Montana Rose by Deann Smallwood

will continue to provide that instruction regardless of the small minds that construe this into something tawdry.” She pursed her lips. “And regardless of a sneaky little boy that delights in causing trouble and peeking into my window. For shame .”
    Mr. Whimpstutter was shaking. His eyes bulged as he turned on his heel, and giving her one last glaring look, lost no time in exiting the room.
    “You have been warned,” he said ominously, and with head held high, he left, the door swinging in his wake.
    Rose staggered from the room to her kitchen, grasping each passing desk to steady herself. Plopping down at the table, she realized the cozy room of a few short minutes ago had turned into a chilly emptiness. She wasn’t wanted here. She didn’t belong. This was not, and never could be, her home.
    “What am I to do?” The sound of her voice hollow. “Teaching isn’t my heart’s desire, but I need this job.” And feeling a magnitude of despair and helplessness, she took a sip of the cold tea and gazed at the nothingness.
    “You’re late,” Jesse said to the boy blowing into the kitchen like a force of wind. “I almost ate this hunk of steak myself,” Jesse teased, delighted that his and Tory’s relationship had moved to where this was possible. Not only possible, but pleasurable. Jesse found himself thinking about and missing his brother during the day while he was at school. And oddly enough, as much as he resented it, he found himself envying Tory’s time with the arrogant Teacher Bush.
    “Teacher Bush kept you after school again, huh? Guess I’ll go have a talk with her. You can’t be that disruptive.” Jesse wished he didn’t have to play ignorant of the real reason Tory spent the extra time.”
    “Jesse,” Tory said breathlessly, “I can read.”
    “What?” Jesse turned from the sink where he’d been scouring a skillet.
    “I can read, Jesse. Here, let me show you.” He dug around in the canvas bag and pulled out a small brown book.
    Jesse fell into a chair opposite the young boy standing proudly at the head of the table.
    “McGuffey’s First Eclectic Reader. Revised Edition.”
    He raised his eyes, meeting Jesse’s moist ones.
    Puffing out his chest, Tory paged through to the back of the book. “These are the harder stories,” he said proudly.
    Jesse could only nod.
    Tory held the book in front of his face, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “ We have come to the end of this book,” he read . “You can now read all the stories. You now need the second reader . Congrat — u — congratulations,” he said loudly, looking expectantly at the man whose opinion mattered most.
    Jesse moistened his lips and cleared his throat. Slowly, he shook his head.
    “Darned if that isn’t the best reading I’ve ever heard,” he said in a choked voice. “It’s like getting an early Christmas present hearing you spit out those hard words.”
    “Aww, it wasn’t nothing,” Tory fumbled.
    “Nothing? I call it something. You are going to be a scholar, Tory. Maybe Teacher Bush does know her stuff.”
    “She does, Jesse, she does.” Tory fell into a chair, waves of excitement shimmered from him. “I got to read out of the botany book. A real botany book. One with drawings and everything. Did you know red maple seed are ripe and”—he paused, his brow wrinkled as he searched his memory—“germinate, yeah they germinate in the spring?”
    “No, I didn’t know that. Red maple you say?” Jesse bit the inside of his cheeks to keep back his smile. This was serious business.
    “Yep. ‘Course we don’t have red maple’s here but Miss Bush says a botanist has to know about all plants and trees. Want to know something else?” he asked, suddenly acting shy.
    “I sure do. This is terribly interesting. I’m hoping you’ll share all your botany lessons with me. That way you could teach me as you learn.”
    “Huh?”
    “Well, you’re going to be a botanist so why not start with