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“Hey, I’m a versatile guy.”
“If you say so.” She paused to unlock the door to her classroom, then pushed the door open with her hip and swept through ahead of Sean.
“I do say so.” He cast around for the best place to dump his load of crayons and settled on the top of a low cabinet. “Actually, I put myself through college by driving a school bus.”
She studied him further, frowning and questioning her deductions regarding his age. “How long did that take?”
Sean laughed. “It’s a little complicated. Let’s just say that counseling wasn’t my first career.”
“Hmm. I was sure I wanted to be a teacher from the time I was seven,” Rachel said.
“I envy you. Most people aren’t that decisive, even as adults.”
He looked her up and down as he spoke. She was petite, pretty, and so thin she looked like she’d blow away in a strong wind—unless she happened to be tethered to the jungle gym. When he’d steadied her in the hallway, he’d noticed that he could easily encircle her upper arm with one hand. Good thing she’d chosen to teach very young children. The thought made him smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sorry. I was just thinking.” His gaze traveled around the room. “Kindergarten was a good choice.”
“Why? Because children are so loving at that age?”
“No. Because you don’t look like you could hold your own in a pillow fight against anybody much bigger.”
Rachel’s smile faded. “You’d be surprised what I can do.” She hustled him to the door, opened it and practically shoved him through. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Bates. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do before class starts.”
“Sure. No problem. Have a good day.”
Rachel closed the door behind him and leaned against it, eyes shut tight.
Not hold her own? Ha! She might not look tough on the outside, but inside she knew she was made of steel. Tempered steel. And the pain of the tempering process lingered. It probably always would.
An unexpected call summoned Rachel to the office right after the dismissal bell. She was anything but thrilled. The first few days of every school year were very tiring, and the last thing she wanted was to have to face the principal this late in the afternoon. Refusal, however, was not an option.
Sean was coming out of a classroom as she passed by. He beamed at the sight of her. “Hi.”
“Hi. So far, so good?” Rachel asked pleasantly, trying to ignore the jolt of awareness she’d felt the moment she spied him again.
“No problems,” Sean said.
“Good.”
“You okay? You look kind of funny.”
Did her unwarranted reaction show? Oh dear! Hedging, she made a silly face at him. “Thanks—I think.”
“Actually, you remind me a lot of a condemned man on the way to the gallows.”
“Oh, that.” What a relief. “Probably because I feel like one. I’ve been called to Principal Vanbruger’s office and I don’t have the slightest idea why. That kind of thing always gives me butterflies in my stomach.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Who knows. It’s a little too early in the year for me to have earned a commendation for exemplary teaching, so I have to assume that’s not why he wants to see me.”
“You never know. Maybe you’re about to get a blue ribbon for your skipping skills.”
“Let’s hope not.”
He fell into step beside her. “I’m headed your way. Mind if I walk along? Keep you company?”
“Aren’t you afraid to be associated with a terrible rule-breaker like me?”
“Not as long as I don’t catch you running with scissors,” he quipped. “I do have my limits.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Rachel couldn’t help chuckling softly. The man seemed to have the kind of nature that lifted a person’s spirits. That quality made him more appealing to her than any superficial attributes, like the fact that he was every bit as handsome as her friends had insisted during lunch, when she’d carelessly mentioned having met him.
She and Sean reached the door to the school office. Rachel paused. “Well, this is it. Here I go.”
“Want me to hang around till you’re done?”
She was amazed at his sensitivity. “No. I’ll be fine. I just hate the idea of hearing that I’m not perfect.”
Sean arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. You look pretty good to me. Tell you what. If that guy Vanbruger picks on you, tell me, and I’ll go let the air out of the tires on his bicycle so he knows better the next time.”
Amused, Rachel looked up into his kind face and caught a glimmer of deeper concern. He’d apparently been trying to distract her with his silly banter and was now waiting to see if he’d been successful.
She assumed a pseudo-serious expression, made a fist and punched him lightly in the upper arm as she said, “Thanks, buddy. It’s good to know you’re standing by in case I need avenging. But I don’t think he rides a bicycle, so that’s out. Guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”
Turning, she reached for the doorknob. So did Sean.
His hand closed gently over hers. Their inadvertent touch sent tingles zinging up Rachel’s arm and prickled in the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.
She quickly slipped her hand from beneath his, hoping he couldn’t tell how bewildered her unexpected, fervent response had left her. Or how close she’d come to actually shivering just now!
“Allow me,” Sean said, gallantly opening the office door for her and stepping back with a bow.
Rachel took a deep breath and held it. She sidled through the open door without looking up or glancing back at Sean. Principal Vanbruger wasn’t the main reason for her nervousness anymore. Sean Bates was.
Not only were her original butterflies still having a riotous party in her stomach, but the moment Sean had accidentally touched her hand, they’d invited all their friends—and a few hundred moths, to boot!
Rachel’s bumfuzzled state of mind became of secondary importance the moment she entered the principal’s office and saw who, and what, was waiting for her.
Her gaze lingered a moment on the two adults, then went to a withdrawn-looking little girl sitting on a chair in the corner, lower legs and feet dangling.
The child’s shorts and T-shirt were faded and much too big for her, but that wasn’t the saddest part. Everything, from her posture to her placement in the room, screamed lonely, immediately capturing Rachel’s heart.
Principal Vanbruger rose from behind his desk. “Ah, good. Ms. Woodward, I believe you know Ms. Heatherington, from Health and Human Services in Little Rock.”
Rachel nodded. “Yes.” She shook the social worker’s hand formally. “We’ve met.”
He gestured toward the child. “And this is Samantha Smith. Samantha, this is your new teacher, Ms. Woodward.”
“Please, call me Miss Rachel,” she told the shy little waif. “All the other children do.” Wide, pale blue eyes stared up at her from a cherubic face surrounded by unkempt blond curls.
Approaching slowly and pausing in front of the child, Rachel said, “I see we’re all out of my favorite kind of chair. Can I share yours? I’m pretty little. There should be room for both of us.”
Samantha’s only answer was to scoot to one side. Rachel perched on the edge of the seat at an angle and laid her arm across the chair’s low, curved back. That not only helped her balance, it formed a pose of guardianship, offering unspoken protection in a world of staid, intimidating adults.
“Samantha’s parents died,” the social worker said. “She’s in foster care right now. I’m working on getting her placed with relatives in Colorado, so I doubt you’ll have to bother with her for long. She hasn’t been behaving very well, I’m afraid. Just try to keep her out of trouble and make the best of it till the paperwork comes through and we can send her out of state.”
Tactful, as always. Rachel wanted to jump up and scream, How dare you be so matter-of-fact? Can’t you see how frightened the poor thing is?
Instead, Rachel settled back into the chair, lowered her arm and pulled the little girl against her as if they were already fast friends. The glare of animosity she sent across the room belied her casual posture.
“I can read all the details in the files later, Ms. Heatherington. There’s no need to discuss any of it now.”
Without waiting for a reply, Rachel leaned down and whispered in Samantha’s ear, then stood, holding out her hand. “If you’ll excuse us—we’re going to see my classroom.”
The social worker opened her mouth to object and was silenced by the righteous anger in Rachel’s backward glance.
“I’m going to show Samantha the playground, too. Then she’ll know where everything is when she gets here tomorrow.”
Wisely, Principal Vanbruger shooed them on their way with a wave of his hand and a firm “Fine. Go. I’ll take care of things here.”
Rachel was thankful he had interceded. If she’d been forced to stay in that woman’s presence much longer she was afraid she might have expressed a very un-Christian opinion. That wouldn’t do. It was bad enough to be thinking it in the first place.
Chapter Two
Proceeding down the sidewalk to the double doors that would take them to the interior halls of one of the low, nondescript buildings, Rachel kept up a friendly banter.
“It’s not far to my room. Here we are. Look. First you go in these glass doors by the big letter A.” Pointing, she led the way. “Then you find the room with a green door. It’s right here. See the K on it? That stands for Kindergarten. I put a smiley face in the window, too, so all the kids can be sure this is the right place. Can you see that?”
The five-year-old nodded solemnly.
“I like to smile big like that. It makes my whole face happy,” Rachel said as she reached for the doorknob. “Let’s go inside and see where your seat is going to be. I have new crayons and pencils for you, too.” She felt the child’s grip on her hand tighten. “Do you like to draw and color?”
Another nod.
“Good. Me, too.”
Rachel swung the door open and ushered her new student into the colorfully decorated classroom. One whole wall was plastered with letters of the alphabet, arranged amid the flowers and vegetables of a cartoon-like garden. In the foreground, a bunny made of the letter B was nibbling on a carrot that was bent to resemble a C. On the opposite side of the room there was a sink, bookcase and bright blue cabinet with banks of cubbyholes. Red, blue and yellow plastic chairs surrounded four low, round work tables and echoed the same vivid colors.
Above the chalkboard, Rachel had fastened gigantic numbers, one through ten, and a more sedate version of the ABCs. No flat, vertical surface remained undecorated. It had taken days to pin the pictures and cutout letters to the bulletin boards. Judging by the look of amazement and awe on the child’s face, the effort had been well worth it.
“Did you go to preschool?” Rachel asked.
“Uh-uh.”
She talked! Thank You, God! Rachel felt like cheering. Instead, she kept her tone deliberately casual. “That’s okay. We’ll learn our letters and numbers here in my class, together.”
“I’m five,” Samantha said softly.
“I’m a little older than that,” Rachel countered with a grin.
“Teachers are supposed to be old.”
“That’s right. You’re very smart.”
The child beamed. “I know.”
At least she hasn’t lost her sense of self-worth, Rachel mused. That was a big plus. Obviously, someone in Samantha Smith’s past had done a wonderful job of making her feel worthwhile. That confidence would help her adjust to whatever troubles came her way, the loss of her parents being the worst one imaginable. It was hard enough growing up with parents, let alone coping without them.
Except maybe in the case of my own mother. The thought popped into Rachel’s head before she had time to censor it. There were some people who could give advice in a way that made the recipient glad to follow it. Then there was Rachel’s mother, Martha. When Martha Woodward spoke, she acted as if everyone should be thrilled to profit from her superior wisdom. To disagree with her opinions was to invite condemnation. Rachel was, unfortunately, very good at doing that.
As she reflected on the strange twists and turns her private life had taken lately, she stood aside and watched the curious child explore the classroom. The sight brought a smile and a sigh of contentment. Teaching was Rachel’s God-given gift and she relished every moment of it. Moreover, when she got a chance to help an emotionally needy child like Samantha, even for a short time, the blessing was magnified.
Rachel hoped that someday, if she was patient enough, Martha would finally accept the fact that her only daughter was single by choice. That her happiness came from loving other people’s children as if they were her own.
If that happened, it would be a direct answer to prayer. And if not? Well, that would be an answer of another kind, wouldn’t it?
The playground was deserted when Rachel finally took Samantha outside to the play equipment. It was grouped according to size. That which was assigned to the youngest children was naturally the smallest. The stiff, canvaslike seats of those swings were so tiny that even a person as diminutive as Rachel couldn’t fit into them safely. Knowing that, she led the way to the next larger size.
Samantha strained on tiptoe to make herself tall enough to scoot back into one of the higher swings.
Rachel sat next to her and pushed off with her feet, swinging slowly, as if they were simply two friends sharing a recess. “I like to do this, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Because she could no longer reach the ground, the little girl wiggled and kicked her feet in the air, managing to coax very little back and forth motion out of the swing. “Will you push me?”
“Okay. But first, watch how I move my legs. See? I pull them in when I go backward, then lean back and stick them out to go forward.”
The child made a feeble try, failed, and pulled a face. “It doesn’t work.”
“It will. You just need to practice. Watch again. See?”
Instead of listening, Samantha jumped down and stalked away, kicking sand and muttering to herself, “Dumb old swing. I hate swings.”
So much for the buddy system, Rachel thought. It served her right. She’d taken one look at Samantha Smith, sensed her loneliness, identified with her, and promptly broken her own rule against blurring the line between teacher and pupil.
“Okay. Fun’s over,” she said. “Time for you to go back to the office so Ms. Heatherington can drive you home.”
Samantha whirled. “No!”
“Yes.” Rachel cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and held out her hand. “Come on.”
Tears blurred the little girl’s wide, blue eyes. “I wanna stay here. With you.”
“When you come back tomorrow morning you’ll be in my class all day.”
