Cynthia Thomason - A Soldier's Promise

Oh, no. The girl called her Miss Sullivan. Had to be a student. “Ah...hello.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Brenna searched the crannies of a mind that had already mutated from school to weekend mode. “I think you’re in one of my classes. Is that right?”

“Yeah. I’m in your third-period cooking class. My name’s Carrie Langston.”

Brenna remembered calling the name off her roster, but she hadn’t yet had time to put a face to each student’s name. “Sure,” she said. “Carrie.” She walked the rest of the way to the porch. “What are you doing here, Carrie? How do you know where I live?”

“It wasn’t hard to find out. I just said I’ll bet you have a nice house, and one of the other kids in class told me you lived here on the river.” She looked at the colorful stained-glass panel centered in Brenna’s front door. “I was right. This is a cool place.”

Mount Union was a small town. Brenna figured lots of her students knew where she lived. But none of them had ever come calling before. Brenna made a point to avoid sending that kind of welcoming attitude. To keep her school life separate from her personal one, she didn’t go to games or chat with students in the hallways about their problems. There were counselors for that job—and teachers like Diana Montgomery. If her past had taught Brenna one thing, it was that she should maintain a noninvolvement policy.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Carrie, but if you came to talk to me about school, you could have waited until Monday...”

The girl’s voice dropped to a chastised tone. “I didn’t come to talk about school.”

“Oh.” That was even worse. “I can’t imagine anything else that couldn’t wait. This is the weekend, and...”

“I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. I just needed someplace to go, and, well, you seem so nice in class.”

Intrigued in spite of herself, Brenna leaned against a porch column. “Why do you need a place to go? What’s wrong with your home?”

“It’s not nice like this is.”

Since Brenna hadn’t seen this girl before this year, she assumed she was new to the school system. “So where do you live exactly?”

“Outside of town.”

“How far outside?” Brenna wondered if she would have to drive the girl home. If so, there was a liability issue with having a student in her car. And she’d be late meeting her friends. Precisely why she didn’t get involved.

“I live beyond that old mill, the one on White Deer Trail. Do you know where it is?”

Brenna did know. Diana and her family lived close to that location. So did other families who preferred the rustic, remote neighborhood. But Brenna hadn’t known another house existed beyond the long-defunct gristmill.

“Why aren’t you there now?” she asked. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure you missed the bus.”

“I did, but I can call someone. I thought I could just hang out here for a while.”

“That’s not really such a good idea.” In desperation Brenna quoted school board policy. “We have a strict nonfraternization policy here. The school board frowns upon high school students visiting teachers’ homes.”

The girl hung her head. Long, dark waves of hair hid her face, but Brenna thought she heard a sniffle. Oh, dear. What would she do if this girl suddenly burst into tears? What was she so upset about? She was obviously clean and well cared for, like just about all the kids in Mount Union. Her clothes were stylish. She wasn’t anything like the students Brenna had had her first two years of teaching.

Carrie scrubbed her face with both hands and looked up. She seemed in control. “It was dumb of me to come here. I was just hoping you’d let me stay awhile. But I can go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Someplace. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Brenna sat on the wicker chair next to the love seat. Something was going on with this girl, something Brenna might not be equipped to deal with. Remembering the hard-learned instincts to remain distant—the ones that had stayed with her since her first teaching position—she put her hand on the girl’s arm. Even that slight bit of familiarity made Brenna uncomfortable.

“What aren’t you telling me, Carrie?” She studied the girl’s face, her bare arms, looking for bruises and hoping she wouldn’t see any. All she saw was clear, pale skin. Yet something wasn’t right.

“Do you have problems at home?” Brenna asked.

The girl didn’t say anything. She just twisted her fingers in her lap.

“Carrie? Do your parents know where you are?”

“It’s just my dad, and I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Give me his phone number. I’m going to call him.”

“No!” She brushed bangs from her forehead, revealing red eyes. “I said I’d go. You don’t have to take care of me. I get it.”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Brenna said. “But you can’t stay here. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Why did that suddenly sound shallow?

“Sure, I understand,” Carrie said. “I guess I was wrong. I thought you’d be easy to talk to.”

Me? I seem easy to talk to?

Carrie continued, “I don’t have any friends here. Where I used to live, one of my teachers talked to me a lot. She even came to my mother’s...”

“Your mother’s what?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go.”

“I don’t mean to sound short with you,” Brenna said, “but you should be home. And you sound like a girl who just needs to make some friends her own age. There are lots of ways to make friends. On Monday we can discuss it. You can join a club...or something.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” Carrie stood and walked slowly to the steps leading from the porch. With each footfall, Brenna felt the sting of her conscience. But she didn’t want to be this kind of teacher again, the Diana kind. She’d tried it once and still suffered from her decisions. Besides, Diana was used to Mount Union kids being in her house 24/7. She had a son in high school and a husband who worked at the school. And she hadn’t been through what Brenna had been through at her last job. Brenna had only herself, and she just couldn’t risk getting involved like that again.

Why hadn’t Carrie gone to Diana’s? Brenna watched her walking away and sighed deeply. When Carrie reached the sidewalk, Brenna called to her. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. “Are you hungry?”

Carrie turned. “A little.”

Brenna managed a quick mental survey of her refrigerator. “I could probably rustle up some mac and cheese and a couple hot dogs.”

“I could eat that.”

“Okay, then. Come on back.” Brenna stood. “We can talk a bit if you want. And then you’ll go home, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

Brenna unlocked her door. “I’ll get out of my teacher clothes and fix us that mac and cheese.”

She changed into worn cutoffs and a T-shirt and gathered her humidity-frizzed red curls into a ponytail. So much for getting to the Riverview on time.

During dinner preparations she and Carrie talked about Mount Union High School. Brenna gave her some tips on what kids in town did, where the closest movie theater was, things she thought would interest a sophomore. She also told Carrie about the Cultural Arts Center that was being planned for the community. Brenna was chairing the committee for the center and hoped it would be beneficial in a town that offered little in the way of teen activities.

“Besides the center being a meeting place for teens, we’re going to offer special classes,” Brenna said. “Drama, music, other courses that have been eliminated due to budget cuts.”

“Classes?” the girl asked. “Over and above having classes in school?”