Read Online Sycamore Hill by Francine Rivers - Free Book Online Page B

standing before me, taking in the beauty of
her finely boned face. Her makeup was almost theatrical, but done with an expert
hand.
    “This is my daughter, Katrina.”
    “We’re pleased to have you, Katrina.” I smiled at the little girl.
“There’s a seat over there.” I indicated the one in front of Linda Bennett.
Katrina looked up at her mother, and the woman nodded. The little girl crossed
the room, very aware of the children watching her. I smiled at Marba Lane, and
the woman smiled back, all her previous aloofness dissolving from her hard
eyes.
    “Thank you, Miss McFarland,” she whispered, and I stared with
surprise at the woman’s expression. She turned and walked back up the aisle. A
man dressed in an expensive dark suit and white shirt was leaning against the doorjamb,
his arms crossed, waiting for her. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.
Dark-brown hair fell forward on his tanned brow and grew in neatly trimmed
thickness over an aristocratic head. He had warm brown eyes that seemed to
laugh at the world rather than at me, like Jordan Bennett had a habit of doing.
    The man was assessing me. Rather than feeling angry at his perusal,
I felt flattered. There was an air of sexual vitality about him that stopped
just short of blatancy. His smile was full of charm and a silent compliment.
    Marba Lane looped her arm through the man’s, and he escorted her
out. I noted that he moved with a grace that did nothing to insult his
masculinity and only seemed to further emphasize the controlled power of his
well-toned body.
    I wondered briefly who the man was and then returned my attention
to the growing chatter in the room. Once I had regained the children’s
attention, I wrote several assignments on the blackboard.
    As the children worked, I studied them. I noted how they held
their pencils, how they concentrated, if they were restless or bored, and I
made voluminous notes. As their papers began coming in, I quickly looked them
over to form some idea of how much each child knew. Then I began grouping the
children by their abilities.
    By noon most of the children were well-started in their
assignments. I rang the bell and dismissed them for lunch recess and outdoor
play. I observed them in their play, noticing which children grouped together
and which were excluded. Katrina Lane remained by herself beneath one of the
oak trees. Her solemn little face was inscrutable as she watched the other
children playing. Linda Bennett and Diego Gutierrez stayed together, talking in
whispers and darting glances at the other children.
    The Poole boys and the four Hayes boys started up a rowdy game of
tag. Their laughter and antics were balm to my tense nerves. When they found a
ball under the front steps, they started a keep-away game. When the ball
accidentally came flying in my direction, I surprised myself by catching it
with ease. My toss back was accurate, and they encouraged me to join in the
game. Laughing, I agreed and encouraged more children to join with me.
    At 2:30 I had the children clear their desks and pass all
materials forward for storing away by Sherman, Luke and Margaret. Then I sat on
the front edge of my desk.
    “I am very pleased with the way things have gone today for all of
us,” I began, smiling as I looked from face to face. “From the work you’ve done
today, I will get some idea of where you are and what you need work on.”
    I paused, folding my hands. “Now, for your homework
assignments....” Loud groans issued from the class. I gave a faint, amused
smile and imitated their groans with one of my own.
    “Yes, homework,” I repeated and silently laughed at their
woebegone looks. ‘Tonight I want each one of you to go home and think about
what you particularly want to learn here at school. Not just reading, writing
and arithmetic, but anything else that is of special interest to you.” James
Olmstead would have a stroke! “Write it on a slip of paper and drop it in this
little box