Taming the Sheriff by Cynthia Hickey

Author:Cynthia Hickey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Charlotte glanced around the home of Hank Jones. Faded newsprint covered walls in a vain attempt to keep out the cold. Greased paper covered unshuttered windows. Faded, yellow gingham fabric hung on each side of the windows. A pot-bellied stove sat in one corner of the shack, and all eight family members, plus Charlotte, crowded around it in an attempt to keep warm.

Maybe she should have put off visiting the homes of her students until spring. But she needed to learn practical ways to help the students in her care.

And learning she was, indeed, in this string of visits. Hopefully, it would be more pleasant than her visit with the pastor, who still seemed to believe Charlotte welcomed his attentions. This mountain home was the third she’d visited that week. The occupants sorely needed lessons in home cleanliness and repair. Charlotte chewed on the inside of her cheek. How could she offer help without harming the family’s pride? Why hadn’t someone taught them simple hygienic procedures? Sure, she’d noticed the children’s patched clothing each day at school, and the threadbare jackets, but their faces were always freshly scrubbed and their hair slicked into place. Why didn’t the homes reflect the same pride?

The middle child, Lila Rose, would make a perfect angel for the play, if only Charlotte could get her to speak. Eight years old and sharp as a tack, at least on paper, and she had yet to speak a single word at school. Her siblings said she chattered like a magpie at home.

“Supper’s done.” Mrs. Jones wiped her hands across a stained apron and stood beside a table set with stone crockery. “Rabbit stew, freshly killed this morning by my boy, Frank.”

Charlotte always thought wild rabbit tasted a bit gamey, but plastered a smile on her face. These people had so little, yet were happy to share their dinner with her. She stared into the bowl in front of the seat they ushered her toward at the far end of a wooden bench, clearly meant for guests. Inside the bowl lay pearl onions and strips of meat in a watery broth. A pan of corn pone sat in the center of the table. “It looks delicious.”

“My wife is a right fine cook.” Mr. Jones reached for the pan of bread. “Eat up, Teacher, there’s plenty.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte lifted her spoon. Dried bits of food clung to the pewter. On the pretense of dropping the utensil, Charlotte wiped it on her skirt.

“Let me fetch you another,” Mrs. Jones offered.

“Oh, no, thank you. I’ve wiped it clean. A little dirt never hurt anyone.” Charlotte cringed at her white lie then noted the deepening dusk outside. She wanted to be home before dark and still needed to bring up the subject of the Christmas play.

“Is there something on your mind, Teacher?” Mr. Jones broke his corn pone into pieces and dropped it in his bowl of stew.

“Actually, there is.” Charlotte set her spoon beside her bowl. “I dearly want Frank to play the part of Joseph in the play.

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