to make your own buildings.”
Although their eyes sparked with longing, the twins turned to their father nervously.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Ms. Marshall said so.”
Justin and Jared settled down to play, but with a hesitation that puzzled her.
When she turned back to talk to Gabriel, he seemed hesitant, as well. As if judging how much he should disclose. “Where we’ve been living,” he said at last, “there weren’t many resources. And if someone managed to get a little extra, he guarded it fiercely. The boys have learned to make sure they’re reading the signs right. If it’s okay for them to touch something that doesn’t belong to them.”
She tried to take in his statement without making judgments. After ten years as a teacher, she knew not to pry. Besides, underlying family issues always came to light in their own time. But where had this family lived, that sharing was so difficult?
“You did say Gabriel Brant?” she asked instead, proceeding cautiously. “Daniel’s brother? Walter’s son?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Do you remember me? One summer when you were ten and I was eight, you actually let me tag along after you. I think all your other friends had gone off to various day camps that year.”
His chuckle wasn’t much more than a grunt. “I do remember. But what happened to the pigtails and glasses?”
“The pigtails have been known to appear now and then, usually on field days, but laser surgery finally did away with the need for glasses.”
He studied her carefully. “Your aunt’s a great lady,” he said. “How is she?”
“Aunt Lydia died six years ago.” Olivia waved her hand to ward off any sympathy. “She was seventy-eight. Right up until the end, she said she’d had a wonderful life.” The best part, she’d claimed, was having the opportunity to raise her grandniece.
“I still live in the house,” Olivia continued. “At the end of every year, I give a party for my students and their parents. On the veranda. I serve refreshments using Aunt Lydia’s recipes. Although I’m not the cook she was, I can follow directions.” She grinned. “Sort of.”
Gabriel glanced at his boys as they played in the corner, one providing quiet commentary and the other eerily silent. “Sounds like a good time,” he said without much conviction. “If we’re still here.”
“This isn’t a permanent move to Hennings?”
“That depends on whether I find a better job than the one I have lined up here.”
Olivia decided to let that explanation suffice. “Tell me a little about the boys. About the school and the program they’re transferring from.”
His expression darkened. “This is the first opportunity I’ve had to enroll them anywhere.”
“Did they go to preschool?”
“No. But I read to them. We count together. When I cook, they help me measure. They’re bright,” he said. His pride had an edge. “They’ll catch up.”
“Of course. Anyway, this is kindergarten,” she assured him, trying to ease his defensiveness. “We don’t start drilling for college entrance exams until first grade.”
When he didn’t respond, she prodded him. “That’s teacher humor.”
Preoccupied with watching his sons, he largely ignored what she was saying. He seemed to have fewer social skills now than he had as a ten-year-old.
“What’s this?” The boy Olivia thought might be Justin broke the uncomfortable silence. He stood at her desk, pointing to the pinecone turkey she’d made.
“Why, that’s a Thanksgiving turkey. Would you each like to make one to go on your dinner table tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We have to get going,” Gabriel said, his brusque manner reminding Olivia of his father.
“Please, stay a few minutes more,” she urged, bringing her thoughts back to her responsibility. Her new students. “This is such a simple project. And if the boys have fun today, they’ll look forward to returning on Monday.”
Instantly, she knew she’d hit upon Gabriel’s soft spot. What was best for his sons. Before he could change his mind about staying, she cleared room at the craft table, dusted glitter off four chairs, then laid out fresh materials.
“Sit, Daddy,” Justin urged, plopping down in a pint-size chair as Jared wordlessly claimed the seat next to him. “You can help.”
Next came a scene Olivia never tired of watching. When a new parent first sank onto a kindergarten chair. Would the adult handle it with nonchalance, with self-deprecating humor, or with a sense that this was a deliberate assault on his ego? Over the years, Olivia had come to view it as a remarkably accurate test of character.
Gabriel Brant sat warily. As he’d sat many years ago on her aunt’s antique wicker porch furniture. Aunt Lydia had served them homemade lemonade and gingersnaps. The memory tugged at Olivia now. She remembered how, at the end of the summer, Aunt Lydia had said, “He’s a fine boy with a good imagination. Let’s hope Walter Brant doesn’t drum the imaginative part clear out of him.”
As Olivia showed the twins how to twist brown pipe cleaners to form the turkey’s head, legs and feet, and then demonstrated how to secure them in the pinecone’s “tail feathers,” Gabriel helped. Remarkably, his large hands were adept at this, his patience—with the boys—infinite. He never seemed to become more comfortable, though, only more determined. To accomplish this small task for his sons. Only when they’d finished shaking glitter onto the cones, and both Justin and Jared, who’d looked so sober upon entering her classroom, were smiling shyly, did Gabriel appear to relax.
She handed him the second demonstration bird she’d made today. “Now you can each have a turkey at your place tomorrow.”
“What about Grampa?” Justin asked. “He’ll need one. We’re staying with him. Every day we’re gonna walk from his house to school.”
Interesting. When Gabriel had left town after high-school graduation, Olivia had heard rumors that it was because Walter and he were such polar opposites they couldn’t stand to be in the same room. What had happened to bring Gabriel back?
He offered no explanation.
“I’ll give you another one I made earlier with the class,” she said, rising. “That way no one gets left out.” Returning to the table, she handed a fourth turkey to Gabriel and then spoke to the boys. “So do you think you’re going to like coming to school?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Justin replied, but Jared only stared at his turkey.
“Jared,” Gabriel said gently. “Look at Ms. Marshall when she’s talking to you.”
Jared did. Self-consciously. There was intelligence in his eyes, but deep uncertainty, as well. Although he made the requisite eye contact, he didn’t speak.
