Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (11 page)

Joey was a foreman at the feed mill, and Mr. Parker
worked part-time for Bill Taylor at the shipping office.
They had a comfortable house in town, and Mr. Parker
was seeing a lovely widow he'd met at the church. Marcail met her one Sunday and thought she was very
special.

It was wonderful just to be back under the solid Bible
teaching of Pastor Keller. Marcail couldn't help but feel
saddened when she thought of her Pastor Zimler in
Willits and his complacent attitude toward the Word of
God.

As difficult as it was to go back to what seemed a
spiritual wasteland, Marcail found as the days passed that she could hardly sit still for the thought of returning. She missed her students and her little house so
much that she dreamed of them the night before she left.
She knew she would miss her family once again, but
strangely she found herself thinking of Dr. Montgomery
as she boarded the train for Willits.

Marcail couldn't believe how good it felt to step off
the train in Willits. The scenery on the ride north was a
little more familiar this time. As the train lumbered its
way through the mountains and valleys en route to her
home, Marcail reveled in the beauty from the window.

There was a slight pang of loneliness when no one was
at the train station to meet her, but then she hadn't been
able to tell Allie exactly when she was scheduled to
arrive.

Mentally thanking Rigg and Katie for the new coat she
wore, Marcail started her walk home. She felt snug and
warm as she pulled the high collar around the back of her
head. Her new boots, a gift from her father, were a little
stiff at first, but they were already feeling better by the
time her house came into view.

Marcail breathed in the crisp, cold air as she walked,
and not until she drew near her front porch did she
recognize the sound of someone chopping wood. She
peeked around the corner of the house to find Alex in
shirtsleeves and swinging an ax.

He had come into her thoughts at odd times while in
Santa Rosa, and each time Marcail had prayed very
specifically about her feelings. If she was very honest with herself-and she usually tried to be-he still made
her uncomfortable. But she was also fascinated.

Lost in her thoughts, Marcail stood long enough that
Alex eventually noticed her. Marcail watched as he set
the ax down, drew a handkerchief from his rear pocket,
and came toward her.

"Welcome home," he said as he wiped the back of his
neck. He stopped before her and couldn't hold the smile
that stretched over his face at the very sight of her.

"Thank you. It's nice to be back."

Alex's smile deepened over the sincerity he saw in
her eyes. When she had boarded the train to Santa Rosa
he had wondered if he would ever see her again. The
thought had given him no peace of mind. When she still
hadn't returned on Saturday and school was scheduled
to resume on Monday, he became concerned. He purposely left her wood until Sunday in hopes that he would
be there when she returned.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" Marcail's voice was
tentative, telling Alex how hard it was for her to make
simple conversation with him.

"Yes, I did, thank you. How about yourself?"

"It was very nice."

"Did you get a new coat?"

"Oh, yes, I did." Marcail's voice told of her surprise
that he had noticed. She didn't realize he noticed most
everything about her. She touched the lapel on the long,
single-breasted navy coat.

"Thank you for chopping the wood," Marcail blurted
suddenly, just remembering she hadn't done so.

"You're welcome."

The silence between them deepened, and after a few
moments Alex rescued Marcail by going back to work.
Once in the house, Marcail listened to the sounds from outside. Her mind ran in numerous veins, and unfortunately she stood daydreaming even after the chopping
stopped and all grew quiet.

It was then that Marcail noticed that Alex had lit a fire
in her stove. Her heavy coat must have kept her from
noticing the heat when she first walked in. Marcail
moved swiftly to her front door, opened it, and looked
out. But she was too late. Alex, astride his horse, was
almost back to his own house and much too far to hear
her voice.

Nearly a week had passed since Marcail had returned
to work, and it was now Saturday, her day to bake
and shop in town. She was just about to walk into the
dry goods store when Mrs. Duckworth's stringent tone
sounded in the cold January air. The sound of her voice
could be heard from down the block.

"Don't tell me I don't have the right! I own this building, and if I request to see your books, then I expect to see
them!"

Marcail did not hear the hotel owner's reply, but she
did spot Sydney sitting in his grandmother's carriage
out front. She approached with a smile.

"Hi, Sydney."

"Hello, Miss Donovan." Sydney smiled with genuine
pleasure at the sight of her. It was obviously one of his
good days.

Marcail nearly shook her head in wonder. She'd never
met a more cordial child when he determined to be so.
His manners were perfection itself. Get on his wrong
side on a bad day, however, and look out! Anything
could happen.

"It's getting colder all the time, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," the boy replied. "My grandmother says
that because last year was so mild we'll have a heavy
snowfall this year."

"Well, she is the person to listen to, since she's lived
here so many years."

As if sensing she was the topic of discussion, Mrs.
Duckworth suddenly appeared at Marcail's side.

"How do you do, Mrs. Duckworth?"

"I am well, Miss Donovan. I understand you went to
Santa Rosa for Christmas." This last statement sounded
like a rebuke.

"Yes, I did. It was nice to see my family." Marcail's
voice was friendly, but she struggled with the feeling
that she'd done something wrong by not checking with
Mrs. Duckworth before leaving. The feeling increased
when she noticed Mrs. Duckworth's scrutiny of her new
coat and boots.

Marcail's chin rose slightly as Mrs. Duckworth's gaze
met her own. The younger woman's eyes were calm, and
there was no sign of the groveling this tyrannical woman
was usually afforded from the Willits townspeople.

Mrs. Duckworth found herself wondering how she
could have admired the girl's spunk on their first meeting. At the moment she found Marcail's confidence quite
rude. Were it not for Sydney's admiration of her, she'd be
tempted to give her the sack for such impertinence.

"I won't keep you," Marcail said after a moment. "I'll
see you on Monday, Sydney. Good day, Mrs. Duckworth."

Marcail waved and went on her way. She wasn't long
in town that day, and once she got home and began her
laundry she found her mind straying back to Mrs. Duckworth. No one should have the godlike power that Mrs.
Duckworth wielded. Of course, that was the problemno one was bold enough to tell her so.

Marcail realized with a start that she was bold enough,
but knowing the people of Willits would suffer for her
words stopped her in her tracks.

Marcail spent the day thinking about why, beyond
her teaching position, God might have brought her to
Willits. Often she was tempted to quit, but God always
detained her with a gentle reminder that her example to
the townspeople, her students, and especially Sydney
might bring them to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.

Marcail's hand went to the back of her neck to rub at a
sore spot. It was a cloudy Friday afternoon, and the children had been gone for about 15 minutes. From her place
at the desk, Marcail glanced outside and stared for a
moment.

It took some seconds to realize it was snowing. A few
inches had already accumulated on the ground from the
two different nights it had snowed, and for an instant
Marcail thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Finally convinced that snow was falling, Marcail rose
quickly from her desk and hurried toward the door. She
pulled the school door shut behind her and stood for a
moment, her face lifted toward the sky.

Marcail Donovan had never seen it snow. Having
grown up in the tropics and then living in Santa Rosa,
where it had snowed only twice and at night when they
were all asleep, left her more than a little curious and
excited about actually watching it snow.

In a near trance she walked down the steps with her
hands spread wide to catch the white particles falling to
the ground. Her tongue came out as she tried to taste a
snowflake.

She had not taken time to grab her coat and was
surprised at how warm it felt outside with only her
sweater. Marcail began walking toward the trees that
lined the road in the distance, loving the way the snow
looked against the backdrop they formed. She entered a
small copse of oaks and spent the next 20 minutes alternating between standing under their shelter and dashing
out into the snow to make new tracks and feel the cold
flakes on her face.

Marcail became aware of the cold about ten minutes
too late. She wrapped her sweater a little more tightly
about her and scolded herself for not taking her coat.
The clouds had thickened and the wind had picked up
suddenly, and as Marcail came back onto the road she
realized that having the snow blowing in her face was no
longer fun.

She squinted against the sting in her eyes and wondered how she could have been so foolish as to come this
far from the school. She decided to make a run for it, and
ran a good 30 yards before realizing she was going in the
wrong direction. She turned back, but the wind caught
her breath so suddenly that she decided to take refuge
once again under the trees.

At what she assumed to be the edge of the road,
Marcail tripped. She fell hard onto her face, her dress
suddenly feeling very wet. Marcail began to shiver so
severely she could hardly stand up. When she finally
pushed off the ground, she was certain she was heading
toward safety, but only a few steps told her she was
guessing.

She pressed on, praying for help. Suddenly a dark
object loomed before her. For an instant Marcail thought
she had found the schoolhouse, but by then she didn't
really care. Her only concern was to escape the freezing
wind and somehow warm her icy limbs.

The exterior of the building was rough under her
hands as Marcail felt her way around a corner. She nearly
missed the odd latch on the wall before her. She fumbled
for just a moment before the door slid open and the wind
nearly blew her inside. Marcail gasped for every breath
as she slid the door shut. She turned and leaned against
the wall and then blinked in confusion. Dr. Montgomery
was headed toward her with a lantern held high.

"I got caught in the snow," Marcail's voice shook as
the doctor approached in disbelief.

"Where is your coat?" Alex asked, as he moved to the
single window by the door and peered through the glass.