Thompson rang the bell indicating classes were to resume, and Molly climbed the stairs to the schoolhouse. She did her best to focus on her afternoon lessons, but after bumbling through a summary lesson of the War of 1812, she sighed and closed her book.

"I'm going to write some addition and multiplication equations on the board"-she heard murmurs behind her-"and I want each of you to record your answers on your slates:" She turned to write on the blackboard. "The first problem is-"

Her piece of chalk broke, which drew giggles. Normally she would've laughed along with them, but not today. She pulled open the top drawer of her desk. No chalk. She reached for the drawer below.

"Dr. Whitcomb?"

She looked up, pulling the next drawer open. "Yes, Amanda?"

"Are you going to give us marks on this?"

Watching other students nod at the question, Molly felt for the chalk. "I very well could, so please, be sure and do your-" Her hand brushed something odd. Something ... leathery. She looked down-and screamed.

A snake! In her drawer. Belly side up. And she'd put her hand right on it! A chill slithered through her.

"What is it, teacher?"

"What's wrong, Dr. Whitcomb?"

Students rose from their seats, but she waved them back, shuddering inside and out. "I'm ... f-fine, children. Stay seated, please:"

She chanced a look back at the drawer, that old fear swelling inside her. The snake is dead. This isn't the lunch pail. This snake is dead. Her legs went weak and she reached behind her for her chair. Breathe, just breathe. She sat down and took big gulps of air, her flesh still crawling. She tried to unbutton the high collar of her dress, then realized the dress didn't have a high collar.

Hearing sobs, she saw some of the younger children crying. Older students wore concern, wide-eyed and watchful-all except for Kurt Boyd, who sat in the back, a ghost of a grin on his impish little face.

Her anger flared. Furious and embarrassed, she knew she needed to get ahold of herself. She was the teacher, after all, and-

The snake rolled over and raised its head.

Molly scrambled back so fast her chair toppled and took her with it. She fell hard on her hip and shoulder. The air left her lungs in a rush.

"Teacher!" a tiny voice screamed.

Lying curled on her side, Molly blinked, seeing stars, pain shooting down her back. She slowly pushed up to a sitting position, the clamor of footsteps growing close. She held her head and slowly regained her focus-in time to see the snake slither up and over her desk.

Later that afternoon, after tutoring Angelo, and with the children's marks recorded in her teacher's book, Molly sat up straighter in her chair and rubbed her lower back, trying to relieve the dull throb. The cushion in her chair helped, but her tailbone ached from the earlier fall.

Embarrassment flooded her again, recalling how she'd reacted to seeing that snake, and with every student watching. Including Amanda Spivey, who, no doubt, was reliving every dramatic detail to her mother at this very moment. Bless Billy Bolden's heart-the boy had removed the snake, then checked the rest of the drawers for anything else that might have been lurking.

What made her reaction to the snake even worse was that it wasn't poisonous. Billy had explained to her that it was a hognose snake, and that they "played dead" when they got scared. Thinking of it now, she should have told the class that was what she'd been doing too.

Massaging her left shoulder, Molly angled her neck from side to side. That little Kurt Boyd ...

In front of the entire class, she'd challenged him about putting the snake in her drawer. And three times, he had denied it. She had no proof, but she knew he'd done it.

She checked the time-as she'd done repeatedly all day-and felt the minutes ticking past, bringing her closer to her meeting with the town council. She looked down and placed a hand over the gentle rise hidden beneath the folds of her dress. As much as she'd hoped early on that this child couldn't detect her lack of love, she prayed now that the tiny life inside her would know how very much she did love him, or her.

The door opened with a creak, and she looked up.

Rachel stood in the entryway, somber and wordless. Kurt walked in behind her, head bowed. Together, they approached her desk.

Kurt took hesitant steps, his little chest rising and falling in quick, stuttered breaths. He looked up at his mother, then back at her, then tucked his trembling chin again, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. This was a side of Kurt Boyd she'd not seen.

"Dr. Whitcomb-" Rachel's tone was understandably formal. "I've learned what happened in class today." She glanced sideways at her son. "Kurt and I have discussed it at length, and he has something he wants to say to you:"

Kurt lifted his head, his little-boy cheeks smudged with dirt and damp with tears. "I put the snake in your drawer, Dr. Whitcomb. And I'm sorry."

He delivered the apology with surprisingly little effort, and Molly wasn't fully convinced of its sincerity, yet didn't feel at liberty to question it. "I accept your apology, Kurt, and I appreciate your coming back this afternoon to offer it"

"Mitchell told me what happened, when they got home:" Rachel's voice wavered. She had a tired, defeated look about her. "I went and checked, and sure enough, the cage was empty. That's when I knew."

The cage? Molly cringed. Rachel allowed the boys to keep snakes as pets?

"Be assured, Dr. Whitcomb, that I've applied the appropriate discipline for what Kurt has done. And that I'm deeply sorry this happened. It will not happen again;' she said, looking closer to tears than a tirade.

"Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate that:" But looking at Kurt peering up at her beneath hooded eyes, Molly couldn't help but question the assurance of that guarantee. Something told her there was another motivation behind the boy's apology other than regretting the scare he'd given her, or even the threat of future discipline from his mother.