Marcail and Helen both felt as though they were losing a newfound friend.
“I’ll write you,” Helen assured her.
“And I’ll write back.”
“In His time, the Lord will bring us together again,” the older woman assured her softly.
Marcail nodded, her throat closing with emotion. She knew she must be tired. It felt wonderful to climb into bed some minutes later. For the first time, Marcail wished that Alex had come to bed at the same time. She fell asleep thinking about the way his arms had felt as they held her close.
The next morning Samuel drove Alex and Marcail to the train station in his small buggy. He lingered while the train pulled away, and Marcail waved until the train rounded a curve and took them out of sight. She settled back in her seat for the long ride and felt Alex’s eyes on her.
“Your family is wonderful,” she said with sincerity.
“I think so. They were quite taken with you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“I’d like to get to know your family someday soon,” Alex said, thinking of his father’s words.
“I’ve thought about that. Maybe we could go to Santa Rosa when school lets out.”
Alex nodded, wishing he could think of some way for it to be sooner, but no ideas came to mind. “We’ll plan on it,” he promised her.
They were fairly quiet on the way back to Willits, both thinking of the work awaiting them. Alex’s mind wandered to two patients who were expecting, and Marcail’s mind dwelt on Sydney. She prayed that he would come to understand how important he was to God, knowing that only God could change him.
Alex and Marcail fell back into their routine on Tuesday as though they’d never been away. There were letters waiting for Marcail when she checked her mail after school, but she could tell that they’d been written before her family received the news of her marriage.
After school on Tuesday, she told Alex she would see herself home. She wanted to go directly to Vesperman’s and check to see if Alex’s gift had arrived. It had, and she went away with a huge smile on her face and plans for the next day.
Marcail was up early on Wednesday morning. She moved quietly as she made fresh biscuits, scrambled eggs, and fried some of the bacon Alex had received from a patient just the day before. It didn’t take long for the aromas from the kitchen to draw Alex from his bed. When the door opened, Marcail was standing by his chair, guarding a lumpy, wrapped parcel which sat next to his plate. She looked hesitant, and when she spoke she twisted her hands nervously before her.
“Happy birthday, Alex,” Marcail said in a rush. “We have a tradition in the Donovan household of putting our birthday gifts next to our plates at supper. I realize I’m a few meals early, but I was rather excited about your gift and wanted you to have it now.”
Marcail was thrilled over her plan when Alex’s face broke into a broad smile. She stood back so he could sit down and then sat herself, watching with spellbound attention as he unwrapped his gift.
Alex was so surprised over the satchel he was speechless. It was the finest he’d ever seen. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Marcail how she could have afforded such a gift on the little he brought home when he remembered she was a paid teacher.
Suddenly Alex realized how well they had been eating since Marcail moved in; not just her cooking, but the food itself. Cookies with peanuts in them, more meat than usual, and muffins and other baked goods were just the start. Alex also realized in that instant that he’d never even mentioned their finances or offered her a dime of money.
“If you’re not pleased, Alex, we can order something else.” Marcail’s soft, unsure voice cut into his thoughts, and Alex realized she’d misunderstood his silence. He immediately rose and came to stand next to her. He bent low, kissed her cheek, and then hunkered down before her.
“It’s a wonderful bag, and I wouldn’t trade it for any other. But I have to admit, I’d forgotten about your salary.”
Marcail looked very confused, and then her face cleared. “Well, I did have to take some money from our savings account, but Mr. Flynn increased my salary because I’m not living in the house by the school. I wanted this to be special, and I know it will last you for years to come, and—”
Marcail rattled on, but all Alex heard was “our savings account.” She must have combined their accounts and not mentioned it. It would be easy for his pride to rear its ugly head at this moment, resentful of the fact that his wife probably made more money than he did. In truth he was so touched by her actions that he wasn’t the least bit upset. He silently thanked God for the generous wife he’d been given. When she was finished explaining, he kissed her again, thanked her, and then proceeded to load the supplies from his old bag into the new one.
Marcail watched him with tremendous satisfaction. He’d looked so hesitant for a moment that she thought he was going to refuse the gift. The gift and good breakfast were a fine start to the day, and when Alex finally left Marcail at the schoolhouse, she had the feeling that the entire day might be very special.
Her thoughts, however, were drastically altered long before noon. Sydney was at his worst, and Marcail had no choice but to keep him inside during the morning recess. He sat at his desk looking miserable, and after Marcail checked on the children outside, she sat down in the seat in front of him.
“What’s wrong, Sydney? Aren’t you glad I came back?”
“I guess so, but I still don’t like you having to be married.”
He’d said this to her in the past. She knew it was nothing personal against Alex, but since it was partially his grandmother’s responsibility that she was married, she never knew how to answer him. Sydney spoke before she could reply.
“I hate my grandmother; I just hate her.”
This statement was a first.
“Oh, Sydney,” Marcail said softly. “You might be angry, but I don’t think you hate her.”
“I do. It’s all her fault you had to get married and then go see the doctor’s family.”
Marcail hadn’t realized Sydney understood Cordelia’s part in the whole affair. “Why do you hate her because I went to Fort Bragg?”
“Because you’re going to love them now and probably move away.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Sydney.” Marcail reached out and held his chin in her hand. “Don’t you know that a teacher’s love is like a mother’s love. It doesn’t divide, it multiplies.”
Sydney stared at her, and Marcail wondered, not for the first time, what Sydney’s parents were like.
“If a mother has more than one child, her love is not equally divided between the two, so it’s 50-50. She loves each one, 100 percent. It’s true that God has given me a distinct love for Dr. Montgomery’s family, but the special love I feel for you hasn’t changed in the least.”
It took a moment for Sydney to nod. His face softened.
“Now Sydney, we’ve got to talk about why you’re in here and not out playing with your friends.” Again the boy nodded, and Marcail went on. “No matter what you’re feeling, you do not have the right to pull the hair of the person in front of you or to kick the desks of those around you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Montgomery. It won’t happen again.”
It was, of course, what he said every time. When, she asked herself on the way back to her desk, was he going to see that changes made on his own were never going to be anything but temporary? The thought plagued her until after lunch, but then something happened that made Marcail nearly forget about her class.
At about 2:00 Marcail was sitting at her desk and listening to the primary form read. Her profile was to the door, but she noticed that someone appeared to be moving around at the back of the schoolhouse. She wanted to give the offending student a chance to sit down without a reprimand, but whoever it was, he was causing the other students to become restless.
Marcail looked resignedly at Sydney’s desk, but she was surprised to find him sitting quietly.
Her gaze flew to the rear of the room and locked with the loving, concerned eyes of Patrick Donovan.
forty
“Please take your seats, Erin and Kathy,” Marcail said to the two little girls at the front of the room. “You may join the rest of the class in silent reading at your desks.”
After making this announcement, Marcail walked swiftly to the back. She turned at the doorway of the cloakroom for one more check on the children, and then stepped over the threshold straight into her father’s arms. The feel of those strong limbs surrounding her caused tears to threaten.
“Hello, honey,” Patrick whispered.
“Oh, Father, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Well, you didn’t have to make up a story about being married to get me to come.” His tone was light, but his eyes begged her to tell him it had all been a tale.
“I’m sorry there was no warning.”
Patrick felt as if his worst nightmares had come true. He’d missed so much of Marcail’s life, and since he’d returned to the states, she’d become his last chance to share in the joys of courtship and marriage for at least one of his children. Patrick suddenly brought his thoughts up short; now was not the time to go into it. Marcail must have realized this also, since she was the first to speak.
“I dismiss the children in about an hour. I’d like to introduce you just before they go. Would you mind having a seat in the back?”
“Not at all,” he answered, thinking that after all those hours on the train, it would feel good to sit on a chair that didn’t vibrate or rock.
Patrick sat in a small wooden chair at the rear, and Marcail returned to the front.
“All eyes forward, please,” she commanded softly. The children were swift to obey.
“You may put your readers away until tomorrow. Right now we’re going to take a little time to look at our map of California.” Marcail spread the map on her desk. “You may leave your desks quietly and come forward to gather around my desk.”
The children complied, and in a moment they were having a discussion about various locations in the state. Marcail asked how many children had lived outside of Willits. Several raised their hands and were given a chance to show the class where they had lived. It was half past two when Marcail showed them the town of Visalia and told them she’d moved from there when she took the teaching job in Willits. They had all forgotten the stranger at the back of the room until Marcail instructed them to take their seats.
“We have a very special guest with us today. I’d like you to all be on your best behavior when you meet my father.” The children looked surprised, and Marcail waited until her father had reached the front of the room.
“Children, this is my father, the Reverend Patrick Donovan.”
The children greeted him cordially. Marcail let her father have the floor. The children were allowed to ask questions until they were released. Patrick fielded queries about where he lived, how long he was staying, his occupation, his family, and the train ride from Visalia to Willits.
Patrick was appropriately impressed with his daughter’s class and the skillful, competent way she handled them. He was also impressed with the way the class responded to him. He loved their open expressions and genuine interest in their teacher’s father. The half hour flew by, and Patrick walked with Marcail to the door to see the children off.
A moment of silence followed. Marcail wondered where to begin. Patrick sat down in the front when she returned to her desk and waited.
“I don’t have any reservations about telling you the whole story, but Alex will be here in a few minutes to take me home, and I think we’ll be more comfortable talking there.”
“I didn’t come here to wring some sort of confession out of you. Your letter covered a lot, but it didn’t say if you were all right, and that’s why I’m here.”
Marcail nodded. “I’m glad you came. I am all right, but I want to tell you how it came about and have you meet Alex. We could just start walking home, but then Alex won’t know where I am.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Patrick told her with a smile and then his eyes grew misty. “You’re an excellent teacher, Marcail, just like your mother was. In fact, you look so much like her I—” Patrick stopped, not wanting to make her cry, but Marcail couldn’t stop the teardrops that escaped her eyes.
“There isn’t anything you could say to me that would mean more.”
Alex chose that moment to enter the schoolhouse. He found a strange man sitting with his wife and the evidence of tears on her face. He wasted no time in coming to her side.
“Marc?” he questioned softly, his arm going around her as he knelt by her chair. When Marcail took a breath and didn’t answer immediately, Alex rose and turned a speculative look at the stranger in the room.
Alex would never know that his protective manner with Marcail, as well as the use of her nickname, went a long way toward reassuring the older man that his daughter was in safe hands. He wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but neither was he almost sick with worry as he had been a few times. In fact, as Patrick also came to his feet, his hand outstretched to shake Alex’s, the thought occurred to him that he’d already seen all he needed to see.
Patrick’s mind was not as easy some ten minutes later, when he was finally in his daughter’s home and saw the very obvious evidence that Marcail slept apart from her husband. His eyes closed in prayer.
Oh, Father, it hurts me, he prayed silently, to know that two of my children have not married for love. You in Your grace worked a miracle in Sean’s and Charlotte’s lives, but it’s happened again with Marcail. All I can ask is that here too, You will intercede. Bring love to this home so Marcail and Alex can know the joy of children and have a loving earthly partner to see them through the years.
Patrick would have prayed on but Marcail came in from saying goodbye to Alex, and he turned to greet her. He stepped forward swiftly when he saw her arms were loaded with wood.
“Oh, honey, why didn’t you call me to help you?”
“I’m all right,” she laughed. “Besides, you’re our guest, and I don’t want you to work.”
Marcail stacked the wood by the stove. She dusted her hands together and looked at Patrick.
“You didn’t really answer the children earlier, so tell me, how long can you stay?”
“As long as you need me.”
Marcail smiled, but told him seriously, “I am really doing fine.”
They were sitting across the kitchen table now, coffee brewing on the stove. Patrick looked at his daughter and marveled for the hundredth time at what a lovely young woman she’d become. It was far more than physical beauty; she was lovely on the inside as well.
“You were never really mad at me for going back to the mission field alone, I mean, like Katie and Sean, were you?” he asked suddenly.
Marcail thought for just a moment. “I don’t think anger is the right word for what I felt—confusion maybe, but not anger. I was pretty young, and Katie, who’s always been like a second mother anyway, was so constant for me. I just naturally clung to her.”
Marcail had no idea of the pain her words caused Patrick. To think of his little nine-year-old daughter, confused and hurting as she watched him leave, was almost more than he could take.
“That was all a long time ago, Father,” Marcail commented, seeing more than Patrick thought. “It was hard, but I watched Katie trust in God, and I learned to do the same thing. Believe me, I’ve used that knowledge more than once since I arrived here.”
Marcail let a few moments of silence pass and then began to recount to her father the entire story. She spared few details. Patrick was as shocked as Marcail had been over the power Mrs. Duckworth wielded in town. She finished her story by telling him all about her weekend with Alex’s family. He was thrilled at the loving way they had obviously welcomed her.
Marcail talked all through supper preparations, and with only a question here and there, Patrick listened. Alex was on time
, and Marcail was very pleased at how easily the men conversed.
Marcail began to feel very selfish over talking nonstop about herself, so as the three sat down to supper, she asked Patrick about the people in Visalia. Marcail missed it, but Alex noticed the tender light in Patrick’s eyes upon his daughter’s question.
forty-one
“Everything in Visalia is great. The folks who knew I was coming send you their love.”
Marcail smiled as she thought of the people there who loved her. “How are Duncan and Lora?”
“Great.”
“And Sadie?”
“Sadie is doing fine.” Patrick said softly, but Marcail had turned to Alex to explain who all of these people were and missed her father’s expression.
“My brother, Sean, met and married his wife, Charlotte, in Visalia. They lived there almost up to the time they went to minister in Hawaii. Their pastor was a bit older, and when he decided to leave the pulpit, God called Father to fill it. Duncan is the sheriff and his wife is Lora. They both attend Father’s church. Sadie is Charlotte’s aunt. She comes on Sunday morning, which is a tremendous answer to prayer, but we’re still praying for her salvation.”
“We don’t need to pray for her salvation anymore.” Patrick spoke softly, and Marcail turned to look at him. The look of utter serenity that crossed his features caused Marcail to jump to her feet and throw her arms around his neck.
“When?” Marcail laughed with delight. “When did this happen?”
“About a week ago. She’s been coming to our midweek services off and on for several weeks. Last week she stayed late and talked with Lora. Lora told me the sound of longing she heard in Sadie’s voice was heartbreaking. By the time they had finished talking, though, Sadie told Lora that all her fears were gone.
“Then Sadie and I talked the day before I received your letter. She told me that for the first time since her husband passed away, she is not afraid of death. She wakes up knowing that if today is her last day on earth, it will be her first day in heaven.”