Free Sycamore Hill by Francine Rivers Page A

came to school two years ago,” Linda started to say, but Diego
gave her a quelling glance, and she stopped, her finger beginning its tracing
again.
    “And?” I looked at Diego. He averted his gaze and stared toward
the blackboard. There was no defiance in his attitude. Linda looked at him.
    “Tell her, Diego,” she pleaded softly.
    “No,” he snapped, glaring at her. “And you’d better not either.”
There was more pride than threat in those words, and Linda sighed.
    “Well, how did it go?” came a deep voice. I looked up sharply to
see Jordan Bennett lounging in the doorway, his hat pushed back from his
forehead. He directed his question to the children and then glanced briefly in
my direction. Linda ran to him, and he lifted her up with an affectionate laugh
that did something strange to my stomach. Linda chattered with more animation
than she had had all day, while Diego approached with more dignity. Bennett
asked a question in fluent Spanish, and the boy answered with one word.
    "Bueno.” He nodded, smiling up at Jordan
Bennett. Bennett looked across the room at me as I busied myself with the
children’s papers.
    “You don’t look any the worse for wear,” he commented dryly.
    “How did you expect me to look?” I managed an amused laugh.
    “A little more haggard than you do,” he admitted. “But as you said
this morning ... give it a day or two.”
    Was he really so hopeful of my failure? It was obvious that he had
not the least respect for my capabilities. But why was he so antagonistic?
    “Are you hoping I’ll only last a few days?” I dared ask. That he
considered the question seriously with just the faintest twist of his mouth was
a slap in my face. I controlled my expression, only the slight upward tilt of
my chin indicating that his silence hurt.
    “The children need a teacher,” he commented. “You’ll do as well as
anyone else they could find around here.”
    “Thank you for your vote of confidence,” I muttered. I looked away
from his penetrating eyes to the two children watching us curiously. “I’ll see
you both tomorrow.” I smiled, hoping Bennett would take the hint and leave. He
read my thoughts and gave a low laugh.
    “Good afternoon, Miss McFarland.” He doffed his hat.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett,” I answered politely.
    For the next few days school progressed well. I kept the children
busy with class assignments. During recesses I gave them a choice of outdoor
play or painting in the classroom. Many preferred to plaster the walls with
colorful drawings of trees, people, animals and anything else they fancied.
After two days the room was a bright art display of varying talents. Several
plants sat on my desk and the corner bookshelf. Scraps of material were sewed
together by the girls to make colorful curtains for the front windows, which
were unrepaired by James Olmstead and his school-board members.
    Few difficulties arose between the children. After Diego’s initial
reluctance, he agreed to move into the group of boys including Toby and Luke.
He was welcomed without comment, and the boys began to copy his writing
techniques when they heard my praise of his work. Later, Diego began to join in
the outdoor games, leaving Linda free to become acquainted with several of the
girls her own age. Still overly shy, she became friends with the more
extroverted Margaret Hudson, who hardly gave her a chance to speak.
    Katrina Lane still remained to herself, even though the other
girls made some overtures to her. The only fight that broke out all week was
between Sherman and Grant Poole over who was to pitch in a baseball game that
had not even begun yet. With pick and shovel, the two boys made remarkable
progress on the latrine.
    When Saturday came, I was grateful for the day’s respite. Though I
thoroughly enjoyed the classroom hours with the children, my schedule had
proved grueling. Papers and lesson plans kept me up late into the night, and I
had to rise early each