Samantha's Gift (3 page)

“Well, have you met him yet?” Martha asked.

“I, uh, I did run into him,” Rachel said, laughing to herself and picturing the shocked look on Sean's face when she'd crashed into his broad chest. The vivid memory of his strong hands steadying her followed instantly, leading to an all-over tingle and another little shiver. Maybe she was catching a summer cold or something.

“You wait too long and there won't be any good ones left,” Martha said.

“There weren't all that many to start with, Mother.”

“I still don't know why you had to break up with that nice Craig Slocum.”

Because that nice Craig Slocum dumped me when I told him I might not be able to have kids,
Rachel countered silently. She said, “These things happen. Look, Mom, I'm really beat and I have to put my groceries away before they spoil. Can I call you back later?”

“There's no need. I just wanted to hear your voice, to make sure my little girl was okay.”

“I'm fine, Mom,” Rachel said. “I'm all grown up, remember?”

“You'll always be my little girl, honey.”

She laughed lightly. “I can just see us now. I'll be seventy and you'll be ninety-five and you'll still expect me to phone you every day to tell you I'm okay.”

“Not a chance,” Martha said. “By that time, I'll either be living with you and your family or you'll at least have a husband to look after you so I can quit worrying.”

What a choice!
Rachel was glad her mother couldn't see the way she was rolling her eyes. “You wouldn't like living in my house, Mom. Animals make you sneeze, remember?”

Martha snickered. “I'll hold my breath. At ninety-five, that shouldn't be hard. It's the breathing in and out part that might get a little tricky.”

Rachel wasn't too weary to appreciate her mother's dark humor. “You're amazing.”

“You, too, honey. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I'll call you as soon as I get home from work. Don't panic, okay? You know I'm always late when school first starts.”

“You shouldn't let them take advantage of you.”

“I'm the one who's taking advantage, Mom. I let them pay me for something I'd gladly do for free.”

“So, swallow your pride and marry a rich man. Then you can afford to be a volunteer.”

“I'd rather eat dirt.”

Rachel could hear the smile in her mother's voice when she replied, “I hear dirt is pretty tasty if you pour enough red-eye gravy over it.”

I
f Samantha had been added to her class after the group had been together longer, Rachel would have made a special point of introducing her. Since it was only the second day of the school year, however, that wouldn't be necessary. Or advisable. The less fuss, the better.

Parents had already escorted many of the other children to the classroom door. It was amusing how often the parent was the one reluctant to let go, while the child was eager to join in the excitement of finally starting school.

Wearing a favorite lightweight summer shirt with a softly draped skirt, Rachel stood in the doorway of her room to welcome her students and gently encourage their parents to leave. She glanced up at the clock on the wall as the final morning bell rang. One child hadn't arrived yet.

A few latecomers rushed by. Concerned, Rachel was about to give up and close the door when she saw a man and a small, blond girl approaching hand-in-hand. It was Samantha!

Rachel's breath caught. Sean Bates was bringing her.

“Thank You, God,” she whispered.

Watching their approach she couldn't have said which of the two she was most delighted to see. Each was certainly a welcome sight. And together they made her heart sing.

Unfortunately, the little girl was wearing the same faded T-shirt and baggy blue shorts she'd had on the day before. In contrast to the new school clothes her classmates were sporting, she made a sad figure, indeed. Rachel made a mental note to remedy that situation ASAP. If Heatherington wouldn't see to it that Samantha had proper clothing and shoes for school, she'd do it herself. There was no excuse for sending the little girl out into the world looking like an urchin—even if she was one.

Rachel greeted the latecomers with a broad grin. “Good morning! I'm so glad to see you, Samantha. Did you ride the bus to school?”

Sean spoke up. “I think so. I found her standing out front on the lawn. It looked like she was waiting for directions, so I brought her on over. I hope that's okay.”

“Of course. Thank you for helping. We all try to watch out for each other around here.” She crouched
down to be on the little girl's level and asked again, “Did you ride the bus?”

Samantha nodded.

“Then, it's my fault you had trouble finding my class. I should have shown you how to get here from the place where the buses stop. I'm sorry you had trouble. But I am glad you met Mr. Bates yesterday and that he knew where to bring you.”

Instead of paying attention to what Rachel was saying, Samantha gazed up at Sean with evident adoration, then leaned to one side so she could peer at his back.

With a questioning frown, Rachel straightened. Her intense blue gaze wordlessly asked him what was going on.

Sean shrugged, palms out. “That's the third time she's done that.” He turned. “Did somebody stick a ‘Kick Me' sign on my back when I wasn't paying attention?”

“No. There's nothing there,” Rachel assured him. “It's clean.” And broad and strong and impressive and…
Oh, stop it,
her conscience demanded, bringing her up short before she had time to give in to the idiotic urge to dust invisible lint off the shoulders of his jacket.

“That's a relief,” he said.

Rachel swallowed hard. “Yeah. Well, thanks again for helping Samantha find her class.”

“You're quite welcome.” He gave a slight bow and grinned at the little girl. “I'll watch tomorrow,
too. Okay? After that, I'm sure you'll be able to get here all by yourself.”

“I know she'll be fine.” Pausing to give the loitering parents—and Sean—a look that clearly meant she was taking charge, Rachel added, “It's time for class. All the grown-ups have to go, now.”

It wasn't until she'd guided Samantha through the door and closed it behind her that she realized her hands were shaking. That third cup of coffee she'd had for breakfast must have provided more caffeine than she'd thought.

 

To Rachel's relief, the only tears she'd seen that morning had been those of the parents left outside. Some years the opposite was true. Snifflers weren't so bad because they were fairly easy to distract. Screamers were another story. Occasionally, there would be a child who was so afraid of separation from mommy or daddy that hysteria ensued. Not only was the wild sobbing distracting, it tended to spread an unwarranted sense of dread to the others. This year, however, it looked as if the adjustment was going to be peaceful.

Suddenly, an indignant
whoop
disturbed the calm. Children froze and stared. Rachel immediately zeroed in on the cause and hurried to help.

She bent over the screeching little boy. “What's wrong?”
Name—name—what was his name?
And where was the name tag she'd carefully pinned on him when he'd first arrived?

Other children had huddled in small groups, looking on as if expecting dire consequences to spill over onto them.

Rachel guessed. “It's Jimmy, isn't it? What's the matter, Jimmy? Did you hurt yourself? Can you tell me what happened so I can fix it?” By keeping her voice soft she forced the child to quiet down to hear what she was saying.

Jimmy drew a shuddering breath and pointed to a nearby knot of boys. “He hit me.”

The knot instantly unraveled as children scattered.

Rachel took charge. “All right. I need everyone to sit down on the rug so we can talk about keeping our hands to ourselves.” She pointed. “Jimmy, there's a box of tissues over there. You can go get one and wipe your nose before you come sit with us.”

Choosing the adult-size chair at the head of the class, Rachel waited for the children to comply. All but two did. The tearful boy was doing as he'd been told and blowing his nose. Samantha had gone with him.

Rachel was about to remind the little girl that she was a part of the class and needed to behave just like the others, when she noticed something that gave her pause. Although Samantha was whispering to the sniffling boy, her excitement was evident. She waved. She pointed across the room. She held out her arms as if mimicking a bird and smiled so broadly her eyes were squeezed almost shut. Or were they actually closed? Rachel couldn't tell for sure. All she knew
was that Jimmy had forgotten about being upset and was giving Samantha his rapt attention.

So, Samantha wanted to play mother. Rachel smiled. That was a good sign. The child obviously needed to feel needed. Looking after the other children would give her a positive purpose, not to mention a boost in morale.

And anybody who can calm a screamer like that is okay in my book,
she thought. There was a tenderhearted peacemaker in the class. This was going to be a good year.

A very good year.

 

The day flew by so fast that it was over before Rachel had time to notice how tired she was. At twothirty she lined up all her students and marched them out to the lawn in front of the school to make sure each one was handed over to a parent or had boarded the right bus.

Samantha stood by Rachel's side and watched each classmate depart, until only she was left.

“Which bus did you come on?” Rachel asked her, wiping sweat from her own brow and wishing she could escape the sultry southern afternoon by heading back to her air-conditioned classroom.

“I don't know.”

“What was the number on it?”

“I don't know.” Clearly, the child was about to cry.

“Well, did it have a lady driver or a man?”

“I don't remember.”

Terrific.
“Okay. Let's go check in the office.”

As she turned to lead the way, the little girl gave a happy squeal, shouted, “There! That one,” and took off running toward the last bus in line.

Rachel paused, unconvinced. An older child might remember suddenly, but five-year-olds were more likely to remain confused.

She started to follow, then decided to check the office records first. If Samantha had chosen the right bus after all, Rachel didn't want to do anything to undermine her self-confidence. If not, there would be plenty of time to correct the error before the buses pulled out.

She hurried into the office, glad for a temporary respite from the heat and humidity of the September afternoon. “I need to see the Samantha Smith file, Mary.” Breezing past the receptionist, she headed straight for the upright filing cabinet.

“I don't think I've finished that one yet. It's probably still here in this pile on my desk.” Mary gestured toward a messy stack. “Sorry. We've been swamped. I don't know why so many folks wait till the last minute to register their kids.”

“In Samantha's case, I don't think there was a choice. Any idea where her file might be? Top, bottom, middle?” Rachel was already paging through the folders.

“Near the top, I think. Why? Didn't you already see it?”

“Yes, but I don't recall what it said about the foster home placement. She needs to ride a bus and I don't know which one.”

“Oops. Maybe we should phone and ask Ms. Heatherington.”

“No way. I'd rather spend an hour listening to my mother complain than to have to say two words to that woman.”

“She is kind of stuffy. Is that why you dislike her?”

“No. It's her attitude about the children she deals with that makes me mad. She acts like it's their fault that their families fell apart and she got stuck helping them.”

“The little Smith girl's an orphan, isn't she?”

“Yes, which makes it even harder. That's why it's so important to be sure she's on the right bus. Life has to be frightening enough for her already.”

“Well, you'd better get a move on. It's almost time for those buses to leave.”

“I know. I'm hurrying.”

Rachel fumbled a file folder and almost dropped it, just as a mother burst through the door and shouted, “There you are. I want to talk to you. Now!”

It took Rachel a moment to realize she was the object of the woman's ire. Her first clue was the small, round-faced boy who was clutching his mother's pudgy finger and rubbing his runny nose with his other hand. It was Jimmy.

“I'll be right with you, Mrs.—”

“Andrews,” she said crisply. “My son, James, is in your class, as you well know.”

“Yes, ma'am. We can go talk in my room. I just have to take care of—”

“I'm not going anyplace where you can make excuses in private,” the woman said. “I want to know, right here and right now, where you get off telling my son that there are
angels
in his classroom?”

“What?” Rachel was totally confused.

“Angels. He says there are guardian angels flying all over the kindergarten room.”

“I never told him that.”

“Well, somebody sure did.”

“Maybe one of the other children.” A light went on in Rachel's head. Of course! Samantha hadn't been pretending to be a bird when she'd comforted Jimmy, she'd been demonstrating her ideas about angels!
How sweet.

Rachel nodded, convinced of her conclusions. “I think I know what happened to confuse your son. Children have wonderful imaginations. One of the girls must have told him about angels this morning while she was helping him blow his nose.”

Mrs. Andrews wasn't placated. “Well, what if she did? You're the teacher. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. No harm's been done,” she said calmly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hold the buses until I can be sure one of my students is on the right one.”

“Well! I never…”

The woman was still muttering to herself when Rachel brushed past and headed for the curb. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

The buses were already gone!

 

After a hurried search of the hallways and her own classroom, Rachel returned to the office, gave in and telephoned Heatherington's office.

When she hung up, Mary asked, “Well?”

“Samantha's living with the Brodys on Squirrel Hill Road. I saw her get on bus number seven. I think she belonged on five.” Rachel began pacing. “It's my fault. I should have kept her with me until I knew for sure.”

“She'll be okay. Surely, the driver will notice and… Oh-oh. Seven, did you say?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because we have a sub driving that one this afternoon.”

“Don't tell me. Let me guess. Sean Bates is driving seven, right?”

“No, Maxwell Eades is.” Mary frowned. “Why would you think it was Sean Bates?”

“Because Samantha knows Sean. I figured she'd choose that bus if she saw him behind the wheel.”

“Nope. Sorry. We can't use Bates until he gets an Arkansas license. Mr. Vanbruger did suggest he ride along to familiarize himself with the routes, though. He could have decided to start with any of them.”

“Give me maps of all the routes,” Rachel ordered. “Then please get on the phone and alert some of the parents who live along seven. Ask them to tell Max to keep Samantha from getting off.”

Mary handed her copies of hand-drawn maps. “Gotcha. What are you going to do?”

“Jump in my car and try to catch the bus before that poor kid gets herself totally lost.”

“Isn't that above and beyond the call of duty?”

“Not for me it isn't. And definitely not where Samantha Smith is concerned. The minute I saw her I knew I was meant to look after her. So far I haven't done a very good job of it. From now on, I intend to do a lot better.”

 

Rachel was familiar with the rural area where the Brody family lived, but since Samantha's bus wasn't headed that way, the knowledge was no help. The only sensible thing to do was trace the bus route, mile by mile, until she overtook number seven.

And what if Samantha's already gotten off before I catch up to her?
Rachel's heart sped.
Or what if she changed buses at school while I was stuck in the office?