invited if you want to come. It’s next Saturday night at my house.” When Beth thought she saw hesitation in his eyes, she hastened to add, “It’ll be a good way for you to get to know some of the congregation in a less formal environment.” Now, why had she said that? That had always been Jesse’s role.
“Darcy and I will be there along with our husbands.” Jesse shot a look toward Darcy that conveyed a message that Beth couldn’t see. “I’ll volunteer to help you with the preparations, Beth, since giving dinner parties is my specialty.”
Beth knew she would have to put a stop to her friend’s matchmaking scheme that she could almost see percolating in her mind. She couldn’t very well exclude the reverend after he’d overheard their discussion of her celebration. Yeah, right.
“I can help, too,” Darcy said, rubbing her stomach. “We can meet at your house for our Saturday-morning get-together instead of at Alice’s Café.”
Beth forced a smile to her lips. “Thanks,” she murmured, again noticing a nonverbal exchange between Darcy and Jesse.
“Oh, I see Nick waving to me. Got to go.” Jesse hugged Beth and Darcy goodbye and hurried away.
“And I need to sit down. I’m going to find Joshua and a quiet corner to rest in.” Darcy kissed Beth on the cheek, then nodded toward Samuel before lumbering toward her husband, who was leaning against the piano.
That was the fastest getaway her two friends had ever made. Beth made a mental note to call them and set them straight the second she got home from church. She was not looking for a man. Didn’t they know she was the plain town spinster who was a good twenty or thirty pounds overweight?
“Since that just leaves you and me, can we talk a moment in private?”
You and me. Those simple words conjured up all kinds of visions that mocked her earlier words that she wasn’t looking to date. “Sure. Is something wrong?”
Samuel gestured toward an area away from the crowd in the rec hall, an alcove with a padded bench that offered them a more quiet environment. He sat, and waited for her to do the same. She stared at the small space that allowed only two people to sit comfortably—and the reverend was a large man who took up more than his half of the bench. While she debated whether to stand or sit, a perplexed expression descended on his face. If it hadn’t been for Jesse insisting on fixing her up with Samuel, she wouldn’t be undecided about something as simple as sitting and talking with him, she thought.
With a sigh she sat, her leg and arm brushing against his. Awareness—a sensation she didn’t deal with often—bolted through her. “What do you need to discuss?”
“Jane. She won’t let me help her with her homework.” He rubbed the palms of his hands together. “I’m at a loss as to what to do with her. Any suggestions?”
“Let me see how we do tomorrow when she stays after school. At the beginning of every year I give a learning-styles inventory to see how each student learns. I haven’t had a chance to give it to Jane yet, but I will this week. I’ll know more after that.”
“Learning styles?”
“Whether she’s a visual, auditory or kinesthetic learner. Then I can use that information to teach her the way she learns best.”
“I appreciate any help you can give me. I suspect tomorrow when I talk with her other teachers I’m going to find she hasn’t done any work for them, either.”
“You said she hasn’t taken her mother’s death well. Have you considered counseling?”
“Tried that, and she wouldn’t talk to a stranger. She just sat there, most of the time not saying a word.”
“How about someone she knows?”
“Aunt Mae has tried and Jane just clammed up.” He rubbed his thumb into his palm. “I’ve tried and haven’t done much better. Jane has always been an introvert. She doesn’t express her emotions much.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Beth said, knowing she didn’t have long before she would be gone. Four months might not be long enough to establish a relationship with the teenager and get her to open up about what was bothering her. She would encourage Jane to go to the school counselor. Zoey Witherspoon was very good at her job.
Samuel rose. “I appreciate any help,” he repeated. “I’m a desperate dad.”
“I hear that frequently. I teach fifteen-year-olds who have raging hormones. They fluctuate between being a child and an adult, from being dependent on their parents to being independent of them.”
“I was a teenager once, not that long ago, but frankly it didn’t prepare me for dealing with my daughter. I think I might have a better handle on Craig when he becomes a teenager.” He chuckled. “At least I hope so, since that’s only a year away.”
“I know what you mean. I raised two brothers and a sister. My sister was easier for me. I struggled with Daniel, my youngest brother. I’m surprised he made it through high school. He failed several subjects and had to go to school a semester longer than his classmates. I will say I saw him grow up a lot in the past six months. I think watching all his friends go off to college last summer while he had to return to high school sobered him and made him aware of some of the mistakes he’d made.”
Samuel placed a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
The touch of his fingers seared her. She knew she was overreacting to the gesture, but she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding against her chest. She was afraid its loud thumping could be heard across the rec hall. Even before she’d begun raising her siblings she hadn’t dated much. She was plain and shy, not two aspects that drew scores of men.
“You’re welcome,” she finally answered, her lips, mouth and throat dry. And she had been the one to invite him to her party next Saturday night.
Jane slammed the book closed. “How are you supposed to look a word up in the dictionary when you don’t have any idea how to spell it?” She slouched back in her desk, defiance in her expression.
Beth glanced up from grading a paper. “What word?”
“Perspective.”
“How do you think you spell it?”
“I don’t know!” The girl’s frustration etched a deep frown into her features.
Beth rose and came around her desk to stand next to Jane’s. “What do you think it starts with?”
“I don’t—” Jane’s eyes narrowed, and she looked toward the window. “With a p.” Her gaze returned to Beth’s. “But there are thousands of words that start with p.”
“Let’s start with the first syllable. Per.”
“P-r—” Jane pinched her lips together, her brows slashing downward.
“Almost. It’s p-e-r. What do you think comes next? Perspective.”
Jane leaned forward, folding her arms over the dictionary. “At this rate I’ll get one paragraph written by this time tomorrow. What’s the use?”
“I
