“Did you have a nice Christmas?” Marcail’s voice was tentative, telling Alex how hard it was for her to make simple conversation with him.
“Yes, I did, thank you. How about yourself?”
“It was very nice.”
“Did you get a new coat?”
“Oh, yes, I did.” Marcail’s voice told of her surprise that he had noticed. She didn’t realize he noticed most everything about her. She touched the lapel on the long, single-breasted navy coat.
“Thank you for chopping the wood,” Marcail blurted suddenly, just remembering she hadn’t done so.
“You’re welcome.”
The silence between them deepened, and after a few moments Alex rescued Marcail by going back to work. Once in the house, Marcail listened to the sounds from outside. Her mind ran in numerous veins, and unfortunately she stood daydreaming even after the chopping stopped and all grew quiet.
It was then that Marcail noticed that Alex had lit a fire in her stove. Her heavy coat must have kept her from noticing the heat when she first walked in. Marcail moved swiftly to her front door, opened it, and looked out. But she was too late. Alex, astride his horse, was almost back to his own house and much too far to hear her voice.
Nearly a week had passed since Marcail had returned to work, and it was now Saturday, her day to bake and shop in town. She was just about to walk into the dry goods store when Mrs. Duckworth’s stringent tone sounded in the cold January air. The sound of her voice could be heard from down the block.
“Don’t tell me I don’t have the right! I own this building, and if I request to see your books, then I expect to see them!”
Marcail did not hear the hotel owner’s reply, but she did spot Sydney sitting in his grandmother’s carriage out front. She approached with a smile.
“Hi, Sydney.”
“Hello, Miss Donovan.” Sydney smiled with genuine pleasure at the sight of her. It was obviously one of his good days.
Marcail nearly shook her head in wonder. She’d never met a more cordial child when he determined to be so. His manners were perfection itself. Get on his wrong side on a bad day, however, and look out! Anything could happen.
“It’s getting colder all the time, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” the boy replied. “My grandmother says that because last year was so mild we’ll have a heavy snowfall this year.”
“Well, she is the person to listen to, since she’s lived here so many years.”
As if sensing she was the topic of discussion, Mrs. Duckworth suddenly appeared at Marcail’s side.
“How do you do, Mrs. Duckworth?”
“I am well, Miss Donovan. I understand you went to Santa Rosa for Christmas.” This last statement sounded like a rebuke.
“Yes, I did. It was nice to see my family.” Marcail’s voice was friendly, but she struggled with the feeling that she’d done something wrong by not checking with Mrs. Duckworth before leaving. The feeling increased when she noticed Mrs. Duckworth’s scrutiny of her new coat and boots.
Marcail’s chin rose slightly as Mrs. Duckworth’s gaze met her own. The younger woman’s eyes were calm, and there was no sign of the groveling this tyrannical woman was usually afforded from the Willits townspeople.
Mrs. Duckworth found herself wondering how she could have admired the girl’s spunk on their first meeting. At the moment she found Marcail’s confidence quite rude. Were it not for Sydney’s admiration of her, she’d be tempted to give her the sack for such impertinence.
“I won’t keep you,” Marcail said after a moment. “I’ll see you on Monday, Sydney. Good day, Mrs. Duckworth.”
Marcail waved and went on her way. She wasn’t long in town that day, and once she got home and began her laundry she found her mind straying back to Mrs. Duckworth. No one should have the godlike power that Mrs. Duckworth wielded. Of course, that was the problem—no one was bold enough to tell her so.
Marcail realized with a start that she was bold enough, but knowing the people of Willits would suffer for her words stopped her in her tracks.
Marcail spent the day thinking about why, beyond her teaching position, God might have brought her to Willits. Often she was tempted to quit, but God always detained her with a gentle reminder that her example to the townspeople, her students, and especially Sydney might bring them to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.
sixteen
Marcail’s hand went to the back of her neck to rub at a sore spot. It was a cloudy Friday afternoon, and the children had been gone for about 15 minutes. From her place at the desk, Marcail glanced outside and stared for a moment.
It took some seconds to realize it was snowing. A few inches had already accumulated on the ground from the two different nights it had snowed, and for an instant Marcail thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Finally convinced that snow was falling, Marcail rose quickly from her desk and hurried toward the door. She pulled the school door shut behind her and stood for a moment, her face lifted toward the sky.
Marcail Donovan had never seen it snow. Having grown up in the tropics and then living in Santa Rosa, where it had snowed only twice and at night when they were all asleep, left her more than a little curious and excited about actually watching it snow.
In a near trance she walked down the steps with her hands spread wide to catch the white particles falling to the ground. Her tongue came out as she tried to taste a snowflake.
She had not taken time to grab her coat and was surprised at how warm it felt outside with only her sweater. Marcail began walking toward the trees that lined the road in the distance, loving the way the snow looked against the backdrop they formed. She entered a small copse of oaks and spent the next 20 minutes alternating between standing under their shelter and dashing out into the snow to make new tracks and feel the cold flakes on her face.
Marcail became aware of the cold about ten minutes too late. She wrapped her sweater a little more tightly about her and scolded herself for not taking her coat. The clouds had thickened and the wind had picked up suddenly, and as Marcail came back onto the road she realized that having the snow blowing in her face was no longer fun.
She squinted against the sting in her eyes and wondered how she could have been so foolish as to come this far from the school. She decided to make a run for it, and ran a good 30 yards before realizing she was going in the wrong direction. She turned back, but the wind caught her breath so suddenly that she decided to take refuge once again under the trees.
At what she assumed to be the edge of the road, Marcail tripped. She fell hard onto her face, her dress suddenly feeling very wet. Marcail began to shiver so severely she could hardly stand up. When she finally pushed off the ground, she was certain she was heading toward safety, but only a few steps told her she was guessing.
She pressed on, praying for help. Suddenly a dark object loomed before her. For an instant Marcail thought she had found the schoolhouse, but by then she didn’t really care. Her only concern was to escape the freezing wind and somehow warm her icy limbs.
The exterior of the building was rough under her hands as Marcail felt her way around a corner. She nearly missed the odd latch on the wall before her. She fumbled for just a moment before the door slid open and the wind nearly blew her inside. Marcail gasped for every breath as she slid the door shut. She turned and leaned against the wall and then blinked in confusion. Dr. Montgomery was headed toward her with a lantern held high.
“I got caught in the snow,” Marcail’s voice shook as the doctor approached in disbelief.
“Where is your coat?” Alex asked, as he moved to the single window by the door and peered through the glass.
Marcail couldn’t answer. Every part of her body was beginning to go numb, and all she could do was shake her head.
“Let’s get you to the house,” Alex said, more to himself than anyone else. As he moved to hang the lantern, he heard Marcail’s softly spoken “No.”
Alex turne
d back and stared at her.
“I’ll just stay here until I get warmer,” the young schoolteacher stuttered as she rubbed furiously at her arms.
Knowing that now was not the time for discussion, Alex did not hesitate for a moment. He hung the lantern, blew it out, and moved toward Marcail. She couldn’t see him approach, so she jumped as a hand touched her in the darkness.
“Put this on,” Alex was saying, and Marcail felt a coat surround her.
Before Marcail even had time to enjoy the warmth of the coat, the barn door was thrown open. She let out a small scream when she was suddenly tossed over the doctor’s shoulder. Marcail had no time to comment on her position, since Alex was already moving swiftly through the blizzard toward the house.
“No” was the emphatic reply. “I’ll be dry in a little while.”
Staring at the tiny woman before him who was shivering from head to toe, Alex pulled to the fore what was certain to be the last of his patience.
“You can’t stay in that dress,” Alex said for the fifth time. “It’s wet and you’re freezing. Now please go and change into the nightgown I’ve laid out for you, because if you don’t take yourself out of those wet things, Miss Donovan, I’ll do it for you.”
“You can’t treat me this way. I’m a grown woman.”
“Then act like one,” Alex snapped.
Marcail stood mute with embarrassment. Alex’s jaw tensed, and a moment later he had his guest by the arm and was leading her to the bedroom. Once inside, he pulled her sweater off before she had time to think. He then spun her around and unbuttoned the back of her dress. Marcail gasped in surprise, but was given no time to respond before she was spun once again, this time to face the doctor, her eyes so big they nearly swallowed her face.
“You will remove everything you are wearing,” Alex held Marcail’s shoulders, his head bent close to her face, his voice unrelenting, “and put on the nightgown. You will then come back out to the kitchen and sit by the fire. It’s the only way you’re going to get warm.”
Alex’s face and manner softened slightly as he felt her tremble under his hands, but he exited the bedroom and shut the door before she had time to notice.
Marcail stood alone in the bedroom, so angry and humiliated that she wanted to weep. She told herself that he was overbearing and rude. She also told herself that he was right; she was freezing.
Shame nearly overwhelmed her as she pulled the bodice of her dress down and remembered his unbuttoning the back. It took some minutes, but eventually Marcail had a pile of damp clothes on the floor and a white flannel nightgown in her hands. She was trembling so violently that she could barely lift it over her head. Once she did, she found herself enveloped in cloth. The nightgown was huge on her slight frame.
“Miss Donovan,” Alex’s voice called through the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you dressed?”
Marcail’s answer was to open the door. Alex barely glanced at her attire before he placed a hand on her back and led her to the large upholstered chair that he’d drawn up in front of the stove. Before he gave Marcail a small push into the chair he wrapped her in a thick quilt.
In her frozen misery, Marcail was unaware of the way Alex retrieved her clothing, hung it to dry, and then fetched a mug and the pot from the stove.
“We have to get you warm, Miss Donovan” was all she heard before Alex bent over her with a steaming cup. He placed it against her mouth with one order.
“Drink.”
Marcail did so, only to bury her face in the quilt a moment later in an attempt to evade the cup, as well as breathe past the acrid taste in her throat. He had given her the strongest coffee she’d ever tasted.
Alex tried to get her to drink more of the thick liquid, knowing how quickly it would warm her, but the sound of her small, choked voice begging him to stop was too much for him. He put the cup aside.
After Alex reached to put the mug on the table, he then shifted Marcail in the chair, moving her as though she were a doll so he would be certain every part of her was warm. He made sure her arms and shoulders were tucked into the quilt and then tugged one corner of the quilt up over her head until only her face showed. He pulled another chair close, sat down to face her, placed her feet in his lap, and wrapped yet another quilt around them.
Marcail looked at him through eyes that were beginning to blur, wishing he would go away. Her last thought before her body began to warm and sleep came to claim her was that this couldn’t really be happening to her.
seventeen
Alex wouldn’t have believed that anyone could be sleeping as soundly as Marcail. She had fallen asleep over an hour ago and not moved a muscle, not even when he carried her to his bed and tucked her in. He assumed she would awaken before he was ready to go to bed himself, but she never stirred, not even when he banged around in the kitchen fixing some supper. He found himself checking her often to assure himself she was okay, but her breathing was regular and her pulse normal, so he had to assume that she was exhausted.
The snow was still falling steadily as Alex tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa in the living room. This was no easy task since the sofa was nearly a foot shorter than his 5’ 10” frame.
He was covered with a warm quilt as he turned the lantern low and settled back to think on the events of the evening. Alex wondered if he would ever forget the way Marcail looked when she defied him about changing her clothes, or how small she had felt under his hands as he’d tucked the quilt about her.
A sudden feeling of dread overcame him. Alex wondered if Marcail would have any idea how a situation like this would be viewed by the town of Willits. He began to pray that God would uphold them both in the days to come, and that the townspeople, specifically Mrs. Duckworth, would be reasonable.
Marcail woke up and stretched luxuriously in the large bed. The smell of coffee assailed her senses, and for just an instant she smiled. A second later she sat up with a start and stared through the dim light at the strange dresser across the room from her and then at the bed in which she slept. Marcail’s heart began to beat so hard she felt breathless. The bedroom door was open, and, moving very slowly, she walked to that door and looked at the man sitting at the kitchen table.
Alex, fully dressed for the day, looked up from his Bible to find his houseguest standing in the bedroom doorway, clutching the front of her nightgown.
“What time is it?”
“About 6:30.”
“In the morning?” Marcail whispered.
Alex looked at her with tender compassion and rose to retrieve her clothing. “These were by the stove all night, so they’re dry now.”
Marcail took her clothes and thanked him, her voice stilted.
“I’ll fix some breakfast whenever you’re ready.”
Again Marcail thanked him and stood staring at nothing, trying to come to grips with the fact that she’d spent the night at the doctor’s house.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“First of all you were so exhausted and sleeping so hard, I’m not sure I could have awakened you. And second, it was still snowing, so I didn’t see any point.”
Marcail didn’t look to the window until he mentioned the snow. Alex watched as she moved slowly toward the window by the door and looked out. A white blanket stretched for as far as her eyes could see, and snow was still coming down. Strangely enough, the sight gave her comfort. The doctor had been given no choice, and Marcail’s fear of her situation, if not the doctor, lessened to some degree.
She turned from the window, thanked Alex for drying her clothes, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. Her voice told him she was coming to accept the situation. Alex stood for a few moments outside the door, thinking as he did that Marcail didn’t have an inkling of how the folks in town would react if they ever found out what had happened.
“What will you do if someone needs you in town?” Marcail asked from her place in front of the dishpan, relieved over having someth
ing to do.
Alex picked up a plate and started to dry. “If the bell rings, I’ll try to get through.”
“The bell?”
“Yes. Since I don’t live in town, I have a bell outside of my office so people can call me here at home.”
Light suddenly dawned for Marcail. “I’ve heard that bell at times and wondered what it was.”
Alex didn’t answer. He was too busy smiling over how long she was taking to wash a few dishes. She’d been extremely nervous at breakfast and had hardly eaten a bite. This surprised him because he knew she’d missed supper. He remembered then how wary she was of him, and found himself wishing he’d get called into town so he could leave her in peace.
“Will you take me home if you get called into town?”
The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but Alex had an answer. “I really doubt I’ll be called.”
“But if you are?” Marcail pressed him.
Alex didn’t even hesitate. “No, it’s too risky.”
Marcail began to gnaw on her lower lip. Alex had seen her do this several times at the breakfast table when the silence between them had lengthened.
When Marcail was finished with the dishes, she turned to Alex with her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “All done,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Sure,” Alex began, and Marcail missed the sparkle in his eyes. “I have several shirts that need to be mended and washed, and the bedroom needs dusting.”
Once again, Marcail caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded her head, taking in the orders with wide-eyed agreement. Alex’s heart melted just a little at the sight of her.