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Wynona smiled as she watched the children in her combined second/third grade class come trooping into the room. Seeing their bright, smiling faces as they walked in warmed her heart. It was like watching unharnessed energy entering.
Looking back, it was hard for her to believe that these same little people could have actually struck fear into her heart just a little more than a month ago. On the plus side, that feeling had passed quickly, vanishing like a vapor within the first few hours of the first day.
It was true what they said, Wynona thought. Kids could smell fear. Conversely, they could also detect when someone had an affinity for them, when that same someone really enjoyed their company and wasn’t just pretending that they did.
Kids were a lot smarter than they were given credit for.
Her own class quickly realized that she was the genuine article. That she wasn’t just saying that she cared about them; she really did. And when she told them that she wanted to make learning fun for them, they believed her, even though a few of them, mainly the older ones, had rolled their eyes and groaned a little.
Instead of calling those students out, Wynona sincerely asked them how she could make the experience more enjoyable for them.
Thanks to her approach, within a few days Wynona had a classroom full of students who looked forward to coming to school every day.
But as with everything, Wynona saw that there was an exception. One of her students behaved differently than the others. Ryan Washburn didn’t seem as if he was having any fun.
Covertly observing him, she saw that he acted far more introverted than the other students. Whenever her class was on the playground, unless she deliberately goaded Ryan into participating with the rest of the class, the boy would quietly keep to himself, watching the other students instead of joining in whatever game they were all playing.
After watching him for a month, she had to admit that Ryan Washburn worried her. When she talked to him, he was polite, respectful, but there was no question that he was still removed. The calls she’d placed to his home—apparently, there was only a father in the picture—had gone unanswered.
They were almost five weeks into the school year and she had placed four calls to the man. The man whose deep, rumbling voice she heard on his answering machine hadn’t called back once, not even to leave a message. She was going to give the man a couple more days, she promised herself, and then...
And then she was going to have to try something a little more to the point, Wynona decided.
“Good morning, class,” she said cheerfully as the last student, a dark-eyed girl named Tracey, came in. Wynona closed the door behind her.
“Good morning, Ms. Chee,” her students chorused back, their voices swelling and filling the room rather than sounding singsongy the way they had the first day of class after she had introduced herself.
Instead of sitting down at her desk, Wynona moved around to stand in front of it. She leaned her hip against the edge of the desk, assuming a comfortable position. Her eyes scanned the various students around the room. She was looking at a sea of upturned, smiling faces—all except for Ryan.
“Did you have a good weekend?” she asked them.
Some heads bobbed up and down while some of the more loquacious students in the class spoke up, answering her question with a resounding “Yes!”
Wynona slanted a look at Ryan. He’d neither nodded nor responded verbally. Instead, he just remained silent.
She hoped to be able to draw the boy out by trying to get her students to make their answers a little more specific.
“So, what did everybody do this weekend?” As some of the children began to respond, Wynona held her hand up, stopping the flow of raised voices blending in dissonance. “Why don’t we go around the room and you can each tell the class what made this weekend special for you? Ian, would you like to start us off?” she asked, calling on the self-proclaimed class clown.
Ian, who at nine was already taller than everyone else in the class, was more than happy to oblige.
Wynona made sure to get her students to keep their answers short, or in Ian’s case, at least under five minutes. She was careful to move sporadically around the room allowing enough children to answer first so that Ryan would feel comfortable when it came to be his turn, or at least not uncomfortable, she amended. She didn’t want the boy to feel that her attention was focused on him, even though in this case, it actually was.
After six children had each told the class what special thing they had done over the weekend, Wynona turned toward the boy who was the real reason behind this impromptu exercise.
“Ryan, what did you do that was fun this weekend?” she asked him.
When the boy looked up at her, she was struck by the thought that he resembled a deer that had been caught in headlights.
After a prolonged awkward silence, Ryan finally answered. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated, searching for a way to coax more words out of Ryan. “You must have done something,” she said. When he said nothing in response, she tried again. “What did you do when you got up on Saturday morning?”
“I had breakfast,” Ryan replied quietly.
There was some snickering from a couple of the students. Wynona immediately waved them into silence. “That’s a perfectly good answer, Ryan. Everyone needs to take in a source of good fuel so that they’ll have energy to do things properly. What did you do after you finished breakfast?” she asked patiently.
Ryan licked his lips nervously. “Chores,” he finally answered.
“I’m sure your dad appreciated that you did those chores,” Wynona told him with feeling. She looked at him encouragingly. “Anything else?” she coaxed.
The boy thought for a moment, as if trying to remember what it was that he did next. And then he finally mumbled, “I went for a ride on Nugget.” Exhaling a breath, he stared down at the floor.
“Is Nugget your horse?” Wynona asked, hoping that might get him to talk a little more.
This time, instead of saying anything verbal, Ryan nodded.
There was color rising in his cheeks and Wynona realized that unlike the other children who all vied for her attention and were eager to talk, the attention she was giving Ryan just embarrassed him.
Wynona quickly put an end to his discomfort. “Well, that sounds like a really fun thing to do,” she told him. “I loved going for a ride on my horse when I was your age. But I had to share Skyball with my cousin. Skyball was an old, abandoned horse that someone had left to die, but we saved it.” She remembered that as one of the highlights of her less-than-happy childhood. Looking back at Ryan, she smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing that, Ryan. Rachel—” turning, she called out to another student “—how about you? What did you do this weekend?”
Rachel was more than happy to share the events of her weekend with the class.
As Rachel began her lively narrative, Wynona glanced back in Ryan’s direction. She watched the boy almost physically withdraw into himself.
This wasn’t right. She had to do something about it. Wynona was more determined than ever to get hold of Ryan’s father and talk to the man. She wanted to make sure that Washburn was aware of the boy’s shyness so they could work together in an effort to do something about it. She also wanted to make sure that Ryan’s behavior wasn’t the result of some sort of a problem that was going on at home.
When the recess bell rang and her class all but raced outdoors to immerse themselves in playing games they had created, Wynona quietly drew Ryan aside and asked if she could talk to him.
Instead of asking his teacher if he had done something wrong, or why he was being singled out, Ryan merely stood to the side and silently waited for her to begin talking.
She wanted to get him to relax, but she knew that wasn’t going to be easy.
“Ryan, why don’t you come and sit over here?” she suggested, pointing to a desk that was right at the front of the room.
Ryan looked at the desk warily, making no move to do as she said. He had a reason. “But that’s Chris’s desk.”
“I know that, but I’m sure Chris wouldn’t mind if you sit there just for a few minutes. He’s outside, playing,” she reminded the boy.
After hesitating for another second, he finally walked over to the desk she had pointed out. Still hesitating, Ryan lowered himself into the seat as if he expected it to blow up at any moment.
Watching him, Wynona was more convinced than ever that there had to be something wrong, most likely in his home life. Was his father abusing the boy?
Taking care to make and keep eye contact as she spoke, she kept her voice as warm and friendly as she could as she began to talk to the boy.
“I know that I’m still new here at the school, Ryan, but I just wanted you to know that if you have something you need to talk about, or if there’s something that’s bothering you, no matter how small it might be, I’m here for you.”
It was everything she could do not to put her arms around the boy and hold him to her. He looked so terribly vulnerable.
“You can tell me absolutely anything you want.” She peered down into his face, trying her best to maintain that eye contact. The boy had attempted to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Ryan?”
Ryan pressed his lips together and nodded, but he didn’t say anything.
It was like pulling teeth, Wynona thought. Very elusive teeth.
But she was determined and she tried again. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Ryan?”
Ryan shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
His answer was so low, she almost couldn’t hear the boy.
She knew that she could only push so much without scaring him off.
“Okay, but if you change your mind,” Wynona told the boy, “my offer still stands. And you know where to find me.”
Ryan responded to her question in complete seriousness. “In school.”
The corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly, but she managed not to laugh.
“Exactly.” Wynona glanced at her watch. “You’d better get outside, Ryan. I’ve used up part of your recess playtime.”
He obediently rose to his feet. “That’s okay,” he told her. “I wasn’t going to play anyway.”
Wynona took advantage of the opening, hoping to get a better understanding of what was going on in the boy’s head.
“Why not? Don’t you like to play, Ryan?”
She watched the small shoulders rise and fall in a helpless shrug. “Everybody already picked who they wanted on their side and what games they’re gonna be playing,” he told her.
She came to stand beside him, trying to convey in spirit that she was on his side. “Nothing’s cast in stone, Ryan. There’s always room for one more.”
The look he gave her said that they both knew that wasn’t true, at least not in his case. As he began to slip out of the classroom, Wynona called after him. “Would you like to help me put out the books for our reading lesson?”
Sensing that would only put him even further apart from the others, Ryan answered, “That’s okay. I’ll just go outside.”
Watching him go, Wynona blew out a long breath. Granted, she hadn’t been a teacher for all that long, but she could definitely recognize a cry for help when she saw it, even though none of those particular words had actually been spoken.
“Oh, Lord, what happened to you, Ryan?” she murmured under her breath as she observed the boy from the window as he made his way outside.
As she watched, Ryan went to a space on the playground that was totally devoid of any students. It was as if he had voluntarily placed himself in exile.
She needed to do something about this, Wynona thought. She honestly didn’t know what, but there had to be something she could do. She couldn’t just stand back and do nothing while she watched the little boy almost wither away and die on the vine.
Over the course of the next two days, Wynona attempted to call Clint Washburn three more times. Each time she called, the phone rang five times and then the call went to his answering machine. She already knew that she was calling a landline. Apparently, Clint Washburn didn’t have a cell phone.
He also didn’t answer his landline or check his messages, she thought, growing progressively more and more annoyed. Being annoyed was something rare and out of character for her but she was definitely getting there, she thought, frustrated.
When she “struck out” again, waiting in vain for the man to return any of her calls, Wynona made up her mind as to what she was going to do next.
She obtained Ryan’s address from the administrative office—a closet of a space, she thought as she walked out—and drove over to Ryan’s family ranch.
She knew that this was highly unorthodox, given that they were only entering into the second full month of the school year, but she was out of options. At this point she was dead set on giving Washburn a piece of her mind. She wasn’t used to being ignored like this. Especially not when it came to a matter that concerned one of her students.
When she drove her vehicle up to the ranch house that afternoon, Ryan was the first to spot her. The sound of an approaching vehicle had already drawn him to the front window. He was looking out that window when the car pulled up.
The car was unfamiliar to him. The person emerging from it was not.
“It’s Ms. Chee!” he all but shouted in surprise. Turning for a split second to look over his shoulder in Lucia’s direction, Ryan repeated what he’d just seen. “Lucia, it’s Ms. Chee! She’s here. My teacher’s here!”
Caught by surprise, Lucia quickly wiped her hands on her ever-present apron as she hurried toward the front door. Puzzled, she spared Ryan a glance. “Did she tell you she was coming?”
“No,” he answered, his head moving from side to side like a metronome set on high. “She didn’t say anything to me about coming here.”
“Are you sure?” Lucia prodded. “Did you do something bad in school?”
Even as she asked the question, Lucia was certain that the answer was no. Ryan was the model of obedience at home, but nothing else occurred to her at the moment.
“No,” Ryan answered in a small, uneasy voice that said he was wavering in his belief about his own innocence in the matter.
Lucia had reached the front door by now and began to open it.
“Well, she has to have a reason for this visit,” Lucia insisted. The next moment the small, dynamic housekeeper was standing on the porch, a one-woman welcoming committee. “Hello, I’m Mr. Washburn’s housekeeper, Lucia Ortiz.”
Wynona quickly made her way up the steps to the housekeeper. She took the woman’s outstretched hand, shaking it.
“Hello, I’m Ryan’s teacher, Wynona Chee.” She peered over the shorter woman’s shoulder, looking into the house. “Is Mr. Washburn around?”
Lucia remained standing in the doorway, making no move to let the other woman in. Her first allegiance was to the family she worked for. “Yes.”
Wynona had come this far; she was not about to back off or turn around and go back to town. “I’d like to see him, please.”
“He’s at the corral,” Lucia informed Ryan’s teacher politely. “But this is his busy season. He’s breaking in the new horses.”
From what she remembered, ranchers were always busy, Wynona thought. She hadn’t come to discuss what the man was doing; she had come about his son, whose well-being was far more important than any horses or cattle.
“I’m sure that’s all very important,” she told the woman, “but what I have to say to him is far more important.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be out of your hair,” she promised the housekeeper.
“Maybe you should wait in the house,” Lucia tactfully suggested. “I can bring you some tea to drink. Or perhaps you’d rather leave a message for Mr. Washburn and he’ll get in touch with you.”
Right, because that had worked out so well, Wynona thought. “Sorry, but I did and he didn’t so now we’re past leaving messages and waiting politely. I need to speak to him now.” She looked down at Ryan. “Ryan, can you take me to where your dad’s working?”
Torn, it was the moment of truth for Ryan. Hesitating, he wavered for just a second and then he chose his side.
“Okay,” he said, taking her hand. “Follow me.”
Chapter Three (#u1b762678-0f27-56bf-9b8a-32f7b339e262)
Taking a momentary break, Jake leaned against the corral fence. That was when he saw her, a tall, willowy woman with jet-black hair. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a work shirt. And she was heading straight for them.
