Chapter Ten

Damon had blown it with Mickelle. He knew he shouldn’t have argued with her but rather discussed his suspicions calmly, even when she had become defensive. He most certainly shouldn’t have kissed her when they were both angry. But she had been so beautiful at that moment, her head held high, her blue eyes storming as she defended Mr. Cover Boy.

What a kiss! Even just thinking about it made him long to be with her.

He still shouldn’t have done it.

What had he expected to prove? He only wished that he could make Mickelle understand the foreboding that filled him when he met Colton Scofield. He had been in business too long not to recognize a crook when he saw one—no matter what kind of sheep’s clothing he wore.

So help me if he hurts her I’ll . . .

Stop it!

Damon busied himself with work. He was already far behind because of his preoccupation with Mickelle. His stomach growled, unsatisfied with Jesse’s hamburger. He thought of the Chinese food he had left at Mickelle’s with more than a little longing. Yet he stifled the urge to run back to her house. She had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in hearing his opinions on Mr. Cover Boy.

Better not to talk to her again until he had something solid to present.

What about my flowers?

He grimaced at the thought. The flowers were proof of a sort, and he wanted to tell her he’d been the one to send them, yet at the same time he remembered the hurt in her eyes when she’d asked him if it was so hard to believe that Colton was attracted to her. The look stopped him from telling her the truth. He would rather have her not know he had sent the roses than to cause her more pain.

He wished now that he hadn’t rushed his official marriage proposal. She had been so scared of trusting him in the first place, and his near death had added to her worry. He should have let more time pass before giving her the ring. We need to talk about it, he thought.

But would it only drive her further away?

Damon raked his fingers through his hair and stared at the papers on his desk. This was getting him nowhere.

A tap at the door revealed Jesse, with another sheaf of papers. “Look at this, look at this! We’re doing it! The Jackson group has agreed to sign! Everything you touch really does turn to gold! Only problem is, they want a conference call. Tonight.”

Damon stifled a sigh. “I’d better ask Juliet if she can pick up the kids then. I’m fairly sure Kelle has a meeting at church—something for Relief Society.” He made a mental note to talk to Juliet, their receptionist, who was always willing to help out in a pinch.

“Have them walk over to my house,” Jesse said. “Brionney can keep an eye on them until we get done. Bryan and Jeremy are going over there anyway.”

“I hate to do that to Bri. That’s a lot of kids.”

“She won’t mind, honest. And if she does, she’ll let me know. The girls’ll have a ball with Belle.”

Damon smiled, regaining some of his good humor. “If she doesn’t boss them to death. But I’d really rather get Juliet to take them home. Our cook will appreciate having them home to actually eat her meal. And that means they can get ready for bed. Less work for me when I get home.”

In a way, he was relieved. By having to work late tonight he wouldn’t have to deliberate over what he would say to Mickelle. Instead, he would concentrate on the business at hand and give Mickelle the room she seemed to need.

“Let me see what questions I’ve got to prepare for,” he growled, reaching for the papers. “If I remember correctly, these guys are not easily satisfied.”

* * *

Mickelle made a few calls in the moments remaining before she needed to pick up Tanner at school. After talking to Colton’s investor friend briefly in the front office at the investment firm where he worked and to the apartment manager where Colton said he was staying, she still had nothing on which to base an accusation.

Except the flowers.

Mickelle chewed on her lip, deep in thought. Colton seemed to be all he was supposed to be. And yet . . .

Something didn’t feel right. Was it only Damon’s suspicions crowding in on her, or was the Lord trying to warn her? The truth was, she had been so out of touch with spiritual things in the aftermath of Riley’s death that she wasn’t as practiced at using the gift of the Holy Ghost as she had once been.

It’s time for that to change, she thought. Slipping onto her knees next to her bed, she prayed that she could come to a decision about Colton, that somehow she could find out if he should be trusted.

At least his investor friend seems to be on the up and up.

Impulsively, she went to the kitchen and dialed Brenda’s cell number. Since she had been the one to introduce her to Colton, maybe she held the answer.

Her friend answered quickly, her bubbling personality filling the space between them. “Mickelle, it’s good to hear from you! How’s it going with Colton?”

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m calling.” Mickelle said, feeling awkward.

“What is it?”

“Did you by chance see Colton receive the flowers he gave me at the dance?”

“Nope. But that was so sweet, wasn’t it? If a man did that for me, I’d be tempted to marry him.”

“How’s your daughter?” Mickelle picked up a cloth and began to wipe the counter.

“My daughter?”

“Yes, your daughter. Wasn’t she the reason you went home early from the dance? I didn’t see you at church and I wondered.”

“Oh, we went to visit my parents—didn’t I tell you? But Mickelle, I thought you’d figure out that my daughter being sick was an excuse to let Colton take you home.”

Mickelle froze. “Whose idea was it?” she asked carefully. “Yours or Colton’s?”

“His, actually. Isn’t that precious? I would have done it myself, if I’d thought about it first. He beat me to it. I think he’s quite smitten with you.”

“He knew all about my not getting the insurance money.”

There was a brief pause. “Yes, some of us talked when we went out to lunch that day. Don’t be mad. We just wanted to help. I know how difficult it can be to survive on social security. When he told us what he did for a living, we all thought the Lord was working in His mysterious ways.”

Or maybe in Colton’s mysterious ways, Mickelle thought.

“He seemed sure he could help you.”

Why was that? How could he have been so sure?

Brenda’s voice became apologetic. “Did something happen? Is something wrong? I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“No, everything’s fine. Colton did go to bat for me with the insurance company.” Mickelle was reluctant to tell Brenda everything. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Why don’t you let me pick you up for Relief Society tonight? We can talk more then.”

Mickelle was hesitant, but she had no real excuse not to accept. The boys were going over to Brionney’s, and Belle and Tanner would be in Alpine by then. Besides, it might be good to get out with a friend.

“Okay, but don’t be late.” Of course, that was like telling the sun not to rise, but they would likely only miss the opening song, and going with a friend was better than going alone.

She hung up the phone, feeling pensive. Confusion was foremost in her thoughts, and she didn’t know how to change that. A swift glance at the clock told her she didn’t have time to dwell on her problems. Tanner would be waiting at the high school.

After picking up Tanner and seeing that he and Bryan were started on their homework, Mickelle went to Forbes Elementary for Belle and Jeremy. After all, Belle would still be struggling under her heavy load of clothes. Of course the real reason Mickelle wanted to go the school came from a pair of large, dark eyes in a thin, freckle-covered face. A face marred by bruises. Jennie Anne. Had Belle talked to the teacher about her mathematical ability? And how had the child received those ugly bruises?

She told herself it was none of her business, but that didn’t stop her from going to the school. During the months after Riley’s death when she had been obsessed with the obituaries and depressing headlines, she had read too many times about children suffering because no one interfered. Often, she would stay awake nights thinking and praying for those unfortunate children. Perhaps that was why she was so protective of her own.

On the other hand, Jennie Anne might have a perfectly wonderful family, but Mickelle wasn’t going to rest until she was sure.

Belle looked relieved when Mickelle appeared at her classroom door. Her classmates streamed past her, but she stood near her desk. Jennie Anne was with her, hair as unkempt as before, but today her clothes were surprisingly new. She carried a faded yellow backpack that was stuffed to the bursting point. Mickelle smiled, grateful the homely little girl had been included in whatever game Belle and her friends had been playing.

“I’m so glad you came,” Belle said. “I was worried Jennie Anne would have to walk home with her backpack so heavy.”

How sweet that Belle seemed to be worried more about her friend than herself. “Hi, Jennie Anne,” Mickelle said with a smile. “Does your aunt care if I give you a ride home?”

Jennie Anne smiled at Mickelle shyly. Her dark hair barely moved as she shook her head, as though held in place by weeks of dirt and grime. The large bruise on her cheek was now a mottled gray-green, edged with yellow. “She don’t care.”

“You mean she doesn’t care,” said Mrs. Palmer, emerging from a group of other students. She looked slightly worn from a day with twenty-three first-graders, but her smile was still in place.

“Oh, yeah.” Jennie Anne flushed. She didn’t look at her teacher or Mickelle.

“She never cares about nothin’,” Belle added. “Jennie Anne’s aunt, I mean.”

Mrs. Palmer put a slender hand on Jennie Anne’s shoulder. As on the previous day, the girl cringed silently, her eyes going bright with unshed tears. An odd protectiveness kindled in Mickelle’s heart. Was this child so afraid of Mrs. Palmer that even a touch from her evoked fear? Or was there something else going on, something even more sinister?

“May I talk to you a few moments?” Mickelle glanced at the attentive girls and added, “Alone?”

“Sure, come on over to my desk. I have a few minutes. Belle and Jennie Anne can work on the alphabet.”

Belle grinned at her teacher and willingly pulled a piece of paper out of her desk. She took a short pencil from behind her ear and began to write.

Mickelle felt nervous as she tried to put her thoughts in order. “It’s not about Belle, really. It’s about . . . Jennie Anne.”

“A nice little girl,” Mrs. Palmer said, but her hazel eyes were troubled. “Most of the children can’t see beyond her . . . her outer appearance. I know it’s sad to say, but . . .” She brightened. “Belle has been a real friend. The first two children I assigned to Jennie Anne caused her not to talk for the whole day. The next two said that she . . . well, smelled bad and they didn’t want to be with her. Only Belle became her friend. She’s a very special child, Belle is. I keep thinking maybe she overlooks all the outer stuff because she’s younger, but she’s so precocious in all the other areas that my theory seems to be off. I certainly have my hands full trying to keep her learning.” She broke off, smiling self-consciously. “But then you know that better than I do. Belle’s a wonderful student. A teacher’s dream come true. She lights up my life, the whole room, really.”

“Well, she has her moments,” Mickelle offered, pleased with the comments. “But she does love to learn. I have to admit that I was a little concerned when I learned that you were pairing her with someone who couldn’t read, but then yesterday I saw how smart Jennie Anne was—”

“She really is smart,” interrupted Mrs. Palmer earnestly. “I know she can’t read, but that’s because she’s never been in school before. When they tested her verbally she was off the charts, but when we handed her a pencil, she did absolutely nothing. By rights she should have gone to the kindergarten class, but they are already so full. Besides, putting her there would just hold her back even more. I thought I’d be able to work with her if she was in my class.” She sighed, as though embarrassed that her youthful ideals were so clearly showing. “If I could work alone with her more, she’d be caught up in no time. There are simply too many students.”

“Then you know about her ability with math.”

“That she gets the problems right when you ask them verbally? Yes, I knew that. Now I just need to help her translate that to paper.”

Her calm answer didn’t seem to go with the amazing times table display Mickelle had witnessed yesterday. Had the children faked the scene for her sake? Once she might not have doubted that Belle would try, but she’d been on her best behavior for weeks, determined to earn her promised horse. “Don’t you think doing multiplication is exceptional in someone that age?”

The teacher blinked in confusion, and two bright spots appeared on her pale cheeks. “Multiplication?”

Mickelle described what had happened the day before.

“I’ve never tested her on multiplication. It never even crossed my mind.” Mrs. Palmer stared across the room at Jennie Anne and Belle. Jeremy had arrived in the classroom, and he gave them a little wave before taking the pencil from Belle and writing something on the paper.

“Maybe we should . . .” Mrs. Palmer’s expression turned from amazement to eagerness. She appeared about to call Jennie Anne to the desk, but remembering how the girl had reacted to the teacher, Mickelle put a restraining hand on her arm.

“Please, can it wait? I wanted to ask you about something else first.”

Mrs. Palmer turned back to Mickelle, raising her thin eyebrows in question.

“It’s just that . . . the bruise on her cheek . . .” Mickelle suddenly felt tongue-tied. “And then when you touched her shoulder yesterday and again today, she sort of . . . well, cringed . . . as though . . .” Mickelle took a deep breath. “She seemed afraid . . . or in pain.”

Mrs. Palmer’s gaze changed from confusion to horror. Her eyes flew to the two dark heads and one blond that bent close together over the paper on Belle’s desk. “Do you think she has a—a bruise there, too?” The way she said the words made Mickelle silently repent for having suspected her of any undue harshness.

“I knew her home life wasn’t good,” Mrs. Palmer went on, “but I believed her about getting hit by the ball. I never dreamed that . . .” Her wide eyes turned to Mickelle. “I’ve never had to deal with something like this, never. What do I do?”

Mickelle wasn’t sure either. She let her eyes stray to Jennie Anne, whose face wore a small smile. The brown eyes, which had once appeared ordinary, now shone with intelligence.

“When she looks like that you can see how smart she is, but she can turn it off just like that.” Mrs. Palmer snapped her fingers.

“What’s her aunt like?”

The teacher gave a half-shrug with one shoulder. “Her great-aunt, really. She seemed rather ordinary.”

She was silent, but Mickelle waited for more.

“Apparently Jennie Anne’s mother died some years back and Mrs. Chase inherited Jennie Anne. From the way she spoke, I don’t think there was any love lost between Mrs. Chase and Jennie Anne’s mother.”

“So why didn’t Jennie Anne attend kindergarten?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned forward as though to share a confidence. “It was the neighbors who brought the situation to the attention of the school officials, but the aunt didn’t seem to mind if Jennie Anne came to school just as long as—”

“As she didn’t have to deal with the arrangements.”

Mrs. Palmer grimaced. “Something like that. I felt sorry for Jennie Anne, and when the kindergarten teachers protested the possibility of an extra student, I volunteered. But if her aunt is . . . I’m going to have to talk with the principal.”

“Well, we don’t know anything—yet,” Mickelle said. “But to look at Jennie Anne, well, something’s not right.”

“It will take weeks to find the truth. I’ve heard some awful stories from some of the other teachers. You’d think that here in Happy Valley we wouldn’t have the problems of the outside world, but we do. And they are increasing.”

Mickelle knew that only too well. The mental abuse she’d suffered behind closed doors was an ever-present reminder that all was not well in Happy Valley. At least not for everyone. For Mickelle, the idea that a small, helpless little girl could be enduring both mental and physical abuse—practically in Mickelle’s own backyard—was unthinkable. Someone had to stand up for her. Someone.

I will! Mickelle was surprised at the vehemence of the thought.

She took a deep breath to steady the flow of images coming from her brain. “I’ll go over to her house and meet this aunt. I would also like to work with Jennie Anne. I could come in during the day. I’ll be starting school myself, but not until January, and until then I can come in for a while to work with her.”

“That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Palmer’s pale eyes sparkled with gratitude. “You don’t know what this will mean to her.”

She was wrong. Mickelle did know. Someone had thrown a lifeline to her in her time of need, and that someone had been Damon. “I’d better get going.”

“Thank you for coming in.”

They walked over to the children, who were still intent upon their paper. Jennie Anne had the pencil and was copying the word CAT. “Good!” encouraged Belle. “Now write hat!” She sounded it out, exaggerating the sounds of the letters, “Hhhh-aaaa-tttt.”

Jennie Anne painfully printed the word.

Jeremy did a drum roll on the desk. “Now you can do rat, fat, sat, and, uh, mat, and . . .”

“And pat,” Belle inserted.

“Bat!” Jennie Anne’s face was transformed as she bent over her work.

Jeremy studied the ABC cards surrounding the wall. “That’s all, I think. No, there’s vat. Vat’s a word, isn’t it, Mom?”

Jennie Anne’s hand immediately went still. Mrs. Palmer reached out to her shoulder, but hesitated and withdrew her hand at the last moment. “Go ahead, Jennie Anne,” she urged gently. “That’s wonderful you’ve learned all the sounds.”

For a moment, the girl paused, as though torn. Then she slowly and methodically set her pencil on the desk and folded her hands in her lap. She stared at her hands wordlessly. No one spoke for a long time, not even talkative Belle, though Jeremy’s mouth hung open in confused amazement.

Mickelle saw that Mrs. Palmer had a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow we can work on it some more.” Her gaze went to Mickelle in a silent plea.

“Yeah, we have to go now,” Mickelle said, thinking fast. “I only have sixty times three minutes before I have to go to my meeting at the church.”

“Sixty times three minutes,” repeated Jeremy. He was accustomed to her games, though she hadn’t used them much lately. “Let’s see that’s, uh . . .” He grabbed Jennie Anne’s discarded pencil. “Three times zero is zero. . .”

“One hundred and eighty minutes.” Jennie Anne said, as though the words were ripped from her mouth of their own accord.

“Uh . . . three times six is eighteen, add them together.” Jeremy paused. “Yes, it’s a hundred and eighty minutes!”

“Jennie Anne already told us,” Belle answered in disgust. “She doesn’t need any paper, either.”

Jeremy looked wounded. “Fine,” he huffed.

Mickelle laughed. “Good job guys, both of you. But come on, we really have to go.”

Mrs. Palmer watched them thoughtfully as they walked out the door. Mickelle felt triumphant that she had succeeded in getting Jennie Anne to show her ability, but she hoped Mrs. Palmer could also reach the child. After all, she was the one who had fought for Jennie Anne’s education in the first place. So why had Jennie Anne stopped writing in front of the teacher? Did the adults make her nervous? Scared?

Mickelle drove to Jennie Anne’s place listening to Jeremy and Belle exchange stories of their day. Jennie Anne kept silent. When they arrived at her home, the overwhelming neglect of the place once again demanded Mickelle’s scrutiny. It was more than neglect. Perhaps even abuse.

Abuse.

“Can I come in to meet your aunt?” Mickelle asked as Jennie Anne slipped from the car, nearly losing her balance under the weight of her yellow backpack.

Jennie Anne darted a fearful glance past the willow tree at the shabby house, but when she looked back, she only shrugged.

“She’s probably not there,” said Belle helpfully. “She usually isn’t.”

“There’s a car.” Mickelle eyed the rusty automobile next to the house.

She shut off the engine and slid out of the car. She went around to where Jennie Anne waited, staring at her feet, clad in tattered sneakers that would be no protection against the coming snow. “Is it true your aunt isn’t home much, Jennie Anne?” Mickelle asked, not because she disbelieved Belle’s story, but because her young charge often exaggerated.

Jennie Anne didn’t reply.

“You can tell Mickelle,” Belle said through the open car door. “You can tell her everything like I do. She doesn’t tell on you.”

Jennie Anne sighed, the weight of the world on her shoulders. When she spoke, the words came reluctantly. “She’s home sometimes.”

“Was she home yesterday when I dropped you off?”

“No.”

“What time did she come?”

Jennie Anne shrugged.

Mickelle had always prided herself on getting to the truth when dealing with her boys, but this was proving difficult. “Was it dinnertime?”

Again a negative shake.

“At bedtime?”

Another shake.

A feeling of unease grew in the pit of Mickelle’s stomach. “Jennie Anne,” she asked softly, “did you see your aunt last night at all?”

“No.” The forlorn word broke Mickelle’s heart.

“Was anyone home at all besides you?”

Jennie Anne shook her head.

The idea of a six-year-old coming home alone, finding something to eat, and getting herself to bed was beyond belief, and yet Mickelle felt the child hadn’t lied, though she had been tempted to do so. Now Mickelle shared Jennie Anne’s burden. She had to do something to help her, but she had to make sure she didn’t betray the child’s trust or make the situation worse.

Somehow she didn’t think the responsibility would be easy.