Boldly Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Where's Yer Courage?"

"How's the ranching going?" Mr. Murray asked casually as he scooped Jason's supplies into a large burlap sack. He asked more for sake of conversation than because he really wondered. Ranchers and cowboys of all sorts were always coming into the little general store up at Keystone and so Mr. Murray well knew how the ranching was.

"Bout the same as always," Jason shrugged. "Any news in town?"

"Not much," Murray answered with a short laugh. "You know how it is around here. Most exciting thing that's happened in weeks is that Mrs. Sullivan's chickens escaped and turned up in odd places all over town. And then Sloane's cow got spooked, jumped the fence, ran into a laundry line, and dragged petticoats and trousers all over Main Street. That was shore good fer a laugh." He grinned and shook his head as he scooped corn into another sack. "Oh, an' lambast me if I didn't go an' fergit! There's a new schoolteacher come t' town. That was excitin'. Specially fer the young men."

"That all?" Jason raised his eyebrows. "Another teacher? Don't tell me, I already know. Thirty-five years old, tall and shaped 'bout like a scarecrow. Piercin' narrow eyes and dead-black hair slicked back. High-collar brown calico. That right? I know th' type, sure enough. They're all like that... every one the same."

"Couldn't be further from the truth," Murray laughed in earnest now. "Wait till ya see her. No more than a little slip of a gal... probably about eighteen or nineteen and bout the furthest thing from a scarecrow that I kin guess. No brown calico fer her... more like lacy shirtwaists an' long blue skirts and funny lookin' shawls of green an' blue plaid. Big green eyes an' fiery red hair. Name's Lorna McAllister."

"What did you say?" the tone of Jason's voice was so sharp and sudden that the storekeeper jerked his head up and looked at him in surprise.

"Why... Lorna McAllister... Is somethin' wrong, Jason? Why... ya look as if ya've seen a ghost..."

"I've got t' get goin'," Jason muttered absently, plunking his money down onto the rough wooden counter as he scooped up his bags. Murray shook his head in bewilderment as he watched Jason load his wagon and drive away. Why the news of the schoolteacher should unsettle him so much, he couldn't begin to understand.

oOo

"Good mornin', Class," Lorna smiled as she surveyed with satisfaction the twelve expectant little faces beaming up at her. Little freckled, sunburnt faces framed by pigtails or unruly cowlicks. Twelve little scholars in gingham, calico, and denim overalls. "My name is Lorna McAllister an' I'm lookin' forward t' teaching ye all. I hope ye aire all as eager t' learn as I am t' teach ye."

This was as far as she got when one little girl with two brown braids and a faded dress of pink-sprigged calico raised her hand.

"I am excited to learn an' all, Teacher, an' I can't wait to start readin', but..." she hesitated. "Why do ya talk so funny?"

"Do I?" Lorna laughed. "I thought it was all o' ye that were talkin' funny. Ye see, I've just come from Scotland,"

"Is that East?" a little boy interrupted.

"Aye. Far, far from here. Across th' Atlantic Ocean."

"I know the Atlantic Ocean! We lived by it, till Pa decided to come West."

"Aye, I've lived by it all my life," Lorna smiled.

"What does aye mean?"

Now this floored the young teacher. Where she came from... well... everyone said "aye". And how was she to explain this to a seven-year old American?

"I... suppose it means... yes," she faltered, racking her brain for further examples of Scottish dialect that her students might not understand. She had not anticipated this difficulty.

"Then why not just say yes?" pressed that impetuous little boy.

"Because..." Lorna paused. "Why dinna we start wi' th' arithmetic lessons?" She was relieved, as the children began to pull out battered slates, that she had found a way to distract the ever-inquisitive students. She just hoped fervently that no one would ask her what "dinna" meant. She wasn't exactly sure how she would answer that.

oOo

In spite of being thoroughly exhausted, Lorna felt rather satisfied as her first day ended and she bid her students farewell. The day had gone well. The students were bright and eager to learn, even if they did ask too many questions, and, thank heaven, they behaved well.

But, oh, how wonderful to suddenly have a few moments of golden silence! Heavenly silence! Lorna stood still a few moments just to soak in the glory of it all. But she must prepare the next day's lesson and so she turned to the board, finding a stubby chalk pencil, and began to write, in carefully curving script, the concepts she intended to teach the next day. She had worked thus a few minutes in that precious silence, when she heard a soft step in the doorway and a knock on the open door.

"Come in," she called cheerfully, not bothering to stop her work. Likely it was Mrs. Sullivan or one of the parents. But then the visitor spoke, and the voice caused her to stop and turn.

"You are... Miss McAllister?"

"Aye," Lorna looked the newcomer over, with a vague sense that she had seen him somewhere before. And then she saw his eyes and remembered. With a gasp, she dropped the chalk pencil, and it shattered on the rough wooden planks of the floor. "What... what aire ye doin' here?" she faltered, automatically raising her hand to her bare neck... where her locket should have been hanging.

"I... came to return something..." the young man... McCulloch, wasn't it? stepped forward and laid a package on her desk. Hands trembling, she reached for it and tore it open. There lay her locket with her pin and Bible. She simply stared down at them, then slowly raised her eyes to his.

"Thank ye..." she whispered, tears suddenly filling her eyes. "Why..."

He shook his head fiercely.

"I can't tell ya how sorry I am. I... I got mixed in with the wrong crowd and I..." he looked down. "I was wrong."

"What happened?" Lorna forgot suddenly that this stranger was the one who had robbed her. She felt only that he was hurting and she longed to help. Lorna could never stand to see anyone hurting. "Why did ye do it?"

"Sometimes there's nothin' more a man can do. I wish I could make it all right but I..." he stopped. Lorna smiled faintly.

"Where's yer courage, McCulloch?" she said softly. He looked at her in surprise. Those gentle words had struck him to the very core of his being.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and hated himself for asking. He knew exactly what she meant.

"The courage t' do what ye ken ye need t' do."

He looked at her steadily for a moment, then smiled slowly and nodded, as if determined.

"You're right." With that, he turned and left. Lorna stood watching him go for a moment.

"Goodbye, McCulloch," she whispered. She realized suddenly that she felt almost faint and sat down at her desk.

"The courage t' do what ye ken ye need t' do," her own words echoed through her mind.

"Ye're right," she told herself firmly. "It's time. Ye should ha' done it before." Taking a deep breath, she reached for her Bible, opening it up to the last genealogy page. Dipping a quill in ink, she paused a moment, before she began to write, in her graceful script.

"Death: Donal Angus McAllister, September 19th, 1869."

"Death: Robert James MacGregor, September 19th, 1869."

With a regretful sigh, she closed the Book and laid it aside. For a long moment she sat there, her head in her hands, letting the silent tears fall.

"Where's yer courage, Lorna?" she whispered.