Amanda's Beau (3 page)

After Gil's students washed their hands clean in the river, Amanda served as hostess for the class picnic, which took place in the shade of a towering cottonwood tree near the bank. Besides the hardboiled eggs, there were hearty ham sandwiches, green cucumber pickles, a bucket of crisp apples, fried chicken, and pumpkin empanadas or turnovers, contributed by each of the youngsters' families. Mrs. Schwarzkopf had sent along a crock filled with lemonade, as well an assortment of tin cups.

Amanda bit into one of the empanadas, savoring the taste and lingering scent of cinnamon. As Rex and the other boys chatted in excited tones about the gruesome skeletons they'd discovered, she glanced overhead at the leaves glinting golden bright in the afternoon sun. The ruins were like an island surrounded by a sea of corn and alfalfa fields. In the distance, she could see the Howe family's apple orchard. A few curious cows grazed along the edges of the mysterious old settlement.

What a lovely day it was! Amanda heaved a sigh of contentment. How grateful she felt toward Dolores Martinez for urging her to go — and for Rex having volunteered her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to just sit and do nothing but enjoy the warmth of the sunshine and a moment's peace. She loved her sister, of course, but the last month and a half had been nerve-wracking, dealing with Randall Stewart's death and burial, Minnie's premature birth, and Ella's unexplained illness. Nights were short, because of Minnie's frequent feeding schedule, and the days were long and filled with numerous tiring tasks.

Glancing over at her nephew, Amanda was pleased to see him looking so happy and carefree for a change. She was relieved Ozzie Lancaster had not participated in the outing. He was a sore trial to Rex. Rex was a good boy and a hard worker. Her nephew was a good student too. Mr. Gladney was proud of his scholastic performance, she knew. Rex excelled at math, reading, composition, and geography, but his favorite subject was history, as he'd told her more than once. He loved relating all he'd learned in school about the Egyptians and their pyramids, and the Romans and their fortresses.

"Mr. Gladney, one day, I want to be as smart as you," Rex said, pinching off a piece of ham and offering it to Bonita.

Amanda noted how Gil flushed with pleasure. But the handsome teacher shook his head. "No, Rex, if you only learn what I can teach you, then you'll also be as ignorant as I am." Seeing the boy's puzzled expression, he went on. "You must strive to learn as much as you can on your own, so one day, your knowledge will far surpass mine."

Rex shrugged, smiling back at him. "I'll try," he promised.

Amanda guessed by her nephew's expression Rex couldn't imagine ever being smarter than Mr. Gladney.

"Miss Dale, are you sure you don't want to explore the chamber we discovered?" Gil asked, helping himself to another half a sandwich. "I'd be happy to take you and the girls down, if you'd like."

Amanda's mouth twisted with amusement as she noted Greta and Gertrude shaking their heads with enough force to set their thin, straw-colored braids flicking back and forth around their shoulders. "I think not," she said. "The boys have described everything so well, I feel as though I did see it for myself. Do you think your friend, the archeologist, will come out to see the ruins?"

"I'm betting on it," Gil answered. "In fact, when I return Greta and Gertrude to their parents, along with the buckboard I borrowed from them, I'm going to send Nate a telegram. I'd intended to write a letter to him anyway, mentioning the ruins, but now I need to let him know right away what we've found."

"Is it so important?" Amanda asked, raising her eyebrows. She noticed Rex and the other boys had darted off to play a game of hide-and-seek among the ruins. Greta and Gertrude gulped down the last of the lemonade before dashing away to join them.

"When word gets around town about the skeletons — and it will — I'm guessing treasure hunters will start scouring the ruins looking for the sort of treasure the boys insist is here — Spanish gold and the like. You know, some of the men in the village have actually found beautiful pottery, baskets, and other relics here. Mr. Howell has a collection of ancient black-and-white pots and pitchers rivaling any I've seen in a museum. He and several others will no doubt come out here again to hunt for more. There's no telling what sort of damage will be done to the site itself. And as you can see," he went on, indicating the grazing cows nearby, "enough damage has been done already. The cattle have stumbled into the depressions of the structures over there, and the sheep have scrambled along the walls, loosening more and more building stones."

Amanda nodded. "So who did build all this?" she asked, thrusting her chin toward the jagged walls and the hummocks of sand and stone.

"I honestly don't know." Gil reached across her to help himself to the last pumpkin turnover. As he did so, his shirtsleeve brushed against her skirt. Amanda suppressed a shiver of delight and scooted away from him, inching a little closer to the tree. Gil didn't seem to notice.

"Indians of some sort, but not Navajos or Apaches," he went on. "Nate will know. Nate Phillips and I grew up together back in Indiana. We both wanted to be teachers, but one summer, Nate went to Greece with his father, and while on the island of Crete, they came across some British archeologists uncovering the remnants of the ancient Minoan culture there. Nate was hooked. He's hardly ever without a trowel in his hand these days."

"So your friend gave up wanting to be a teacher?" Amanda asked. "Can a man make a decent living digging up the past? I wouldn't have thought so. To tell the truth," she said, raising her eyes to his, "I'd never even heard of archeology until Rex came home from school talking about it." Gil's intense but open gaze sent a tingle up her spine.

"Scholars have always been interested in the past, I think," Gil replied. "Did you know Thomas Jefferson excavated an Indian burial mound on his land in Virginia? During his Egyptian campaign, Napoleon assigned five hundred scientists to study the ancient culture there."

Amanda could have listened to him talk on and on forever. She admired the rich timbre of his voice, his enthusiasm for the topic, his passion for teaching. It was an important and honorable profession. No wonder Rex adored him and wanted to be a teacher too.

"You must read a lot of scholarly books," she said.

"I do. But I also like to read fiction. Have you read the novel, Ben-Hur, Miss Dale?"

Amanda shook her head. "No, but I've wanted to. I know the former territorial governor Lew Wallace wrote it. I just haven't had much time for reading."

"I will loan it to you," Gil promised. "I think Rex would enjoy it too. It's about a Jewish merchant-prince named Judah Ben-Hur, and it's the story of Jesus too. In fact, the real title of the book is, Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. Wallace spent a lot of time reading the Bible and doing historical research to make sure his story was as accurate as possible. He even took a trip to the Holy Land. You know, Wallace was originally from Indiana, just like me. He died earlier this year."

"Oh, I hadn't heard," Amanda replied. "I would like to read the book."

She didn't know when she'd find the time, but she wanted to do it anyway. She sensed it would please Gil Gladney greatly if she did so. Why she should care to please him, she couldn't say. Maybe it was because she sensed a bond between them. Or maybe it was simply because he was the first attractive, unmarried man she'd spoken with in the past several months. It was nice to talk of something other than chicken feed and medicines, for a change.

All too soon, it was time to go. Rex and the other youngsters helped gather the picnic leftovers. They returned the shovels, ropes, and other supplies to the back of the wagon, while Amanda instructed Greta and Gertrude to rinse the lemonade cups in the river. The four boys who'd ridden over on their own horses said goodbye to their teacher and classmates and rode away in the direction of the orchards and alfalfa fields.

Rex, Jerry, and Sammy were so full of questions about the old ruins Amanda had little opportunity to chat with Gil on the journey home. Even Greta wanted to know if there were any lady archeologists, and Gertrude asked if the class would need to return to give the skeletons a Christian burial. Chuckling softly, Amanda glanced at Gil, marveling at the efficient way he handled their bombardment of questions. Once, noticing her watching him, Gil winked. Amanda felt an unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach and jerked her gaze straight ahead.

Soon, her sister's home came into view, the small weatherboard house looking insignificant compared to the long, sprawling structure housing the hundreds of chickens, which were the Stewart family's livelihood. A root cellar squatted up against the house. To the east stood a modest red barn and an older, smaller hen house her brother-in-law had abandoned once the new one had been finished.

As the wagon rumbled forward, Amanda recognized the old swayback horse tied to the porch railing next to Dolores's. Her happy contentment seemed to waft away like a flimsy linen handkerchief on the brisk, late afternoon breeze. She braced herself for the confrontation she knew would soon follow.

From the back of the wagon, Rex reached up to place a hand on her shoulder. "Aunt Mandy, we've got company," he hissed in her ear. She could hear the antagonism in his young voice. He didn't like the nosey, quarrelsome Beulah Johnson, and it was no wonder. Amanda didn't like the woman either.

"What's wrong?" Gil asked sharply. He frowned, and Amanda noted the concern in his expression.

"Nothing serious," she said in a quiet undertone, mindful of the other children in the back of the wagon. They exchanged a glance and rode in strained silence the rest of the way to the house. While Gil helped Amanda down from the front, Rex and the dog scrambled out of the back of the wagon. After mounting the steps to the porch, she spun around, smiling shyly at him. "I enjoyed myself today, and I even learned a thing or two. You're a good teacher, Gil Gladney."

Gil flushed with pleasure from her praise. From the porch, Amanda could hear voices coming from the small kitchen and wondered if he could hear them too.

"If I ever need a field trip chaperone again…" he began.

"Please, do ask," was Amanda's quick response. And she meant it. "I might not be able to go, depending on my sister's health and the baby's, but I'd like to be asked all the same." She could feel herself blushing as she spoke the words and quickly bid the youngsters in the back of the wagon a cheerful goodbye. "Sammy, tell your mother her empanadas were the best I've ever eaten."

"Si, Miss Dale, I will tell her," the boy replied, with a toothless grin.

As Gil climbed back into the wagon and flicked the reins, Amanda straightened her shoulders and faced Rex. "Well, there's no getting around it. We have to go in."

"Reckon we could hide out with the chickens till she leaves?" Rex asked hopefully. Amanda gave a humorless laugh and opened the door. Rex and the dog followed her inside.

"Amanda Dale! Surely, you're not going to allow that nasty creature into this house!" Beulah Johnson exclaimed, her harsh tone like the snap of a whip.

Bonita lowered her head and growled. Amanda took another step forward, her eyes locking with those of Dolores Martinez, who stood in the doorway leading from the kitchen into the small sitting room beyond. Her neighbor's dark eyes blazed with the same indignation Amanda now wrestled with. Minnie was nowhere to be seen, but she guessed the child was safe and sleeping in another room. The aroma of fresh boiled coffee soothed Amanda's frayed nerves. There was a fragrant stew bubbling on the back of the stove too.

"Good evening, Mrs. Johnson," she said in a quiet, low voice. "What brings you out this way?"

Mrs. Johnson seemed taken aback by Amanda's cool reserve. "I just don't understand what's the matter with you — all of you!" Mrs. Johnson went on. Her pale, pasty face reminded Amanda of uncooked dough. The woman had several flabby chins, and her graying hair was coiled in a sloppy knot at the back of her head. "There's a dying woman in the house and a sickly infant. Yet you allow that filthy animal into the kitchen." She pointed an accusing finger at the dog.

"Bonita is not filthy!" Rex protested. "And my mother is not dying!" He gave Amanda an entreating glance and placed a protective hand on the dog's scraggly neck. Bonita continued to rumble a warning.

"Mrs. Johnson, what do you want?" Amanda asked, more curtly this time. As she removed her straw hat, Amanda fixed her attention on the unattractive widow. She had never liked Beulah Johnson. The woman was coarse and often crude. She was always sticking her nose in other people's business. The unwelcome guest stood in the middle of the kitchen with her lips puckered together, reminding Amanda of someone who had just bitten into a sour lemon.