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If he was going to come, he'd wait until it were a little less miserable out. Half the kids had done the same.
The other half crowded the edges of the room, finding little spaces 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 shivered 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 circumstances. 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 passed 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 classes. 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. Hell, 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. Nobody could be sure that he wouldn't, after all.
