Samantha's Gift

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?”

The child peered off into the distance one more time, then looked back up at Rachel and nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay. We have a deal.”

Rachel held out her hand and Samantha took it. Together, 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.”

Rachel could hear the smile in her mother’s voice when she replied, “I hear dirt is pretty tasty if you pour enough red-eye gravy over it.”

Chapter Three

If Samantha had been added to her class after the group had been together longer, Rachel would have made a special point of introducing her. Since it was only the second day of the school year, however, that wouldn’t be necessary. Or advisable. The less fuss, the better.

Parents had already escorted many of the other children to the classroom door. It was amusing how often the parent was the one reluctant to let go, while the child was eager to join in the excitement of finally starting school.

Wearing a favorite lightweight summer shirt with a softly draped skirt, Rachel stood in the doorway of her room to welcome her students and gently encourage their parents to leave. She glanced up at the clock on the wall as the final morning bell rang. One child hadn’t arrived yet.

A few latecomers rushed by. Concerned, Rachel was about to give up and close the door when she saw a man and a small, blond girl approaching hand-in-hand. It was Samantha!

Rachel’s breath caught. Sean Bates was bringing her.

“Thank You, God,” she whispered.

Watching their approach she couldn’t have said which of the two she was most delighted to see. Each was certainly a welcome sight. And together they made her heart sing.

Unfortunately, the little girl was wearing the same faded T-shirt and baggy blue shorts she’d had on the day before. In contrast to the new school clothes her classmates were sporting, she made a sad figure, indeed. Rachel made a mental note to remedy that situation ASAP. If Heatherington wouldn’t see to it that Samantha had proper clothing and shoes for school, she’d do it herself. There was no excuse for sending the little girl out into the world looking like an urchin—even if she was one.

Rachel greeted the latecomers with a broad grin. “Good morning! I’m so glad to see you, Samantha. Did you ride the bus to school?”

Sean spoke up. “I think so. I found her standing out front on the lawn. It looked like she was waiting for directions, so I brought her on over. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Thank you for helping. We all try to watch out for each other around here.” She crouched down to be on the little girl’s level and asked again, “Did you ride the bus?”

Samantha nodded.

“Then, it’s my fault you had trouble finding my class. I should have shown you how to get here from the place where the buses stop. I’m sorry you had trouble. But I am glad you met Mr. Bates yesterday and that he knew where to bring you.”

Instead of paying attention to what Rachel was saying, Samantha gazed up at Sean with evident adoration, then leaned to one side so she could peer at his back.

With a questioning frown, Rachel straightened. Her intense blue gaze wordlessly asked him what was going on.

Sean shrugged, palms out. “That’s the third time she’s done that.” He turned. “Did somebody stick a ‘Kick Me’ sign on my back when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“No. There’s nothing there,” Rachel assured him. “It’s clean.” And broad and strong and impressive and… Oh, stop it, her conscience demanded, bringing her up short before she had time to give in to the idiotic urge to dust invisible lint off the shoulders of his jacket.

“That’s a relief,” he said.

Rachel swallowed hard. “Yeah. Well, thanks again for helping Samantha find her class.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He gave a slight bow and grinned at the little girl. “I’ll watch tomorrow, too. Okay? After that, I’m sure you’ll be able to get here all by yourself.”

“I know she’ll be fine.” Pausing to give the loitering parents—and Sean—a look that clearly meant she was taking charge, Rachel added, “It’s time for class. All the grown-ups have to go, now.”

It wasn’t until she’d guided Samantha through the door and closed it behind her that she realized her hands were shaking. That third cup of coffee she’d had for breakfast must have provided more caffeine than she’d thought.

To Rachel’s relief, the only tears she’d seen that morning had been those of the parents left outside. Some years the opposite was true. Snifflers weren’t so bad because they were fairly easy to distract. Screamers were another story. Occasionally, there would be a child who was so afraid of separation from mommy or daddy that hysteria ensued. Not only was the wild sobbing distracting, it tended to spread an unwarranted sense of dread to the others. This year, however, it looked as if the adjustment was going to be peaceful.

Suddenly, an indignant whoop disturbed the calm. Children froze and stared. Rachel immediately zeroed in on the cause and hurried to help.

She bent over the screeching little boy. “What’s wrong?” Name—name—what was his name? And where was the name tag she’d carefully pinned on him when he’d first arrived?

Other children had huddled in small groups, looking on as if expecting dire consequences to spill over onto them.

Rachel guessed. “It’s Jimmy, isn’t it? What’s the matter, Jimmy? Did you hurt yourself? Can you tell me what happened so I can fix it?” By keeping her voice soft she forced the child to quiet down to hear what she was saying.

Jimmy drew a shuddering breath and pointed to a nearby knot of boys. “He hit me.”

The knot instantly unraveled as children scattered.

Rachel took charge. “All right. I need everyone to sit down on the rug so we can talk about keeping our hands to ourselves.” She pointed. “Jimmy, there’s a box of tissues over there. You can go get one and wipe your nose before you come sit with us.”

Choosing the adult-size chair at the head of the class, Rachel waited for the children to comply. All but two did. The tearful boy was doing as he’d been told and blowing his nose. Samantha had gone with him.

Rachel was about to remind the little girl that she was a part of the class and needed to behave just like the others, when she noticed something that gave her pause. Although Samantha was whispering to the sniffling boy, her excitement was evident. She waved. She pointed across the room. She held out her arms as if mimicking a bird and smiled so broadly her eyes were squeezed almost shut. Or were they actually closed? Rachel couldn’t tell for sure. All she knew was that Jimmy had forgotten about being upset and was giving Samantha his rapt attention.

So, Samantha wanted to play mother. Rachel smiled. That was a good sign. The child obviously needed to feel needed. Looking after the other children would give her a positive purpose, not to mention a boost in morale.

And anybody who can calm a screamer like that is okay in my book, she thought. There was a tenderhearted peacemaker in the class. This was going to be a good year.

A very good year.

The day flew by so fast that it was over before Rachel had time to notice how tired she was. At twothirty she lined up all her students and marched them out to the lawn in front of the school to make sure each one was handed over to a parent or had boarded the right bus.

Samantha stood by Rachel’s side and watched each classmate depart, until only she was left.

“Which bus did you come on?” Rachel asked her, wiping sweat from her own brow and wishing she could escape the sultry southern afternoon by heading back to her air-conditioned classroom.

“I don’t know.”

“What was the number on it?”

“I don’t know.” Clearly, the child was about to cry.

“Well, did it have a lady driver or a man?”

“I don’t remember.”

Terrific. “Okay. Let’s go check in the office.”

As she turned to lead the way, the little girl gave a happy squeal, shouted, “There! That one,” and took off running toward the last bus in line.

Rachel paused, unconvinced. An older child might remember suddenly, but five-year-olds were more likely to remain confused.

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.”