Samantha's Gift

“No!” The child spun around and took off at a run.

Surprise made Rachel hesitate. Samantha was already disappearing down an exterior hallway when she came to her senses and started in pursuit.

She didn’t dare shout. If Heatherington happened to look out the window and see what was happening she might decide to move Samantha to another class for the short time she had left before being sent out of state. That was the last thing Rachel wanted.

At the corner where the sidewalk made a T, Rachel skidded to a stop. Which way? Left? Right? The hall was deserted.

Breathless, she prayed, “Where is she? Help me? Please, Lord?”

A commotion to the right caught her attention. Though the sounds were muffled, Rachel was certain she heard a childish squeal, followed by a definitely masculine “Oof.”

She dashed toward the noise, rounded a blind corner and nearly slammed into the doubled-over figure of Sean Bates! This time, he wasn’t laughing.

“Which way?” Rachel demanded.

Breathless, Sean pointed. “What’s going on?”

“Tell you later.”

“You’d better believe it.”

He straightened slowly, painfully, watching Rachel race down the hall in pursuit of the little blond monster that had plowed into him. It had been moving so fast that he wasn’t even sure whether it was a girl or a boy. When he saw Rachel returning, holding the child in front of her with its arms and legs thrashing, he still wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered.

“Want some help?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I’ll just hang on like this until she gets tired. Or until she kills me.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic. I said I’d help.”

“Sorry. It’s been a rough day.”

“Tell me about it.”

He eyed the red-faced child. Rachel had grabbed her from behind, rendering her kicks useless. If he approached from the front, however, he was liable to be very, very sorry—again.

“I just did tell you,” Rachel said. “This is Samantha Smith. She’s going to be in my class. I think.”

“You sure you want that?” Eyebrows cocked, Sean gave her a lopsided grin.

“Of course I do. Samantha and I just have to come to an understanding first.” Rachel raised her voice, speaking slowly, plainly. “If she doesn’t decide to settle down and behave pretty soon, I may have to ask Ms. Heatherington to take her to another school. I really don’t want to do that.”

The little girl gasped, froze in midmotion and stared past Sean’s shoulder in the direction of the office. Then she wilted like a plucked blossom on a hot summer day.

Relieved, Rachel relaxed and eased her to the ground so she could stand. “Whew. That’s better.”

Sean was braced for another escape attempt. It didn’t come.

Instead, the girl gazed up at her teacher with new respect. “I— I’m sorry. You won’t tell, will you?”

“Not unless I have to. It’s my job to keep you safe and teach you how to get along with others. That means you have to listen to me and do as I say. Will you do that from now on?”

The child peered off into the distance one more time, then looked back up at Rachel and nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay. We have a deal.”

Rachel held out her hand and Samantha took it. Together, they started to walk back toward the office.

Sean watched them go. He had to admit he’d been wrong to judge the pretty, diminutive teacher on appearance alone. Rachel Woodward was definitely special. One of a kind. Not only was she physically stronger than she looked, she had an indomitable will and a tender, empathetic heart that were impossible to deny.

He smiled to himself. With “credentials” like that, it was no wonder her unconventional form of child psychology had worked so well.

Driving home that evening, Rachel couldn’t get memories of Sean Bates out of her mind, so she forced herself to concentrate on her newest student instead. Thinking about Samantha kept her from reliving her recent close encounters with Sean, at least temporarily. She was getting pretty disgusted with herself about that. There was certainly no good reason for her to get the shivers every time she pictured his smile and sparkling eyes.

Rachel was glad she’d paused to examine her innermost thoughts regarding Samantha, because they revealed a truly deep concern. As long as that little girl remained in her class, Rachel knew she’d have to be careful to avoid showing favoritism. All students deserved equal treatment, as much as it was within a teacher’s ability to provide it, and getting emotionally attached to one or two individuals made impartiality that much harder.

Rachel pulled into the driveway of her modest, white-painted house. Boy, was she glad to be home. She’d bought the house on Old Sturkie Road at auction and had fixed it up to suit her eclectic taste. Now that she was well settled in, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to move. The place had everything: quaint heritage charm, combined with all the modern conveniences such as running water, indoor plumbing, electricity and telephone. In the winter, Rachel could even supplement her regular heating system by lighting the woodstove that still sat by the chimney in her living room.

In the summer, however, there was nothing she’d rather do than relax in the shade of the covered front porch overlooking her peaceful neighborhood.

The phone was already ringing when she flung open the back door and grabbed the receiver. Between her delay at work and the fact that she’d stopped at the market on the way home to pick up a few things for supper, she was running late. Which meant she had a very good idea who was calling.

“Hi, Mom.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You didn’t call,” Martha chided.

“I just walked in the door.”

“Hard day?”

“The first ones always are. You know how it is.”

“It took you a long time to get home tonight. I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”

Rachel chuckled cynically. “Well, unless you expect Schatzy or Muffin to answer, you’ll have to give me time to get here.”

Hearing his name, the little black-and-tan dachshund danced at Rachel’s feet, circled a couple of times, then ran over to give the lazy, gray angora cat a lick across its face. Muffin showed her displeasure by hissing.

“Stop that,” Rachel said.

Confused, Martha asked, “Who? Me?”

“No, not you, Mom. The cat.”

“Oh. I never could abide animals in the house, myself. Too messy. All that hair!”