to throw another punch. The other boys in the classroom shouted and cheered them on. Micah’s damaged hands ached as much from the December cold as pulling the boys apart. This was not the way to start his first day at Saint Alban’s.
And he needed the work too badly for it to be his last.
“I said STOP it!” Micah roared, stepping between the two would-be pugilists and thankfully the other boys fell silent. The fighters, still gasping for breath, scowled at one another, but dropped their fists.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Micah said. “You can beat each other black and blue when you’re at home if you like, but not in my classroom.”
“’e called me a sissy!” said the first boy.
“That’s ‘cause ye are,” the second sneered.
They raised their fists again, and stepped forward, but Micah’s palms on their chests stopped them. “Enough,” he shouted again.
“Is there a problem?” A feminine voice asked.
Micah froze, and a hundred memories from a lifetime ago flooded his brain, turning his heart’s already rapid pace into a crescendoed frenzy. Slowly he turned and found his past standing in the doorway. Her green eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she might drop the books she carried. “Micah?” she whispered. “ You’re the new teacher?”
His face must have held an equally astonished expression because the remaining chatter behind him died away as the boys watched the two adults.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Micah managed to
say, “Miss Stillwell. I had no idea you were employed here.”
“Four years,” she said, her bell-like voice now within normal speaking range. She tucked a loose auburn curl behind her ear, and a tremor ran along Micah’s hands as he recalled doing the same thing.
A lone bead of sweat broke out on the back of his neck, trailing down in a long, slow descent. “I didn’t see you in chapel this morning,” he said, praying for calm.
“My roommate’s stomach was uneasy this morning when she woke up, so I went to the chemist for her, which caused me to arrive only just now.” Her inspection of the room’s overturned desks and scattered papers brought the suggestion of a mocking smile to her lips. “Is there a problem?” she repeated.
“Just getting to know my students,” he returned.
“So I see.” Her smile widened and there was no mistaking her sarcasm.
Celeste, singing Handel and Bach duets beside him. Celeste’s sweet mouth exploring his afterwards. Celeste, her eyes swollen from weeping as he told her their futures did not include each other. . . He slammed the lid on that memory and his own stupidity.
“Boys,” she said, stepping into the room. “Headmaster might cancel the Christmas party if he learns you were fighting. Do as Mr. Anderson says and settle your arguments outside the school. Now, tidy the room please.”
“Yes, Miss Celeste,” the boys chorused, and to Micah’s astonishment, the lot of them ambled back to their desks, righted those that were overturned and gathered up the papers. Then they sat, folded their hands on top of their desks, and waited, their gazes riveted on the adults.
“Thank you,” she said. “Mr. Anderson, if I might borrow Noah and Ralph for a few minutes? I promise not to keep them long.”
A fresh wave of astonishment hit Micah as the two fighters scrambled to their feet, their argument obviously forgotten and headed to the door to follow Celeste into the hallway. Micah stared after them for a moment before limping back to resume his place behind his desk. His hands only slightly trembling, he picked up the arithmetic book and said, “Very well then. I believe we were about to review your knowledge of fractions.”
Chapter Two
Micah Anderson is teaching at my school. Dear Lord, why isn’t he working as a musician somewhere? And how long has he been in London?
Her mouth dry, Celeste sank onto the chapel piano bench, grateful her legs had carried her this far without
And he needed the work too badly for it to be his last.
“I said STOP it!” Micah roared, stepping between the two would-be pugilists and thankfully the other boys fell silent. The fighters, still gasping for breath, scowled at one another, but dropped their fists.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Micah said. “You can beat each other black and blue when you’re at home if you like, but not in my classroom.”
“’e called me a sissy!” said the first boy.
“That’s ‘cause ye are,” the second sneered.
They raised their fists again, and stepped forward, but Micah’s palms on their chests stopped them. “Enough,” he shouted again.
“Is there a problem?” A feminine voice asked.
Micah froze, and a hundred memories from a lifetime ago flooded his brain, turning his heart’s already rapid pace into a crescendoed frenzy. Slowly he turned and found his past standing in the doorway. Her green eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she might drop the books she carried. “Micah?” she whispered. “ You’re the new teacher?”
His face must have held an equally astonished expression because the remaining chatter behind him died away as the boys watched the two adults.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Micah managed to
say, “Miss Stillwell. I had no idea you were employed here.”
“Four years,” she said, her bell-like voice now within normal speaking range. She tucked a loose auburn curl behind her ear, and a tremor ran along Micah’s hands as he recalled doing the same thing.
A lone bead of sweat broke out on the back of his neck, trailing down in a long, slow descent. “I didn’t see you in chapel this morning,” he said, praying for calm.
“My roommate’s stomach was uneasy this morning when she woke up, so I went to the chemist for her, which caused me to arrive only just now.” Her inspection of the room’s overturned desks and scattered papers brought the suggestion of a mocking smile to her lips. “Is there a problem?” she repeated.
“Just getting to know my students,” he returned.
“So I see.” Her smile widened and there was no mistaking her sarcasm.
Celeste, singing Handel and Bach duets beside him. Celeste’s sweet mouth exploring his afterwards. Celeste, her eyes swollen from weeping as he told her their futures did not include each other. . . He slammed the lid on that memory and his own stupidity.
“Boys,” she said, stepping into the room. “Headmaster might cancel the Christmas party if he learns you were fighting. Do as Mr. Anderson says and settle your arguments outside the school. Now, tidy the room please.”
“Yes, Miss Celeste,” the boys chorused, and to Micah’s astonishment, the lot of them ambled back to their desks, righted those that were overturned and gathered up the papers. Then they sat, folded their hands on top of their desks, and waited, their gazes riveted on the adults.
“Thank you,” she said. “Mr. Anderson, if I might borrow Noah and Ralph for a few minutes? I promise not to keep them long.”
A fresh wave of astonishment hit Micah as the two fighters scrambled to their feet, their argument obviously forgotten and headed to the door to follow Celeste into the hallway. Micah stared after them for a moment before limping back to resume his place behind his desk. His hands only slightly trembling, he picked up the arithmetic book and said, “Very well then. I believe we were about to review your knowledge of fractions.”
Chapter Two
Micah Anderson is teaching at my school. Dear Lord, why isn’t he working as a musician somewhere? And how long has he been in London?
Her mouth dry, Celeste sank onto the chapel piano bench, grateful her legs had carried her this far without
Similar Books
