Sycamore Hill (11 page)

“How old are you, Abby?” Ellen repeated her first question to me.
I did not hesitate this time.

“Twenty-four.” My birthday had come soon after I arrived in town.

“You don’t look it. But give it time, and you will,” she muttered.
“Even good children have a way of wearing body and soul down. I bear my
wrinkles like battle medals.”

“Don’t sound so encouraging,” I said wryly.

“You may as well know what you’re in for, girl. And I don’t for
the life of me know what’s wrong with you that you haven’t got a man of your
own. It’s not the usual thing to have a schoolteacher with your looks. Usually
they’re old battle-axes like me. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

“Ask James Olmstead. I’m sure he could supply you with several
answers to that question,” I answered abysmally.

Ellen chuckled. “The children used to call him Tattle-Tom, because
he always liked to see and tell the worst about everyone.”

“Apparently, age hasn’t improved him,” I mumbled and then flushed
bright red with embarrassment at my wayward tongue. He has been... kind.” I
tried to amend the damage.

“Oh, hogwash and folderol!” Ellen ejaculated in disgust. “James
Olmstead isn’t what I would call kind. Emily perhaps ... when she can get away
with it. But James? Ha!” She leaned forward from her chair, jabbing her finger
toward me. “Now, let’s get one thing agreed between us. We’ll be honest with
each other. I can’t abide any more amenities. And being retired now, I don’t
have to!”

I laughed again.

“Besides,” Ellen said more levelly, settling back in her chair and
readjusting the afghan, “I’ve a feeling we’re birds of a feather. You’re going
to need to talk to someone if you intend keeping your wits about you. I had
family I could go to when things worried me down. But you have no one, if my
gossiping sources are correct.” She raised thin gray brows questioningly.

“Your sources are correct,” I answered with a faint smile,
wondering to whom she had been talking to learn that tidbit of information. “My
parents died when I was five, and I was reared by guardians.”

“And what happened to them?” she asked, not the least bit hesitant
about learning someone else’s business.

“They were killed in a carriage accident about six months ago.”

“Did bill collectors get the lot?”

I laughed slightly at the old woman’s brash nosiness. “A nephew
inherited,” I answered, without adding the other details of the Haversalls’
deception. But it all came back in a second.

“I suspect there’s more to that story than you’re telling,” Ellen
said acutely, watching my face. “All right, I won’t ask,” she relented with a
wave of her gnarled hand. “Not today, anyway,” she corrected and flashed a
smile. “What do you think of Sycamore Hill?”

“It’s a nice Western community.”

Ellen sniffed. “A very nice, safe answer. Forget the buildings,
and let’s get down to the people.”

“You hardly give a person a chance to breathe, do you?” I
commented.

“I learned that during my schoolteaching days. It helped me keep
one step ahead of those wild little Indians. If you take my advice, you’ll do
the same thing. Keep them so busy their little heads spin. Then they won’t have
time to make your life a misery. And believe me, they can do it! Children have
cunning, devious little minds.” She waved her hand again, cutting off my
comment. “And don’t try to tell me they’re little angels, all sweetness and
light. They’d be abnormal if they were! Even the quiet, dumb ones have some
mischief on their minds. As long as they’re alive and kicking, that’s the way
they should be.”

“Well, so far they’re behaving remarkably well,” I insisted,
wanting very much to laugh again.

“Give them time,” Ellen Greer prophesied. “Right now they’re on
their Sunday-best behavior. Monday will arrive anytime, and then we’ll see what
stuff you’re made of.”

“I do believe you’re trying to frighten me off,” I replied.

“You’ll do just fine. You look soft, but I think there’s a
determined streak in you.” She nodded. “Yes, Abby, my dear, you’ll do just
fine. Now, who have you met or who do you want to know about?”

I considered a moment before I spoke. “I haven’t really met very
many people as yet. The Olmsteads, of course.”

“Of course,” Ellen muttered. “And Bertie Poole, from what I hear.”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t like her boys digging a latrine or plowing the play
yard,” the old woman chuckled. “When I heard about that, I knew we were going
to get on together. The last teacher was in over her head.”

“The last teacher? I thought—”

“That I was? No, my dear. I retired five years ago. I worked until
I was seventy-five and then couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“Then who?...”

“A weak little drudge named Prudence Townsend.”

“That’s not very kind,” I admonished.

“No, I don’t suppose it is. But she was pathetic as a teacher. She
had no business even trying it in the first place. But I don’t suppose there
was anything she could do. She wasn’t the least bit pretty like you, which was
at least one point in her favor.”

“What an awful thing to say,” I emitted, shocked.

“Maybe so,” Ellen relented only momentarily, for she went on
bluntly again. “She was nice, and that was her problem. The children ran all
over her. She wanted to do well, but couldn’t keep the horde of barbarians
under control. They didn’t learn much from her, which was a shame, because the
girl had some brains and a lot more education than I did. But it takes more
than formal knowledge to make a schoolteacher. A strong hand can be more
beneficial than ten textbooks.”

“I don’t think I could use corporal punishment,” I admitted. “You
won’t have to as long as you have latrines to dig and play yards to plow,”
Ellen Greer chortled gleefully. “I would have loved to have seen the Poole boys
at that. Your looks are going to come in handy where they’re concerned. From
what I’ve heard, both boys have perched you high on a pedestal and labeled you
their first love.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” I disagreed, while remembering the
calf-eyed look Sherman had cast me recently.

“Don’t be modest! And besides, they show surprising taste, I’d
say. I’d little hope of those two ever showing the least bit of intelligence,
though I know they do have it hidden away somewhere upstairs beneath all that
curly hair.”

“They are bright,” I agreed.

“They didn’t get it from Bertie or Branford. They must be
throwbacks to some other relative long forgotten.”

I laughed.

“I had both in my class—the parents first, then the two boys; so
I’m not talking through my hat,” Ellen told me defensively.

“How on earth did you ever last fifty-five years?” I asked, still
laughing and thinking her the most outspoken and least tactful person I’d ever
met.

“Following a few basic rules, which I will now kindly pass on to
you,” she said seriously. “I kept my thoughts to myself, believe it or not. I
obeyed the rules as closely as possible, and when I had to break them, I didn’t
apologize or take any guff from the likes of James Olmstead.”

She tapped her cane on the floor. “And there’s another thing it’ll
help you to know. Schoolteachers are hard to come by. It’s a thankless job for
the most part. Of course, there are bright spots ahead of you.”

“For example?” I asked wryly.

“You may have some gifted student who will make every dumb one
worthwhile.”

“You did?”

“Indeed, I did. He only went here until he was fourteen. Then his
mother took my advice and shipped him off back East to finish his schooling.
He’d long since learned everything I could teach him, and he was hungry for more.
He went on through Harvard and got his law degree. He was even offered a
position in the best firm in Boston.” Ellen’s voice softened, and she looked
out the window. “I was real proud of him.” She did not speak for a minute and
then looked at me.

“Of course, he made some stupid mistakes along the way, like
marrying himself a brainless, selfish little society girl.” She shook her head
in disgust, then waved her hand in her characteristic gesture of dismissal.
“Oh, but enough on that. It’s ancient history. Anyway, you’ll have your bright
spots. One Jordan Bennett makes all the Berties worth it.”

“Jordan Bennett?” I choked.

“You’ve met him, have you?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t help the way I said it, or the way I looked
after I said it.

Ellen Greer leaned forward, her sharp eyes curious. “Do I take it
you don’t like him?”

“You take it correctly,” I muttered under my breath. “And believe
me, the feeling is mutual.”

The gray eyebrows went up. “How do you know that?”

“He makes it as plain as day,” I told her.

“He doesn’t usually show his feelings. You say he doesn’t like
you? Does he have some reason to feel that way?” Her gray-blue eyes were
studying me again.

“I don’t think so, but then perhaps he does,” I admitted. “Our
first meeting wasn’t very cordial.”

“Tell me about it,” Ellen ordered, sitting forward and leaning on
her cane. She was very curious and not attempting to hide it.

"I’d rather not. That’s one episode I would prefer to
forget.”

“You just make me all the more interested.”

“The story would disappoint you, believe me.”

“Then we’ll shelve Jordan for the moment... along with those
guardians of yours,” Ellen Greer decided, but pointed a warning finger at me.
“We’ll get around to all of them sooner or later, my dear. Mark my word. I may
be eighty, but I’m not ready for the boneyard yet, nor is my brain. When
curiosity dies, the rest of you might as well follow right along.”

“Well, I think you have more than your share of curiosity,” I
observed with an amused laugh.

“If you were really truthful, you’d call me nosy.” Ellen chuckled.
“But you’re more polite than honest, it seems. We’ll have to work on overcoming
that handicap if you’re planning to make Sycamore Hill your permanent home.”

“That is going to be up to Mr. Olmstead, I’m afraid,” I told her
ruefully.

“No. That’s going to be up to you. Forget Tattle-Tommy and just do
what you think is best for the children. The rest will fall in line. Now, when
are you going to come and visit with me again?” she demanded.

I was pleased she wanted me to come back, and answered, “As soon
as I have a spare moment.”

“Well, I can’t wait that long, Abby,” she muttered impatiently.
“I’m an old woman and could die at any moment.”

“Oh, no! Don’t say such a thing,” I gasped.

Ellen chuckled again. “I’d better warn you, my dear. I’m not
beyond the use of coercion. And I know exactly how to make your conscience
smart the most if you stay away too long.”

“You’re an old harridan,” I told her with humor.

“And you, young woman, are very astute. Now be off with you!” She
dismissed me like some six-year-old child. “My niece will be in here any minute
now reminding me it’s time for my afternoon nap.” She shook her head in
disgust. “You’d think I would have a little peace at my age, but still I have
to follow rules!”

I started for the door, but Ellen Greer called my attention back
again. “Come for coffee and cake Wednesday at five.”

“I will if I can,” I promised.

“I’ll expect you,” Ellen said, a flicker of loneliness appearing
before it was squelched. “And, Abby,” she went on more gently, “it’s been a
pleasure talking to you. I may decide to live a couple of extra years just to
see what happens to you.”

My second week of teaching began well. I kept my Wednesday
appointment with Ellen Greer, and on the old woman’s suggestion, decided to
teach Bible stories in Sunday School. I would thus avoid a confrontation with
the Reverend Jonah Hayes. He could hardly object to verbatim reading from the
Bible, and I would have only to pick and choose those stories that best
illustrated God’s love and forgiving kindness. I did not want to subject my
beliefs to ridicule or debate with the fire-breathing reverend, nor did I want
to encourage the children to believe that wrath and vengeance reigned supreme.

As the weeks progressed, I began to tackle problems other than the
physical appearance of the schoolhouse, testing and lessons for the children.
When Katrina Lane continued coming to school dressed in expensive frocks, which
she was afraid to get dirty, I decided to talk with her mother. I learned from
Katrina that her mother worked in the hotel at the end of Main Street, and that
she finished working in the bar at nine o’clock each evening. I wrote a note
requesting an appointment and sent it home with Katrina. The following morning
Katrina returned, saying that her mother had agreed to talk with me. I was
invited to the hotel Friday evening after nine, if that was acceptable. I
agreed without giving it a second thought.

The hotel was filled to capacity that evening. The front rails
were packed with saddle horses, and several buckboards and carriages were
standing at the back. As I came up the street, I could hear the noisy laughter
and honky-tonk music. Now and then a man would shout something and more
laughter would burst forth.