Keep You Safe

A glimpse out the window made all of that slip right out of her mind. It truly was a magnificent view, different than just looking out a window in a house. The tree branches and leaves, already turning red and orange, framed the window so that she felt as if she were looking at a finely crafted painting. The fields were golden in the sun, and the sky was a brilliant blue, almost the same shade as Judah’s eyes. Off in the distance, she could see the top of the courthouse, as he’d mentioned, and she thought about how magnificent it was to see God’s creations mingled with the sight of progress.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” he asked, grinning at her.
“It’s... amazing,” she replied. “How long did it take you to put together?”
“Not long. Not half as much time as it took me to build your house.” He laughed, and Hope did, too. She realized he could’ve gotten her place built a lot more quickly if he’d been able to work on it during the day time.
She wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. They hadn’t had too many conversations, but the last one was so deep, she wanted to avoid those topics if possible. It was a fine line, wanting to get to know him better weighed with the understanding that there could be no reason behind it.
“Tell me about your folks, Hope.”
She looked over at him, surprised at the question. It made no sense to her that he’d ask about her family when he’d made his position clear, and yet, it was a topic she spoke easily about. “My daddy grew up on a farm. His folks died of tuberculosis when he was young, and he lost his brother to marauders right before the Battle of Carthage. So he enlisted. Took his sister to stay at his aunt’s place, and that’s where he met my mama. She wrote to him during the war, and they fell in love and got married as soon as he come back. Unfortunately, his sister died of TB on the same night as Quantrill raided our hometown of Lamar. My mama defended her parents’ house that night, and my granddad got shot. He never did fully recover. Anyhow, my folks moved back out to the farm for a while, and that’s where my little sister, Faith, and I were born. When I was about ten, we moved back to Lamar, and now Daddy works at the bank, Mama takes care of my grandparents, and Faith is a seamstress. She’s gettin’ married soon. That’s about it, I guess.”
She’d summed her whole life up into a paragraph, and none of it sounded nearly as exiting or as tragic as his story had been. She could tell him more—about Jaris and Carey Adams and how her mama shot at the raiders, but those details were reserved for people she’d have in her life forever, and she still wasn’t sure Judah was letting her into his.
“From the sound of it, I’d say yer a lot like yer mama.” He smiled at her, like he was fond of her parents already, and Hope raised an eyebrow. “After all, you were packin’ heat the other night.”
He said it like it hadn’t been nearly a month since the last time she’d seen him, but she let that go. “Well, I wasn’t sure if any of those men from the saloons might be headed home at the same time I was,” she said with a shrug, her eyes oscillating from the gorgeous view out the window to the gorgeous man a few feet away from her.
“What made you decide to come here?” he asked, adjusting so that he was leaning against the window and looking at her.
“I assume you mean to McKinney and not your abode in the clouds?” He laughed and nodded, and she chuckled at her own joke. “I wanted an adventure, I guess. My friend Lola is Mrs. Howard’s niece. She told me about the position, and it sounded like the sort of journey I’d always longed for. It isn’t that I didn’t like my life in Lamar or enjoy the school I was teaching at. I was under the impression that if I came to a more remote part of the country, I’d have a better chance at helping children that might not otherwise have an opportunity to learn.”
“I would say you’ve done that,” he replied, a serious look on his face for once. “Caroline says every time she goes into town she hears some parent or grandparent talking about everything their kids is learnin’ from you. I guess this probably isn’t the wild frontier you may have had in mind growin’ up, but it’s reasonably unsettled, untamed.”
She had to agree with that. “And inhospitable,” she muttered under her breath.
“Not to you.”
“Doesn’t really matter how they accept me if they can’t treat everyone with the same respect. You haven’t broken any laws, and yet they insist you’re a criminal.”
“Hope, I’d really rather not talk about all that, if it’s just the same to you. I unburdened myself on you the other night, and I thank you for being a good listener, but for the most part, I try to keep all of that out of my thoughts. It ain’t no way to go around in this world, thinkin’ on those you’ve failed.”
She remembered having the same thoughts only a few moments ago—that she’d rather not talk about it, and she couldn’t blame him. “I’m sorry,” she replied, placing her elbows on the window and resting her head on her hand. “I can’t blame you there.”
He turned around and moved over slightly so that his arm was near enough to hers that she could feel warmth radiating from him. “You think you’ll stay?”
“In this treehouse? Maybe—if I can’t get down.”
The sound of his laughter rang off of the trees, filling the breeze and stirring the leaves. “I’ll getcha down,” he assured her. “I meant, do you think you’ll stay in McKinney? If Stewart gets reelected, things’ll continue to be tough on you.”
“He may very well fire me,” she said, the idea making her stomach churn.
“I don’t think he can get away with that, not without cause anyway, and I ain’t plannin’ on tellin’ anyone I brought you up here. So unless one of them blackbirds up there is kin to the school board president, I think yer all right.”
Hope glanced up at the branches outside of the window and thought that if Mr. Stewart had a minion, it would likely be a crow. “He’ll still be the superintendent of schools, even if he doesn’t win the school board election,” Hope reminded him. “Which won’t mean much, I suppose, but nevertheless, he’ll still be my boss.”
“Mr. Canton won’t let the school board fire you if he wins.”
“And if he doesn’t, well, who knows what’ll happen.”
“The parents will protect you.” Judah seemed sure of himself. “So long as they don’t have any reason to think you’re doing anythin’ that ain’t fit.”
Hope looked Judah in the eye then, thinking she’d done plenty recently that the school board might think wasn’t fit. Even if she hadn’t done anything untoward, she had broken her contract on several occasions—knowingly and with malice aforethought. The idea made her think she should probably leave before she was discovered.
But then Judah placed his hand on top of hers, and Hope forgot she was a schoolteacher at all, and for a moment, she was Hope Frieda Tucker, just a girl, who happened to think Judah Lawless was the kindest, most generous, intelligent, handsomest man she’d ever met.
“I know I’ve been awful unfair to you,” he said quietly, looking out the window instead of at her. “And I can’t pretend to think it’s all right. But... Hope, I must confess I ain’t never met anyone like you before.” He turned and looked at her then, and she stared into his blue eyes, not knowing what to say.
He turned back and started to pull his hand away, but she flicked her wrist in time to catch it, and he stopped, letting her intertwine her slender fingers through his rough ones. “I don’t understand why you think you have to continue to punish yourself for something you didn’t do.”
“It’s not that,” he said, still not turning to look at her. “It’s not that I think I deserve to be alone the rest of my life, Hope. It’s just....” He was looking at her now, and she could tell by the glistening in his eyes that it was difficult for him to say what he was about to tell her. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” she asked, each word measured.
He drew in a deep breath, still holding her gaze. “Afraid... it’ll happen again. Afraid that anyone I love is gonna end up gone. Hope, if anything should ever happen to you....”
“Nothin’ is gonna happen to me, Judah. I live ten feet from where I work. I never go anywhere except the library. The worst thing that could happen is one of the swings could hit me in the stomach or a child could drop his lunch pail on my toe!” He broke into a smile and began to laugh at the ridiculousness of her statement, and she laughed along with him, reminding herself about what he’d said—if you don’t laugh you’ll cry.
His face went serious again. “I ain’t willin’ to take the chance, Hope. But if I were... it would be with you. That is, assumin’ you don’t kiss every feller who follows you into the woods.”
“So far my record is one for one,” she said, tweaking an eyebrow at him. He smiled and reached up, brushing a curl behind her ear, and she felt the finality of his words settle into her chest. She wasn’t sure what might be worse--knowing he could never love her so she’d have to spend the rest of her life wishing he could, or knowing that he did love her, and she’d still be without him.
“Listen, Hope, I think I’ll probably head back to Kansas soon. Paul’s not comfortable with me here, and I think McKinney can move on and find someone else to talk about. There really ain’t no reason for me to stay ‘cept the children, and they’re probably better off without me, too.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, increasing her grip on his hand as if he might be leaving right that moment.
He leaned back against the window, drawing little circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I do. It’s likely for the best. Everyone in town knows Doc Howard’s sweet on you. He’s a good man, Hope. The kind that’ll keep you safe, won’t let nothin’ happen to you.”