Christmas On His Ranch: Maggie's Dad / Cattleman's Choice

“Nor do I believe you would, consciously,” Mrs. Jameson replied. “It’s a touchy situation, though. Mr. Long has enormous influence in the community. He’s quite wealthy and his temper is legendary in these parts. He has no compunction about making scenes in public, and he threatened to come up here himself if this situation isn’t resolved.” She laughed a little unsteadily. “Miss Hayes, I’m forty-five years old. I’ve worked hard all my life to achieve my present status. It would be very difficult for me to find another job if I lost this one, and I have an invalid husband to support and a son in college. I plead with you not to put my job in jeopardy.”

“I never would do that,” Antonia promised. “I’d quit before I’d see an innocent person hurt by my actions. But Mr. Long is very wrong about the way his daughter is being treated. In fact, she’s causing the problems. She refuses to do her work and she knows that I can’t force her to.”

“She certainly does. She’ll go to her father, and he’ll light fires under members of the school board. I believe at least one of them owes him money, in fact, and the other three are afraid of him.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll tell you flat that I’m afraid of him, myself.”

“No freedom of speech in these parts, I gather?”

“If your freedom impinges on his prejudices, no, there isn’t,” Mrs. Jameson agreed. “He’s something of a tyrant in his way. We certainly can’t fault him for being concerned about his child, though.”

“No,” Antonia agreed. She sighed. Her own circumstances were tenuous, to say the least. She had her own problems and fear gnawed at her all the time. She wasn’t afraid of Powell Long, though. She was more afraid of what lay ahead for her.

“You will try…about Maggie?” Mrs. Jameson added.

Antonia smiled. “Certainly I will. But may I come to you if the problem doesn’t resolve itself and ask for help?”

“If there’s any to give, you may.” She grimaced. “I have my own doubts about Maggie’s cooperation. And we both have a lot to lose if her father isn’t happy.”

“Do you want me to pass her anyway?” Antonia asked. “To give her grades she hasn’t earned, because her father might be upset if she fails?”

Mrs. Jameson flushed. “I can’t tell you to do that, Miss Hayes. We’re supposed to educate children, not pass them through favoritism.”

“I know that,” Antonia said.

“But you wondered if I did,” came the dry reply. “Yes, I do. But I’m job scared. When you’re my age, Miss Hayes,” she added gently, “I can guarantee that you will be, too.”

Antonia’s eyes were steady and sad. She knew that she might never have the problem; she might not live long enough to have it. She thanked Mrs. Jameson and went back to her classroom, morose and dejected.

Maggie watched her as she sat down at her desk and instructed the class to proceed with their English lesson. She didn’t look very happy. Her father must have shaken them up, Maggie thought victoriously. Well, she wasn’t going to do that homework or do those tests. And when she failed, her father would come storming up here, because he never doubted his little girl’s word. He’d have Miss Hayes on the run in no time. Then maybe Mrs. Donalds would have her baby and come back, and everything would be all right again. She glared at Julie, who just ignored her. She was sick of Julie, kissing up to Miss Hayes. Julie was a real sap. Maggie wasn’t sure who she disliked more—Julie or Miss Hayes.

There was one nice touch, and that was that Miss Hayes coolly told her that she had until Friday to turn in her essay and the other homework that Antonia had assigned the class.

The next four days went by, and Antonia asked for homework papers to be turned in that she’d assigned at the beginning of the week. Maggie didn’t turn hers in.

“You’ll get a zero if you don’t have all of it by this afternoon, including the essay you owe me,” Antonia told her, dreading the confrontation she knew was coming, despite all her hopes. She’d done her best to treat Maggie just like the other students, but the girl challenged her at every turn.

“No, I won’t,” Maggie said with a surly smile. “If you give me a zero, I’ll tell my daddy, and he’ll come up here.”

Antonia studied the sullen little face. “And you think that frightens me?”

“Everybody’s scared of my dad,” she returned proudly.

“Well, I’m not,” Antonia said coldly. “Your father can come up here if he likes and I’ll tell him the same thing I’ve told you. If you don’t do the work, you don’t pass. And there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Oh, really?”

Antonia nodded. “Oh, really. And if you don’t turn in your homework by the time the final bell sounds, you’ll find out.”

“So will you,” Maggie replied.

Antonia refused to argue with the child. But when the end of class came and Maggie didn’t turn the homework in, she put a zero neatly next to the child’s name.

“Take this paper home, please,” she told the child, handing her a note with her grade on it.

Maggie took it. She smiled. And she didn’t say a word as she went out the door. Miss Hayes didn’t know that her daddy was picking her up today. But she was about to find out.

Antonia had chores to finish before she could go home. She didn’t doubt that Powell would be along. But she wasn’t going to back down. She had nothing to lose now. Even her job wasn’t that important if it meant being blackmailed by a nine-year-old.

Sure enough, it was only minutes since class was dismissed and she was clearing her desk when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Only a handful of teachers would still be in the building, but those particular steps were heavy and forceful, and she knew who they belonged to.

She turned as the door opened and a familiar tall figure came into the room with eyes as dark as death.

He didn’t remove his hat, or exchange greetings. In his expensive suit and boots and Stetson, he looked very prosperous. But her eyes were seeing a younger man, a ragged and lonely young man who never fit in anywhere, who dreamed of not being poor. Sometimes she remembered that young man and loved him with a passion that even in dreams was overpowering.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said, putting the past away in the back drawers of her mind. “She did get a zero, and she deserved it. I gave her all week to produce her homework, and she didn’t.”

“Oh, hell, you don’t have to pretend noble motives. I know why you’re picking on the kid. Well, lay off Maggie,” he said shortly. “You’re here to teach, not to take out old grudges on my daughter.”

She was sitting at her desk. She folded her hands together on its worn surface and simply stared at him, unblinking. “Your daughter is going to fail this grade,” she said composedly. “She won’t participate in class discussions, she won’t do any homework, and she refuses to even attempt answers on pop tests. I’m frankly amazed that she’s managed to get this far in school at all.” She smiled coldly. “I understand from the principal, who is also intimidated by you, that you have the influence to get anyone fired who doesn’t pass her.”

His face went rigid. “I don’t need to use any influence! She’s a smart child.”

She opened her desk drawer, took out Maggie’s last test paper and slid it across the desk to him. “Really?” she asked.

He moved into the classroom, to the desk. His lean, dark hand shot down to retrieve the paper. He looked at it with narrow, deep-set eyes, black eyes that were suddenly piercing on Antonia’s face.

“She didn’t write anything on this,” he said.

She nodded, taking it back. “She sat with her arms folded, giving me a haughty smile the whole time, and she didn’t move a muscle for the full thirty minutes.”

“She hasn’t acted that way before.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m new here.”

He stared at her angrily. “And you don’t like her.”

She searched his cold eyes. “You really think I came all the way back to Wyoming to take out old resentments on Sally’s daughter?” she asked, and hated the guilt she felt when she asked the question. She knew she wasn’t being fair to Maggie, but the very sight of the child was like torture.

“Sally’s and mine,” he reminded her, as if he knew how it hurt her to remember.

She felt sick to her stomach. “Excuse me. Sally’s and yours,” she replied obligingly.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s what really bothers you, isn’t it?” he said, almost to himself. “It’s because she looks just like Sally.”

“She’s her image,” she agreed flatly.

“And you still hate her, after all this time.”

Her hands clenched together. She didn’t drop her gaze. “We were talking about your daughter.”