Samantha's Gift. Valerie Hansen
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She started to follow, then decided to check the office records first. If Samantha had chosen the right bus after all, Rachel didn’t want to do anything to undermine her self-confidence. If not, there would be plenty of time to correct the error before the buses pulled out.
She hurried into the office, glad for a temporary respite from the heat and humidity of the September afternoon. “I need to see the Samantha Smith file, Mary.” Breezing past the receptionist, she headed straight for the upright filing cabinet.
“I don’t think I’ve finished that one yet. It’s probably still here in this pile on my desk.” Mary gestured toward a messy stack. “Sorry. We’ve been swamped. I don’t know why so many folks wait till the last minute to register their kids.”
“In Samantha’s case, I don’t think there was a choice. Any idea where her file might be? Top, bottom, middle?” Rachel was already paging through the folders.
“Near the top, I think. Why? Didn’t you already see it?”
“Yes, but I don’t recall what it said about the foster home placement. She needs to ride a bus and I don’t know which one.”
“Oops. Maybe we should phone and ask Ms. Heatherington.”
“No way. I’d rather spend an hour listening to my mother complain than to have to say two words to that woman.”
“She is kind of stuffy. Is that why you dislike her?”
“No. It’s her attitude about the children she deals with that makes me mad. She acts like it’s their fault that their families fell apart and she got stuck helping them.”
“The little Smith girl’s an orphan, isn’t she?”
“Yes, which makes it even harder. That’s why it’s so important to be sure she’s on the right bus. Life has to be frightening enough for her already.”
“Well, you’d better get a move on. It’s almost time for those buses to leave.”
“I know. I’m hurrying.”
Rachel fumbled a file folder and almost dropped it, just as a mother burst through the door and shouted, “There you are. I want to talk to you. Now!”
It took Rachel a moment to realize she was the object of the woman’s ire. Her first clue was the small, round-faced boy who was clutching his mother’s pudgy finger and rubbing his runny nose with his other hand. It was Jimmy.
“I’ll be right with you, Mrs.—”
“Andrews,” she said crisply. “My son, James, is in your class, as you well know.”
“Yes, ma’am. We can go talk in my room. I just have to take care of—”
“I’m not going anyplace where you can make excuses in private,” the woman said. “I want to know, right here and right now, where you get off telling my son that there are angels in his classroom?”
“What?” Rachel was totally confused.
“Angels. He says there are guardian angels flying all over the kindergarten room.”
“I never told him that.”
“Well, somebody sure did.”
“Maybe one of the other children.” A light went on in Rachel’s head. Of course! Samantha hadn’t been pretending to be a bird when she’d comforted Jimmy, she’d been demonstrating her ideas about angels! How sweet.
Rachel nodded, convinced of her conclusions. “I think I know what happened to confuse your son. Children have wonderful imaginations. One of the girls must have told him about angels this morning while she was helping him blow his nose.”
Mrs. Andrews wasn’t placated. “Well, what if she did? You’re the teacher. What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. No harm’s been done,” she said calmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go hold the buses until I can be sure one of my students is on the right one.”
“Well! I never…”
The woman was still muttering to herself when Rachel brushed past and headed for the curb. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
The buses were already gone!
After a hurried search of the hallways and her own classroom, Rachel returned to the office, gave in and telephoned Heatherington’s office.
When she hung up, Mary asked, “Well?”
“Samantha’s living with the Brodys on Squirrel Hill Road. I saw her get on bus number seven. I think she belonged on five.” Rachel began pacing. “It’s my fault. I should have kept her with me until I knew for sure.”
“She’ll be okay. Surely, the driver will notice and… Oh-oh. Seven, did you say?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because we have a sub driving that one this afternoon.”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Sean Bates is driving seven, right?”
“No, Maxwell Eades is.” Mary frowned. “Why would you think it was Sean Bates?”
“Because Samantha knows Sean. I figured she’d choose that bus if she saw him behind the wheel.”
“Nope. Sorry. We can’t use Bates until he gets an Arkansas license. Mr. Vanbruger did suggest he ride along to familiarize himself with the routes, though. He could have decided to start with any of them.”
“Give me maps of all the routes,” Rachel ordered. “Then please get on the phone and alert some of the parents who live along seven. Ask them to tell Max to keep Samantha from getting off.”
Mary handed her copies of hand-drawn maps. “Gotcha. What are you going to do?”
“Jump in my car and try to catch the bus before that poor kid gets herself totally lost.”
“Isn’t that above and beyond the call of duty?”
“Not for me it isn’t. And definitely not where Samantha Smith is concerned. The minute I saw her I knew I was meant to look after her. So far I haven’t done a very good job of it. From now on, I intend to do a lot better.”
Rachel was familiar with the rural area where the Brody family lived, but since Samantha’s bus wasn’t headed that way, the knowledge was no help. The only sensible thing to do was trace the bus route, mile by mile, until she overtook number seven.
And what if Samantha’s already gotten off before I catch up to her? Rachel’s heart sped. Or what if she changed buses at school while I was stuck in the office?
Stomach in knots, Rachel tightened her grip on the wheel of her compact car, sweating in spite of the airconditioning. She mustn’t think such negative thoughts. They only made everything seem worse.
Prayer would be a much better choice, yet she was unable to force her worried mind to concentrate enough to come up with a lucid plea. Finally, she resorted to a misty-eyed Please, God, and left it at that.
She made good time until she turned off the highway onto the narrow, winding road that ran between Glencoe and Heart. According to old-timers, Heart had once been a thriving little town. It had even had its own post office inside a mom-and-pop grocery store. For decades, that had been a favorite local gathering place, especially on Friday nights when weekly paychecks needed to be cashed. Now, however, Heart consisted of a couple of isolated houses and a community center building that was used mainly on Wednesdays by a quilting club.
This was Tuesday. If Samantha got off the school bus in Heart, she wouldn’t meet a soul who could help her.
Rachel chewed on her lower lip. “Calm down. Stop imagining the worst. You’ll find her.”
Head spinning, thoughts churning, Rachel