Beyond This Moment Page 12

  The oppressive heat was the first thing Molly noticed. The second was a young Negro girl of lighter complexion who shared the same exquisite beauty as the woman who had served them at dinner-and whose eyes were the exact brilliant blue of Carolyn Anderson's father's.

  Colonel Graham Anderson was an upstanding member of the church and community, someone Molly respected and revered. And she rejected her friend's conclusions, as well as the ones forming in her own minduntil she delicately posed the question to her father at home. He gave a gentle, honest explanation, as he always did.

  And Molly never looked Colonel Anderson in the eye again, nor did she ever return to the Anderson home.

  "If there's anything else you need, ma'am, you let me know."

  Molly blinked and found herself staring at the young man. "Oh yes, I'm sorry. Thank you, I'll do that:"

  She unfolded her napkin and pressed it in her lap. Fried chicken, whipped potatoes, and creamed peas crowded the plate. Delicious! And a warm biscuit slathered with butter hugged the rim. From habit, she bowed her head. But her eyes didn't seem to want to close.

  She grew conscious of others around her, and of how she appeared. New teacher in town, draped in widow's garb, bowing her head so piously to offer thanks. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except the woman people were seeing was not the woman she was.

  Remembering the compassion in Belle's eyes, Molly felt a stinging behind her own. She'd memorized countless petitions from her father's favorite book of prayer, but each one deserted her now. A tenacious fear, one she'd managed to keep at bay in recent days, strong-armed its way past her defenses, and the lace on her sleeve cuffs began to tremble.

  What would happen to her when her . . . condition became apparent?

  For a while she could mask the swell in her belly with fuller dresses and aprons. And with a long coat, come winter. All of which she must commission to have sewn. But if Mayor Davenport had been furious when he heard she was widowed, how would he react when he discovered she was pregnant? How would James react? And what would happen when it came time for the baby to be born?

  And this with the town still believing that she had been married?

  Fear tightened its grip in her chest, and a solitary tear fell onto the napkin in her lap.

  Pressing her lips together, she forced her eyes closed, her mind a prayerless fog. She tried to form the words, but they wouldn't come. Her head was bowed but her heart seemed reluctant to follow.

  After a moment, she finally gave up and began to eat.

  The chicken, potatoes, biscuit ... Each bite was mouth-watering. Did every woman in town cook with such savory skills? Enjoying the meal, with the breeze coming off the mountains, and even the cadence of conversation around her, Molly slowly began to relax.

  She glanced up to see Miss Clara hustling toward her, two bowls of peach cobbler balanced in one hand and a full plate of food in the other.

  "Here you go, Mrs. Whitcomb." Miss Clara set the cobbler in front of her and the other two dishes at the place setting across from hers. "You don't mind some delightful dinner company, do you, ma'am?"

  Molly looked around, not knowing to whom she was referring-until he spoke from behind.

  "Dr. Whitcomb, would you mind my joining you for dinner, ma'am?"

  13

  espite what she'd said, James saw the real answer in Molly's eyes. He waited for Clara to leave before asking again. "You're sure you don't mind if I join you, Dr. Whitcomb?" He nodded to the couple watching them one table over. "If you do, I could easily-"

  "Of course I don't mind. Please.. " She motioned to the chair across from her, her smile tight. "You're welcome to sit, Sheriff."

  He did, and noticed she kept eating. At a faster pace, if he wasn't mistaken. "How are you this evening?"

  She nodded, swallowing before answering. "Fine, thank you:" Then continued to eat.

  He waited, thinking she might reciprocate with a question. When she didn't, he took a bite of chicken. Where had he gotten off on the wrong foot with this woman? Maybe wrong wasn't the right word, but there was a definite barrier between them that hadn't been there at first.

  Wishing he had a token of friendship to toss over that wall of hers, he thought of something that might serve that purpose. "Have you had an opportunity to meet Dr. Rand Brookston yet? He's our town physician. I was speaking with him about you the other day, and-"

  Her head came up. "Why would you be speaking to a doctor about me?"

  He paused from chewing, taken aback by the defensiveness in her tone.

  She dabbed at the corners of her mouth and a semblance of a smile returned, but it didn't ring true. "I'm simply wondering, Sheriff, why I was the topic of conversation between you and the town doctor:"

  James scooped peas onto his mashed potatoes and stirred. "I wouldn't say you were the topic of conversation, ma'am" He loaded his fork. "Dr. Brookston simply inquired about your arrival date and I told him you were already here. He wants to speak with you about a proposal he made to the town council regarding the schoolchildren. I think you'll be pleased:"

  Molly pushed aside her dinner plate and moved her bowl of cobbler closer.

  Swallowing, he pointed with his fork. "That's the best-tasting stuff you've ever put in your mouth. Miss Clara has peaches brought over from the western slope. I guarantee it's the tastiest you've ever had:"

  "What exactly was the nature of the doctor's proposal, Sheriff?"

  James eyed her. Apparently casual dinner conversation wasn't part of Molly Whitcomb's vast vocabulary.

  "More coffee, Sheriff?"

  James looked up to see a familiar face. "Yes, Elijah, thank you."

  Elijah refilled his cup. "Ma'am, would you care for coffee now? It's right good with Miss Clara's cobbler."

  "Yes, I believe I would, thank you:"

  The boy pulled a cup from his apron pocket and poured. James noticed him stealing glances at Molly, and couldn't blame Elijah in the least. When he'd ridden up a moment ago and spotted her sitting alone, he'd experienced a lightness of spirit he hadn't felt in a long time. And all that from just looking at her.

  He hadn't planned on being her dinner companion. But as he'd hugged Miss Clara, the last couple of open tables had filled, much to his favor. And when Miss Clara made the suggestion, he hadn't discouraged it.

  James sipped his coffee. "How're your parents, Elijah? I haven't seen them in awhile"

  "They're fine, sir. My mama was just here a while ago, and my papa"Elijah's face widened in a grin-"he's doin' real good. I'll tell him you asked after him, sir. That'll make him smile:'

  The image of Josiah Birch's smile quickly faded in James's mind and was replaced with that of him lying naked and beaten by a stream. And the same stirring that tightened his chest earlier returned. "I'd appreciate that, Elijah. And please pass along my compliments on the work he did for Dr. Whitcomb's cabin. It turned out mighty fine:'

  Molly looked up. "Your father helped build the cabin I'm living in?"

  Pride lit Elijah's expression. "Yes, ma'am. He built the kitchen cupboard and the chifforobe in the bedroom. And your desk in the schoolhouse too. I helped him some:"

  "Well, you're both very talented. I appreciate your contribution:"

  "Elijah .. " James motioned. "Have you met Timber Ridge's new schoolteacher yet? Dr. Molly Whitcomb of Franklin College in Athens, Georgia."

  "No, sir, not where we've exchanged names:" Elijah ducked his head and came up smiling again. "But I know who you are, Dr. Whitcomb. Nice to meet you, ma'am."

  Each time James was in this boy's company, he was more impressed. Judging by Molly's expression, so was she.

  "Dr. Whitcomb, may I present Elijah Birch, son of Josiah and Belle Birch, originally hailing from Franklin, Tennessee:"

  "It's nice to meet you, Elijah. How long have you been in Timber Ridge?"

  "About a year, ma'am."

  "Do you like living here?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am. I like it a lot. I hope you wil
l too:"

  She stared at Elijah for a few seconds, then laid her spoon aside. "Elijah;' she said softly, her voice lowering. "Have you ever attended school?"

  James paused midbite, fork halfway to his mouth.

  Elijah gave a quick laugh. "No, ma'am. But my mama, she taught me growing up. She's real smart. So's my papa:"

  Molly leaned forward in her chair. "What would you think about attending a real school, Elijah?"

  The boy stilled. His eyes went round. "Me? You mean ... go to your school, ma'am?"

  "Yes:" There was nothing fake about her smile now. "Go to school right here in Timber Ridge, where I'll be teaching:"

  James didn't turn to look, but the two men conversing at the table behind him had fallen silent. And the man and woman one table over had stopped speaking as well.

  Molly's voice was soft, but her enthusiasm was unmistakable. "One of my tasks this next week is to visit all the students and their parents. If you're interested, Elijah, I'll stop by your home and speak with your mother and father."

  Elijah hesitated and looked at James, his silent question clear.

  James already knew the answer, and it was one he didn't like. Change like this took time. It came slowly, and with a price. And in the middle of Clara's Cafe wasn't the place to discuss it either. Not with young Elijah at its center. And not when considering what had happened to the boy's father only last year.

  James leaned forward and spoke loudly enough for those listening close by to hear. "Dr. Whitcomb, you'll be pleased to learn that Elijah here already knows how to read and cipher. He tallies receipts for Miss Clara and works part-time at the town's newspaper. The Timber Ridge Reporter"

  Disappointment shadowed Elijah's eyes ... and Molly's. Hers narrowed slightly, telling him she didn't appreciate his rerouting of the conversation either. James only hoped she wouldn't push the issue. She already had one strike against her with the town council for having arrived widowed. She didn't need a second. And he didn't need the disruption the rumors about this conversation would cause among townsfolk, not on top of everything else he was dealing with.

  "Two jobs? Is that so, Elijah?" she finally said, her smile returning. `And the newspaper ... That's impressive for a young man your age:'

  Elijah's smile lacked its previous fullness. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb." He briefly bowed his head and stole another look at James. "Well, I best get back to work now."

  James watched the young man move from table to table, filling glasses and cups. Elijah spoke politely and was efficient in his tasks, but his spark was gone. And James felt responsible. He also knew Molly wasn't pleased with his interference, and he needed to try to set that aright.

  He kept his voice to a whisper. "I apologize for interrupting you just now, and I'd be happy to discuss this after were through with dinner:'

  "Contrary to what you might believe, Sheriff-" Her volume matched his as she spooned another dollop of cobbler, lifted it to her mouth, then stared at it and set the utensil back down. "It isn't my intention to be difficult, I assure you. And I'm not blind to what challenges there may be in these first steps. But"-she leaned closer, and James saw the man seated at the table right behind her do the same-"it's wrong to not allow a boy like Elijah Birch to study and learn, to improve himself. I'll teach him after hours, if that would work better."

  "Dr. Whitcomb, if you're finished-"

  She put her hand on his arm. "I saw you in town the other day with a Negro gentleman, shaking his hand, treating him like you would anyone else. That's just what I'm trying to do too. I know transitions like these aren't without their difficulties, but I'd gathered that, or rather hoped that-" Her hand tightened, sincerity glistening in those beautiful eyes. "I'd hoped that people might be more accepting out here:"

  Keenly aware of her touch, James would've bet good money she wasn't. Sure enough, she glanced down and quickly pulled her hand back. Pink tinged her cheeks.

  Mindful of others looking in their direction, James tucked his napkin by his plate and stood. He chose a more formal tone in the hope of avoiding further discussion, and rumors. "If you're finished with dinner, Dr. Whitcomb, then perhaps I could give you a tour of the town. I'll show you where the church is located so you'll know how to get there in the morning. The community of Timber Ridge is eager to give you a proper welcome:"

  She looked at him and blinked, then managed an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes;' she said, apparently catching on. "Of course, Sheriff. I'd like to offer my compliments to Miss Clara first, and then I'll be right with you"

  James waited while she gathered her things, nodding to the couple seated nearby. "How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Foster?"

  The parents of two school-age children, the Fosters smiled at him, then looked at Molly. And their smiles fell away.

  James walked to where he'd tethered his horse. He wished now that he'd never sat down at Molly's table. If only for her sake. Mrs. Foster was a nice enough woman to your face, but she could talk a porcupine from his quills, and she tended to pass along everything she saw and heard with little attention to whether or not it was true.

  Molly Whitcomb was obviously a woman impassioned about her beliefs, and he admired that quality. Very much. But if she wasn't careful, she was going to impassion herself right out of a job, even before she delivered her first lesson.

  14

  olly thanked Miss Clara for dinner and settled the bill with Elijah. She gave the young man a handsome tip, which he declined, as she'd expected. But her persistence won out.

  Grocery sack in hand, she slipped her reticule over her wrist and walked to meet James where he waited for her on the street. She felt as though the man had rescued her-again. She appreciated his alerting her to eavesdroppers, and though she'd thought she'd spoken softly enough, she shouldn't have extended the invitation to Elijah without speaking to the town council first. She'd allowed her personal desires to rule over her sensibilities. Something her parents had always warned her not to do.

  Yet it hurt her to think that there was no room for Elijah and children like him in her school. They were castoffs, as it were. Children perceived as unworthy. But every child was worthy of receiving an education. Boys and girls. Whites and Negroes. Italian children too-although the language barrier would present a significant challenge if the children attended together. Already, her mind was spinning with possibilities.

  James stood holding the reins to his horse. He wore that patient look of his again, one she was becoming accustomed to seeing from him. He started to speak, but she beat him to it, wanting to stay on his good side.

  "Sheriff, please let me apologize for speaking out of turn. I feel strongly about certain issues, and sometimes I tend to get carried away in my effort to defend them:"

  "Carried away?" He frowned. "Really? I hadn't noticed:"

  A slow smile tipped one side of his mouth, and he winked. She felt its effect in places she didn't know had nerves.

  He gestured to his horse. "Would you care to walk or ride, ma'am?"

  Still reeling inside from her involuntary response to him, she remembered their only other ride together, and how ... stimulating that had been. "I'd prefer to walk, I think. It's such a lovely evening:"

  "All right, walk it is, Dr. Whitcomb. Here, let me take that for you:" He pointed to her sack of groceries. She handed it to him, and he fit it into a saddlebag, then set a comfortable pace, leading the horse behind him.

  She laughed softly. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Sheriff. I do"

  Surprise lit his face. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

  "With calling me Dr. Whitcomb. You're only doing that because of what I said to Mayor Davenport the other day."

  He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Guilty as charged. What can I say? You scared the livin' daylights out of me, woman:'

  She laughed, trying to think of a way to gently steer the conversation back to school, and to Elijah Birch specifically. Dust swirled as she walked, and it clung to her skirt.
Half of her time in Timber Ridge would be spent brushing the dirt from her clothes.

  "Speaking of the other day .. " He looked over at her. "Did I do something to upset you?"

  She knew what James was alluding to, yet let a moment pass. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because you've seemed ... different since then. More distant:"

  She slowed to a stop. "May I be completely honest with you ... James?"

  "I'd like to assume you'd never be anything else with me, Molly."

  His words were a sword, and they pierced far deeper than he could have imagined.

  In that moment, the regret she carried for her ill-considered intimacy with Jeremy Fowler carved into a deeper hole inside her. What she wouldn't do to go back and make a different choice with him that night. She'd given herself to a man like Jeremy Fowler when a man like James McPherson had been in the world. And that thought made her want to weep. What might her life have been like if she'd waited for someone like him instead?

  The man before her would never be anything more than a friend; she knew that. But having him for a friend was far better than having him as an enemy. And as much as she didn't require his protection or desire that he make decisions in her life, she didn't ever want to be an enemy to him, or to see herself as that in his eyes.

  She resumed walking, if only so he would stop staring at her. He followed.

  "When you defended me to Mayor Davenport the other afternoon..." Tempted to soften what she was going to say, she decided not to temper her words. Though she wanted to keep James as her friend, she couldn't risk having him too close. And this, she was certain, would provide the distance she sought. "While I appreciated your willingness to plead my case that day, I much prefer standing up for myself in those situations. I mean no disrespect, to you or the office you hold, but I'm capable of representing myself, of making my own decisions. I don't need a ma-" She caught herself and had to think fast. "A myriad of excuses made on my behalf. I'm used to fighting my own battles and am quite comfortable in doing so." But if that were true, why did she feel so weak inside? So brittle and lacking?