Gemma hurried out. In the schoolyard, all the children stood to one side and watched Duncan Philmont and Billy Odom circle each other like two feral dogs. Billy already sported a cut above his left eyebrow and a growing bruise there. This was a first. The two had never gotten along well, but they’d never come to fighting before.
“Both of you...stop this immediately!” She rushed into the yard. “This is no way for civilized people to act.”
Billy, his flannel shirt torn, never moved his gaze from Duncan. Blood dripped into his eye from the cut. He blinked, and then swiped his sleeve across his face to clear his vision. Duncan, a year older and standing a good foot taller than Billy, crouched down and moved closer, his angular face set in a menacing scowl. His tousled black hair contained bits of dried grass and small twigs and a large grass stain smeared his right shoulder sleeve.
She may as well have not spoken at all for all the reaction it gained. “You must stop! What is this all about?” she demanded.
“Back up, Teach,” Duncan said. “This ain’t no concern of yours.”
Her spine stiffened. Teach, indeed! He knew better than to address her like that.
“It is my concern if it happens here at my school.”
Behind her one of the Daley boys bet on Duncan to win and two other children piped in that they’d put in a bet too. Shocked, she roared, “There will be no bets!”
A few younger children backed up, their eyes wide at the first true display of anger she’d revealed since starting her position.
However, her tone didn’t faze either of the two who continued to circle each other. Duncan inched closer, intent upon his next move and completely ignoring her. Blood dripped from his swollen and purple upper lip.
Billy trembled with suppressed anger. Sweat streaked with mud ran down his face and neck.
Suddenly Duncan leaped at him and grabbed behind his neck, pushing him, facedown toward the ground. Hunched over like that, Billy punched him hard in the gut—once and then with his other fist. With an oof, Duncan went down, pushing Billy with him. In the dirt and grass they grappled, their tempers gone, their only thoughts to pound the other to dust. Really, this was entirely out of hand!
She must do something. Now. She raced back into the school and picked up the bucket of water she used to clean the slate board—filthy rag and all. Running back outside, she stepped up to the two and sloshed the cold contents of the bucket over both boys.
“Yeow!” They rolled off each other and spit the filth from their mouths. Then they scrambled to their feet and stood there glaring at her, the water dripping off their messy hair.
“I’m disappointed in the both of you. Christmas is nearly upon us! It’s a time that embraces a generous and giving spirit, and I find you both fighting!”
Neither one said a word but their expressions said they absolutely hated her interference.
“Nothing is worth fisticuffs. You must both learn to discuss things and compromise. That is the way of a civilized people.”
Billy snorted. “Tell that to my pa.”
She glared at him. “It takes a big man to keep control of his emotions. That is the mark of a gentleman.”
“Who says I want to be a gentleman?” Duncan mumbled under his breath, a mutinous frown on his face.
She chose to ignore his attitude. “All right then. Billy, go down to the creek and clean up, and then take your seat inside.”
That she had singled him out first only made his anger more palpable. He picked up his flat tan cap that was now streaked with dirt and grass stains and slapped it against his thigh.
“To the water, Mr. Odom.”
When he’d finally shuffled off, she turned to the other boy. Duncan needed to wash up also, but she wasn’t about to put him in the same proximity with Billy so soon after the fight. “I’ll get you a cloth for that lip. You may take your seat now.”
Duncan smirked, a half smile on one side of his face that made only one eye crinkle up, and took his time picking up his own flat cap from the grass. “Yes’m, Teach,” he said, before turning away and swaggering toward the schoolhouse.
She didn’t like it...his belligerent attitude or the rude way he spoke to her. In the ten weeks that she had been teaching, she’d learned he had little respect for anyone, likely owing to his father’s position in the community. “Mr. Philmont. I will thank you to address me as Miss Starling.”
He didn’t slow down, didn’t acknowledge that he heard her, and she found herself addressing his backside as he disappeared inside the building.
She let out a frustrated sigh before catching herself. The other schoolchildren stood in a half circle, wide-eyed and watching to see what she would do next. It had been the first fight at the new school. What tales would they take home to their parents? Not once in all her years had she witnessed a schoolyard fight.
She took a deep breath and then picked up the empty bucket. “Inside with the rest of you. It’s time to start school.”
As the younger children scrambled into the building, Gemma watched Billy leave the edge of the clearing and trudge through the mix of pines that sloped down to the water. Why did people so easily turn to violence to solve things? Out here in the West, it seemed even more so than in Boston. One minute Billy had been reading and the next he was fighting. So quick to anger.
It made her all the more determined to impart a decent education to her students. They depended on her. “‘The law is reason free from passion,’” she quoted under her breath. Aristotle. Which meant in this instance...hmm...she must not let her emotions interfere with her judgment when she handed out a punishment to Billy and Duncan. She could take it further, she supposed, and make sure her emotions were not transmitted to the students. Calm, cool, collected—that was the attitude. She blew out another breath. Thank goodness for Aristotle.
Billy Odom never came back to class.
* * *
Craig Parker pounded the nail into the last plank of wood that now boarded up the entrance to the Farnsworth Mining Company’s one and only mine. He took a moment to check the sturdiness of his handiwork and figured it would do the job of warning off any curiosity seekers. He’d been around long enough to know that the lure of possible riches, even from an abandoned mine, still called to opportunistic men. There was always someone who thought they knew better than anyone else and could find a sliver of gold if they just looked hard enough—the danger be hanged.
For a mining town it had come as a surprise that so many of the men were family inclined and wanting to settle here in Clear Springs. The boom on gold had played out except for a few of the mines and those were dwindling. It’s why the town had gone from nearly two thousand folks, mostly living in a tent city, to just over one hundred. Those that had stayed were putting down roots, strong roots. They built a church. And just finished a permanent school. It was a lot like the place he’d grown up in farther north.
He stowed his hammer in his saddlebag and mounted his horse, Jasper, then reined the gelding toward town. When he’d taken the job of sheriff, he hadn’t considered closing up a mine would be part of his job, but Chet, the owner of the mine, had become something of a friend. After facing down thieves, Chet had been laid up healing from an injury. He was now back to work at a viable mine, but Craig figured boarding up this millstone was the least he could do for the kid.
Since that first bit of excitement things had been fairly quiet in town. The next haul of gold from the Palomino Mine made it down to the bank in San Diego without so much as a whisper of trouble. He wasn’t complaining, but other than jailing obnoxious drunks overnight so that they could sober up, he’d like to feel that he was doing more for the community that had hired him.
Pressing his legs against his horse, he urged him into a gentle lope.