The Heart Of A Hero
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Sarah felt her cheeks flush. “No. Of course not.”
A schoolteacher’s job hung by the slender thread of her reputation, her reputation as perceived by the school board and the townspeople. They wouldn’t entrust the minds of their children to just anyone. Sarah knew she had to be careful, particularly where Jess Logan was concerned.
Dwight thumped his fist on the table. “That Logan fella may have good intentions, but I doubt he’ll be around for long. Probably will take off again, just like he did before.”
Sarah squirmed in her chair. She’d had enough of this conversation.
“Make plans now to come to the school a week from this Saturday,” she said. “I’m planning a pie social that afternoon and everyone’s invited.”
“Pie, huh?” Nate smiled broadly. “Count on me. I’ll be there.”
Sarah smiled. “Good. I’ll put you down for an apple cobbler.”
Everyone chuckled as Nate blushed. “I can’t bake anything. But I know a certain restaurant in town where I can get something good to bring.”
Kirby swatted him on the arm. “Mighty sure of yourself, Nate Tompkins.”
“I just know good pie when I eat it.”
A special look passed between Nate and Kirby that touched Sarah’s heart and left her with a profound feeling of happiness...and envy.
After supper Dwight helped her with her cloak, then latched onto her arm. “I’ll see you home.”
“No, thank you. It’s just a short walk.”
He leaned closer. “I insist.”
Behind him, Fiona smiled and bobbed her brows. Sarah felt everyone staring at her. She didn’t want to make a scene. “Well, all right. Thank you.”
Dwight patted her hand. “And, I’m going to show you the sights of Walker, such as they are. We’ll have supper, too. Tomorrow evening.”
“Really, Dwight, I don’t mink—”
“I insist.” He wagged his finger at her and led her out the front door.
Dwight talked about his feed and grain business as the cool night air swirled about thsm, but Sarah hardly listened. Dwight was nice enough—and certainly respectable—but she didn’t want to become involved with him. She’d vowed to keep to herself, not draw attention to herself. Fiona had been right. Talk circulating about her in town so soon after her arrival would do her no good.
. Lights shone in the window of Jess’s house a short distance down the road and Sarah found her gaze drawn to it like a beacon on a stormy night. A figure moved across the window. It had to be Jess—big, sturdy, nearly blocking out the light. The place seemed inviting, with the children inside and, of course, Jess.
Sarah’s stomach tightened as she stopped in front of her own home. A single dim lantern burned in the window, illuminating the sagging porch, chipped paint and broken steps.
“I’ll see you inside.” Dwight’s voice spoke directly into her ear; she felt his hot breath against her skin.
Sarah pulled away. “No, Mr. Rutledge. That would hardly be proper.”
“You’re not in St. Louis anymore. Things are different out here. People in Walker don’t stand on all that formality.”
“Perhaps the people of Walker don’t, Mr. Rutledge. But I do. Good evening.”
Sarah hurried up the rickety steps, Dwight’s soft chuckle resting on the evening breeze. She went into the house and turned the lock.
A more unappealing meal she’d never seen, and it took all the control Sarah could muster to sit by and not offer some of her own food to Maggie.
The midday sun shone through the white, billowing clouds as most of the children closed their lunch pails and hurried off to play. Seated next to Maggie at the benches beside the school, Sarah looked down at the food the child picked at.
Chicken, probably. It was hard to tell under all that charred crust. And that black, hard lump might have been a biscuit.
“I see your uncle packed your lunch today.” Sarah smiled down at her as she ate her own meal.
Maggie nodded. “Uncle Jess cooks all the time. He lets me help. I read Mama’s recipes to him. But they don’t taste the same.”
Sarah’s stomach rolled. “No, I don’t expect they do.”
“That’s ’cause I don’t know all the words.”
“Then maybe your uncle should read.” Anything would be an improvement.
“He says for me to read ’cause it’s good to be able to read.”
Mildly surprised, Sarah nodded. “Does your uncle ever read to you?”
“No. Mama had lots of books. She used to read to me and Jimmy sometimes at night. But Uncle Jess doesn’t read them.” Maggie pulled off a crust of chicken. “He makes up stories. He says they’re better than book stories.”
“And are they?”
Maggie laughed. “They’re funny. Uncle Jess makes up funny stories. He tells us one every single night.”
Sarah laughed, too, unable not to. “Still, wouldn’t you like to hear the stories in the books and look at the pictures?”
“Uncle Jess says he can paint the pictures in our heads with the words. He says you don’t have to be able to read to make good stories.”
Sarah’s stomach knotted. Was that the reason for the unpalatable meals? Jess couldn’t read?
“Can I go play now?” Maggie licked her fingers.
“Certainly, dear.” Sarah’s thoughts ran wild, imagining Jess’s childhood, the horrible death of his family right before his eyes, then bouncing from home to home having little guidance. He’d been such a behavior problem, maybe no one had taken the time to teach him. Maybe Jess Logan couldn’t read.
Sarah pushed herself to her feet and stalked across the schoolyard. No. No, she wouldn’t get involved. She couldn’t. She had to keep to herself. She needed this job and she needed this town. She needed a home. And she would be a part of Walker—albeit a distant, detached part—no matter how much her heart ached to help.