Free Nowhere to Hide by Joan Hall Hovey

had aged, and yet she’d foolishly imagined Miss Layton remaining forever young, forever a formidable presence.
    "I hope this isn’t an intrusion, Ellen," she said. At the sound of that clear voice, instilled with the wisdom and gentle authority Ellen remembered, the years fell away.
    Ellen opened the door wider. "Not at all, Miss Layton. I’m pleased to see you. You-you look wonderful."
    The elderly woman entered amidst a rush of cold air and the faint scent of lavender. She didn’t address the compliment. "I know one often prefers solitude at a time like this," she said, sitting ramrod straight in the chair Ellen offered, "but you’ve been on my mind, Ellen. I had to come and see for myself how you were coping. I’ll be leaving Evansdale at the end of the month. Perhaps before I go , there’s something—something I can do for you."
    "Nothing, Miss Layton. But thank you." She sat across from her on the sofa. "Where will you be going?"
    "I have a widowed sister who lives in Atlanta. She’s been after me for some time now to come live with her. It’s a gracious old home, surrounded with lawns and trees."
    "It sounds lovely."
    "Yes, it will be a pleasant arrangement, I feel. Lillian and I always got on well."
    "I’ll make us some tea," Ellen said, rising, feeling a measure of comfort in the elderly woman’s presence. Perhaps because she’d been there for her at a crucial time in her life, because she knew her and Gail as children. How wonderful she had been that day they’d gone to get Gail released from the home. Just as the petite Miss Layton had always been able, with a mere look or word, to cow the biggest trouble-maker in the class, no matter his size, she had brought that tight-lipped social worker around to her way of thinking.
    So many years ago. In some ways it seemed like yesterday.
    "Are you sure it’s no trouble, dear?" Miss Layton said , eyeing Ellen’s bandaged hand.
    Ellen’s own gaze followed. "It’s nothing serious. I broke a glass. I guess I’m a bleeder," she added with a thin laugh.
    Miss Layton didn’t smile. "I did come to the funeral parlor, you know," she said, a little sheepishly. "But I’m afraid my courage abandoned me. It was so reminiscent of that—other time."
    "I know," Ellen smiled. "I saw you there. I looked for you later. I’ll just be a few minutes. The tea will warm you. Unless you’d prefer a nice glass of sherry."
    "Tea will be fine, Ellen."
    She served the tea in her best china cups and saucers, gold-rimmed with yellow roses, and set out a plate of cookies. They sat across from one another.
    Miss Layton sipped her tea. "And how are you getting on, Ellen?"
    Ellen was forced to meet those knowing, unwavering eyes. Only their color was faded. Ellen shrugged. "I’ll survive, I suppose."
    "Yes, you will," Miss Layton said, a direct command that would not be questioned. "You’re a survivor of the first order, a fighter. You always were, Ellen Morgan." She’d used her maiden name, spoken to her just as if she were still sitting in her classroom, second seat, first row by the door.
    "In a teacher’s professional life," she went on thoughtfully, "there are some students who stand out, while others, I’m afraid, fade in the mind. For that, perhaps we will have to atone one day. But you, Ellen, I have often thought about over the years. Of course, I remember what a good and hard-working girl you were, always such a joy to teach. But what I remember most was your sense of fair play. You were always the one to champion the underdog—the first to hold out a friendly hand to a child who did not quite fit in, and this despite your own regrettable circumstance."
    "I appreciate your saying these things to me, Miss Layton. It’s really very kind of you."
    "Posh. It’s not kindness at all. It’s only the truth. I was not in the least surprised to hear that you went into the helping profession. It was so wise of you, Ellen, to go back to school."
    Looking at her teacher, clad in