Free High Country : A Novel by Willard Wyman Page B

like your mountains.” Then she was off with one of the Wilson brothers, swinging out among the couples on the dance floor. He could see she was a marvelous dancer, liked it that she gave him a wave or a smile as she went by.
    He enjoyed watching the young men circling her for their chance, watching them drift outside to drink and talk about everything but the schoolteacher before they came back in to try again. He watched her encourage them too, laugh with them, help even the clumsiest come more alive when they moved around the floor.
    “That bell mare the new teacher?” Jasper was beside him, not yet too full of drink to watch the dancers.
“She is,” Fenton said.
“She does have them eatin’ from her hand.” Jasper looked at Fenton as though an idea had just hit him. “Let’s get us a drink.”
Jasper had some liquor out in his truck, which surprised Fenton. Usually he spent his time angling for someone else’s. Out in the lot they found Buck Conner arguing with a cowboy who had danced too long with Angie, the Murphys’ new hired girl. Buck’s face was getting red, but Fenton stepped in with his big voice and his big body and got them laughing. It was as easy for him as separating two nipping horses. Jasper watched Buck and the cowboy head off together to find Angie and got out his bottle. They warmed there, drinking and talking about Fenton’s mountains.
Fenton thought of the schoolteacher off and on during that winter but didn’t see her again until spring, when he stopped for coffee at Murphy’s all-purpose store, his truck so loaded with gear he wasn’t sure he’d unload by dark. Angie got him coffee, and when he turned to leave he almost knocked Cody Jo over. She clutched at her groceries as if to protect them.
“The big one,” she laughed, her face coloring. “I remember you because you’re the only one I haven’t seen at the recitals.”
Fenton waited, not knowing how to answer.
“Come now.” She enjoyed his confusion. “Culture won’t hurt this valley. They even claim you,” she tapped him with a long finger, “are a very cultured man.” She seemed to like how uncomfortable she made him.
“But you’re in luck. There’s one more.” She shifted her bag to the other arm. “I’ll save a seat. Seven tonight. Cookies. Entertainment.” She turned and left but poked her head right back in. “I’ll hold your ticket.”
Fenton, who hadn’t been able to think of anything to say while she stood there making fun of him, still couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Better go,” Dan Murphy advised. “She’s got that ticket for you.”
“I got gear to unload....You goin’?”
“Yep. Better than hearin’ her tell me why I should of.” Murphy wiped at his counter. “She arranged a season ticket for me.”
    There were dark clouds over the Missions by the time Fenton unloaded. He washed up and before he’d thought much about it was back on the road headed for the schoolhouse. The sky was black. He knew a wind would kick up soon, the rain not far behind.
    It was blowing hard when he pulled into the lot, the sky so dark he wasn’t surprised to see only a few cars. When he was given the little program he saw the reason wasn’t just the weather. Four performances were scheduled: a reading of “Invictus,” the singing of “My Buddy” accompanied by violin, a recitation of “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” and a piano recital of “The Parade of the Wooden Soldiers.”
    Bump Conner was scheduled to sing “My Buddy,” which explained why all the Conners were there, Buck and the Murphys with them. Other parents were there too, but not many. Fenton thought the idea of a ticket must have been one of Cody Jo’s amusements.
    He found a chair by a screen they’d set up and was listening to people move around behind it, when a clap of thunder rifled through and made everyone jump. The lights blinked, held, blinked again, stayed on.
    Fenton decided to get his slicker. By the time he got to