My Heart Belongs in the Blue Ridge, page 8
She followed him into the schoolhouse. “More from your sister? What’s her name anyhow?”
“Cora,” he called as he knelt to retrieve two more books from his bag. “She’s probably fairly close to your age, I think. Nineteen?”
Laurel nodded as he took the books and met her in the middle of the room. “Twenty in the spring. And your sister, does she talk the bark off a tree too?”
He chuckled. “She talks more than me.” He scanned the spine of the first book and raised a brow of challenge to Laurel. “I recall you’ve read Frankenstein, yes?”
Her eyes widened. “Whew, fascinatin’ story, but I’ve seen enough horror in real life not to want to read ’bout it too often. I like mysteries though. Can’t quite get enough of trying to figure out the ending, if you know what I mean. Emily Cabot mysteries are my favorites.”
His gaze dropped back to the book in his hand. Dracula. He offered the other book instead. “Perhaps this one will be more to your liking then.”
She took the book and flipped to the title page, her wide eyes staring up at him. “The Return of Sherlock Holmes? You mean he didn’t die after all? Well, shoot fuzzy.”
The quaint phrase tipped his smile afresh.
She pointed to him with the book. “And is this the sort of book Cora likes, or you?”
He shrugged. “I must confess, I do prefer these to Anne of Green Gables or Little Women.”
“And that sort too?” Her gaze dropped to Dracula. “I don’t rightly see you as the bloodsucking, coldhearted type, Teacher.”
“You’ve read it already?”
“I told ya. If a book comes by, any book, I’m obliged to give it my attention. Even the ones with womenfolk in white who nab young’uns at night.” She shuddered. “But…” She raised the book he’d just given her. “If I have my druthers, I’d choose this kind or the ones that make me get a little starry-eyed.” Her gaze twinkled as example. “Like Miss Anne Shirley.”
A sudden movement behind Laurel caught his attention, a figure in the shadow of the woods. From the build and height, Claude Greer’s surly expression rose to Jonathan’s mind.
“What’s turned your thoughts, Teacher?” She followed his gaze to the tree line, but the shadow was no longer there.
“Some of the pupils haven’t been back to school since the first day.” He drew in a breath through his nose and jammed his hands into his pockets, straightening from his position against the doorframe. “And I think they left me an unwelcome gift on my front porch this morning in protest.”
“Rats, frogs, or a polecat?” She raised a golden brow.
“Rats.”
Her grimace crinkled her nose. “Well, at least they weren’t as all-fired mad as a polecat.” She placed a hand on her hip, readying herself for one of her sharp retorts he was beginning to predict. “Let me guess. Would it have been the Greers and Jacobses?”
“And Hawkses.”
She groaned. “I was hopin’ Larp and Izzie Hawks had kept themselves away from the Greers, but I reckon deep paths are the easiest to follow, and the Hawkses live not a mile from the Greers. Ozaiah Greer’s a take-charge sort of man. Stubborn too. Real stuck in the old ways.”
“The old ways?”
She nodded. “Before the mission came, before your uncle. Before—”
“Mr. Taylor.” Danette Simms stepped from her room and directly into the conversation, bringing her body and lilac scent uncomfortably close. He’d avoided a few evening conversations with her, but not enough to discourage her continual attempts. “I’m so sorry we haven’t had much time to talk this week. It seems every after-school opportunity, you’ve already left for the day.”
He offered her a guarded smile. He had the slightest inclination that Miss Simms was very much akin to Olivia Reynolds from back home. The smallest kindness was easily contorted into the most ardent affections. “I find it easier to focus on planning my lessons when I’m alone. My uncle’s home is an excellent location for thinking and grading.”
“Far too much, if you ask me.” She raised her nose and sniffed. “I see the work on the mission house is coming along well enough.”
He followed her gaze to the rooftop through the trees. “Indeed. My uncle seems to think it will be ready by the end of next week.”
Her golden eyes glimmered. “How excellent to have you so convenient to the store and school.”
His smile froze on his face as he searched for a reply.
“Miss Simms, I reckon it’s right providential you walked up when you did. Mr. Taylor and I were just trying to work out a problem.” Laurel’s gaze let him know she recognized his discomfort and swept in to the rescue.
“Well, I’ll be happy to help Mr. Taylor in any way I can.” Her wordless message held volumes more.
He drew back and quickly explained the situation, adding in the fact he’d seen Claude Greer outside the school. “Perhaps a visit to their home would be a good idea.”
Danette’s hand flew to her chest, and Laurel’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.
“Ozaiah Greer’s home?” Danette shook her head. “I can barely look the man in the face when he enters Mrs. Cappy’s store, let alone visit his house. Terrifying man, and to leave mutilated rats on your doorstep.” She shook her head so hard her dark curls bounced. “Best to leave him be.”
“Law, Miss Simms, you’re gonna scare the hair right off Mr. Taylor’s head, and that’d be a cryin’ shame for sure. Ozaiah Greer ain’t as scary as all that, but truth be told, he isn’t the friendliest of sorts neither.”
“I heard tales of what he did to one of the last teachers he didn’t like. Threatened to skin her alive.” Miss Simms fanned her hand in front of her face.
Laurel’s laugh eased some of the tension. “Now, Miss Simms, no man in this whole mountain is gonna take the time to skin anybody alive when he can shoot ’em a whole lot faster.” Laurel turned to Jonathan, her words providing little comfort. “They don’t take to strangers too easily around here, Teacher, and the Greers are worse than most folk. You probably did something that set them off, and they’re nursing a little grudge to teach you a lesson.”
“If that’s the case, how will I uncover the problem if I don’t go to their house?” He took a much braver stance than he felt. “It’s the right thing to do for the children’s sakes alone.”
Laurel’s gaze softened with sweet encouragement. Danette’s widened in horror.
“I do not venture into the woods without a well-trained escort, Mr. Taylor, for fear of getting lost, wounded”—she lowered her voice—“or attacked. I haven’t the slightest idea where the Greers live except at the ridge of one of these mountains, and I have no intention of finding out.”
“If you got your heart set, Teacher, then Isom and I can walk you there tomorrow, midmornin’, unless you want to wait for your uncle to get back from his circuit. He knows the way to the Greers’ too, but Isom’s been friends with their boy, Tucker, for time out of mind, so Isom can get there lickety-split and maybe ease the way a bit.”
“Are you certain you don’t mind?”
“Naw. It’s a good thing to see where your students live.” Her gaze softened. “The more you understand, the more you’ll be understood too.” She grinned. “It’s a fair trade.”
“Well, if I don’t see either of you at church on Sunday, we’ll know exactly what happened. Ozaiah Greer or one of his wild dogs let his offense turn into actions.”
“Or we got him converted, Miss Simms, and Ozaiah Greer done preached us such a fine sermon we decided Preacher would forgive our absence from pure astonishment.” Laurel’s lighthearted comment failed to brighten those hazel eyes as she looked back at him. “Because Mr. Greer needs a whole lot of Jesus, so you best prepare yourself, Teacher.”
The song floated over the morning breeze as Laurel hung a load of clothes on the line to dry, a hum and tune so familiar she didn’t need to hear the words. Her mama’s voice, gentle and sweet, carried the melody like a lullaby, the song twisting into Laurel’s heart. “The Touch of My Love.”
It was the song Mama always sang when she thought of her distant children. Three now. Betsy, married off and living on the other side of the mountain on Patton Ridge; Jeb, fighting on some distant shore; and Kizzie. Laurel’s throat tightened at each remembrance of her younger sister, her closest sister. The wild-and-free daydreamer. Always lookin’ beyond the horizon for a better life.
Laurel squeezed her eyes closed, hands paused on the wooden pins as she pressed a shirt into place on the laundry line. “Dear Lord, wherever she is, take care of her.”
Mama’s hum turned into words from the other side of the line.
“My love will bind your heart and mine
Though seas and lands divide us
The warm sun on your face in the morn’
Will be the touch of my love
Will be the touch of my love.
My song will carry my love to you
O’er fields and forest and rivers,
And when the wind kisses the curls of your hair
Twill be the touch of my love.
Twill be the touch of my love.
The heart is strong at rememberin’
The heart holds fast to what’s true
And days may pass, and miles grow long
But nothin’ can keep my love from you.
No, nothin’ can keep my love from you.”
Laurel wiped away a tear and retrieved her basket, walking around the hanging clothes to return to her mama, who sat on a stump with the wash bin between her knees. Strips of the silver-tinged golden bun blew in the wind as she scrubbed at a pair of Daddy’s overalls, water slapping a rhythmic swish between the washboard and tub.
“You heard from Jeb,” Laurel said, knowing the answer.
“We got a letter yester eve.” Mama turned the clothes over in the tub and scrubbed some more, her voice low. “It’s a hard world over there.”
Nothing but the splashing of the water and a hard scrub of cloth filled the silence. Mama wrung out the overalls and gave them to Laurel, picking up a plaid shirt next.
“Each letter is a blessed reminder he’s still breathing.”
“Aye.” Her mama’s soft reply blended in with the harsh sound of the scrubbing. “Aye.”
The longing in that one word nearly tore open Laurel’s heart. A mother’s ache for her child, even if her child was a twenty-one-year-old grown man. And surely the pain swelled even greater after Kizzie was sent away. Not even a year ago yet. She’d have had her baby by now, though, if she’d survived this long on her own.
Laurel swallowed back knotted tears and waited, allowing the silence and the steady work to loosen her mama’s thoughts into words.
“He’s strong, your brother. Strong like your daddy.” She handed over the shirt and pulled a dress from the basket. Maggie’s pale blue church dress, with a few paint stains at the wrists of the right sleeve. Dark blue. Elderberry mixed with saffron stain. She must’ve been painting another mountain sky scene.
Laurel pinned the overalls on the line, followed by the shirt, giving her mama ample time to share.
Those piercing blue eyes fastened to Laurel. “You’re strong too, girl.” Mama gestured toward the water, her worn fingers working over the dress with familiarity. “The Almighty’s called you to something different than the rest of us. From your first days, I seen it. You and Maggie and Isom too. The world’s a changing place. Y’all got a hunger for learnin’.”
“College don’t mean I’ll be gone forever, Mama.” Laurel knelt by her mama’s knee. “A few years, mayhap.”
Mama smiled, a slight crease forming around her eyes. “I know, but my heart is gettin’ ready for whatever the call. I feel it comin’ like the smell of rain on the wind or the look of snow round the moon.” She pushed the dress into the rinse water and then wrung it out. “Ain’t no cause for frettin’ though. You’ll be as close as a thought, won’t ya? Just like Jeb.”
Laurel pinched her lips against adding one more name, but her mama supplied the words.
“And Kizzie.”
Laurel nodded, taking the dress. “I wish we knew where she was. Even if we couldn’t see her, just to know she’s livin’.”
“Aye,” came the soft answer again, relinquishing control she couldn’t take. “Maybe someday, Laurel.” Mama drew in a deep breath as if coming up from a dream. “Go on and finish hanging them clothes. You and your brother need to git on down to meeting Teacher.”
“Yes, Mama.” Laurel started toward the line.
“Laurel?”
She turned. Her mother’s gaze fixed on hers.
“Be careful at the Greers’. Some men hold to their dark days all year round.”
“Ever seen an autumn-leaf rainbow, Teacher?” Isom bounced up ahead of Jonathan and Laurel, Butter trailing his every move like the faithful hound he was.
Jonathan sent her a curious look and then called back, “No, I don’t believe I have.”
“Well now. You gotta see one afore the leaves take their fall.” He slowed his pace and surveyed the forest on either side of their path, most likely looking for the perfect spot.
Laurel leaned close to the confused teacher. “It’s somethin’ our mama’s done with us every autumn since we were little. She’s always stopping the work to admire the Almighty’s creation. Paints extra color into life, she says.”
His eyes lit with his smile. “I see she’s had a profound influence on all of you with her bright outlook.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, I found a good spot. Right here.” Isom waved for them to follow him, as he scuttled up underneath a low-lying oak.
“What is he doing?” Jonathan looked from Isom’s disappearing form back to Laurel.
“He’s taking you to see an autumn-leaf rainbow.” She raised a brow. “You don’t wanna miss one of those.” Without another word, she ducked beneath the limbs and followed her little brother into the thicket, a giggle waiting in her throat.
Something about introducing city fella Jonathan Taylor to her world brought a funny feeling into her stomach, akin to being tickled. Kind of. But not exactly. Even in the little while she’d come to know him, it was plain as clouds in the sky that he needed some joy in his life, some shine. Most folks did, though.
The crunch of leaves behind alerted her that Teacher followed, but he didn’t ask for more clarification. She reckoned he’d learned by now to just follow along for a discovery.
Isom collapsed on the ground up ahead, cozying up beneath a brilliant red maple. The color lashed through the other trees like lightning at midnight. She looked upward and her grin grew. He’d found the perfect place. Butter licked Isom’s face before lying down too.
With a glance behind her, she lay back on the pillowed leaves and stared up into the crimson sunlight.
“What are we doing?” Teacher whispered as he settled beside her, shoulders nearly touching.
Isom answered. “Look yonder. An autumn-leaf rainbow.”
Laurel looked through the branches of the maple, and the rainbow appeared as the trees of various kinds raised one above the other. A yellow birch, an orange sassafras, a hint of brighter red from the black gum, and a golden oak towering above them all. Each color, filtered with sunlight, complemented the next, like a God-made quilt. Laurel sighed. Now that would be some kind of quilt to behold.
“It’s…remarkable.” His voice held the appropriate amount of awe.
“Sure is.” She breathed in the earth, the scent of pine, and the faintest hints of mint from the dainty dittany nearby. She might dream of seeing the world beyond her mountains, but home would always call her back.
Another scent invaded, less natural. Leathery. Sweet. Jonathan Taylor.
Isom’d had his fill of rainbows and scurried back toward the path, but Laurel turned her face toward the schoolteacher.
He had a strong profile. His thick hair, a mingle of gold and brown, fell back from his forehead giving an unhindered view. He was too handsome to be a backwoods schoolteacher, but there was a comfort in knowing him—a spring blossom–scented sweetness. Like she’d always known him. “What’d you mean back there on the path?”
He turned to face her, gaze to gaze, his brow peaked like a question mark.
“Mama’s bright outlook,” Laurel reminded. “Her influence.”
“Ah, yes.” His attention didn’t waver from her face. The haven of maple leaves closed in around them, urging her to stay where she was, with Teacher. “There’s a difference with your family than most of the others I’ve met. A light. A joy. I knew it had to come from somewhere, and I saw it in your mother when I stayed at your home. There’s something in her countenance that lights the conversation, if I may.”
She’d never heard anything so pretty in all her living days, except what came from the Good Book sometimes. It nearly brought her to tears. She looked back up at the leaves. “She’d say it’s Jesus. No good without Him.”
“I’ve only seen such a clear indicator of His presence in my uncle, a contentedness despite the situation or circumstances. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to come to Maple Springs. I wanted a chance to be near him and understand better what kept his…”
“Soul quiet,” she finished, knowing the very notion.
“Yes. A quiet soul.”
She turned to him again, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t reckon it comes easy.”
His eyes twinkled to life. “No, I don’t reckon it does.”
She grinned. “Then maybe I don’t want it so bad. You?”
He chuckled. “The result is certainly enticing, but not the journey to it.”
She stared at him a little longer, his eyes a shade of brown-gold that fit the surroundings. Her chest squeezed in a confusing response. “The greater the prize, the harder the journey, Mama says.” Laurel slid out from under the maple, waiting for him to join her in a stand before leading the way back to the path. She thought about her daddy, long years of pushing away Jesus and filling his dark days with liquor instead of something to…quiet his soul. Would Mama ever see the prize of her loving him long?
