Samantha's Gift. Valerie Hansen
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they started to walk back toward the office.
Sean watched them go. He had to admit he’d been wrong to judge the pretty, diminutive teacher on appearance alone. Rachel Woodward was definitely special. One of a kind. Not only was she physically stronger than she looked, she had an indomitable will and a tender, empathetic heart that were impossible to deny.
He smiled to himself. With “credentials” like that, it was no wonder her unconventional form of child psychology had worked so well.
Driving home that evening, Rachel couldn’t get memories of Sean Bates out of her mind, so she forced herself to concentrate on her newest student instead. Thinking about Samantha kept her from reliving her recent close encounters with Sean, at least temporarily. She was getting pretty disgusted with herself about that. There was certainly no good reason for her to get the shivers every time she pictured his smile and sparkling eyes.
Rachel was glad she’d paused to examine her innermost thoughts regarding Samantha, because they revealed a truly deep concern. As long as that little girl remained in her class, Rachel knew she’d have to be careful to avoid showing favoritism. All students deserved equal treatment, as much as it was within a teacher’s ability to provide it, and getting emotionally attached to one or two individuals made impartiality that much harder.
Rachel pulled into the driveway of her modest, white-painted house. Boy, was she glad to be home. She’d bought the house on Old Sturkie Road at auction and had fixed it up to suit her eclectic taste. Now that she was well settled in, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to move. The place had everything: quaint heritage charm, combined with all the modern conveniences such as running water, indoor plumbing, electricity and telephone. In the winter, Rachel could even supplement her regular heating system by lighting the woodstove that still sat by the chimney in her living room.
In the summer, however, there was nothing she’d rather do than relax in the shade of the covered front porch overlooking her peaceful neighborhood.
The phone was already ringing when she flung open the back door and grabbed the receiver. Between her delay at work and the fact that she’d stopped at the market on the way home to pick up a few things for supper, she was running late. Which meant she had a very good idea who was calling.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess.”
“You didn’t call,” Martha chided.
“I just walked in the door.”
“Hard day?”
“The first ones always are. You know how it is.”
“It took you a long time to get home tonight. I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”
Rachel chuckled cynically. “Well, unless you expect Schatzy or Muffin to answer, you’ll have to give me time to get here.”
Hearing his name, the little black-and-tan dachshund danced at Rachel’s feet, circled a couple of times, then ran over to give the lazy, gray angora cat a lick across its face. Muffin showed her displeasure by hissing.
“Stop that,” Rachel said.
Confused, Martha asked, “Who? Me?”
“No, not you, Mom. The cat.”
“Oh. I never could abide animals in the house, myself. Too messy. All that hair!”
“I keep them brushed. Anyway, Schatzy hardly sheds.” Rachel surveyed her homey living room with a contented smile.
“You and your animals.”
Here it comes, Rachel thought. She tensed, waiting for her mother to seize the opportunity to point up the difference between keeping pets and raising children.
Instead, Martha said, “I had my hair done today. Mercy Cosgrove was in the beauty shop the same time I was. She says her granddaughter, Emily, is getting married.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I only found out today. She’s marrying Jack Foster.”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? I mean, there was a time when she could have had a doctor for a husband. Sam Barryman was ripe for the picking.”
“So you’ve reminded me. Often,” Rachel drawled. “Didn’t he finally run off and marry Sheila Something-or-other?”
“That’s old news,” Martha said. “They’re getting a divorce.”
“Too bad. But it doesn’t surprise me. My one date with good old Dr. Sam was enough to cure me—pun intended.”
“What about the new guy at your school? I understand he’s single. And cute, too.”
“News travels fast.”
Rachel knew better than to offer additional information about Sean. All she’d have to do was give her mother a hint that she might be interested in him and Martha’s wild imagination would take off. Pretty soon, she’d have convinced herself that Rachel was practically engaged to the poor guy, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“Well, have you met him yet?” Martha asked.
“I, uh, I did run into him,” Rachel said, laughing to herself and picturing the shocked look on Sean’s face when she’d crashed into his broad chest. The vivid memory of his strong hands steadying her followed instantly, leading to an all-over tingle and another little shiver. Maybe she was catching a summer cold or something.
“You wait too long and there won’t be any good ones left,” Martha said.
“There weren’t all that many to start with, Mother.”
“I still don’t know why you had to break up with that nice Craig Slocum.”
Because that nice Craig Slocum dumped me when I told him I might not be able to have kids, Rachel countered silently. She said, “These things happen. Look, Mom, I’m really beat and I have to put my groceries away before they spoil. Can I call you back later?”
“There’s no need. I just wanted to hear your voice, to make sure my little girl was okay.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Rachel said. “I’m all grown up, remember?”
“You’ll always be my little girl, honey.”
She laughed lightly. “I can just see us now. I’ll be seventy and you’ll be ninety-five and you’ll still expect me to phone you every day to tell you I’m okay.”
“Not a chance,” Martha said. “By that time, I’ll either be living with you and your family or you’ll at least have a husband to look after you so I can quit worrying.”
What a choice! Rachel was glad her mother couldn’t see the way she was rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t like living in my house, Mom. Animals make you sneeze, remember?”
Martha snickered. “I’ll hold my breath. At ninety-five, that shouldn’t be hard. It’s the breathing in and out part that might get a little tricky.”
Rachel wasn’t too weary to appreciate her mother’s dark humor. “You’re amazing.”
“You, too, honey. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get home from work. Don’t panic, okay? You know I’m always late when school first starts.”
“You shouldn’t let them take advantage of you.”
“I’m the one who’s taking advantage, Mom. I let them pay me for something I’d gladly do for free.”
“So, swallow your pride and marry a rich man. Then you can afford to be a volunteer.”
“I’d rather eat dirt.”