Part 36 (1/2)

The other half crowded the edges of the room, finding little s.p.a.ces between the wide cracks in the ceiling-cracks that hadn't been particularly noticeable until the water pouring through them soaked her hair.

She looked up again as a crack came from above and the spot where she'd been standing was showered with a bucketful of water, landing right in her face. She took a deep breath and stepped away for a moment: rubbing the water out of her eyes, squeezing what she could from her hair, and smothering the frustration that threatened to overwhelm her as best she could.

It was lucky that the few who had come in were young. As the day went on she was becoming more and more drenched, and if she wasn't outright indecent already, it wouldn't be long. She s.h.i.+vered at the thought of anyone seeing her like this.

She'd never live down the talk that would come about. Never in a million years, no matter what Chris Broadmoor did. Jamie Pearson was still waiting patiently when she turned back. Arithmetic wasn't her strongest suit, but it needed to be taught.

Marie's eyes scan the floor, looking for somewhere-anywhere-where the rain wasn't coming straight through. She eventually settled for a spot with the wall pressing up against her backside, but it was dry enough and if she was lucky, maybe it would stay that way.

She let herself slip back into teaching mode. Cover the lessons as best she could, given the circ.u.mstances. No need to worry about any of this until later. When something could be done about it.

But that didn't stop her from worrying. Not one bit. Marie let out an exasperated sigh-Jamie's eyes went wide looking down at his slate, a momentary flash of panic that maybe she was mad at him. She didn't know what was going on in his house, not really. But there were signs that something was wrong, without a single doubt. Every little thing was a possible cause for extreme alarm. That wasn't the behavior of a healthy, happy child.

She made a mental note to see what could be done about it. Maybe go by his house and see what he was dealing with.

Then again, she made a mental note as well to have someone do something about the schoolhouse. They couldn't keep working in a place like this. They'd all go home soaked to their bones because the schoolhouse, a place where children are supposed to learn and be taught, a place where young minds are shaped, where the nation's future was supposed to flourish, had more holes in it than cheesecloth.

Satisfied that Jamie had grasped the material, she left him with several problems to work through. No doubt it would take him some time to complete them, which gave her ample time to go and make sure that all of the other youngsters were on-task.

An hour later, the sun was back out. That can happen, and the warmth was starting to come back. The children filed out slowly, one by one. Jamie looked nervous as he left. His parents would be coming back any day now, but no doubt he was nonetheless nervous.

Marie had plenty of experience coming home to an empty house, after her mother pa.s.sed on. There was something unspeakably unpleasant about it. But it wasn't her place to step in. She'd have plenty of opportunity to speak to Jamie's parents when they came back.

She could extend the offer to keep an eye on him when they had to go out of town. They might not mind so much, after all, and then she'd be able to make sure that the boy was taken care of without overstepping the boundary between a teacher and student.

As he left, and the room was finally completely empty, she let herself deflate a little bit. What a long day. Some days were always going to be easier than others. That was just the way of the world. But the bad ones always felt bad.

She looked up at the roof. What had seemed like a reasonably adequate construction before now seemed drastically under-built. She could just about see blue sky through some places where the patchwork hadn't managed to hold up.

A trip to the carpenter's, then.

Marie looked down at her blouse. It stuck to her in places where she would very decidedly rather that it didn't, but a few minutes in the sun should clear it up a little bit. That was what she hoped, anyways.

The walk across town did a little bit to help. The heat wasn't quite what she'd hoped for, but it served. There was a young man behind the counter, perhaps fifteen. She hadn't seen him in any of her cla.s.ses. He regarded her silently for a moment before greeting her.

”I'm sorry to bother you, but, could I ask-what would it cost to have a roof repaired? I'm the new teacher, and the school-house-”

He nodded for a moment. ”Sure, I could come look at it and make an estimate. The boss is working at the moment.” He gestured towards a doorway. Through it, she could hear the sound of wood pounding on wood.

”I'd like that very much.”

He went into the back, came back a minute later with a long, heavy-looking ladder slung over a shoulder. This was less painful than she'd expected, she thought, somewhat pleased.

Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Six.

There had been a long-standing agreement between Chris and the owner of the little bar where he worked. Chris would do as he was told, make a little money, but most of his pay would be in room and board. In turn, Stanley would look the other way on his colorful past, as long as Chris didn't bring it along with him.

That had seemed fair, at first. h.e.l.l, it seemed almost fair now. There was talk, of course. Always would be, when someone like him came around. Whether he managed to hide his past or not, they would spot an outsider right away and there would always be talk.

His habit of wearing a pistol, in a quiet town like Applewood Junction, that was always going to draw attention, too. But just yesterday he'd shown exactly how useful that was. So really, if they were being completely honest, there wasn't a whole lot to be worried about. Not really.

There was no reasonable criticism that anyone could make of him, not one that would stick.

Unreasonable criticism, though? That had a unique way of sticking to his bones. A way of finding everything that he looked like and ignoring the years of reliable service he'd given. Maybe, all of a sudden out of nowhere, he'd become a mad dog. n.o.body could be sure that he wouldn't, after all.

So in spite of all his rea.s.suring himself, it wasn't really much of a surprise when Stan came into the bar with his hat pressed on low. He had a habit of doing that when he was spoiling for a fight. Which meant that Chris had to be extra careful not to let him, in spite of himself.

The bartender took a deep breath in.

”Mornin', boss.”

”You want to tell me what the h.e.l.l happened yesterday?”

Chris kept his shoulders relaxed. That would be the first thing to go. When his shoulders got tight, he might as well walk right out the door, because at that point it was only a matter of time until voices got raised, and then it wasn't going to back down from there.

”What do you mean, boss?”

”You know full d.a.m.n well what I mean.” Something deep down in the bartender's belly didn't like being eyeballed like that. He swallowed that frustration. ”Things go nuts, and I'm up to my neck in complaints-and what do I find but you're at the center of it. Walloped not one, but two customers? That right?”

”Wasn't my intention to do anything of the sort, boss.”

”Don't talk to me about intentions.”

Chris raises his eyes. It's a mistake, and he realizes it a moment later, when he feels frustration starting to flare up, and for a tense moment he almost feels as if he's going to lose his temper.

It's close, but he manages to get control of himself in spite of the strong urge to lash out. A little part of him relaxes. Maybe the years have had a positive effect on his demeanor after all.

”You would have rather I let some kid get shot?”

The boss looks at Chris with a flat expression. No, that wouldn't have been preferable, Chris knows. But couldn't someone else have done it? Someone who wasn't already the cause of all sorts of rumors spreading around the town?

That would have been a thousand times better. Just next time make it so someone else is involved.

”No,” Stan finally concedes. ”You're right.”

”I'm sorry that it happened. I keep thinking I should've had a better sense for the feeling in the room. But I did the best I could under the circ.u.mstances.”

Chris works to drop his shoulders. Keep them relaxed, don't let them hunch up. Don't get mad. Stay calm.

His eyes are on Stan's body as he stands on the other side. It's a skill that Chris picked up in his old life. Something you need to know, how p.i.s.sed the other guy is. You have to know all the time. No room for any doubt, not ever.

If someone's about to pull a gun, you have to know before he knows it himself. And Chris watches his boss's body language for any signs of anger, growing or shrinking.