“What if I don’t?” the largest of them—an oafish blond lump who bore a startling resemblance to the small pug-nosed dogs she had seen in quite a few fashionable drawing-rooms last year—actually sneered, and Cat’s temper almost frayed. Stray mancy crackled on her fingertip, and she drew herself up. A shadow slid over the room, and each tiny savage she was responsible for civilizing drew a deep breath.
“Then I haul you down to the jail and tell your mother you’re sassin’ the marm, Dwight Caffrey,” a deep voice drawled from the propped-open door. “Afternoon, Miss Barrowe.”
The mancy on her fingers died. What is he doing here? “Mr. Gabriel.” She managed a nod, tucking a stray dark curl up and back. Have you come to laugh at me? “What a pleasant surprise.”
The spark in his gaze told her the lie was perhaps audible. However, he merely shouldered the door aside and swept his hat from his dusty dark head, and his presence had the most astonishing effect.
Every little savage in the room quieted. The girls grinned and whispered; the boys stared with round eyes. The sheriff moved easily to the last row of benches, and loomed a trifle awkwardly over their occupants. “Thought I’d come out and visit.” He halted, gazing at her most curiously. “First day of school and all.”
And good heavens, but did the man sound nervous? Surely not. Catherine gathered the shreds of her temper and found herself standing at her desk, the attendance book lying open and the pen beside it. “Yes. Well, we have been having a most interesting time all seeking to speak at once and determining whether or not I am serious when I demand a certain measure of decorum.”
“I see.” Was that a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth? She decided that it was, indeed. “I could tell ’em you’re serious, ma’am, but I doubt they’d listen.”
They’re listening now. “I have not yet had the opportunity to inform them that any of their number who misbehaves shall be visiting you.”
“Well now, that would fill the jail right up, wouldn’t it? I might be forced to keep a few in the pigsty.” And yes, that was a gleam in his gaze she had seen before in Robbie’s.
He looked, now that she thought about it, downright mischievous.
One of the younger boys—it was the small blond miscreant who had been responsible for so much excitement on the occasion of her arrival, little Tommy Hammis—let out a small sound approximating a whimper. Jack Gabriel tucked his thumbs in his belt and stood, looming in a manner that suggested practice at using his size to enforce some manners upon the unruly.
Take note of that, Catherine. Perhaps you can do likewise, even though you are not nearly as tall.
“I certainly hope we may avoid that.” Cat settled herself in the rickety, uncomfortable chair behind her desk, sweeping her skirts underneath her with a practiced motion. This brown stuff was the dowdiest and most severe dress she owned, but it was still of painfully higher quality than any rag the children possessed. She uncapped the ink, dipped her pen, and glanced up to find every eye in the schoolhouse upon her and the entire room disturbingly silent. “Now, let us be about our business. Mr. Gabriel, if you would be so good as to pause for a short while? When I have given my students their first small lesson, I should be glad of the opportunity to converse with you.” Please tell me you have business elsewhere, and merely came to make certain there are no corpses lurking under the floorboards.
“I’m here all afternoon, ma’am.”
She hoped the children could not sense the amusement loitering beneath Mr. Gabriel’s straight mouth and dusty brow. Her own mouth twitched, traitorously, until she steeled herself and fixed the far-left student in the first row—a thin girl of no more than six with messily braided wheat-gold hair, the lone girl on the boys’ side of the schoolhouse—with a steady, stern, but kind (she hoped) glance. “State your name please, young lady.”
“M-M-M-M—” The child, blushing, stuttered, and a sudden swift guilt pierced Cat’s chest.
“That’s Mercy Gibbons, ma’am.” Jack Gabriel’s tone had gentled. “Right next to her is her brother Patrick. The Gibbonses are a mite shy.”
“Very good.” Catherine wrote, swiftly but neatly. “We shall continue down the row, and should you find it difficult to say your name, Mr. Gabriel will help.” She did not bite her lip, though the urge was almost overwhelming. She did, however, glance at the girl and hazard a small smile. “The first day of school is always trying, I daresay.”
“Reckon so, ma’am.” The sheriff’s tone still held that queer gentleness.
“Jordie Crane!” a gangly redhead next to Patrick Gibbons almost-shouted, fidgeting. “This is Sammy next to me. Samuel, I mean. Sam Thibodeau.”
Oh, dear God, how do I spell that? She decided to merely approximate, for the moment. “Thank you, Mr. Crane. You will allow Mr. Thibodeau the chance to speak for himself next time.”
All through that long syrup-slow afternoon, Jack Gabriel loomed in the back of the classroom, and even though Cat was heartily sick of him, she could not help but admit that his presence had a most sedative effect upon the most troublesome of her students.
Unfortunately, her nerves were a frayed mass by the time she consulted her mother’s watch, securely fastened to the chain at her waist, and informed the willowy, dark-eyed young Zechariah Alfstrache that he had, by dint of being the least troublesome today, earned the right to ring the true-iron bell bolted next to the front door. Near to expiring with satisfaction, he did so, and even the awe of the sheriff could not keep the little savages from exploding into action. Ten long minutes later the schoolhouse was echoingly empty, and Cat sagged in her chair, one hand at her eyes.
Jack Gabriel’s steps were measured and slow. “Well. Schoolin’ seems as difficult as law-work.”
I rather doubt that, sir. For one thing, there are no flying bullets. Or undead. “They are quite energetic,” she managed, faintly. “Good heavens.” Still, it is very kind of you to say so.
“Fetch you some water, ma’am?”
How chivalrous. “No, thank you. You are quite free to go, I simply wished you to frighten some of the savages into behaving.”
“Had business, ma’am.”
Oh? “And what would that be?”
“Makin’ sure the schoolhouse is safe.”
Of course. “Your diligence does you credit.” Her eyes opened, and the outside world was an assault of color and light. “I think we may rest assured the environs are quite safe.”
“Maybe, ma’am. You look…pale.” The odd gentleness again. What on earth possessed him to speak so?
Cat straightened. Come now, Catherine. You can certainly present a better form than this. “It is very warm today.” She checked the ink on the pages of her ledger—dry by now, certainly, but she breathed across the paper anyway, a slight charm to make certain sparking in the charged air. She closed the book with a decisive snap of binding and pages, and glanced up to find Mr. Gabriel looming over her desk instead of over the last row of benches, the star on his chest glinting sharply. Her stays were most uncomfortable, but she set her chin and glared at him. “I am quite well, sir. I am about to close the schoolhouse and go home, and—”