Sycamore Hill by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online

train,” Olmstead interrupted.
    “The train wasn’t due to leave again for another three days. I was
too excited to wait that long.” My words were met with a stony look.
    “It might have been wiser if you had, Miss McFarland.”
    “Oh, Jim,” Emily cut in. He darted her an impatient look.
    “Is her room cleaned yet?” he asked abruptly, and Emily flushed.
    “I... I hadn’t gotten around to going over there yet,” she said,
and I felt there was more than acute embarrassment in her admission of the
oversight.
    “I’m sure my room is just fine.” I tried to reassure Emily
Olmstead. She gave me a very odd little look and then darted another at her
husband.
    “The school has been closed for over a year,” he informed me.
“Nobody has been in the place during that time.”
    That statement aroused a whole series of questions in my mind, but
Olmstead’s forbidding expression prevented me from asking any.
    “You see, we weren’t able to find another teacher after—” his wife
started to explain.
    “You’re lucky you didn’t collapse on the road in this August heat,
Miss McFarland. It’s over a hundred degrees, by my guess,” her husband
interrupted her smoothly, casting her a warning glance that she obviously
understood.
    “Yes,” she agreed at once to his change of subject. “It’s too bad
someone didn’t happen along and give you a ride into town.”
    What was going on here? First Jordan Bennett with his dire
predictions and unreasonable animosity, and now this silent conversation going
on over my head. I thought of Jordan Bennett’s warning not to speak of our
brief roadside encounter. Looking at James Olmstead’s slightly disapproving
perusal of me, I decided that perhaps silence was indeed the best policy.
Especially when I did not know what was going on at all!
    “Yes, I would have welcomed a ride,” I agreed with a wry smile.
    “I think the coffee should be ready now.” Emily excused herself.
She was back almost immediately with a tray on which sat a cup and saucer, a
sugar bowl, a small cream pitcher, a plate of cookies and the welcome glass of
water.
    “Oh, that’s very refreshing,” I thanked her, having finished the
water first. The tingling of a bell drew my attention as well as that of the
Olmsteads.
    A heavyset woman walked into the store. As she progressed down the
aisle, I noted the small flannel hat perched on her head, with its ridiculous
feather protruding and bobbing as she walked. Dark, ferretlike eyes moved over
me with avid curiosity.
    “Berthamae,” Emily greeted. Berthamae only treated Emily to a
cursory glance, and then continued to stare pointedly at me.
    “You’re new in town,” she stated the obvious and waited for an
introduction.
    “Miss McFarland, this is Berthamae Poole,” Olmstead supplied.
“Miss McFarland is our new schoolteacher, Berthamae.” The woman’s thick eyebrows
shot up.
    “Well, it’s high time,” she emitted sharply before I could even
extend my hand in polite greeting. “The town has done without a teacher long
enough. That last one was a poor excuse for one,” she went on critically.
    “I’m sure Miss McFarland isn’t interested in the previous
teacher’s shortcomings,” Olmstead cut in, and again there was a quick exchange
of glances, this time between Berthamae Poole and James Olmstead.
    “Of course, she is,” the woman insisted. “She’s got to live in
that place. She should know about it.”
    “Did you want something, or not, Bertie?” Emily cut in.
    Berthamae Poole relented. “I came for dried lentils, onions,
basil, yeast and ten pounds of wheat flour,” she answered, quelling her
previous course of conversation.
    “Then come right this way, if you please,” James Olmstead
instructed, indicating another section of the store. The woman followed, chin
up. James Olmstead was talking fast, his voice very low.
    “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Emily Olmstead whispered close
to my ear. “She prattles on just