Beyond This Moment Page 17

  The secret nestled inside her-its tiny heart beating as surely as hers was now, though she couldn't feel it yet-would soon be making its presence known. God help me in that moment. And in this one now...

  James moved up a step, surprising her, his expression reminiscent of the little boy in his arms. "Rachel and I used to do something as kids" He held out his sugar stick.

  Molly stared, not following.

  "Hold yours out;' he said softly.

  She did and he touched the end of his to hers. Once, twice.

  She giggled, feeling like a child. "What does this mean?"

  "You might say it's a kind of toast, I guess. When Rachel and I were little, we crept downstairs one night to spy on a fancy party our parents were hosting. All the grown-ups were in their finery, raising their glasses in a toast, and Rachel wanted to do it too. But I knew my father would tan our backsides-mine especially-if he caught us out of bed. Much less if we got into the champagne at that age:" He shook his head. "But Rachel had her heart set on taking part in the evening. So.. " He sighed. "I snuck down real careful-like, crawled beneath the dining room table, and waited for just the right minute-then snatched something off the dessert tray and hightailed it back upstairs. We toasted with that instead:'

  Molly smiled. "What did you take from the tray?"

  He looked down, scuffing the wooden plank with the toe of his boot. "Couple of ladyfingers."

  She laughed, picturing the scene. Oh, this man ...

  He laughed along with her, and then the quiet of night slowly crept back around them. The singsong trickle of the stream behind the cabin filled the silence.

  James touched his sugar stick to hers again and held it there. "I'd like to raise a toast to you, Molly Whitcomb. For your bravery in coming west when you could've stayed right where you were and had a fine, safe life:"

  Sincerity deepened his gaze, and Molly told herself not to cry.

  "For all the pain you've endured in recent months-the loss of your father, and of ... your husband. And for all the joy I pray that your future holds:"

  A tear slipped down her cheek If only she'd known James McPherson had been waiting in her future, she would have chosen differently. Then again, would he have been in her future had she not made such a poor choice to begin with?

  He held her gaze. "And for the difference you're already making in this town. In the lives of its children and their parents. And in the lives of so many others:'

  Wordlessly, he slipped the candy back into his mouth, tugged the brim of his hat, and turned to walk away.

  Molly watched his shadowed form until she couldn't distinguish it from the darkness, then went inside, closed the door behind her and locked it, and walked into the bedroom. With a quick breath, she snuffed out the flickering flame of the oil lamp, and crawled beneath the chilled covers.

  She searched the darkness, shivering. "Heavenly Father, why am I here?" Why did you bringme here? Her coming to Timber Ridge had been more of a punishment than a choice. But since the first day she arrived, she'd felt more blessed than cursed. And she hadn't been able to figure out what God was doing....

  Until a moment ago.

  God was meting out justice, teaching her a lesson. Only, she hadn't expected Him to do it in such a cruel and teasing way. A sob wrenched up from somewhere deep inside her.

  She turned onto her side and stared through the window at the thumbnail moon. A pain, sharp-edged and strong-willed, throbbed hot inside her chest, and she wrapped her arms around herself and her unborn child.

  Not only was she bearing the consequence of having given herself to a man who wasn't her husband, but she was being made to witness what her life might have been like had she not chosen so poorly. The cruel irony of that thought caught like a rusty nail over silk and tore at something deep inside her.

  It wasn't simply that the consequence of sin was causing such pain in her life, as costly as that was and would be. It was what sin robbed from her future-the possibility of who she might have become, and of what she might have done with her life-that made sin so heinous.

  It was funny, in a brutal sort of way.... The characteristics that attracted her to James-his integrity, his honor, his unwavering sense of duty-were the very traits that would prevent him from ever really caring about her once he saw her for who she really was.

  But apparently that was God's punishment for her sin. If so, He'd hit His mark.

  18

  olly could hardly believe the morning had finally arrived-the first day of school.

  She peered out the window of the cabin. The palest hint of pink tinged the dark eastern horizon. Apparently the sun was still contemplating whether or not to awaken. But Molly had hardly been able to sleep for her excitement. Already, she was up and dressed with her satchel packed and ready by the door.

  And yet along with her excitement was woven a strand of uncertainty.

  She stepped outside and drew in a breath of cool mountain air. Her lungs tingled with the chill of it, and she tasted a hint of approaching fall-that sweet, sometimes elusive promise of leaves turning crimson and gold, and of nature stripping branches bare to reveal the intricacies of God's handiwork beneath.

  Hidden somewhere high above her in the trees, a bird warbled a tune as though he'd been saving up for days. Surely he'd have to stop for breath soon.

  Despite her past experience with teaching children, she pledged again to do everything she could to make Timber Ridge's school a success. And not just a success-she would make it the best it could be. The rustle of leaves drew her gaze to the bottom porch step and she pictured James standing there, sugar stick in hand.

  She'd only seen him in passing since that evening of the town council meeting.

  Something had definitely changed between them, though she couldn't rightly put it into words. It was as if they shared a secret. A secret paid homage to only with glances and smiles.

  If she'd had any question about her attraction to him, it had been answered that evening with his "toast." Simply thinking about how he'd looked at her made her heart do an odd stuttered skip, and made her more determined than ever to remain "only" friends.

  She'd stopped by Dr. Brookston's clinic last week, and-to her partial relief-he hadn't been in. She'd left a note so he would know she'd made the effort. With her waist and middle thickening by the day, it felt like, it would be best to get the examination completed before letting too many more days pass.

  The whistle of the teakettle called her back inside, and she divided the boiling water between a pot of oatmeal and a cup containing the last of her tea leaves. Her stomach growling, she dropped the last bit of butter into the oatmeal and watched it melt. She hadn't experienced morning sickness in several days. Perhaps she was beyond that now.

  She'd awakened with the sniffles and a tickle in her throat, but a warm breakfast should see to that. She hoped each of her students was having a good breakfast, but recalling two or three of the houses-or shacks, as they were-that her students called home, she realized that was unlikely.

  Angelo Giordano.

  The boy's face appeared clearly in her memory. She'd thought of him numerous times in recent days, and intended on visiting him, as promised. The next time she saw James, she would inquire as to whether or not a job had panned out for the boy.

  She sat down at the table, the aroma of oatmeal and cinnamon wafting together with the crisp scent of steeping peppermint tea. She bowed her head and stared through the steam rising from her bowl, thankful for so many things. And yet feeling so very far away from the One to whom she needed-and wanted-to offer her thanks. She slowly lifted her head and looked around the room, waiting, listening. For what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

  Ever since the night of the town council meeting, after James walked her home, she'd felt as though she and God were at an impasse. As if both of them were waiting for the other to take the first step. Deep down, she knew what He wanted her to do. But what He wanted was asking too much.

&nb
sp; How could she be expected to start over, to have any kind of future for her baby, and herself, if everyone in Timber Ridge knew the truth about her past?

  She skimmed her spoon over the top of her oatmeal, then took a bite, and another. It warmed a path down her throat and into her belly. And with deliberate effort, she steered her thoughts toward the day ahead.

  She had no doubt she could teach Timber Ridge's children. She'd been trained in studies far more rigorous than anything she would be called on to teach in a one-room schoolhouse. She'd taught college students, for heaven's sake, and had been challenged by them in classintelligent young men and women only slightly younger than she, who were more advanced academically than any of the students who would fill the seats in that schoolhouse today.

  So why was she so nervous?

  After breakfast, she straightened the cabin, made her lunch, checked her lesson notes for the fourth time, and then began the brief walk to the schoolhouse. The sun had barely risen, and still an hour remained before she would ring the bell for the first time, officially signaling the start to the Timber Ridge school year.

  Evergreens partially shielded the schoolhouse from view from the front of the cabin. So it wasn't until she was well on the path that she made out the structure, sitting quiet and still in the field. The tranquility of its walls would be laid waste in no time.

  A light fog hovered over the lake and extended across the field. She cut a path through it, feeling the cool moisture on her face. Thirty-four students had enrolled. Not every child in Timber Ridge, but nearly. James relayed to her that the town council was pleased, which was enough to please her.

  She pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders, wondering if she should have asked Josiah to build a fire in the stove. If she could figure out how to work the contraption, she'd build it herself.

  As she drew nearer the schoolhouse, she detected the faint murmur of voices, but saw no one. The clomping of horses' hooves and distinctive rumble of wagon wheels drew her attention. A wagon rounded the bend, still some distance away, its passengers masked by the silver veil of first light. Who would be arriving so early?

  Molly turned the corner of the schoolhouse and came to a standstill.

  "Mornin; teacher;" little Ansley Tucker said, bunched together with her brothers and sisters. "Pa got us here early."

  "We ain't wantin' to be late, ma'am." A little towheaded boy tucked beside Ansley wore thin trousers with a holey jacket and wagged his head when he spoke. "We's supposed to help and be good, Mama says:"

  Their father, Mathias Tucker, who had accompanied his children, stepped forward, removing his hat. "Morning, Mrs. Whitcomb. My wife and our children had the pleasure of your company at home last week, but I missed out on account of being out in the field."

  "Yes, Mr. Tucker." Molly smiled at his children. "Pleasure to see you again, sir"

  "The children have been up and dressed since before dawn. They're nigh on to busting to start their learning with you, ma'am. It's a good thing you've done, coming all the way out here to teach our young ones."

  "It's an honor and a privilege for me to do this, Mr. Tucker. I assure you.

  "Dr. Whitcomb!"

  She turned to see Mitchell and Kurt Boyd waving from the back of the wagon as Rachel guided the team into the school yard. Rachel smiled in greeting, with a woman Molly didn't recognize seated beside her.

  Another wagon appeared at the end of the road, followed by two older children covering the distance afoot. Molly smiled to herself. Seems she wasn't too early after all.

  She made her way toward Rachel's wagon.

  "Dr. Whitcomb;' Rachel said with a formality Molly knew was for the benefit of little ears. "I'd like to introduce Mrs. Elizabeth Ranslett. Mrs. Ranslett, this is our new schoolteacher, Dr. Molly Whitcomb:"

  Molly couldn't help herself. She'd been waiting for this moment. "Mrs. Ranslett, it's such an honor to make your acquaintance. Your article, the one in a recent issue of Harper's Weekly, was such an inspiration to me. I read it, and reread it, on my journey to Timber Ridge. Reading the story of how you came here, your adventures, your love for this land-I found it all very ... compelling."

  "Compelling;' Elizabeth Ranslett repeated, smiling. "Now there's a word I like. And thank you for your compliments, Dr. Whitcomb. They mean a great deal. As does your coming to Timber Ridge. I've been excited to meet you as well:'

  Rachel set the brake on the wagon and climbed down. "Elizabeth's father is the generous party responsible for coordinating the donation of all the supplies and furniture for the school. And Elizabeth has a special surprise...." She gave Mrs. Ranslett a knowing look.

  "If you don't mind, Dr. Whitcomb, I'd like to take a photograph of you and your students sometime today. I'll make copies for you and each family represented in the school:" A sheepish smile lit her face. "As well as for my father, who's been eagerly awaiting this day."

  "The students and I would be honored, Mrs. Ranslett. Thank you:" Molly gestured for them to follow. "Please, won't you join us inside for a minute? I'd love for you to see the schoolroom...." She grinned, lowering her voice. "Before it gets `lived in. "

  Molly was reaching for the bell to ring the first day of the Timber Ridge School to order when the gentle thunder of horses' hooves stayed her hand.

  A group of men on horseback made their way up the road, and she recognized the man at the forefront. James rode with authority and presence worthy of his office. Mayor Davenport and Hank Bolden rode behind him, along with other men she recognized from the town council. They hadn't said anything about coming, but she should've known Mayor Davenport would insist on being present.

  The mayor reined in and dismounted. "Good morning, Dr. Whitcomb. I hope we're not too late:"

  "No, sir. You're not late at all. We were just about to begin the school day." Molly felt James's attention and gave him a subtle look.

  Sidestepping students, Davenport worked his way up the stairs and moved to stand by the bell. "Shall I do the honors on behalf of the town council, which brought you here to Timber Ridge, Dr. Whitcomb? Or would you like to?"

  It was silly, she knew, but she'd been looking forward to ringing that bell all week. But doing so would come at a cost. "By all means, sir, you do the honors:"

  Mayor Davenport pulled the rope, and the bell pealed a clear, clarion tone that carried across the field and that no doubt could be heard in town. A chorus of cheers broke out, and Molly felt a rush of readiness. She still wasn't at peace with why God had brought her to Timber Ridge, but she knew she was ready to teach its children.

  Mayor Davenport stepped forward to open the door, but James blocked his path. "Dr. Whitcomb;' James said softly. "After you, ma'am."

  Not missing Davenport's glower, Molly took James's lead and reached for the door latch, knowing she would remember everything about this moment. The chilly morning air, the sunshine on her back, the eager looks on each child's face, and the sense of anticipation and fresh beginnings. If only the latter could be true for her. But in a way it was.

  That day on the cliff, when the ravine opened wide beneath her, she'd been certain that she would die. But she hadn't. God had spared her life. But for what purpose?

  She thought of the baby inside her, and of James standing beside her. Certain opportunities were closed to her now; that much was clear. But a voice inside whispered that other opportunities might be waiting. Perhaps ones she hadn't yet thought of. She opened the door, praying that would be true.

  A warm wave of air greeted her, and she spotted Josiah Birch kneeling by the stove. As the crowd of students and parents filed in behind her, she went to greet him.

  "Mr. Birch, you must have read my mind. I was thinking on my walk here that a fire would serve us well this morning."

  His grin was at the ready. "I's thinkin' the very same thing when I got up this mornin' and felt the shiver in the air, Dr. Whitcomb, ma'am." He reached for his slouch hat on the floor where he'd been crouched. "I'll be back this af
ternoon to make sure she's out for the night:"

  "Oh, I'm sure I can-"

  "Don't want you to worry none 'bout havin' to see to it. It be my pleasure, ma'am."

  This man's kindness seemed without limit. Especially considering his own son wasn't counted among the students. "Would you be willing to do a favor for me, Mr. Birch?"

  "I reckon. If it don't get me in trouble with our sheriff over there."

  Molly turned to see James watching them and smiled. "No problems with the sheriff, I promise." She crossed to a bookshelf where she'd added her personal volumes and withdrew one. "Here .. " She held it out to Josiah. "I'd appreciate it if you'd share this with Elijah. It's an intriguing read, and one I think he'll enjoy. Then"-she tried for a casual tone-"if he'd like to discuss it when he's done, I'd welcome that opportunity."

  Josiah looked at the book, then at her, and slowly shook his head. "I's thinkin' it'd be best, ma'am, if you'd just-"

  "But, Mr. Birch, I truly believe that Elijah would enjoy-"

  "Dr. Whitcomb:"

  Molly felt a hand on her arm and heard the gentle warning in James's voice. She nodded. "Very well, Mr. Birch. It is your decision, after all. I'm sorry to have pushed you on the subject:"

  Josiah stepped closer and ran his thick, scarred fingers over the top of the book. "What I's gonna say a minute ago, ma'am, was that it'd be best if you was to take this book to Elijah yourself. He'd like it a heap more comin' from your own hand."

  Later that morning, after parents and town council members had taken their leave, and after Elizabeth Ranslett captured a photograph of Molly and the students, Molly stood in front of the classroom, her lesson notes neatly arranged in front of her on her desk. She picked up her roll book. "Each morning, students, I'll begin by taking roll. When I call on you, I'd like for you to respond by saying-" Where was her pencil? She'd just had it.

  Unable to find it, she opened her desk drawer to get another-and let out a squeal! She jumped back, heart thudding.