Page 20 of All I Want for Christmas

Nell’s classroom door was open. Not like any classroom he’d done time in, he thought. This one had a piano, music stands, instruments, a tape recorder. There was the usual blackboard, wiped clean, and a desk where Nell was currently working.

He watched her for a long moment, the way her hair fell, the way her fingers held the pen, the way her sweater draped at the neck. It occurred to him that if he’d ever had a teacher who looked like that, he would have been a great deal more interested in music.

“Hi.”

Her head snapped up. There was a martial light in her eyes that surprised him, a stubborn set to her jaw. Even as he watched, she took a long breath and worked up a smile.

“Hello, Mac. Welcome to bedlam.”

“Looks like a lot of work.” He stepped inside, up to the desk. It was covered with papers, books, computer printouts and sheet music, all in what appeared to be ordered piles.

“Finishing up the first marking period, grades, class planning, fund-raising strategy, fine-tuning the holiday concert—and trying to make the budget stretch to producing the spring musical.” Trying to keep her foul mood to herself, she sat back. “So, how was your day?”

“Pretty good. I just had a conference with the twins’ teacher. They’re doing fine. I can stop sweating report cards.”

“They’re great kids. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Worry comes with the territory. What are you worried about?” he asked before he could remind himself he wasn’t going to pry.

“How much time have you got?” she shot back.

“Enough.” Curious, he eased a hip onto the edge of her desk. He wanted to soothe, he discovered, to stroke away that faint line between her brows. “Rough day?”

She jerked her shoulders, then pushed away from her desk. Temper always forced her to move. “I’ve had better. Do you know how much school and community support the football team gets? All the sports teams.” She began to slap cassette tapes into a box—anything to keep her hands busy. “Even the band. But the chorus, we have to go begging for every dollar.”

“You’re ticked off about the budget?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” She whirled back, eyes hot. “No problem getting equipment for the football team so a bunch of boys can go out on the field and tackle each other, but I have to spend an hour on my knees if I want eighty bucks to get a piano tuned.” She caught herself, sighed. “I don’t have anything against football. I like it. High school sports are important.”

“I know a guy who tunes pianos,” Mac said. “He’d probably donate his time.”

Nell rubbed a hand over her face, slid it around to soothe the tension at the back of her neck. Dad can fix anything, she thought, just as the twins had claimed. Have a problem? Call Mac.

“That would be great,” she said, and managed a real smile. “If I can beat my way through the paperwork and get approval. You can’t even take freebies without going through the board.” It irritated her, as always. “One of the worst aspects of teaching is the bureaucracy. Maybe I should have stuck with performing in clubs.”

“You performed in clubs?”

“In another life,” she muttered, waving it away. “A little singing to pay my way through college. It was better than waiting tables. Anyway, it’s not the budget, not really. Or even the lack of interest from the community. I’m used to that.”

“Do you want to tell me what it is, or do you want to stew about it?”

“I was having a pretty good time stewing about it.” She sighed again, and looked up at him. He seemed so solid, so dependable. “Maybe I’m too much of an urbanite after all. I’ve had my first run-in with old-fashioned rural attitude, and I’m stumped. Do you know Hank Rohrer?”

“Sure. He has a dairy farm out on Old Oak Road. I think his oldest kid is in the same class as Kim.”

“Hank, Jr. Yes. Junior’s one of my students—a very strong baritone. He has a real interest in music. He even writes it.”

“No kidding? That’s great.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Nell tossed her hair back and went to her desk again to tidy her already tidy papers. “Well, I asked Mr. and Mrs. Rohrer to come in this morning because Junior backed out of going to all-state auditions this weekend. I knew he had a very good chance of making it, and I wanted to discuss the possibility with his parents of a music scholarship. When I told them how talented Junior was and how I hoped they’d encourage him to change his mind about the auditions, Hank Senior acted as though I’d just insulted him. He was appalled.” There was bitterness in her voice now, as well as anger. “‘No son of his was going to waste his time on singing and writing music like some …’”

She trailed off, too furious to repeat the man’s opinion of musicians. “They didn’t even know Junior was in my class. Thought he was taking shop as his elective this year. I tried to smooth it over, said that Junior needed a fine-art credit to graduate. I didn’t do much good. Mr. Rohrer could barely swallow the idea of Junior staying in my class. He went on about how Junior didn’t need singing lessons to run a farm. And he certainly wasn’t going to allow him to take a Saturday and go audition when the boy had chores. And I’m to stop putting any fancy ideas about college in the boy’s head.”

“They’ve got four kids,” Mac said slowly. “Tuition might be a problem.”

“If that were the only obstacle, they should be grateful for the possibility of a scholarship.” She slapped her grade book closed. “What we have is a bright, talented boy who has dreams, dreams he’ll never be able to explore because his parents won’t permit it. Or his father won’t,” she added. “His mother didn’t say two words the entire time they were here.”

“Could be she’ll work on Hank once she has him alone.”

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