I don’t know what to do, Miss Whitfield.” Rebecca Henderson twisted one of her blonde braids between her fingers in a rarely used gesture of frustration. The girl had come back into the schoolhouse before the end of lunch and had perched on the chair next to Catherine’s desk, clearly agitated. “She won’t play with us at recess.”
Catherine nodded slowly. It had been four weeks since Hannah had started school, and she was still silent and distant. Fortunately, she wasn’t a sullen child, but her behavior was definitely not that of a normal six-year-old.
“It’s not your fault, Rebecca. I know you’ve tried.”
Her eyes shining with unshed tears, Rebecca bit her lower lip. “I gave her a doll today. Mama and I ordered it specially for Hannah, but it didn’t make her smile.”
And that had hurt Rebecca. She was as generous as her mother, but like Rachel, she was easily frustrated. Catherine had seen that frustration last summer when she had refused Nate’s offer to escort her to the Founders’ Day dance, a refusal Rachel had considered insulting to Nate, even though Catherine had used her mother’s illness as the reason for not accepting Nate’s invitation. Rachel, it seemed, was almost as protective of her younger brother as she was of her three children.
A glance at the clock told Catherine it was nearly time to summon the pupils, but before she did that, she needed to find a way to console the girl who’d made such an effort to welcome Hannah to Cimarron Creek and its school. Even though Catherine had seen her frustration when Hannah did not respond to her friendly overtures, today was the first day Rebecca had complained.
Catherine touched Rebecca’s shoulder, hoping the gesture would provide as much comfort as her words. “Sometimes people smile on the inside.”
And sometimes they smiled on the outside when they were crying on the inside. Catherine wouldn’t tell Rebecca that, but ever since she had heard the story of Joan Henderson, she had been haunted by the realization that although Aunt Bertha had appeared to be happy, she had borne a great sorrow. It made Catherine wonder what other secrets Cimarron Creek’s residents harbored and whether she truly knew any of her fellow townspeople.
“Smiling on the inside.” Rebecca pursed her lips and stared at her stomach, as if searching for a hidden smile. “Do you think that’s what Hannah’s doing?”
“Maybe.” Though Catherine doubted that was the case, she didn’t want to discourage Rebecca. “Some people are naturally shy. It takes them a long time to make friends.”
Catherine had been one of those. As an only child, she had not had any ready-made playmates. Fortunately, her cousins Travis and Warner had allowed her to tag along on some of their adventures, even when Warner’s brother Porter had protested. The boys’ natural exuberance had broken through Catherine’s barriers and opened her to friendship with girls her age.
Rebecca seemed dubious. “Mama says I’m supposed to be friends with everyone.”
“And you are. You’ve been a good friend to Hannah, and by doing that, you’re helping me. Thank you, Rebecca.” Catherine patted her shoulder again. “When I see your mother, I’ll tell her what a good job you’re doing.”
Rebecca flushed with what appeared to be embarrassment. Surely Catherine’s praise hadn’t flustered her. When the girl bit her lower lip, Catherine knew something else was at work.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Rebecca said. “Mama wants you to come for dinner next Sunday. Uncle Nate’s going to be there too.”
Catherine bit back a sigh. It seemed Rachel was back in matchmaker mode. Catherine knew she should have expected that, especially since Rachel had mentioned that one of her cousins in San Antonio was looking for a teaching position. If Catherine married Nate, the cousin would have a chance to become Cimarron Creek’s next schoolteacher. But Catherine was not going to marry Nate, no matter how happy that would make Rachel or her cousin.
“Please thank your mother, but tell her I won’t be able to come. I always have Sunday dinner with the Grays.” And though dinner with her aunt and uncle was far from the highlight of Catherine’s weeks, it was preferable to a meal with Nate and his matchmaking sister.
Rebecca grinned as if she’d anticipated Catherine’s refusal. “Mama knows that. She talked to Cousin Mary, and it’s all right.”
Which meant that Catherine couldn’t refuse without being rude. “Then I’d be happy to join you.” She’d be happier—far happier—if she could break through Hannah’s shell.
Three hours later Austin entered the schoolhouse, his eyes scanning the desks looking for his daughter. Many afternoons Hannah remained inside, sitting quietly at her desk while she waited for her father, but today was different.
“She’s outside, playing on the swing.” Catherine was surprised Austin hadn’t noticed that when he’d arrived. Though she refused to join in the other children’s games during recess, for the past few days Hannah seemed to like to swing, perhaps because that was an activity she could do alone. The fact that the school had only one swing meant that she would have no companions there.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Austin sounded almost sheepish. “Something broke into the chicken coop last night, and it took more time than I’d expected to repair it.” He raised his left hand, displaying the bandaged thumb. “There were some unplanned delays.”
Catherine rose from her desk and made a show of inspecting his hand, just as she would have had he been an injured pupil. Boys—big or little—liked to flaunt their battle wounds. As she studied his thumb, Catherine realized the last month had wrought changes in Austin’s hands. They were now more tanned and more callused than when she’d first met him, more what she would have expected of a rancher.
“It seems you were wounded in the line of duty.” Catherine couldn’t tell what had happened to the thumb, but whoever had wrapped it had done an excellent job.
“I’m afraid the hammer got the best of that round, but Kevin and I made sure the critter—he thinks it’s a javelina—won’t find our chickens such easy pickings again.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
It was an ordinary conversation. On an ordinary day, Catherine would have enjoyed it, but today her thoughts were focused on Hannah and the discussion she and Rebecca had had. Though Hannah had kept the doll at her desk, not once had she looked at it. Even during recess, when the other girls had asked to see it, she had said nothing, merely held the doll up for them to admire.
Austin lowered his hand, and when Catherine resumed her seat, he perched on the corner of the desk rather than using the chair next to it. “You look as if something’s bothering you.” He was close enough that she could smell the soap he’d used to wash off the grime of the day.
Catherine nodded. Once again, Austin had proven to be more perceptive than most of her students’ parents. “I’m concerned about Hannah,” she admitted. “I know it’s difficult for a child to be uprooted, particularly after just losing her mother, but I thought she would have settled in by now. Instead, she’s like a turtle, hiding inside her shell.”
When Austin made no response other than a short nod, Catherine continued. “Hannah’s very bright. Whenever I call on her, she knows the answer, but she never volunteers to speak, and she won’t play with the other children at recess or lunch. I’m concerned.”
His eyes dark with emotion, Austin rolled his shoulders, as if to release the tension that had gripped him while Catherine had been speaking. “So am I. Hannah wasn’t always like this. It started when we moved here.”
Though Austin might not have realized it, that was good news. It meant that this was probably a temporary condition. If Catherine could find the key, perhaps she could accelerate Hannah’s return to normalcy.
“Did she have special friends in Oklahoma? She probably misses them.”
Catherine had expected a straightforward answer. Instead, Austin seemed uncomfortable with what she thought was a simple question and seemed to hesitate for an instant before he spoke. “There was no one she was close to in Oklahoma.” Perhaps she had only imagined his discomfort, for his reply was smooth.
Catherine didn’t know a great deal about ranches in Oklahoma, but if they were as large as some in Texas, it was possible Hannah had made few trips into the nearest town. Until this year, she had not been school age, which eliminated another source of social contact. Even church might not have provided opportunities to mingle with other children, since many ranching families worshipped at home when churches were hours away.
“I keep hoping she’ll come out of her melancholy,” Austin continued. “To be honest, I thought school would be the answer.”
He crossed one knee over the other and stared at the far wall, the set of his jaw telling Catherine how deeply he felt about his daughter’s problem. She understood. For many children, being part of a group was therapeutic, but that hadn’t been the case with Hannah. Not yet.
“I’m not giving up on her,” Catherine said firmly, “but I wanted you to know what I’ve observed. I plan to talk to Lydia about her.”
When Austin looked surprised, Catherine realized he might not have known that Lydia had not always been a candy maker. “She taught at a girls’ school back East and knows more than I ever will about young girls.”
It had been Lydia’s advice to remember what she had liked—and disliked—about school that had changed Catherine’s perspective on teaching. Thanks to Lydia, it was no longer drudgery but a calling that brought her great satisfaction.
Austin looked dubious. “I doubt that’s true, but thank you. I hope she can help. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m at my wits’ end.” He slid down from the desk and strode to the window where he could watch Hannah on the swing. “I don’t know what to do, but somehow there has to be a way to break through her shell. Hannah’s all the family I have left, and I’m failing her.” The last words came out as little more than a whisper.
Austin looked so sad and discouraged that Catherine’s heart ached. She would have tried to help any parent in Austin’s situation, but from the day she had met him and Hannah, they had become special to her. They had both touched her heart in unexpected ways, making her want to do everything in her power to restore Hannah’s cheerfulness and relieve Austin’s anguish.
Catherine couldn’t promise that Lydia would have any ideas or, even if she did, that they would have an effect on Hannah, but she longed to comfort Austin. She wanted to give him something positive to counterbalance the discouragement he felt about Hannah. If he drove his daughter back to the ranch in this mood, Austin would only depress her further. Instead, he needed to know that his efforts had helped someone.
Catherine thought about the changes she’d seen in another pupil and the reasons for those changes. “You’re not a failure, Austin. Some problems take longer than others to resolve, but you’re a good parent. I know you are. I see it in Hannah and in Seth. He may not be your son, but you’re helping him. He told me you drive him most of the way to and from school.”
Austin shrugged as if that were of little importance, when in reality it kept the boy from being so tired that he dozed during classes. The chores that Boone assigned him meant that Seth got little sleep, and having to walk an hour each way, particularly when he had had no breakfast, drained the boy’s strength.
“I hated to see him walking when I drive the same road.” Austin returned to lean against Catherine’s desk, crossing his arms, his bandaged thumb a startling contrast against his blue chambray shirt. “Did Seth tell you he insists on getting in and out of the wagon far enough away from the farm that his father doesn’t know he’s riding? I can’t say that I approve of the deception, but I know Boone Dalton is a difficult man.”
“That he is.” Difficult was an understatement. Though Catherine had seen no new bruises, she knew it was only a matter of time until Boone used his fists again. Still, Austin’s driving the boy to and from school had helped him in more than one way.
“Seth may not have told you, but the fact that you’re giving him a ride lets him do something he loves—sketching. That extra time has made a big difference in his life.”
Austin’s raised eyebrows told Catherine he was unaware of Seth’s artistic bent. “Is he any good?”
“I think so.”
“Then I’m glad I can help. I like Seth. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I wish I could do more for him.”
“You’re already doing a lot. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that Hannah always has more food than she can eat and that she leaves her basket where Seth can find it.” The hollows in the boy’s cheeks had begun to disappear, and his skin was a healthier hue, thanks to an improved diet.
Catherine smiled at Austin. “That’s another example of how you’re a good father. You’re raising Hannah to be kind and generous.”
“If only she were happy.”