Chapter Eleven
Royce was standing at the open door saying goodbye to his last student when he noticed Miss Ferguson hurrying towards him through the falling rain. “Miss Ferguson,” he greeted successfully hiding his revulsion for the woman.
“Mr. Hargadon,” Miss Ferguson replied. Coming into the Secondary School she shook her damp shoulders before brushing wet strands of hair off her face. Miss Ferguson would never be considered attractive. “I have received a letter from Mr. Hervey,” she said triumphantly. As if she relished the School District’s Superintendent visiting their school so she could expose Royce’s lack of teaching skills. Or was he imagining things.
“I believe it is usual to have a program when the Superintendent visits. Inviting the parents to see what progress the students are making,” Royce replied after searching through his mind to a time when he was in school.
“Yes,” Miss Ferguson replied. She puckered her lips together as if sucking on a sour pickle. Her blue eyes gazed at him innocently.
In a Pig’s eye! Royce thought. The old crow is enjoying herself. He walked to the first window and looked out. The road beside the school was empty of traffic. Water puddles were forming in low places. “First a Spelling Bee,” Royce said turning his back to the window. “Then the younger students reading scriptures aloud followed by older students giving an overview of history,” he asked. “Is this what you have in mind?”
Miss Ferguson folded her hands together in front of her ample bosoms. She tilted back her head and looked down her nose at Royce. “Mathematics,” she said as if Royce had forgotten the most important subject. “Eddy Layfield won last year. He won’t be ready for Secondary School for another year,” she praised.
“Some children are gifted,” Royce replied. He had faced down outlaws and notorious gunmen. Surely he could look Miss Ferguson in the eye without flinching. When he did a chill slid down his spine. The woman was a menace in petticoats worse than any outlaw Royce had ever run across.
“A Spelling Bee is an excellent suggestion,” Miss Ferguson said in her squeaky nasal voice, “Followed by my students reading aloud. Next, Mathematics starting with addition and subtraction.” She walked across the floor and placed one hand on top of Johnny Meyers’ desk. Her movements were awkward. “A history lesson from the older students,” she elaborated after clearing her throat, “Followed by a contest in Multiplication and division. We can work out the details later,” she suggested. “I have papers to grade before cooking supper. Milton likes his meals hot and on time.”
Royce wondered why Miss Ferguson always mentioned her brother in every conversation. “I have an errand to do,” Royce replied and escorted Miss Ferguson to the front door. Feeling, if he had to be pleasant to the irritating woman another minute his head might explode with the effort. He locked his jaws together to keep from saying what he thought.
“Tomorrow after school I will bring you a list. Three weeks is not a very long time to prepare for Mr. Hervey’s visit,” Miss Ferguson said.
Royce locked the front door heaving a sigh of relief before making his way upstairs. He changed into denims and plaid shirt strapping on his gunbelt. Back downstairs he took his revolver out of the top desk drawer where he had placed it earlier. A precaution while in the classroom. He let himself out the side door stopping to glance up at the overcast sky. Wind blowing through town felt icy cold and the sky overhead not showing any signs the rain would let up soon.
Walking along the boardwalk Royce met very few people as he made his way towards the Baptist Church. He wanted to follow Milton Ferguson on the man’s next midnight ride but was at a disadvantage not having a horse. Marshal Tinsley had believed it was better for him to arrive in Junction City by stagecoach. Royce could hire a horse from the stables when needed. At the moment Royce trusted very few people in Junction City and therefore was reluctant to answer questions when hiring a horse. Then he had thought of the Ladies Horserace and decided to ask if he might borrow Get-a-long for a few days.
The bell over the door of Morse’s General Store jingled when Royce opened the door. Wind and Rain preceded him into the store blowing around items on the shelves. “Close the door,” Mr. Morse barked a moment later.
“Yes sir,” Royce replied. He stood dripping rain from his oilcloth slicker. Inside the store was stuffy from the heat given off by the potbellied stove in the middle of the room. Old Mr. Morse was rocking in a chair placed next to the stove. “Good day,” Royce told the old man.
“What’s good about it,” Mr. Morse Senior snapped. “Rain is leaking in my room upstairs,” the man complained, “Has gotten my bed all wet. That crazy Milton shot up the store a couple of days ago. Drunk he was. Shot holes in the roof he did.”
Royce looked up wondering how Milton Ferguson could possibly have shot holes in the roof. The man would have had to shoot through the ceiling overhead and the Morse’s living quarters before reaching the building’s roof. Mr. Morse Senior was not forthcoming with more information. He sat in his rocker grumbling to himself.
Miss Florence was in her regular place behind the Post Office window. Her fingers were busy knitting a warm shawl. “Another letter so soon,” she asked pleasantly. Morse family resemblance was strong in her blunt features. Her eyes were the color and shape of Mr. Morse Senior’s eyes. Brown hair was pulled back in a bun on the back of her neck. Her teeth were large when she smiled. Her look stopped Royce’s heart in his chest. Miss Florence was making eyes at him! The shock almost had him running for the front door.
“Yes,” Royce replied. “There are only Pa and
