Marcail turned away to finish cutting out the biscuits. Her hand was moving the cutter so hard against the breadboard it was leaving marks. Alex was relieved she’d turned her back because his whole body was shaking with silent laughter. He was not quite under control when Marcail turned to look at him and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Ten minutes later Marcail finished putting the bowls and plates on the table with unusual force, and they sat down to eat. Alex kept his prayer of thanks very brief. The meal was half over before he decided that Marcail was calm.
“What did you do with the chicken?” Alex asked conversationally.
“I let it go at the edge of the woods,” she told him softly. “I just couldn’t bring myself to kill it.”
“She won’t survive, you know,” Alex told her, compassion filling his voice. “Some fox or another predator will make a meal of her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’d have been glad to kill it if you’d asked me.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to pluck it, let alone eat it, once I’d seen it alive.”
Alex suddenly began to chuckle again.
“Don’t you laugh at me, Alex Montgomery!” Marcail tried to sound stern, but failed.
“Honestly, Marc, my mind raced to figure out what I’d done, and lo and behold I’m in the doghouse over a chicken.”
Marcail finally saw the humor in the situation and began to laugh herself.
“I was all right until an hour ago, when I sat here trying to figure out how to tell you what I’d done. Suddenly it all seemed to be your fault, and I worked myself into a fine fury before you hit the door.”
Alex was still laughing. “In the future, hang a dishcloth on the door so I’ll have fair warning.”
After the table was cleared and the dishes put away, husband and wife took a walk. Alex held Marcail’s hand, and even though they talked some, most of the walk was spent in quiet reflection and the joy of each other’s company. They stopped in a field and were watching the sun sink low in the sky when Marcail asked Alex a question that had been on her mind since they’d left the house.
“Are you upset with me over the way I acted before supper?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Alex told her as he pulled her over to sit next to him on a huge boulder. “I realize it wasn’t personal.”
A peaceful smile passed over Marcail’s face at his words of understanding.
“What does that look mean?” Alex wanted to know.
“I’m just pleased at how comfortable I am with you now.”
“I’ll admit it’s very nice, just as long as you’re not too comfortable.”
Marcail looked at him with no comprehension whatever. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t want you to view me as a brother, Marcail, or as a father figure.”
Marcail was still not entirely sure what he meant. “Do I do that?”
“I don’t think so, but I can’t really be sure.” Marcail was still looking at him strangely, and Alex knew it was time for some straightforward honesty.
“I’m in love with you, Marcail,” he told her without apology, “and I’m not at all ashamed of the desire that love stirs within me. I am glad that you’re comfortable with me, but I pray that at some point we’ll have an intimate, passionate marriage. That’s why I said what I did.”
Marcail studied his face in the gathering dusk. “Are you afraid that I’m not a passionate person, Alex?”
Alex chucked softly and cupped her face in his hands. “After witnessing you in the kitchen an hour ago, not in the least.”
Marcail smiled, and Alex bent his head. He pressed his lips to her forehead and the tip of her nose before finally claiming her lips. His kisses were tender, yet growing more insistent, and Marcail was taking longer to pull away every time he held her. But pull away she did, and much to his credit, Alex did not rebuke her or so much as frown in her direction.
He took her hand, and they walked back to the house in silence. They retired as usual to their separate beds, but even then Alex knew no frustration. That she was coming around was very evident in her response to his touch. Knowing this, and believing she was well worth the wait, Alex could bide his time.
fifty-eight
A week later Marcail walked into town just before lunch, a picnic basket swinging from her arm. She still felt compelled to wear dark dresses and her hair up, so the walk was a warm one. Because she was no longer the schoolteacher, Alex had told her he preferred to see her dressed in lighter-colored clothing and with her hair down. In sensitivity to her feelings, however, he left it to her judgment as to when she would start dressing in greater comfort for her visits to town.
Alex’s office was on Willits’ main street, directly across from the bank and between a tiny dress shop and a lawyer’s office. Her face was flushed by the time she arrived, but she knew the surprise she would be giving him would be reward enough for her effort.
Alex did not disappoint her. His eyes lit with delight, and since he had no patients, he took her into his arms and held her for long minutes. They were in the back room, and Alex would have been content to hold her for the next hour, but the outer door opened. He dropped a quick kiss on her upturned mouth and exited the room.
Marcail heard low voices, and then silence. A moment later Alex was calling to her. A man whom Marcail had never seen before stood beside Alex. He was obviously a businessman with his dark suit and shiny shoes. He held a top hat in one hand.
“Mr. Duckworth, this is my wife. This is Sydney’s father, Richard Duckworth.” Alex had turned to Marcail. “He’d like to speak with you,” Alex added.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Duckworth.” Marcail’s smile was pleasant, but her mind was abuzz with reasons why he might wish to see her.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Richard told her, and meant it. Sydney had told him that his teacher was beautiful, but Richard, remembering his own hero worship of many of his teachers, had taken his son’s words with a pinch of salt. He saw now that he should have heeded them; Marcail Montgomery was a beauty. She also seemed as sweet as she was lovely.
Well, no matter, Richard told himself. She could have the face of a horse, and I’d still think she was beautiful for the changes she’s made in my Sydney.
“Why did you wish to see me?”
The sound of Marcail’s voice made Richard realize he’d been staring at her like a man who’d taken leave of his senses. He cleared his throat and began.
“First, I’d like to thank you for the time and attention you’ve given Sydney. It’s made a tremendous change in him, and his mother and I appreciate it.”
“It really wasn’t me, Mr. Duckworth. Hasn’t Sydney shared with you—”
“Oh, you mean this God stuff,” the older man interrupted. “It doesn’t matter how it happened, Mrs. Montgomery, only that something did happen. Now,” he went on before Marcail could correct him, “I understand that there has been some disagreement over your contract. I’m here to tell you that I want you as Sydney’s teacher. Name your terms for this fall, and I’ll have the contract typed up this afternoon.”
“Is your mother feeling ill?” Marcail asked softly.
Richard stared at her, completely nonplussed. “No,” he spoke, his voice filled with confusion. “I just left her, and she was fine.”
Marcail nodded. “I do not wish to undermine your mother’s authority. I’ve always dealt with Mr. Flynn or your mother; I can’t say I’m very comfortable in doing something without them.”
“Oh, well,” Richard replied, thinking he understood, “I’m taking over some of Mother’s responsibilities, and since I want you as teacher, I’m here in her stead.”
“With her approval?” Marcail went on serenely, and Alex had to fight a smile. He knew her well enough to know she was not as calm as she appeared.
Richard was tempted to lie in answering that
question, but the direct, dark-eyed gaze of this diminutive teacher made him feel as though she could read his very thoughts.
“I can see my answer in your hesitation. Please do not think me rude, Mr. Duckworth, but unless your mother contacts me personally, I couldn’t consider returning in the fall.”
“But Sydney needs you.” Richard hoped to appeal to the teacher within her.
“I love Sydney dearly, but I would say that what he needs most is to be living with his mother and father. Surely you’ve a competent teacher where you live.”
“We’re moving here,” he told her simply, as if this solved everything.
Marcail was surprised, but it did not change her answer. “I’m sure Sydney will be very pleased about that, but as far as my teaching is concerned, I’ve given you my answer.”
“I’m willing to pay you—”
“Please, Mr. Duckworth,” Alex cut in, his voice not overly loud, but firm. “My wife has given you her answer.”
Richard had nearly forgotten the other man’s presence. He looked between the two and felt a little ashamed of how pushy he’d been. The doctor was very protective of his wife, and Richard was the first to know the feeling. His mother hated the mere sight of his Beverly.
“I apologize for my rudeness. I’ll let my mother know what you’ve said, and hopefully I can persuade her to reconsider.”
Goodbyes were said all around, and Richard went out the door. His shoes could be heard on the boardwalk for some moments.
Marcail turned to Alex, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Did that really happen, or did I dream it?”
Alex shook his head in wonder. “It happened all right, but I’m not sure when it will really sink in.”
“What do we do?” Marcail wanted to know.
“We do what we’ve been doing all along; we just keep praying.” Alex pulled her into his embrace and held her once again.
“For right now, however,” he spoke after a moment, “I’d like us to forget about Mrs. Duckworth, her son, and the school long enough to see what my wife brought in her basket.”
Marcail smiled and opened the top to reveal a splendid picnic lunch. Alex’s brows rose in delight, and he eagerly put his “out to lunch” sign on the door. He then took his wife to a private, shady glen, where he could enjoy her company and her cooking for the next hour.
Cordelia Duckworth’s entire body trembled with the emotions running through her. Richard had gone home that day and tried to persuade her to reconsider. Their argument lasted more than a week; it had been a nightmare. Cordelia had stood her ground, even amid threats of never seeing Sydney again.
On the last day, mother and son had had a huge row, whereupon Richard had stormed out of the house. Cordelia had looked up to see Sydney in the doorway. She really scrutinized his face for the first time in days, and knew that what was going on in his own house was tearing him apart.
Richard and Beverly had never visited much before, and Sydney’s home with her had been a peaceful one. Now it was one fight after another, and the feud was over a woman Sydney loved with all of his heart.
At first Cordelia had been so jealous of Marcail that she could hardly see straight, but lately Sydney had begun to give more of himself to his grandmother than ever before. She knew it was time to put aside her pride and admit that Marcail Montgomery was the best teacher Willits had ever had, not to mention the best thing that ever happened to Sydney.
Now, because of her love for her grandson, she was in her carriage and headed for the Montgomery home. School was scheduled to resume in three days, and all Cordelia could do was hope that Marcail would reconsider.
Marcail heard the approach of the carriage and looked out, thrilled to know Sydney had been allowed to come for a visit. She took a moment to recover her poise when the black-garbed figure of Mrs. Duckworth emerged from the carriage.
“I’m sorry for coming without an appointment,” Cordelia began, “but I hope you’ll agree to see me anyway.”
“Of course,” Marcail told her warmly. “Please come in.”
Marcail held the door open, and then followed Mrs. Duckworth inside. With the older woman’s back turned, Marcail took a moment to wipe her damp palms together. She then realized with a start that she was wearing a pink calico dress and her hair was hanging down her back. Mrs. Duckworth was taking in the small house and didn’t notice Marcail’s look of chagrin.
“Please,” the young hostess said, suddenly remembering her manners, “won’t you have a seat in the living room?”
Marcail had to force her hands to her sides. The temptation to wring them and flutter about was nearly overwhelming. What did this woman want? A sudden thought came to her, and Marcail’s heart thundered with concern.
“Mrs. Duckworth, is everything well with Sydney?”
Cordelia took in Marcail’s suddenly pale features and felt the first stirrings of warmth for this woman. She also noticed the way the living room was set up like a bedroom and felt guilt—not a comfortable emotion. Into what had she forced this young couple?
“Sydney is very well, Mrs. Montgomery,” Cordelia finally answered her. “I thank you for asking.”
Marcail was so relieved she sat down in a chair. A moment later she was up again, mentally chastising herself for her breach of manners.
“May I get you some coffee, or something else to drink?”
“No, I won’t be staying—” Cordelia stopped mid-sentence, realizing how thirsty she was. “Some water, please.”
Marcail hurried to serve her. After she’d watched Mrs. Duckworth refresh herself, she sat once again and waited, this time in silence.
“I’m sure you must be curious as to the reason for my visit,” Cordelia started, and Marcail determined to listen. “I realize we are many days past August 1, but I wondered if you might consider teaching again this fall.”
Marcail bit her lip. This reason for the older woman’s visit had passed through her mind, but she had dismissed it as impossible.
“Why?” was all Marcail could think to say.
Why Cordelia seemed taken aback.
“Yes. I mean, you must have looked for someone else, and I know you really don’t want me as your teacher. Quite frankly, I don’t think I could take another year like the last, another year of not having the whole town behind me. It was so hard to teach that way.”
Cordelia looked ashamed. Richard was right; she had set herself up as a kind of queen in this town, and everyone hated her because of it.
“Last year is behind us, and I promise you it will not happen again. Richard is taking some of the properties off of my shoulders and—”
“Is that what you want?” Marcail knew she’d interrupted and been impertinent to boot, but suddenly this invincible figure was showing feet of clay, and Marcail was not as intimidated as she’d been before.
Cordelia sighed, seemingly not at all offended by the question. “It’s taken some time, but, yes, it is what I want. I’m going to be traveling, and in truth, I’m tired of carrying the full weight on my own.” The admission so surprised both women that they were silent for the space of a few heartbeats.
“I would love to come back and teach,” Marcail said after some moments. “But it would have to be under the terms I mentioned to you previously, including my hair and dress.”
Cordelia’s eyes roved over Marcail’s trim figure. “I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll tell Stanley to work out the details with you. Neither Richard nor I will be on the school board, and I know that Stanley Flynn and the other men have only the town’s best interests in mind.”
Cordelia stood then, and Marcail followed suit. She moved toward the door, and Marcail thought she seemed defeated. At one time the thought might have pleased her, but not now.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Duckworth,” Marcail said when it looked as though she would leave without a word.
“I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing much of each other in the weeks to come, but Sydney keeps me infor
med.” The older woman paused and looked Marcail in the eye. “He thinks the world of you, did you know?”
“I realize that. I think quite of bit of him too.”
“Yes, I can see that you do” was all the older woman said as she moved out the door, pulled herself into the carriage, and went on her way.
As the coach pulled away from the house, Cordelia contemplated the serene loveliness of Marcail Montgomery’s face. Her home was small and a bit run down, but she seemed as content as a queen in a palace. Cordelia thought about her own home with its servants and beautiful furniture, and knew in an instant that it had never given her an ounce of happiness or peace.
“Her happiness comes from another source,” Cordelia whispered as the coach moved along, and for the first time she forced herself to think about all Sydney had told her of his faith in Jesus Christ.
fifty-nine
“I’m worried about this sudden depression you’ve fallen into,” Alex teased Marcail as she nearly danced around the kitchen. It was the first day of school, and she was so excited she could hardly eat. In fact, she hadn’t even sat down. She’d had a piece of bread in her hand at one point, but had laid it down and now couldn’t find it.
With only three days to prepare, she kept thinking of new items she wanted to take back to school. Alex hadn’t seen her standing still since he arrived home after Cordelia Duckworth’s visit.
“Is my dress too low?” Marcail asked suddenly, her huge eyes watching her husband’s face with concern.
“Simply scandalous,” Alex answered with a mock shake of his head. The fabric of the lavender dress was nearly to her throat. “You really should try to eat.”
“I will,” Marcail called as she darted back into the living room for yet another missing schoolbook. Alex decided to sit back and let her run.
Marcail insisted they leave an hour early so none of the students would arrive and find her not in attendance. She had thoroughly cleaned the room two days earlier, but the first thing she did upon arriving was reach for the broom. Alex sat at her desk and watched her, a myriad of emotions running through him.