Sycamore Hill (29 page)

“Well, why should I?” Diego demanded, unconvinced and decidedly
antagonistic.

“Please sit down.” He obeyed, his mouth tight, his eyes narrowed
and shoulders rigid.

“When you go home tonight, I want you to think about something.
Think long and hard.” I paused. “I want you to think about anger, jealousy,
prejudice and intolerance, in fact, all the things that you can think of that
make this world of ours a difficult and sometimes impossible place in which to
live. I want you to think hard about your feelings concerning Matthew and why
you feel that way.”

“I know what I feel about Hayes. And I know why,” Diego said
caustically. I gave him a stem look.

“May I finish?”

Diego looked shamefaced.

“Now, when you finish thinking about those things, I want you to
pretend you are Matthew Hayes.” Diego’s expression was sullen. I continued
doggedly. “I want you to think about every aspect of his life. When you’re
finished with that, write it all down on paper and give it to me.”

Diego let out an angry breath. “I don’t see why I’m the one being
punished. He started the fight, and I got expelled.”

“He started it, yes. But he wants to finish it in the manner it
should have been finished long ago, and you don’t want to let him, do you? You
want to hurt him more than he hurt you.” I reached out and took Diego’s hand.
“You’re not feeling anything any different than anyone else would feel under
the same circumstances. But I happen to believe you’re bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?” Diego looked at me cautiously.

“It takes a very big man to forgive. It’s easy to hold a grudge,
Diego. But what does it accomplish, and who does it hurt most? You think about
that too.”

“It seems to me you’re giving me a lot to think about,” he said
with a rueful smile. I smiled back at him.

“A very lot,” I agreed. “But no less than I will ask of Matt.”

“Matthew’s father probably won’t let him come back to school,”
Diego announced glumly, still sure of his assessment of Matthew’s intentions.

I shook my head. “Let’s give Matt a chance to prove himself, shall
we?”

“I’m not sure I want to come back to school tomorrow just so I can
get kicked out again.”

“Oh, Diego. I think you’ve a little more courage than that,
haven’t you?” I told him solemnly. I squeezed his hand. “You give me the
written part of your assignment when you feel you’ve thought everything over
enough. All right?”

“Sí."
He nodded.

I found Matthew sitting outside on the front steps. His knees were
drawn up, his head hidden in his arms. I talked with him about much the same
thing as I had with Diego, and I repeated my assignment. He agreed more readily
than Diego, wanting desperately to do anything in order to rejoin his peers.

When Diego saw Matthew sitting in his usual place minutes later,
he looked surprised and then relieved. The rest of the children cast curious
looks between the two boys, and several times I had to reprimand a couple of
them for trying to speak to the two boys about what had happened during the
lunch hour. Margaret was finally assigned extra work for continuing to draw
Diego into conversation, and Luke and Mark were given spelling words to write
to keep them occupied. Otherwise, the rest of the afternoon passed without
incident.

However, the following morning Matthew’s father stormed into the
schoolroom before any of the children had arrived. His face was livid, and his
voice boomed out in its usual bullying fashion. “Just what are you trying to do
now, Miss McFarland?” he demanded in a raging voice. “Luke told me this morning
that you had Matt in here talking with that other boy yesterday.”

“The boys needed time to talk things over,” I started to explain,
but Reverend Hayes was in no mood to listen.

“I don’t want my boy having anything to do with that...
illegitimate son of a Mexican charwoman! It’s bad enough that I had to
reinstate him, but I’ll not have that son of Cain mixing with my own son!” He
stormed on and on until my head began to throb. Then he strode out of the
schoolhouse without allowing me the opportunity to state my own opinions.

Shortly after the scene with Jonah Hayes, Diego and Linda arrived.
Diego handed me a note from Reva, and I read it with a feeling of dismal
resignation. I was slightly relieved to find that she understood what I was
trying to do and condoned it only if I could see that Diego was not put in any
kind of position to be hurt.

Several days after I had spoken with both boys, I saw Matthew
approach Diego in the schoolyard. The children stopped to watch, some curious,
some hoping for a renewed battle. Diego looked around him at the faces of the
children and then at Matthew. He said something to the boy in a low voice.
Matthew held out his hand. I held my breath, waiting. Slowly, Diego held his
out in acceptance. I felt an overwhelming pride in the two boys then, and my
eyes filled with thankful tears. They would never be close friends perhaps, but
at least they had learned something about one another, and about life.

***

Just before Thanksgiving I intended to make a personal visit to
each family to discuss the progress of their children. I made voluminous notes
and planned out what I must say to each parent.

The first conferences went exceedingly well. I had dreaded the
visit to Reverend Hayes, but was surprised when he treated me with restraint.
Not once did he raise his voice to me, though I could see how much he wanted
to.

I did not know what to do about my conference with Reva concerning
Diego, and especially my most dreaded conference with Jordan about Linda. I remembered
only too well how he told me to stay clear of Eden Rock, but surely he would
not quarrel with my intentions of discussing his daughter’s progress in school?
Then I struck upon a possible solution to my dilemma.

In the prim note to Jordan I asked him to come to the schoolhouse
for our parent-teacher conference. I suggested he bring Reva Gutierrez with him
so that I could talk with her about Diego. That way, I said also, they would
save one trip to town. However, the following morning Linda brought a sealed
envelope from her father. As I tore it open with shaking fingers, my heart was
racing. I don’t know what I had expected, but it was not what I read. Jordan’s
handwriting was a strong, dark scrawl. One word was written in the center of
the sheet of white Eden Rock stationery: “Coward!”

“Daddy said that he would be glad to see you at Eden Rock Saturday
morning, Miss McFarland,” Linda informed me, the tone of the words an
indication that she was parroting her father. Then she looked closely at me.
“Are you feeling all right, ma’am? Your face is a funny red color.”

“I’m fine. Just fine,” I said and gave her a quick reassuring
smile. I sometimes wished I had never met Jordan Bennett.

When I awoke on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I found a clear
sky. It was the first in days, and I thought it ironic that it should fall on
the one day I would have to waste sparring with Jordan Bennett.

By seven o’clock I was astride a horse and on my way to the ranch.
When I reached Eden Rock, just past nine, Reva was waiting. She informed me
immediately that Jordan had ridden off early on some ranch business. He had not
said how long he would be gone, but she expected him back because he had
mentioned my visit the previous evening. I fumed silently, sure that he had disappeared
deliberately to irritate me and delay my departure.

Reva and I talked over coffee. There was not a great deal to
cover, since I had been tutoring Diego only weeks before, and Reva knew his
progress. Gradually, I relaxed and forgot that I was in the one place that
Jordan had warned me to avoid at all costs. I reasoned that I had no worries
since he had relayed his welcome via Linda.

Diego and Linda traipsed into the kitchen near noon, looking for
something to eat. When they said they had not seen Jordan, Reva decided not to
hold lunch until his return. She ladled out four bowls of beef-and-vegetable
soup, and cut slices of freshly baked bread. There was churned butter and the
special treat of quince jelly. Nothing had tasted as good to me in a long time.

“I’m pleased to see how much you enjoy your food,” Reva chuckled
as she watched me down my last bite of bread. I flushed slightly.

“How could I do anything else when you’re such a fine cook,” I
said sincerely.

“I imagine you are a very fine cook yourself,
señorita.”
She
smiled and I shook my head.

“What skills I did possess I’ve forgotten since I started
teaching. I’m afraid there isn’t time.”

“Then what do you eat?”

“Don’t look so concerned.” I laughed. “I’m far from starving.”

“What will you do for Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“Why don’t you come here for Thanksgiving?” Linda enthused, but I
shook my head.

“No, thank you, Linda. That’s very nice of you to ask, but I... I
have other plans,” I lied. The thought of spending Thanksgiving on Eden Rock
under Jordan’s baleful eye was unthinkable. I looked at Reva and, remembering
her relationship with him, felt suddenly desolate.

“I think I’d better be going,” I said, standing up. “Thank you
very much for the splendid meal, Reva.”

“You mustn’t leave,” she said in alarm. “Jordan will return at any
moment. You haven’t had your conference with him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer,” I apologized. “I’ve stayed
much too long already. I’ve very much enjoyed our visit. Perhaps Mr. Bennett
could ride into town early next week, and I could talk with him then.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be fine,” Reva said with a nod. “He’s
been riding into town much more often then he used to. He used to go in only
when he had to do so. Now he seems to go one or two times a week. Sometimes
more often.” She was looking at me intently.

Probably to spend time drinking at the casino, as I had seen him
that one night more than a month ago, I thought.

The minute I rode past the front gate of the ranch, I felt
immeasurably relieved. I did not look back, afraid I might see Jordan riding
in, and I would have no choice but to go back and talk with him. I had told
Reva that I enjoyed the visit. It was partially true. When I was able to force
out of my mind her possible relationship with Jordan, I could like her very
much. Then a picture of her in his arms would surge unbidden into my mind, and
I would feel sick with envy.

The less I thought about Jordan Bennett, the better my piece of
mind. I did not need to fuel the fire that burned in my mind and body. I wanted
to extinguish it forever, to feel nothing for that man but the same
indifference he felt for me. People said he had murdered his wife. People
believed that Diego was his illegitimate son. But everything was forgotten the
moment he had taken me in his arms. I had thought of nothing when he had kissed
me. I had reveled in him when his hands had moved on my body. Only sense and
realization had come later when he had been the one to stop what he himself had
started. I would not have had the strength of mind to have done so. I wondered
if that was what hurt the most.

The sun was high, and this was a precious Indian-summer day. It
was not a day to depress myself with thoughts about Jordan Bennett. My
afternoon was virtually free. I did have school work to do, but nothing that I
could not do this evening or tomorrow afternoon following church. I could ride
for as long as I wished, or as long as this horse was willing.

So I turned west and rode along the foothills. I began to feel
warm and pushed my bonnet back to bounce against my shoulder blades. The river
was nearby, and I turned northeast toward it. When I reached the riverbank, I
let the horse walk along at a clopping slow pace as I looked at the water
shimmering with the sunlight. It meandered along below the hills heading north.
I had followed it for some time when I saw an idyllic place for a private swim.

Just below me was a stretch of sand and a deep pool beneath an
overhang of willow and alder trees. They were almost nude of their leaves, exposing
the river that would be completely hidden in the spring. I gazed at the spot,
thinking that I would come back here in May and take advantage of this place
for a cool bath.

I needed to stretch my legs; so I rode down the incline to the
highest alder. There I tied the horse up. I walked the last several yards to
the riverbank. I hunkered down, sifting my fingers through the golden leaves,
then grasping some. I tossed them like a pagan offering on the water and
watched as they caught in the sluggish current.

A mischievous smile tugged at my lips as I wondered what James
Olmstead and the goodly Reverend Hayes would think if they knew what I was
planning for springtime relaxation. Then a surge of defiance hit me.

It had been several months since I had had a real bath. I had used
my three-bucket washing method, which was far from pleasant, although
functional. I looked at the pool and thought how wonderful it would be to
really submerge myself in fresh, clean water.

Why shouldn’t I do something wild just once? Debating with myself,
I looked down longingly at that deep pool of clean water. Then I made up my
mind.