Beyond This Moment Read online

  As for Molly herself, he wanted to know how a woman so intelligent, so accomplished, so poised, and with so many reasons to feel worthy, could still possess the need to prove her worth.

  26

  tudents, we only have ten minutes before class will be over, so-"

  Groans and sighs, like music to Molly's ears, rose from the students. She tousled Ansley Tucker's hair, pleased when the girl beamed up at her. "So please record your solutions on your slates, and I'll come around to check everyone's work:"

  The week had flown by, and it had been a good one. But she was glad it was Friday afternoon. A chance to rest for the weekend.

  She had missed the town council meeting on Tuesday evening after telling Dr. Brookston she'd been experiencing some minor pelvic pain. He'd said it was routine with where she was in her pregnancy-like the swelling in her feet-and assured her it was nothing to be concerned about. But still, he had encouraged her to stay home and rest, and she'd happily agreed. She'd hoped to see James in town to ask him how the report she'd prepared had been received, but their paths hadn't crossed.

  She looked down at the dress Belle Birch had sewn. She'd already worn it several times and loved the intricate beadwork-and roominess in the waistline. Her body was changing. The little pooch in her belly was growing more pronounced. At her last appointment, Dr. Brookston said she was progressing as she should be, which removed the fear of the effects of the fever one notch further from her-

  She glanced across the room and caught Kurt Boyd making silly faces at little Libby Tucker. Libby chuckled, then looked back at her slate, chalk in hand. Libby made good marks but had to work hard to get them. Kurt made some of the highest marks in the class-when he tried, which wasn't often.

  Kurt nudged Libby's desk with his foot, making an even sillier face this time. Libby giggled, which only encouraged him more.

  Molly quietly made her way over to that side of the room. She'd assigned Kurt to Billy Bolden's group. Kurt was exceptionally bright, and he looked up to Billy. But Kurt had a tendency to not finish his work, something she'd been trying to work with him on.

  "Kurt:'

  He looked up. "I already know the answer;' he said matter-of-factly, and stated the answer outright.

  Students in his group raised their heads. Billy Bolden looked at her and gave her an almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, "I don't know what to do with him, ma'am."

  Mollybent down. "I'm glad you know the answer, Kurt." She pointed to his clean slate. "But I want to see how you arrived at that answer."

  "But I don't see how come-"

  "And you're going to stay right here in your seat until you complete the task:"

  His expression was anything but silly now. "But Uncle James is meetin' me at the store to get me a-"

  "Kurt:" Molly gave him a studied look.

  He frowned and gave her one right back. "Yes, ma'am." He hunched over his slate.

  Tempted to make him stand in the corner, Molly reminded herself of what had already happened in his young life. The loss of a parent was a huge adjustment-even at an older age. She knew that firsthand, so she reached for extra patience.

  She continued checking the other children's answers while keeping an eye on him. To look at him-redheaded, freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, eyes a dusty cornflower blue-you'd think he'd been kissed by angels on his way to earth. But his attitude in the classroom ...

  One of her most frustrating challenges as a teacher was the child who could and yet didn't. It was like finding a rare diamond in the rough. The qualities of a brilliant jewel were right there, beneath the dull and deceptive exterior. But it took hard work to reach the stone, and even more to unearth the diamond within.

  Then there were children like Elijah Birch and Angelo Giordano, who would jump at the chance to learn. Yet who were denied.

  "You've all done very good work this week, students. I'm proud of you. Now, all of you are dismissed ... except for Kurt Boyd. Kurt, I'd like for you to stay after class, please:"

  Chatter filled the schoolhouse as children gathered jackets and slates and books and, with surprising quickness, emptied from the room into the beautiful fall day waiting outside.

  Molly sat down at her desk. "Kurt, please join me, and bring your slate."

  The boy did as she asked, his expression decidedly less rebellious.

  She checked the work on his slate. Perfect. She looked at him, tempering her frustration with a smile. "Kurt, why does it take you so long to finish your work when you clearly understand the material?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know." He looked back at her. "Why do you keep my present here at school?"

  She frowned, not following. "I'm sorry?"

  "What I made for you." He looked over at the shelf. "You always keep it here:"

  She trailed his gaze to the insect collection. "Well, I keep it here so I can use it for science projects. Like the one we did last week on insects." She'd made a special point of using his board and had praised him in front of his peers, hoping that might improve things. It hadn't.

  "But I made it for you. Not for here:"

  Molly opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, seeing the situation from his perspective. "You know, I think I will take it home with me this weekend. So I can-" she swallowed-"see it when I get up first thing in the morning and when I go to bed at night."

  His face brightened. "I can bring you more bugs for it too, if you want. Uncle James will help me cut another board:'

  "While that would be good, and very much appreciated, I would prefer that you concentrate more on your studies, Kurt. And spend less time trying to make other children laugh in class. It's disruptive and causes students to fall behind in their work."

  His nod was anything but enthusiastic. "Yes, ma'am."

  She stood on the steps of the schoolhouse and watched him walk toward town, his little shoulders slumped. She prayed for him, for Rachel and Mitchell too, and took a deep breath of cool air, welcoming fall's arrival. The aspen trees covering the mountainside caught the sun, their leaves glistening gold in the light. And the sky was as blue as she could remember, not a cloud in sight.

  She glanced in the opposite direction down the road, hoping Angelo wouldn't be late for their lesson. She'd agreed to go with him to meet his family this afternoon and considered getting her horse from the livery, where she kept the mare boarded. But seeing what a lovely day it was, she decided to walk instead. Standing for long periods of time was becoming more of a chore, but Dr. Brookston had encouraged walking.

  There she saw Angelo, cresting the hill. She looked back to see if Kurt had rounded the bend in the road. Seeing that he had, she relaxed. There was nothing wrong with her tutoring Angelo. She was teaching him after school hours, on her time. Still, she was sure some members of the town council wouldn't like it if they knew.

  But Angelo's learning English would improve his life, and his family's. And how could she deny him that opportunity?

  She waited for him by the door. "Good afternoon, Angelo:"

  He grinned coming up the stairs. "Good afternoon . . . Dr. Whitcomb."

  "Very nice!" She patted his arm as he came through the door, noticing he wasn't wearing a jacket. It wasn't cold out, just brisk. But his skin felt chilled. "You have been studying" She was careful not to use contractions with him yet. Those were often confusing when someone was first learning the language.

  "Yes, ma'am. I have ... much study."

  "I can tell. Your pronunciation is very good:'

  "Graz-" He stopped himself, a shy smile forming. "Thank you ... maam.

  This was their third week of studying together. The first week he'd come to the schoolhouse three afternoons. Last week four afternoons. And this week, he hadn't missed an afternoon yet.

  "I made more cards for you:' She held them up and loved how his eyes lit. She went through the cards, one by one. She'd written Italian words at the top and the corresponding English word at the bottom. She said the word
aloud in English, and he repeated it. Then she used it in a sentence in Italian and waited for him to translate.

  She wished he had a partner to work with him, but none of his family spoke English. Repetition was what had helped her learn languages more than anything else. That, and simply hearing the language spoken.

  Once they'd circulated through the cards three times, she put them aside. "Very good, now let's try a few more sentences. Ready?"

  He nodded.

  "Dov'e la Posta?"

  He thought for a moment. "Where is ... the ... post office?"

  "Excellent! And another-"

  The door to the schoolhouse opened, and she turned.

  Billy Bolden and Elijah Birch stopped inside the doorway. They looked at her, then at Angelo, and their expressions revealed surprise, as hers no doubt did.

  She stood and Angelo did the same. "Billy, Elijah" Smiling, she met the boys at the back of the room, trying not to think about Mayor Davenport and Hank Bolden, Billy's uncle and father. "Can I help you two with something?"

  Elijah peered past her in Angelo's direction, a half-eaten piece of jerky in his hand. "We just came by to get another book to read this weekend, Dr. Whitcomb:"

  "You said we could, ma'am;' Billy chimed in, angling his head to look around her too. "Remember?"

  "Of course I do. Here, let me choose one you haven't read yet." She walked to the bookshelf to make a quick selection.

  "Good ... afternoon:"

  Hearing Angelo's voice behind her, Molly cringed. But not at his having introduced himself. She cringed at her own rudeness. She turned in time to see Angelo walk over and extend his hand, and for Billy Bolden to shake it. Emotion stung her eyes, and the significance of the simple exchange washed over her. Mere boys doing what their elders could not...

  "My name's Billy Bolden."

  "And mine's Elijah Birch:' Elijah stuck out his hand too.

  Angelo accepted it, then touched his chest. `Angelo Giordano;' he said quickly.

  Billy smiled, fingering the jerky in his hand. "That's sure a mouthful, isn't it?"

  Angelo laughed, and Molly knew he was responding more to the kindness in Billy's tone, certain he hadn't understood what Billy had said.

  Elijah gestured. "Is Dr. Whitcomb giving you English lessons?"

  "Yes, I am" Molly pulled a book from the shelf and joined them. `Angelo is a quick learner and is doing very well:'

  "She ... good ... teacher:'

  Molly saw Angelo eyeing the jerky in the boys' hands, and so did Elijah.

  Elijah tore his piece in half. "Here, want some? It's good, but I'm gettin' full:' He patted his stomach and bloated his cheeks.

  Angelo's shy smile returned. He shook his head, but the way he swallowed was revealing.

  Elijah didn't draw back his hand. He just kept smiling, and Molly glimpsed both of his parents in the gesture. "How do you say please in Italian, Dr. Whitcomb?"

  "Per favore," she whispered.

  Offering the jerky a second time, Elijah repeated the words. But he said them without a hint of Italian inflection, and they all laughed.

  Angelo accepted the jerky. "Grazie," he whispered. "Grazie mille." He took a bite, then closed his eyes and chewed.

  Molly nodded to Billy and Elijah, so proud of them. Of all three of them. "He says thank you. Thank you very much."

  A while later, Molly stole a look at Angelo as she walked beside him toward his home. Billy had given Angelo another piece of jerky before they'd left, and Angelo had slipped it in his pocket, along with the rest of the piece Elijah had given him. She was certain Angelo could have eaten it all, but he was saving it. Presumably, for his family.

  They'd spoken in English when they'd first left the schoolhouse, but when the conversation took a deeper turn, she'd switched to Italian, and Angelo followed her lead.

  "So is your family expecting a visitor this afternoon?"

  Angelo nodded. "I told them you were coming. I have told my mama about you:' He grinned. "She is eager to meet the woman who rescued me from the mean shopkeeper"

  Molly laughed softly. How would Angelo react if he knew that Billy was the son of that mean shopkeeper? "Thankyou for carrying the basket. Is it too heavy?"

  He looked at her as though she'd insulted him, but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise. "I am a big strong Italian man. I can do anything!"

  "Spoken like a true man. Regardless of heritage."

  Gratitude deepened his smile. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb"-he indicated the basket in his arms-"for this:"

  "It is a custom where I am from:" She'd already spoken to him about Georgia and where it was located in the country. "If you are from the South, then you must not go to someone's home the first time without taking something. So thank you for accepting my gift. You have allowed me to save face with my people:"

  He briefly bowed his head, and she glimpsed a gentlemanliness in the boy that would take him far-if he was given the opportunity to grow into a man.

  Little Italy was not more than a half mile or so from town, but the stark contrast of how these families lived versus how families in town lived was numbing. Molly followed as they passed shack after shack, tent after dilapidated tent. The smell of human waste drifted toward her, then abated. Children were plentiful, most of them thin, like Angelo. None of them well nourished.

  By the time they reached Angelo's home-which consisted of several tarpaulins tied together with rope, staked with what looked to be leftover pieces of lumber that had been nailed together-Molly wished she'd emptied her entire cupboard instead of bringing only a basketful of items.

  Angelo lifted the flap of the tent as if living in such a place were normal. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A woman sat in the corner on a pallet, and Molly guessed who she was.

  The woman's head came up as they entered. "Angelo? Is that you?" Her voice was soft, her Italian accent even thicker than her son's.

  "Yes, Mama. It is your Angelo:" He put down the basket, went to her, and kissed her left cheek, then her right. "I have brought a guest as I said I would:' He motioned Molly forward.

  The woman held out her hands, and the milky white of her sightless eyes answered the question before it had fully formed in Molly's mind.

  "Come close, Mrs. Whitcomb, I want to meet the woman who has shown such kindness to my son:"

  Molly knelt, and Angelo's mother ran her fingers over her face.

  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Giordano;' Molly whispered. "Your Angelo is a fine son. You have every reason to be proud of him:"

  "Come and sit. Yes, my Angelo is a jewel. But you ... you are teaching my only son this new language. He will be able to get a fine job and care for us:"

  Molly prayed that would be true.

  "But you must speak to him about this ... walking in the clouds he is doing. It is dangerous, no?"

  Molly looked to Angelo, not following.

  "I work at building Mr. Tolliver's hotel in my spare time. It is nothing." He hugged his mother again. "Mama, you worry for no reason. I will be fine:"

  For the next couple of hours, Molly mostly sat and listened as Angelo's mother spoke of their homeland and of how her husband had died shortly after they reached the Americas. She met Angelo's three younger sisters, all dark and lovely, and with the same shy smile as their brother. Neighbors came to visit while she was there. They all seemed to know each other and share a common concern for each other's welfare.

  When it came time for her to leave, Angelo rose as well. Once to the edge of Little Italy, Molly turned to him. "I am fine to walk the rest of the way by myself, Angelo. It is not far, and I know the way." She pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. "Besides, it is too cold for you to be out. You have no coat:"

  He waved off her concern. "I am not cold:'

  "Please, Angelo, go back home and help your mama and your sisters. I will see you next week for our lesson:"

  He did as she requested, though was slow to comply.

>   On her way home, Molly couldn't help but contrast her life with the lives of the people she'd just met. Not that she hadn't had challenges in the past and wouldn't have them in her future-she certainly would. But meeting someone whose life was so much harder than her own, and considering what it would be like to change places with them, made her own journey seem considerably less difficult.

  The sun was half hidden behind the mountains to the west, and the brisk September breeze that had rustled fallen leaves earlier in the day now gusted through the stands of aspen, stripping leaves from their limbs.

  Molly bowed her head against the wind and quickened her pace. She would make it home before dark-it was only a short walk-and was already looking forward to sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot tea. As soon as she thought about it, she felt a touch of guilt, remembering the dwellings of the families she'd just left.

  She raised her head to see two men walking in her direction on the opposite side of the road. Neither looked her way, and from habit, not recognizing them, she kept her head down as they passed. Farther down the road an inexplicable shiver scuttled up her spine. And an inaudible voice told her to run.

  She chanced a look back and saw the men coming toward her.

  27

  olly ran as hard as she could, cold air churning her lungs. But footfalls gained behind her. One of the men grabbed her shawl. She shrugged it off. The other man grabbed her.

  She screamed and struggled, and nearly fell. But he held her arm tight.

  "Where you runnin' to, ma'am?"

  "She's in some big kind of hurry-I'll tell you that much:"

  Winded, Molly didn't respond. She searched the road both ways. No one. She wasn't five minutes from the schoolhouse. It was just over the rise and down in the valley.

  The man holding her moved closer and brought a rank odor with him. "I've seen you in town. You're that new teacher" His breath was stale with smoke. "I hear tell you're real smart."

  The men were younger than she'd thought at first glance. But their skin had an ashen tone to it, grayed and creased.