ikissdhimbck: (Green Lake)
Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow ([personal profile] ikissdhimbck) wrote2008-08-16 03:59 am

OOM: Green Lake, Doc's visit (cont.)

It's a bit foggy out by the lake this early in the morning. Texas in July doesn't get mornings that are too terribly chilly, but as the warming air hits the cold lake water, a fine layer of mist blankets the glassy surface, and curls into the grassy shore.

Katherine is sitting in the dewy grass, her back against an old oak tree. It is the very spot she had pointed out to Doc a few days previous. She wasn't sure how it would look if Doc met her that morning at her house, or even if she came again to the Hawthorn's front porch. She hadn't wanted him to come alone to the schoolhouse, either. So she had invited him to meet her there, by the lake, in public but at the same time... not.

The noise of crickets and bullfrogs is in the air, and the book of Poe Doc had lent to her those few weeks past is in her lap. She's scribbling in the back, on that blank page every book has, though Doc's handsome cursive is already covering most of it.

When he arrives, that's how he'll find Katherine: comfortable against the trunk of that tree--her tree--book balanced on her knees as she reads.

.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
Doc lets his fingertips graze the desk surfaces again as he makes his way up towards the front of the room, and she might notice the way he gets a little bit quiet as he glances around the schoolhouse again.

It's not stale. It might be dusty and there are a few pieces that could use a spot of paint, a few patches to the roof, a good sweeping here and there but to him...it's a schoolhouse. A real, proper schoolhouse.

"I know I'm not the only one who thinks so," he admits.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 06:45 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes," he nods a little and then pulls the strap of his bag off over his shoulder, moving to set it on a spare chair near the wall. "You know, it's the little things. Not just bein' back in the schoolhouse or the idea of teachin' students again..."

Doc approaches the blackboard and touches the sill and the white dust with his fingertips.

"Watchin' the boys writin' their letters and the smell of chalk just brings it back," he admits, before he claps his hands together and brushes them off.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 07:07 am (UTC)(link)
Doc glances over at her and smiles a little, with a hint of a nod.

your children

If only she knew.

(Now's not the time to bring up his son.)

"It's not easy," he says finally. That's it, really. It's not easy at all. "Though I wouldn't say I'm far from my home. I haven't really..."

Had one? He had one with Tunstall and the rest of the boys.

scurlock: (quick. look respectable.)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 07:32 am (UTC)(link)
"It's been a long time since I really had a chance to put down roots. I started back in New York City...I just could've used more time. But on the other hand..."

Doc glances back at the open door and makes sure nobody is really within earshot before he continues.

"On the other hand, there's somethin' that I love 'bout it. There's just this...this feelin' that I get when I'm ridin' hell-bent for leather and they're gettin' closer and you ain't sure if they're gonna catch you, and when you do git away..."

He pulls in a breath and shakes his head, a grin on his face.

"Best feelin' in the world."
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 07:46 am (UTC)(link)
Doc laughs at that response, and ducks his head.

"Yeah," he teases himself. "Respectable schoolteacher from New York City, all right."

A beat.

"That reminds me, I gotta take you out ridin' at the bar once we get back," he reminds himself, and her.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 08:09 am (UTC)(link)
"Some of us are just a bit more quirky than others, I suppose," and he nods. "When we get back to the bar, we'll go out and it'll be a proper tour of the grounds we didn't get to see before."

It's a promise.

Doc hears young voices in the distance and he laughs a little.

"Dollar says they talk 'bout the picnic for the first half hour," he drawls.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 08:28 am (UTC)(link)
Based on the chatter than he can hear as the children arrive and make their way inside the classroom, she would be a very large fool to take that bet.

He nods his greetings to the students as they walk in, as well.

Doc has a feeling, about that gray derby hat. He can sense that it will see many days of adventures on that young boy's head, and that makes him smile as he squats down to greet the boy as he runs up.

"Morning, Master James."

He tips that hat back a little to see his eyes.

"You look very ready for school today."
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 09:11 am (UTC)(link)
Doc's quiet as she begins the lesson for the day and as she runs through it, and he's welcome for her taking charge. It is her class, after all, and the time he can merely observe is appreciated because it means he can remember how to do this.

He's a little nervous, it's odd, almost. He wasn't really nervous picking up a rifle again, but standing in front of a class is almost nerve wracking experience.

There are a few children he doesn't quite recognize, so the questions are a good place to start.

"I answered quite a few yesterday," he agrees, but he nods a bit in regard to opening the floor. "But I'm always up for more."
scurlock: (cowboy)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
Well. That certainly was not what he had expected, but, it's a valid question.

"This scar?"

Doc holds up his left hand to show the faded pale mark that is on both sides of his hand, and showing it off gives him a few extra seconds to quickly think up a story, since he's not about to tell those kids that he was involved in a shootout with one of the greatest bounty hunters in the territories (who they ended up killing, by the way) since that would spread like wildfire through the town.

"When I was younger, while I was at university, I was working while going to class -- education wasn't free like it is today for fine young students like yourself -- and we were laying iron for a new building on campus and I cut myself pretty good. Thankfully Tulane also had a program for medicine so they were able to patch me up right quick."

Much more acceptable.
scurlock: (stock: chalkboard)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 11:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"Are you married?"

"Are you gonna marry Miss Katherine?"


Doc shoots a very quick glance at Katherine, then ducks his head and reminds himself that these are children and therefore they are by nature, curious, especially when a young gentleman arrives to visit their teacher. He clears his throat to find his voice again, then glances up at the class and straightens his posture just a little.

Not defensive, just...

Children. Asking questions.

"I think that would be a good idea," he finally says, giving her a nod, in regards to getting back to the lesson. "Now, yesterday I asked many of you what your favorite things about Green Lake were, and I wrote those down..."

Doc continues on about the subject of using words to create poetry, and that not all poetry has to rhyme, and he uses several examples given from the students to help them craft a poem together as a class.

But it's after the lunch break and after everyone has settled back down that he picks up a piece of chalk and speaks as he approaches the blackboard.

"Poetry doesn't need to be read, either, to be art," he begins, as he puts the chalk to the board and begins to write, only it's not cursive or printing, but strokes and lines.

To the students, it probably looks like nothing more than chicken scratch in the dirt.
scurlock: (content)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-17 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Writing poetry."

When he finishes the lines, he turns around and lifts his hand to point at the top 'letter' and reads his way down in English, translating the symbols to words that they can understand. The poem, short as it is, speaks of unity and appreciation of the smallest contributions, even if they may not seem like much.

"This is Chinese," he says, once he's done. "And the reason I wrote that in Chinese is because where I'm from, there are so many different types of people coming in on steamships, every day, and each of those people brings something important. Just like how as a class, we worked together to write this morning's poem. If we hadn't all been here, then it wouldn't have all the pieces."

He pauses, a moment.

"Anyone can be a poet. It doesn't matter if you're a teacher from the city or a child, if you're young or if you're old. Anyone can stop for a moment and take the time to appreciate things -- like the lake, or the peach trees, and the grass that you like to nap in," a knowing smile at the boy who had brought that up earlier. "Anyone can be a poet," he repeats. "You just have to try."

Doc glances up at Katherine for a split second, then back at her class.

"I have one more thing to show you before I'm done for the day, but first, are there any questions?"
scurlock: (stock: chalkboard)

[personal profile] scurlock 2008-08-18 12:43 am (UTC)(link)
"I couldn't start to teach you to write Chinese, but I will write up a few words and leave them with Miss Katherine so that if she would like to use them in the future, she'll have them available," he replies.

A glance at Linda, then at Miss Katherine, before he nods.

"I have a few memorized," he continues on, as he walks towards his bag, which is resting near her desk. "And I wrote another last night, actually."

He speaks as he picks the bag up and sets it on the desk.

"Often, we take for granted what we treasure most,
be it Independence, or a cool summer's breeze at night.
But life is a kind, and gracious host,
to remind us of that which we should be most grateful for.

Be it with brilliant sparkle of fireworks,
the sound of laughter and the colors of ribbon swirling towards the sky.
The promise of youth, celebration of age, our country a year older,
yet still so much to be learned, and discovered.

For Independence is nothing more than an idea,
a promise, a hope, and something to embrace tightly to your chest.
Just as a cool summer breeze is welcomed,
like fingertips brushing across your cheek, featherlight."

He pauses a moment, then chuckles to himself. "It still needs a bit of work," he admits, as he pulls out a paper sack and sets it aside. "But you've got to start somewhere."

There are pieces of stick candy (from a fine 'New York City' candy store) in that bag, but he'll wait until Miss Katherine is finished before he inflicts a sugar rush upon her students.

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