A Storybook Finish (6 page)

to do.

“I see you have the thermometer chart up,” Lindsay noted.

48 “Good. This will help the students remember their goal and

how much they need to sell to reach that goal. Today you

should find out the first day’s totals. This will give us an idea

of how to proceed.”

Her business-like attitude grated on him. If he could only

find out more about the flesh-and-bone woman existing

beneath the cold business attire. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, if we need to give the students further incentives

to sell more. After a few days they start to slow down. You

want to keep the momentum going. When the weekend rolls

around, you also want them to sell to church people, relatives,

and so on.” She opened her leather briefcase and pulled out a

stack of small cards. “This is where cash cards come in handy.

I’ll leave a packet with you to show the students when they

come to class.”

Jeff reached for the cards. Lindsay’s fingers were long and

slender with nails painted a juicy, ripe plum. Several rings

dotted those fingers, but no sign of a diamond. Her fingers

trembled slightly as they brushed his, or maybe it was his

imagination. “What are these again?”

“Cash cards. If the students sell five or more items over the

weekend, they get one of these cards to scratch for cash. The

cards come in various amounts—one dollar, two dollars, five,

ten, twenty-five, up to one hundred dollars. Because this is an

incentive, the teacher pays for this part of the program.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I like this idea, Miss

Thomas. First you want kids to gamble, which really goes

against my beliefs. Then you expect me to cut into my profit

to pay for it.”

He watched a slow flush crawl into her cheeks. The defensive

shields went up quicker than a galactic star fighter. “Mr.

49

Wheeler, this is not gambling. Gambling is when you waste

money on a game of chance. This is simply providing the students

with a personal goal. They’ll work harder if they have

the opportunity of winning cash for themselves. Let’s face it—

we all need a push sometimes to work harder. We do better

when we feel we are striving for something.”

“Well, their goal is the junior prom, not extra cash in their

wallets. If they don’t meet it, they don’t have a dance. It’s

pretty simple.”

Lindsay picked up the cards and put them in her briefcase.

She stood to her feet. “I’m sorry I suggested this. I don’t

agree with gambling, either, but I think of this as a paycheck

for a job well done. If they sell well, they earn something in

return.”

Jeff frowned over the way this meeting was turning out. Not

only had he rattled her, but he found himself turning edgy as

well. He stood, reached out a hand, and touched Lindsay’s

arm. She spun in his direction, with a look of surprise on her

face. “I know I don’t have the expertise you do. If you think

this will help them sell more, then we’ll do it. I want this

project to succeed.”

The jagged lines creasing her face softened at once. Her

hand dug into the briefcase and withdrew the cards. The

trembling fingers returned. “So you want them?”

“Sure.” He took the cards. All at once the door to his room

banged open, accompanied by loud voices. Jeff’s star pupil,

Troy, walked in, followed by Jewel, who trailed him like a

puppy dog.

“Hey,” Troy said easily.

“Oh, it’s Miss Thomas!” Jewel exclaimed. “We went to the

Hickory Diner yesterday, Troy, and had a great time. I never

50 knew teachers could be sweet.”

“Yeah, maybe you ought to have her be a chaperone on the

trip, Mr. Wheeler.”

Jeff blinked, realizing what Troy was referring to—the trip

to Washington, D.C., this weekend when he planned to take

ten of his star history pupils on a tour of the sites. He’d

mentioned to Troy his desire for finding one other adult to

accompany them, for the safety of the group. He had asked

several teachers but found none available. “I’m sure Miss

Thomas has other plans.”

“You don’t have other plans, do you, Miss Thomas?” Jewel

asked. “I think it would be sweet for you to come along. We’re

gonna have a great time. How about it?”

Jeff waited for a look of consternation to form on Lindsay’s

sleek face at this sudden invitation. He stood there, counting to

five, anticipating the certain no, she had a dinner date that

night with handsome Harry or a hair appointment at the salon.

“I haven’t been to D.C. since I was little. If it’s okay with

your teacher—”

Jeff nearly fell over. His knees began to wobble. He grabbed

the corner of his desk to steady himself.

“Of course it’s okay with Mr. Wheeler, right?”

“Sure,” he croaked.

Lindsay went over to Jewel and began talking with her in a

hushed voice. Jeff observed the interaction between the two.

He couldn’t help but marvel how Lindsay integrated with the

students, much in the same way she’d captured their attention

that day in the auditorium. Maybe she wasn’t all Goofy

phones and Silly Slammers, business and boyfriends. Maybe

there was more to her than met the eye.

51

Later that night Lindsay called Jeff to discuss the students’

reaction to the cards. After she slogged her way through the

sales pitch, explaining how effective the cards would be in

motivating the students to sell over the weekend, he waited

for the other items on her agenda.

“Oh, and about the trip this weekend to Washington, D.C.”

Here it comes. She has a list of ideas for running the trip,

like she did the fundraiser, as if she has the history degree.

“I will totally understand if you don’t think it’s appropriate

for me to go,” she began. “I realize I’m not on the school faculty.

In fact, it’s probably better if you had a fellow teacher go

instead. Or maybe a parent.”

Jeff had been all set to remind her this was his trip and he

knew exactly what to do and where to go. Instead, her innocent

inquiry caught him off guard. No other teachers were

interested in participating. No one in high school liked

American history that much. The teachers were more into

ancient civilizations and European history. At times, Jeff felt

out of place talking with them. He recalled one debate with a

teacher who passionately pleaded the cause of England during

the American Revolution. Jeff countered the statements

with patriotic quotes, using documents to support his claims.

The debate grew quite hot until Jeff inquired if the man’s

relatives had Loyalist leanings. That comment drew a look of

hostility and a slammed door in his face.

“Mr. Wheeler?”

“There isn’t anyone else. The teachers are busy and I never

asked any of the parents. If you want to go, that’s fine with

me, but I thought you disliked history.”

“I do if I have to sit at a desk and listen to a teacher read

out of a textbook. I like taking trips, though. I guess I’d better

52 like it with all the traveling I do for my job.”

“So you don’t work only in this area?”

“Oh, no. My sales territory spans six counties. It seems as if

I spend more time in my car driving to appointments than at

the schools conducting business. Not to say I don’t like to

drive, because I do. Sometimes, though, I wouldn’t mind if all

my schools were just around the corner. Then I wouldn’t have

to leave the house at six A.M. before the sun is even up. In the

winter, I have to get up while it’s still dark out. I don’t arrive

home until after dark.”

“Must be difficult.”

“It’s not too bad. So what time shall we meet?”

“We’re meeting at the school at eight A.M. sharp. We’re taking

a school van up to D.C. It takes about two hours to get

there. Be sure you bring money for food and souvenirs, a notebook,

permission slip—” He felt the heat rise in his face. “Sorry. I’m

used to telling the students what they need to bring.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. All right—eight A.M. sharp.

See you then.”

The dial tone buzzed. Jeff wondered what she meant by

taking his blunder as a compliment. Did she mean her age?

She shouldn’t feel old, that’s for certain. She had a youthful

vitality about her, especially when it came to giving presentations

in front of the students. Maybe it was part of the

female psyche, worrying about gray hair and wrinkles. His

sister, Candy, worried about it all the time. He recalled

Candy finding a gray hair at age sixteen and pleading with

him to pull it out.

Are you crazy?” he told her. “You want me to pull out your

gray hair? If I pulled out all of Grandma’s gray hair, she’d

be bald.”

53 “I’m too young to have gray hair. Just do it.” Candy scrunched her

eyes shut and waited. He did what she wanted

and gave a yank. She then examined the strand like a biologist,

comparing it to her natural hair, before tossing it aside.

Lindsay, however, had thick brown hair with a bit of wave,

a smooth face without blemishes and expressive fudge

brownie eyes that always seemed happy no matter what the

situation. Jeff shook his head. He shouldn’t be dwelling on

Lindsay. They had nothing in common. They were like oil

and water, night and day, canines to felines. She was a fundraiser

who disliked history but needed work, and he was a

history teacher with no money who needed to raise some real

quickly. They only needed each other out of necessity and

nothing more.

54 Lindsay arrived on schedule at the school, wondering why

she’d agreed to accompany Jeff Wheeler anywhere, especially

on an all-day field trip to Washington, D.C. She swung a bag

over her shoulder that contained a camera, a bottle of spring

water, and several granola bars. That morning she’d prayed

long and hard for the patience to put up with whatever

zoomed out of Jeff’s mouth. There was no telling what he

might say. She only hoped he wouldn’t ridicule her for her

lack of intelligence in the area of history.

She never told him her grade in school on the subject, low

enough that her parents docked her allowance and made her

take summer school. History was boring to Lindsay. Who

cared about names, dates, and facts concerning people who

were dead and buried? Sure, they accomplished great things

in starting the United States, but it made little sense to

rehash it all now. Lindsay’s number one goal on this trip was

to spend time with Jewel and the other students amid the

tall, white marbled monuments and buildings. Her agenda

was people, not history.

Jeff was already there at the school when Lindsay arrived.

He sat on a bench, studying a tour book of Washington, D.C.

He never looked up but jotted down notes on a notepad. She

stood by patiently, curious to know if he planned to outline

his expectations for this trip. Finally, she ventured forward

and issued a pleasant good morning, hoping to get the day

55

off on the right foot.

“Morning,” he said quickly.

Lindsay shifted the bag to the other shoulder and felt her

knees begin to waver. She steadied her voice. “I was just wondering

what my duties for the trip will be, Mr. Wheeler.”

At last he peered up at her with those same blue eyes that

had captivated her in other meetings. In a way, his eyes

seemed sad. Her mother often said that eyes could tell a great

deal about people—if they were sick or if they were going

through a difficult time. She called them the gateway to

people’s souls. Perhaps those intense blue eyes were doors to

some sadness buried away within JeffWheeler.

“You can call me Jeff. Just keep the class together. Don’t let

the students stray. If they have needs or want to see something,

then bring it to my attention.” He returned to the book.

Lindsay stepped closer to catch a glimpse of the title. In

God We Trust Tour Guide. She stood back with a start. Why

would a history teacher be studying a Christian tour book?

Could it be that JeffWheeler was a Christian?

“No way,” she said out loud.

The comment drew a puzzled look from him. “Excuse me?”

“Uh, I was—I was curious about the book you’re reading.”

“We’re going to use it to help navigate us through the sites in

Washington, D.C. It has some great facts in it. Take this, for

instance. Did you know the aluminum tip on top of the capstone

on the Washington Monument has the words Laus Deo

inscribed on it? It means Praise Be to God. Yes, and it’s right

on the Washington Monument, the tallest masonry structure

in the world.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Nobody does. All the monuments speak about God.

56 Everyone is so interested in taking God out of schools and

out of our communities that they don’t realize there are monuments

and sculptures with religious sayings all over them,

right in the heart of our government. What are they going to

do? Tear down the monuments? Shred the documents that

served as the foundation for who we are today? Erase it all

and pretend our Christian roots never existed?”

Lindsay fiddled with the strap to her bag. She had little

doubt now that Jeffwas a Christian, and a devout one at that.

Why then had he been so obstinate with her during the fundraising

program? Well, Lindsay, ol’ girl, are you perfect yet? Did

you ever stop to think there might be more to Jeff than his gruff

exterior?

“That’s a good point,” she managed to say. “And our currency

even says ‘In God We Trust’ on it.”

“That was added during the Civil War. An appropriate

time, don’t you think—our country embroiled in the worst

war known to mankind, with brother slaying brother.”

He shut his book in an instant and glanced up. Several cars

pulled into the school parking lot. Students poured out of

them, smiling and talking with each other, excited about the

day they were going to spend in the nation’s capital. Troy and

Jewel came forward, talking in heightened voices about the

time as young kids they had toured Washington, D.C. They

mentioned how the buildings seemed like something out of a

fairy tale, with gleaming snow-white structures hovering

above them, and then their awe at seeing the famous residence

of the president of the United States.

Lindsay examined the makeup of the group with curiosity.

Four guys and five girls. A manageable number from what she

could determine. Nothing like handling hundreds of students