Sycamore Hill (28 page)

“Don’t push me too far, Abby!”

“Just leave! You were so eager to go a minute ago. Well, go on and
leave!”

“Oh, hell!” he muttered fiercely below his breath.

Then Jordan’s hands descended on my shoulders, turning me full
against him. I looked up in alarm as he pressed me back against the door. His
body held me still as his mouth came down to cover mine. I struggled to be
free, but he took advantage of my movements to mold us even closer together. I
tried to cry out, but he only used that advantage to deepen his kiss, to invade
my mouth with his tongue. Then I did not want to be free.

Sensual madness invaded my mind and body so that I wanted to be
closer to Jordan’s warmth. I wanted to open his wool shirt and feel the texture
of his skin beneath my fingers. I wanted to press myself against the hardening
muscles and be encompassed by his strength. I pushed his jacket back to be
nearer, and he impatiently shrugged out of it, letting it slide to the floor.
His fingers came up and raked the pins from my hair. He was heedless of the
shamble he was causing. Then he was kissing me again, his mouth moving from
mine to plunder my ear and then trail down my neck. When he raised his head, a
groan escaped. He started to step back away from me.

“Jordan...” I sighed. My hands came up almost of their own
volition to encircle his neck and draw his head down again.

“My God!” he rasped, his hands pulling me forward again. My hips
were grinding against his. Then he swore beneath his breath. He reached up and
grabbed at my wrists.

“Let go, Abby!” he moaned. “For God’s sake, let go of me before I
finish what we’ve started.”

He dragged my hands free and shoved me back. I stood shaking
before him, but the emotion that raked me was not fear. He looked at my face,
his own strained and hard, his eyes dilated to blackness.

“I made the mistake of entering your territory,” he ground out
with an effort. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t, and by God, I won’t again!” he
told me intensely.

I stared at him dumbly for a moment before his rejection sank into
my brain. Then the first cold tendrils of understanding crept in to make me
feel shamed and dirty. How could I have allowed him to kiss me like that? And
worse, why had I responded to the point that I did not care anything about my
self-respect? I should have known he would look at me like some creature he did
not want to recognize. What did he think of me now? That I responded to any man
as I did to him?

Jordan reached out and tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at
him squarely. I felt confused by the emotions that still raged inside me,
frightened by his anger and hurt by his indifference. Oh, dear God in heaven,
what was happening to me? How could I have fallen in love with this man?

“You’re ashamed already,” he said, half-compassionately,
half-derisively, his eyes glittering. “Be thankful I didn’t take what you offered
so magnanimously.”

I shut my eyes against the look in his. He released me.

“Stay away from Eden Rock, Miss McFarland. That’s my territory.
And if you ever come near it, we’ll play by my rules then. The consequences and
your sensitive Boston feelings be damned.”

He snatched up his jacket and then walked out the door, slamming
it behind him. I stood for a long time staring at nothing and feeling utterly
miserable and humiliated. Then I undressed and went to bed.

Once during the night I awakened. I thought I heard something
moving about in the schoolroom and bumping into a desk, making a scraping sound
over the floor. But when I listened intently for more movement, I heard
nothing. Exhausted, I fell back to sleep.

In the morning I found the note scrawled across the blackboard.
“Go back to Boston.” The words brought Jordan Bennett into my mind.

Just as Jordan Bennett had warned, Diego Gutierrez did not return
to school the following Monday morning. When he did not come Tuesday or
Wednesday, I began to consider riding to Eden Rock to talk with him in spite of
Jordan’s dire warning to me. What could the man do to me? He had already done
his worst from my viewpoint. He had made me recognize irrefutably that I was in
love with him, while he held me in his contempt.

Thursday morning Diego returned to school. Linda walked in with a
wide smile on her face, and I looked up to see Jordan in the doorway, his hand
on Diego’s stiff shoulder. There were other children already in class, and they
jumped up to welcome Diego back. The wary expression on the boy’s face began to
dissolve, and after a moment he smiled.

My heart was doing acrobatics at the sight of Jordan, but after
the first glimpse of his grim expression, I avoided his eyes. A faint flush
crept into my cheeks, and my body felt cold with shame as I remembered our last
meeting and his words before departing. What must he be thinking of me as he
stood there watching Diego take his usual seat next to Linda at the back of the
classroom? I was afraid to even contemplate it.

I was thankful that the children were so involved in chattering
with Diego that they failed to see my embarrassed expression. I felt Jordan
watching me, but refused to look at him again. After a moment he turned back
and strode out of the room without a backward glance. My stomach muscles slowly
relaxed.

For the rest of the week things settled back to normal. Jordan
rode in with the children now that the rainy season was well underway and the
journey was sometimes hazardous. He never lingered after seeing the two
children inside the door. I sank everything into my teaching, classroom
preparation and cleaning of the schoolhouse. I worked until I was too tired to
dream or even be frightened by whatever else lived in the schoolhouse with me.

I worried a great deal about Matthew Hayes. He regretted his
actions against Diego, primarily because the children despised him for it. Even
after Diego returned, Matt was treated to jibes and taunts. He was ostracized
from the yard play. His schoolmates even shunned him in class. Whenever there
were teams to draw up, Matt was last to be included. His grades fell, and he
never raised his hand to answer class questions. When I called on him, he just
stared at his hands and said nothing. I caught the looks cast in his direction
and saw the tortured look in his eyes.

A few days after Diego’s return to class I found Matt sitting
hunched over on the front steps of the schoolhouse. All the children were
around back, playing beneath the cloud-strewn late-fall sky. I came down the
steps and sat down next to the miserable boy.

“Matt,” I said softly and saw how he drew inside his shell. He
looked away as I leaned forward, but not before I saw his chin trembling and
his eyes filling with tears. This wouldn’t do at all, I thought unhappily. I
moved closer and put my arm around the boy’s rigid shoulders. As I began to
talk with him, he gradually relaxed until finally the hurt poured out in
shuddering sobs.

“But... but they hate me, Miss McFarland,” he cried. “They won’t
have anything to do with me.” He leaned forward so that his face was hidden
against his knees. I hugged him closer. I whispered that things would work out
if given time. Everyone does something that they regret, but they can’t allow
it to ruin their lives. He had learned from what had happened, and he would be
a better, stronger person for it. I wasn’t just speaking to Matt Hayes; I was
remembering my own transgressions with Jordan Bennett.

Matt mumbled that none of the children would ever talk to him because
of Diego. He knew it was his fault, but he wanted to change things so that he
would have some friends again. I suggested he talk with Diego.

“He’ll never speak to me,” Matt said assuredly, looking up at me.
He was frightened by the very idea.

“You owe him an apology, Matthew. If you started with that,
perhaps the two of you could sort things out. You both have a lot in common.”

“My father says...” he started, but I patted his hand, knowing by
his expression what his father had said.

“Never mind what your father said,” I dared. “You have to make
your own decisions about people, Matt. You talk with Diego.”

“He won’t listen, Miss McFarland.” He shook his head, his
shoulders sagging.

“You have to have the courage to try, Matt. If that doesn’t work,
we’ll figure something else out to get you back in good stead with the
children.”

Matthew looked up at me uncertainly. “I didn’t think you liked
me.”

I frowned and wondered how much my personal feelings had
influenced the boy’s depression. He was right when he said I had not liked him
after what he had done. I had found his behavior despicable. Since then,
however, he had changed, and I had watched with respect and sympathy as he had
tried to make amends. The boy deserved a second chance. Didn’t everyone?

“I didn’t like what you did, Matt. There’s a difference between
that and not liking you,” I told him gently.

Over the next few days I watched painfully as Matthew Hayes tried
to muster courage to speak to Diego. Each time he started out to approach the
other boy, Diego’s friends got in the way. Not wanting there to be witnesses to
his attempt at peace making, Matthew always turned away. The week came to an
end, and nothing had been resolved.

With Monday I watched in great hope that Matthew would be able to
carry out his intentions. But his courage seemed to have failed completely, and
he stayed away from everyone, sitting between the old oak while the other
children played. He watched with pale intentness. I was afraid if the two boys
did not work things out soon, Matthew’s rightful regret would change into
renewed and bitter resentment.

Things had gone far enough, I decided. It was time I stepped into
the situation.

During the noontime break on Wednesday I decided that it was time
to get the two boys together. I called Matthew and Diego into the classroom.
The children all stopped playing and watched the two boys enter the schoolroom.
I saw some of them approaching and told them to go back to their play.
Reluctantly, they did so.

Inside the classroom Diego looked at Matthew with wary dislike.
Matthew was chewing nervously at his lower lip and staring fixedly at his feet.

I took a deep breath. “I think it’s time you two boys sat down
together and talked things over.”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” Diego said in a hard, defensive
voice. Matthew looked at me as though to say, “I told you so.” I frowned,
hoping I looked sufficiently stem.

“I beg to differ, Diego. You two have a great deal to talk about.
And talk you shall. You are both to go back into that corner,” I indicated a
corner reserved for quiet study, “where you will not be disturbed, and you are
to discuss what happened here over six weeks ago. Is that clearly understood?”

The boys went, Diego grudgingly mumbling something under his
breath in Spanish, and Matthew as though he were on his way to the gallows.
They sat for several moments in complete silence, looking everywhere but at one
another. I sat at my desk working on some papers and saying a silent prayer.
Then I heard the low mumble of Matt’s voice. He was talking, head down, looking
at his hands. Diego was staring at the top of the boy’s head.

And then Diego was talking. I decided I should leave the boys
alone now that they had started speaking to one another. Checking on the
children in the yard, I waited ten minutes before reentering the classroom.
When I did, I found Diego sitting by himself in the back of the room.

“Where’s Matthew?”

“Probably home crying to his papa.” Diego sneered unpleasantly.

I sighed, wondering if I had made another grievous error in
placing the two boys together. “All right. What happened, Diego?”

“We did what you told us to. We talked.”

“Did Matthew apologize to you?”

“Sí.
But you don’t expect me to believe that gringo, do you?” His
expression was hard.

“Matthew Hayes is very sorry, Diego.”

“He’s sorry because the other
niños
want nothing to do with
cabrón
who runs to papa whenever things don’t go his way!”

“I don’t think Matthew will do that again. He learned a lot from
what happened, Diego. Did you?”

“Where is he now, then, Miss McFarland?” Diego demanded, standing
up. He looked angry, but there was something else beneath it. He was afraid
everything was starting again. “He’s probably home crying to his father about
what I said to him.”

“And what did you say to him?” I asked, beginning to really doubt
my methods. I started to wonder what the repercussions were going to be to both
Diego and Matthew. Perhaps Jordan Bennett was right in his assessment of my
abilities and my place.

“I told him his apology didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t like
him before, and I don’t like him now. He’s getting just what he deserves!”

I sighed heavily, feeling very disappointed with the outcome of my
plan, and not knowing where to go from here. “I’m sorry you didn’t believe
Matthew, Diego. He has wanted to apologize since you came back, but was afraid
you wouldn’t believe him.”