Sycamore Hill by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online Page A

to hear herself talk. Here.” She thrust the
plate of cookies toward me. “Have a macaroon.”
    I accepted in silence, casting Berthamae Poole and James Olmstead
a curious glance. What had she been going to say about the schoolhouse and the
previous teacher? Olmstead had practically taken her by the ear and dragged her
away. Another look at Emily was enough to tell me that I would gain no further
information from her. She was watching with relief her husband’s low-growling
conversation with Mistress Poole.
    “You will of course stay with us for dinner,” Emily informed me.
“Then we’ll take you up to the schoolhouse.” That prospect did not seem one to
which Emily Olmstead looked forward.
    “School opens the first week of September. That should give you
time enough to get the schoolhouse in order again,” Olmstead was saying later,
between mouthfuls of delicious beef stew and sips of freshly brewed coffee.
    “I’m afraid it’s a mess,” Emily said apologetically.
    “After the last teacher resigned, some of the children got it in
their heads to vandalize the place,” Olmstead said with obvious annoyance.
    “You might as well tell her who it was, Jim,” Emily told her
husband. Then she supplied the answer before he had a chance to swallow another
bite of stew. “It was those Poole boys. You met their mother this afternoon.
Well, Sherman and Grant, her two sons, are little hellions. I don’t suppose I
have to tell you who they’re named after.”
    “They’ll be in your class,” Olmstead said.
    “How old are they?” I asked.
    “Sherman is fourteen, and Grant is almost thirteen,” Emily
supplied immediately. “They’re two years senior to our Andrew. He’ll be eleven
in April.” I was informed that Andrew was at a friend’s for dinner.
    “She’ll have plenty of time to meet the children, Em. Bridle that
tongue of yours so I can get on with our talk,” Olmstead said.
    “Yes, dear,” she demurred.
    “As I was saying, Miss McFarland, the schoolhouse and yard could
use some cleaning up. The heavy repairs will be taken care of for you by some
of the townsmen when they can spare the time.”
    “Are there many heavy repairs?” I asked dubiously.
    “Two broken windows in front, a couple of smashed desks, a few
leaks in the roof, and the back steps from your room need some work. Your
quarters are in good condition.”
    The place sounded like a wreck to me.
    “More coffee, Miss McFarland,” Emily offered as she began clearing
away the dishes.
    “No, thank you. May I help you with the dishes?”
    “No, but thanks,” Emily deferred, stacking the dishes with a
clatter and almost scurrying from the room.
    “There are other things we should go over,” James Olmstead began
again, and I reluctantly turned back.
    “There are certain rules of conduct that must be maintained.”
    “For the children?” I asked. I had expected to be able to decide
on rules for the children without much interference from the townspeople.
    “No, ma’am. For you.”
    “For me?” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice.
    “Of course,” he said, giving me a look that indicated he thought I
should have known as much. “Your position in this community is a very important
one. You are an example for our children, and as such, there are certain strict
standards that you must keep.”
    I braced myself as he continued.
    “You will be expected to attend church each Sunday and teach a
class there under the authority of our excellent reverend, Jonah Hayes. From
your letter and from the reference we received from Bradford Dobson, you have
attended church regularly. Isn’t that correct?”
    “Yes, it is,” So far I had no qualms.
    “Classes for the children will be from Monday through Friday,
beginning at nine in the morning and ending at three in the afternoon. We would
have you start school earlier, but there are some children who must ride in
from outlying ranches.”
    “Yes, of course,” I murmured in