Sycamore Hill Read Online Free PDF

like this in the first place,” he added tauntingly.
“The walk will teach you a lesson.”
    I tried for levity. “Well, I’ve learned my lesson.” I smiled
shakily, hoping he would relent, and still not understanding his contempt for
my occupation.
    “You’ll learn a damn sight more when you reach town,” he grumbled,
releasing the brake with one fluid motion. His gaze was blistering.
    “What do you mean?" I floundered.
    “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, Miss McFarland,” he stated
with heavy sarcasm. “And another thing. I’ll take odds that you’ll be running
out of town by the end of the month.”
    “I’m not as soft as you seem to think I am,” I said coolly. Jordan
Bennett was unreasonable, unpleasant and definitely not a gentleman.
    “No?” His eyes dropped provocatively, further solidifying my
impression of him. “You’re soft all right. Everywhere...” he looked directly
into my eyes, “including the head.”
    I looked at him with hostility matching his own. “Don’t let me
detain you any longer, Mr. Bennett,” I smiled stiffly. A muscle jerked in his
jaw.
    “Have a nice walk,” he retorted in the same testy tone. Then he
snapped the reins, not even wasting a backward glance at me. I stood staring
after him, unable to believe he really was leaving me out here. Dust billowed
out from beneath the wheels and floated back to cover me from head to toe.
Frustrated and furious, I pounded the dirt off my blouse and dress, wishing I
could scream at him. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
    Picking up my carpetbag, I forced myself to start walking again.
Only two miles, I told myself. Not far. My self-assurance lacked conviction.
    “What a horrid man!” I said out loud, glaring down the road where
the buckboard went. It disappeared over the rise.
    So Jordan Bennett thought I would be running out of town by the
end of the month, did he? Well, he would see he was wrong! And what had he
meant by that remark? Surely the children of Sycamore Hill were not quite that
bad. And what was wrong with being a schoolteacher? It surely did not deserve
such unveiled contempt as he had displayed.
    My entire body quivered with anger, but after ten minutes’
walking, it dissipated. I was exhausted and felt almost as thirsty as I had
before the drink from Jordan Bennett’s canteen. Only two more miles. Don’t
think about what he said. It can’t be all uphill!
    During the rest of my odyssey I could not stop thinking about
Jordan Bennett’s reaction to my occupation, and his prophecy of my imminent departure.
It made my determination to succeed all the more firm, but it also afforded me
no comforting thoughts as to what might lie ahead in Sycamore Hill.

Chapter Three
    Standing on the rough plank bridge, I gazed tiredly down at the
creek below. Young cottonwoods grew along the banks, showing the level of
winter and spring flooding by the dead, hugging grasses twisted around their
trunks. Now the creek moved slowly, revealing its rocky bottom. I longed to
climb down the steep incline and get a refreshing drink. I wished I could take
off my shoes and sink my aching, blistered feet into the cold, clear water.
Even better would be to submerge my entire body and rid myself of some road
dust!
    However, all that was impossible, for just beyond the bridge lay a
town nestled in the small valley surrounded by oak-covered hills. I knew I was
in Sycamore Hill, for at the end of the community’s main street arose another
hill, this one with a grove of giant sycamores.
    Below the sycamores, white crosses and marble markers studded the
brown shadows like buttons on dark velvet. At the base of the hill stood a New
England-style church with high steeple and brick front steps. Off to the right
I saw another church built contrastingly of adobe brick, much in the tradition
of a Jesuit mission.
    Closer by me and only several hundred yards beyond the bridge lay
a two-story building made interesting by gingerbread eaves