It had been nearly a decade since Dara had taken the psychology courses that helped round out her education major, but Dara recognized repression when she saw—and heard—it. And though she’d been a full-grown adult when her own mother died two years earlier and lost her father just months ago, she understood the importance of mourning openly and honestly. Dara didn’t know how or why a loving father would talk his children out of grieving for their mother.
And she understood it on a completely different level: hadn’t she repressed her fears that her father might have stolen Pinnacle’s money?
She wouldn’t even suspect it, if it hadn’t been for Noah Lucas! It wasn’t hard to believe he could do such a coldhearted thing. Dara’s eyes and lips narrowed with anger toward the man who, without ever having met her father, had chosen to believe the row of numbers that said Jake was a thief rather than the daughter who believed in his innocence. That same harsh and judgmental behavior had his own flesh and blood moving through life like windup toys.
Dara had prayed before class began that the Lord would show her what to do, tell her what to say, to help her teach these children His word. These two, especially, needed to hear about His loving mercy now.
Dara slid an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, leaning her forehead against Angie’s, “of course your mommy is in heaven with God and all His angels.” She pressed a soft kiss to the child’s temple. “But it’s okay to miss her sometimes.…”
Angie looked up from her picture and stared deep into Dara’s eyes. For a second there, Angie was every bit a seven-year-old girl as her lower lip trembled slightly and a flicker of sadness gleamed in her big dark eyes. Dara felt the fragile shoulders relax, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from them.
But then Angie blinked.
And just that fast, the frosty restraint was back, and she became a pint-size version of a full-grown adult again. It was more than a little frightening to have witnessed the transformation, and Dara shivered involuntarily, because she doubted if she could name one adult who was so self-contained.
Well, that wasn’t true. She could name one.…
“Can I get a drink of water?” Tina asked.
“Sure,” Dara said, smiling gently.
“Would you like to see the card I made for Mrs. King?” Pete wanted to know. “I drew baby Sarah on it.”
“I’ll be right there.” Reluctantly, Dara drew away from Angie. If the child noticed, she gave no clue. God bless her, Dara prayed.
Something told her that in the months ahead, she’d be petitioning the Lord often on behalf of the Lucas children.
“Sorry, Dara,” the principal said. “I’ve pulled every string I could get my fat little fingers on. There’s just no money left in the budget for you.”
Budget cuts, or had someone on the board heard that her father had been accused of embezzlement and decided it wasn’t good press to have a teacher like that working for the Howard County school system?
She took a deep breath. Stop assuming the worst, Dara, she scolded herself. It’s your own fault, after all, for asking to be assigned a job in your own district. If she’d taken the teaching job at Wilde Lake instead of Centennial High, she wouldn’t be low man on the totem pole now.
“It isn’t your fault, John,” she said, smiling halfheartedly.
“Who’d-a thunk seniority could be an ugly thing?”
“Better watch it,” she warned, wagging a finger under his nose. “If the kids hear you breaking the rules of grammar that way, they’ll—”
“They’ll what?” he teased. “Most of ‘em have been abusing the King’s English since right after they learned to say ‘Dada’!”
Dara and her boss laughed for a moment, until the seriousness of the situation shrouded his cramped, crowded office.
“So when do I have to clear out my desk?”
Wincing, the principal sighed. “Not till the semester ends in February. That’ll give you plenty of time to send your résumé around.”
It gave her four months, give or take a week. Dara sighed, staring out the window, where Old Glory popped and snapped in the brisk winter wind. She’d sat right here as a Centennial student when she’d served as an office aide to Mr. John Westfall, and again nearly nine years ago when he’d interviewed her to fill the open math teacher slot. There were other teaching positions available here in Howard County, and more than likely, she’d accept one. But it wouldn’t be the same, because those schools wouldn’t feel like home.
“Should I put in a good word for you over at River Hill?” Westfall asked, standing. “I hear there’s going to be an opening there.”
“Sure,” Dara said, getting to her feet. “That’d be great.”
“I hate to lose you, Dara. And so will the kids.”
He extended his hand; she clasped it gratefully.
“It’s gonna be like sending one of my own daughters off into—”
“Hush,” she said, smiling sadly, “or you’re going to make me cry.”
“Don’t want to start up any waterworks, now do we?”
Dara focused on their hands. He’d been jerking her arm up and down like a pump handle. “I’ve heard of trying to get blood from a turnip,” she teased, “but I don’t think this is the way you go about it.”
Chuckling, Westfall let go of her hand, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “If there’s anything I can do,” he said softly, “anything, you just ask, you hear?”
“Thanks,” she said, heading for the door. “I will.”
“You’ll come see me once in a while, won’t you? Let me know how you’re doing?”
Another nod, one hand on the doorknob. “Now, let me leave before I start blubbering all over this gorgeous green-and-orange carpet of yours!”
She closed his office door. Could things get any worse? she wondered. The second anniversary of her mother’s death was just around the corner; in a week, her father would have been gone six months. Then there was the news about his so-called embezzlement. And now she was out of a job. If you had any sense, she said to herself, you’d make reservations and take that cruise you’ve been saving up for.
Immediately, she shook her head. No telling what Noah Lucas might do on Kurt Turner’s behalf while you’re off in the sunny Caribbean worrying yourself silly.
The janitor flung open the door, rolled his oversize metal trash can inside. As he banged and clanged down the hall, a huge gust of wind whipped in behind him, blowing the papers from Dara’s hands and scattering them across the floor. Some fluttered out the door; others skidded under lockers. “That cruise is gone with the wind, too,” she muttered as she gathered the papers that hadn’t escaped.
Look at the bright side, she told herself. Now you have two projects to distract you from the Pinnacle mess—Sunday school and job hunting!
As she headed for her cubicle in the teachers’ lounge, something told her neither would be a very good diversion.…
* * *
The weather bureau was predicting snow. Lots of it. But it wasn’t supposed to start until late afternoon, which meant Sunday services and Dara’s class would take place as scheduled. If TV meteorologist Norm Lewis was right, there’d be no school tomorrow, and if her students had heard his report, they’d be too busy looking out the windows to learn much of anything this morning.
It