Samantha's Gift. Valerie Hansen
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It had taken days to pin the pictures and cutout letters to the bulletin boards. Judging by the look of amazement and awe on the child’s face, the effort had been well worth it.
“Did you go to preschool?” Rachel asked.
“Uh-uh.”
She talked! Thank You, God! Rachel felt like cheering. Instead, she kept her tone deliberately casual. “That’s okay. We’ll learn our letters and numbers here in my class, together.”
“I’m five,” Samantha said softly.
“I’m a little older than that,” Rachel countered with a grin.
“Teachers are supposed to be old.”
“That’s right. You’re very smart.”
The child beamed. “I know.”
At least she hasn’t lost her sense of self-worth, Rachel mused. That was a big plus. Obviously, someone in Samantha Smith’s past had done a wonderful job of making her feel worthwhile. That confidence would help her adjust to whatever troubles came her way, the loss of her parents being the worst one imaginable. It was hard enough growing up with parents, let alone coping without them.
Except maybe in the case of my own mother. The thought popped into Rachel’s head before she had time to censor it. There were some people who could give advice in a way that made the recipient glad to follow it. Then there was Rachel’s mother, Martha. When Martha Woodward spoke, she acted as if everyone should be thrilled to profit from her superior wisdom. To disagree with her opinions was to invite condemnation. Rachel was, unfortunately, very good at doing that.
As she reflected on the strange twists and turns her private life had taken lately, she stood aside and watched the curious child explore the classroom. The sight brought a smile and a sigh of contentment. Teaching was Rachel’s God-given gift and she relished every moment of it. Moreover, when she got a chance to help an emotionally needy child like Samantha, even for a short time, the blessing was magnified.
Rachel hoped that someday, if she was patient enough, Martha would finally accept the fact that her only daughter was single by choice. That her happiness came from loving other people’s children as if they were her own.
If that happened, it would be a direct answer to prayer. And if not? Well, that would be an answer of another kind, wouldn’t it?
The playground was deserted when Rachel finally took Samantha outside to the play equipment. It was grouped according to size. That which was assigned to the youngest children was naturally the smallest. The stiff, canvaslike seats of those swings were so tiny that even a person as diminutive as Rachel couldn’t fit into them safely. Knowing that, she led the way to the next larger size.
Samantha strained on tiptoe to make herself tall enough to scoot back into one of the higher swings.
Rachel sat next to her and pushed off with her feet, swinging slowly, as if they were simply two friends sharing a recess. “I like to do this, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Because she could no longer reach the ground, the little girl wiggled and kicked her feet in the air, managing to coax very little back and forth motion out of the swing. “Will you push me?”
“Okay. But first, watch how I move my legs. See? I pull them in when I go backward, then lean back and stick them out to go forward.”
The child made a feeble try, failed, and pulled a face. “It doesn’t work.”
“It will. You just need to practice. Watch again. See?”
Instead of listening, Samantha jumped down and stalked away, kicking sand and muttering to herself, “Dumb old swing. I hate swings.”
So much for the buddy system, Rachel thought. It served her right. She’d taken one look at Samantha Smith, sensed her loneliness, identified with her, and promptly broken her own rule against blurring the line between teacher and pupil.
“Okay. Fun’s over,” she said. “Time for you to go back to the office so Ms. Heatherington can drive you home.”
Samantha whirled. “No!”
“Yes.” Rachel cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and held out her hand. “Come on.”
Tears blurred the little girl’s wide, blue eyes. “I wanna stay here. With you.”
“When you come back tomorrow morning you’ll be in my class all day.”
“No!” The child spun around and took off at a run.
Surprise made Rachel hesitate. Samantha was already disappearing down an exterior hallway when she came to her senses and started in pursuit.
She didn’t dare shout. If Heatherington happened to look out the window and see what was happening she might decide to move Samantha to another class for the short time she had left before being sent out of state. That was the last thing Rachel wanted.
At the corner where the sidewalk made a T, Rachel skidded to a stop. Which way? Left? Right? The hall was deserted.
Breathless, she prayed, “Where is she? Help me? Please, Lord?”
A commotion to the right caught her attention. Though the sounds were muffled, Rachel was certain she heard a childish squeal, followed by a definitely masculine “Oof.”
She dashed toward the noise, rounded a blind corner and nearly slammed into the doubled-over figure of Sean Bates! This time, he wasn’t laughing.
“Which way?” Rachel demanded.
Breathless, Sean pointed. “What’s going on?”
“Tell you later.”
“You’d better believe it.”
He straightened slowly, painfully, watching Rachel race down the hall in pursuit of the little blond monster that had plowed into him. It had been moving so fast that he wasn’t even sure whether it was a girl or a boy. When he saw Rachel returning, holding the child in front of her with its arms and legs thrashing, he still wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered.
“Want some help?” he asked.
“Oh, no. I’ll just hang on like this until she gets tired. Or until she kills me.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic. I said I’d help.”
“Sorry. It’s been a rough day.”
“Tell me about it.”
He eyed the red-faced child. Rachel had grabbed her from behind, rendering her kicks useless. If he approached from the front, however, he was liable to be very, very sorry—again.
“I just did tell you,” Rachel said. “This is Samantha Smith. She’s going to be in my class. I think.”
“You sure you want that?” Eyebrows cocked, Sean gave her a lopsided grin.
“Of course I do. Samantha and I just have to come to an understanding first.” Rachel raised her voice, speaking slowly, plainly. “If she doesn’t decide to settle down and behave pretty soon, I may have to ask Ms. Heatherington to take her to another school. I really don’t want to do that.”
The little girl gasped, froze in midmotion and stared past Sean’s shoulder in the direction of the office. Then she wilted like a plucked blossom on a hot summer day.
Relieved, Rachel relaxed and eased her to the ground so she could stand. “Whew. That’s better.”
Sean was braced for another escape attempt. It didn’t come.
Instead, the girl gazed up at her teacher with new respect. “I— I’m sorry. You won’t tell, will you?”
“Not unless I have to. It’s my job to keep you safe and teach you how to get along with others. That means you have to listen to me and do as I say. Will you do that from now on?”
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