Authors: Shirley Raye Redmond
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On Monday morning, Gil discovered he couldn't get thoughts of Amanda Dale out of his mind. While helping his younger students with their sums and the older ones with fractions, he kept recalling her smiling face and flushed cheeks as she presided over the supper table in her sister's homey kitchen. He'd been entranced by the clear depths of her dark brown eyes. There was no guile in her eyes, no smoldering anger or simmering resentment. However, he had noticed the sadness there. Recognizing it for what it was, he'd felt a strong desire to protect her from further disappointment and grief. Never before had he felt such a strong, protective urge for a woman.
As Rex Stewart volunteered to come to the front of the class to locate Great Britain on the world map, Gil noted how similar his chin and cheekbones were to his pretty aunt's. When he wasn't dwelling on Amanda's grit and grace, Gil was thinking about his after school appointment with Mr. Oz Lancaster. He dreaded the meeting. The rough, gravel-voiced farmer would not take kindly to Gil's assessment of his only son's weak points â Ozzie was a poor student and a bully besides. Gil had never yet punished a student with the switch, but Ozzie had tempted him more than once.
Before dismissing the students for lunch recess, Gil asked Rex, Jerry, and the other students who had gone on the field trip to come forward and share with the class what they found most interesting about their explorations of the ruins. While the youngsters talked about the seated skeleton and the artifacts, now on display on a table at the back of the room, Gil recalled how Amanda had expressed her willingness to accompany them again on a similar outing in the future â if she was able to get away. She'd actually seemed eager to do so. Or was it only wishful thinking on his part, he wondered?
He was still thinking about Amanda Dale while eating his cheese and pickle sandwich at his desk during lunch recess. Glancing toward the slightly open window, Gil watched a swirl of yellow and brown leaves pirouette past. He could hear his students playing outside in the autumn sunshine. Through the open window, he also heard Ozzie Lancaster call Rex the teacher's pet. Gil stopped chewing.
"You're a cry baby too," Ozzie went on in a loud, challenging voice.
"I am not!" Rex replied.
"Yes, you are!" Ozzie said. "You're a cry baby and big fat stinking chicken boy."
"You smell like a pig and that's worse!" Rex shouted back.
"Bet your ma smells like a stinking chicken too," Ozzie went on.
"Take it back!" Rex said. Gil could hear the anger in Rex's tremulous voice.
"Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me red! Old Man Stewart fell on his head, and now he's dead!" Ozzie taunted.
Gil dropped his unfinished sandwich on the desk. This had gone far enough! By the time he had almost made it down the schoolhouse steps, Greta dashed up to meet him, her long braids flapping against her back.
"Mr. Gladney! Rex and Ozzie are fighting!" she informed him in a breathless rush.
"Yes, Greta, I know."
Gil saw the two boys embraced in a fierce scuffle outside under the window. The other kids shouted at them, some egging the boys on, others hollering for them to stop and warning them the teacher was coming. Rex and Ozzie pushed and shoved one another. To Gil's relief, they had not resorted to using their fists yet. Ozzie Lancaster was a head taller than Rex Stewart and easily outweighed the smaller boy by fifteen or twenty pounds. Gil feared Rex would get a black eye or worse.
"Break it up, boys!" he ordered, making his way toward them. "Now!"
"He started it!" Jerry Snow insisted. He pointed to Ozzie.
"I don't care who started it," Gil said. "I'm stopping it."
As the boys fell apart, Gil stepped into the gap, separating them even further. He looked from one to the other. Rex panted. His face was flushed. Ozzie wore a sneery smile, which hardened Gil's heart against him. Help me, Lord, to keep my temper, he prayed.
"Rex, sit on the steps, and stay there." Turning to Ozzie, he said, "You come with me."
When Ozzie hesitated, Gil grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him into the schoolhouse. He shoved the boy down into one of the desks in the front row. "I heard what you said, Ozzie. It was cruel. I'll not have that kind of behavior in my school. I want you to write the Golden Rule one hundred times on the blackboard. You will stay until it's done."
He pointed to a hand carved plaque on the wall near the American flag, which read, Do Unto Others, As You Would Have Them Do Unto You.
"One hundred times," Gil repeated in such a dangerously low voice Ozzie actually appeared to shrink in his seat. Although the boy's dark eyes burned with resentment, he said nothing. "Do you understand me?" Gil demanded, his anger close to the surface.
Ozzie answered meekly, "Yes, sir." He shrugged and wiped his runny nose on the back of his sleeve.
"Your father is coming this afternoon to see me," Gil went on. He was pleased by the wary look that flashed across the boy's sullen face following this unexpected announcement. "I'm going to tell him what you've done. The other students are here to learn, Ozzie. Why are you here?"
"My dad makes me come," Ozzie replied. He watched Gil with wary eyes.
"I imagine he'll be keenly disappointed to learn about your poor academic performance. I'm considering expelling you from school altogether," Gil told him. "You may get started now, writing on the board. One hundred times."
As Gil ran both hands through his hair in frustration, he watched Ozzie reluctantly approach the blackboard. After retrieving the hand bell from his desk, Gil called recess to an end and observed the rest of his students as they marched back into the schoolroom. Rex obediently remained seated on the bottom step outside. Gil organized a spelling bee and picked two team captains. He selected one of the teenage girls to call out words from the speller and joined Rex on the steps outside.
"Let me see your face," Gil said. "Your Aunt Amanda will never forgive me if I send you home with a bloody lip or black eye."
Rex jerked his face toward him, his eyes large and frightened. "I'm all right. Honest." His voice sounded small. "I just wish things could go back to the way they were before⦠before Pa died."
"That's not going to happen, you know." Gil placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Ozzie was cruel. He's being punished, and I'm sending you home early â now."
At the sight of alarm on the boy's face, he quickly added, "You're not in trouble, Rex. I just don't think you'll be able to concentrate on your studies the rest of the afternoon. Go home, and help your aunt with the chores."
"Should I take my arithmetic book?" Rex asked.
Gil nodded. "You'd better take your speller too. You're going to have to study hard if you want a chance to beat Caroline Lister in the spelling bee next month."
He gave Rex a slow grin. Rex grinned back. Gil marveled at the resiliency of youth.
The rest of the afternoon sped by. At three o'clock, Gil dismissed school for the day. While Ozzie slowly scratched words on the blackboard with an occasional squeak of the chalk, Gil graded the essays written earlier in the day by the oldest students in their composition notebooks. Occasionally, he'd glance up, expecting to hear the heavy clomp of Mr. Lancaster's boots on the steps. Ozzie also glanced over his shoulder at the door now and then. Whether the boy was looking forward to his father's arrival or dreading it, Gil couldn't tell. The minutes ticked by. Gil checked his pocket watch more than once. By four-thirty, Ozzie put down the chalk and stood back to admire his scrawl. Lancaster still hadn't arrived. He had no choice but to allow the boy to leave.
After Ozzie's departure, Gil decided to go for a walk along the river, just to clear his head. It had been a long day. He'd waited for Ozzie's father long enough. If the man came while he was out, it would be his turn to wait. Deciding he would leave the schoolroom door unlocked, Gil was stacking books on the corner of his desk when he heard rapid footsteps running up the steps just as he was preparing to leave for his walk. They were too quick and light to belong to the plodding farmer, Gil knew. He turned just as Caroline Lister flung open the door. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks pink. Thick, brown curls hung down her back like long, swaying sausages.
"Mr. Gladney!" she gasped. "Grandpa told me to deliver this right away. It's a telegram." She thrust a yellow envelope at him.
"Thank you, Caroline," he said, eagerly taking it from her. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a nickel and offered it to her. She shook her head, not wanting to take it. The curls swayed.
"It's always proper to tip the deliverer of a telegram," Gil told her with a smile. "Buy yourself some candy." He pressed it into her open hand.
"Thanks, Mr. Gladney. See you tomorrow."
Gil didn't wait for her to disappear out the door before opening the telegram. He scanned its contents, chuckled, and read the message from his friend again:
ON MY WAY STOP
BRINGING ATALANTA STOP
NATE
He laughed out loud. His students were in for a rare treat. Why, the whole village would soon be talking about nothing else but Nate Phillips and his beautiful Atalanta!
Doctor Morgan proved true to his word. When Karl Schwarzkopf arrived the next morning, for his weekly visit to collect the crates of eggs Amanda had stored in the root cellar, he brought an army cot with him.
"For the boy," he told her. "Herr Doctor tell me to bring it when I come."
"Thank you so much," Amanda said, asking him to carry it into the sitting room. Bonita followed after him, her broken tail wagging like a conductor's baton. "Poor Rex has been sleeping on the floor since I arrived. I wasn't concerned at first. It was summer, and the weather was warm. But nowâ¦"
She let her statement trail away. Amanda wanted to bring up the money situation and was embarrassed about having to do so. She'd never been in such a predicament before.
The tall storekeeper nodded as he ran one beefy hand through his dark hair. He went back outside and returned with a large box filled with groceries â coffee, brown sugar, flour, cornmeal, tinned milk, dried navy beans, and other staples. Something long and fragrant-smelling, wrapped in a white linen cloth, balanced on the top.
"My vife send this. It is apple strudel. Is goot. She make goot strudel," he assured her with a beaming smile, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.
Unwrapping the pastry, Amanda took a whiff. "It smells delicious. Please thank her for me. It was so thoughtful."
"Herr Doctor also say tomorrow he bring his vife to sit with the sister while he take you to bank," Karl added.
Amanda licked her dry lips and placed the strudel on the kitchen table. Wiping her hands nervously on the front of her apron, she said, "Mr. Schwarzkopf, I glanced through my brother-in-law's financial ledger yesterday. I'm concerned we may owe you quite a bit of money. Rex explained how you keep a tally andâ¦"
Karl raised his large hand. "Do not vorry, Miss Dale. You owe me no money. Randall build credit with me before he die. Here," he indicated the box of groceries, "is all paid for." She must have looked doubtful, because he quickly added, "Next time I come, I bring you statement. Is dat goot? Then you can see numbers."
Amanda sighed with relief. "Yes, please, that would be helpful. You see, my sister owes money to the bank, and we must pay Doctor Morgan too, and there is no cash in the house, and I've been worried about the debt."
Amanda felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. She didn't know why she was rambling on so. Perhaps it was the sympathetic expression on the storekeeper's face that made her feel like confiding in him. As she toyed with the idea of boldly requesting money for today's eggs, the man made the offer himself.
"I give you cash for eggs today," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Schwarkopf," Amanda's spirits hovered between joy and anxiety. Following him out the door onto the porch, she added, "There aren't as many eggs as we'd hoped. Some sort of predator has been killing the chickens."
"Not goot!" he said as he unloaded several bags of chicken feed. He propped them against the porch steps. Looking down at Bonita, he added, "Keep dat dog outside at night."
"Yes, we will," Amanda assured him. While he went to the root cellar to retrieve the eggs, she went back inside to unload the groceries. There was even a smoked ham wrapped in brown paper, which she hoped they could indeed afford. She bit her lip when she saw the small bag of caramel bull's eyes buried at the bottom. Rex's favorite. The boy would be delighted. Did Mr. Schwarzkopf know how long it had been since Rex had had a treat like candy?
Her nephew had been unusually quiet ever since he'd come home early from school yesterday, following the fight with Ozzie Lancaster. At first, when he'd told her what had happened, Amanda felt anger and embarrassment. What must Gil Gladney think of him? Of Ella? Of her? She wondered if Gil expected her to punish Rex. How would Randall and Ella have handled a situation like this?
"I'm sorry, Aunt Mandy, but when Ozzie said Mama smelled like a stinking old chicken, I lost my temper," Rex confessed, his voice full of feeling. "He wouldn't take it back, so I flew into him like a tornado."
Speechless with dismay, Amanda had said nothing at the time. Now she was glad she'd held her tongue. Following the unpleasant incident, Rex had thrown himself into his chores. He'd even given old Toby a good currying before she'd called him in for supper. Later, he'd spent all night with his nose in his schoolbooks, no doubt dreading what she'd say to him regarding the fight with the Lancaster boy.
Bone tired, she'd stood on the porch watching the sky later in the evening. Somewhere, a lonely coyote howled. Restless hens clucked and fussed. A storm was coming, so there was no brilliant display of the orange, pink, and yellow she so enjoyed at sunset each day. Instead, the landscape was gray and dreary. Like my life, she thought mournfully. A dull gray past and a dull gray present. Amanda could barely recall the days when she wasn't tending one sick parent or the other. Now there was Ella to care for. If Ella died too, she'd be responsible for Rex and Minnie. Although she'd borne her responsibilities dutifully, Amanda was tired of being dutiful. She feared her cup of patient cheerfulness was now nearly empty â down to the dregs. Her youth was gone forever. Nothing could ever bring back those years. How she longed for a rosy future. Was it wrong to want a life with more color in it? Was it wrong to want someone to love â someone who would love her back?