Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (
ikissdhimbck) wrote2008-08-16 03:59 am
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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.
.
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.
.
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"She sounds like quite the catch," she manages to quip, playing along though inside she's trembling.
She's not sure whether she is grateful or sad when they reach the schoolhouse and ascend the steps inside. She props the rickety old door open, not only for propriety's sake while she and Doc wait alone for her students to arrive, but to air out the stale old room.
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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.
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But she does watch him carefully as he slowly wanders through the room again. She smiles at the tender little way his fingers graze the surface of the desks as he moves past, herself all too familiar with the action.
There's something deep and moving about a schoolhouse. Something only an educator can really feel.
"Fond memories?" she asks quietly, after quite some time of hushed observation.
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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.
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"The scratch of chalk as it taps the blackboard, and the taste of a good, sweet apple," she adds with a reminiscent little smile. "Reminds me of my time at Tulane."
She's quiet for a moment.
"I can't imagine what it must be like. Being stuck someplace, far from your home. Far from your children."
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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.
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She can guess at what he might have said, though, and the idea of him with no place to feel secure makes her sad.
Her eyes probably say as much without her even having to speak the words.
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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."
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Very slowly a smile spreads across her lips and reaches all the way up into her round eyes.
"I'll try not to feel too sorry for you, then," she teases.
(And that's her most polite way of saying 'OMG NO WAI IZ SO JEALOUS!!!1')
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"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.
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"We all have our little quirks," she reminds him, bowing her head shyly.
But then he mentions going riding back at Milliways, and she looks at him again with shining eyes.
"That's right!" A slow-spreading smile. "I would love that."
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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.
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It's a promise.
As Katherine moves to the doorway to greet her children as they come in, she turns to smirk at Doc.
"I'd be a fool to take that bet."
The young ones file in with polite greetings of "Good Morning, Miss Katherine," and "Good Morning, Mr. Scurlock," finding their seats at their own lazy paces. They're laughing and chattering and one boy has a thick paper airplane he's trying to commit to flight.
The youngest of them all stands at about 3'7", a gray derby hat on his head, and he has to clamp it down with both his arms as he rushes to the front of the classroom, to where Doc is standing, so it doesn't fly from his head.
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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."
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"Miss Katherine says yur gonna read to us!" he cries, eyes bright beneath that hat.
Katherine has made her way to the front of the room by this point, and she places her hands gently on James' shoulders. "If he so chooses," she corrects, smiling at Doc.
"And you know the rules, James. No hats in class. I'm sorry, but you'll have to hang it at the door."
The pout he manages is masterful. Katherine is almost impressed as he trudges off to do as she instructed.
She gets her students settled and orderly, each sat primly at their respective desks, and runs through the beginning of her lesson.
"Most of you made the acquaintance of Mr. Scurlock yesterday, at the picnic. For those of you who didn't find the opportunity, he's come to visit us today from New York, and he's agreed to handle your lecture for the day. Now, I expect you all to be ladies and gentlemen, and show him the proper respect and honor."
She turns to smile at Doc.
"If you would like to open the floor to some questions, I'm sure everyone would love to get acquainted before we begin."
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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."
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'If you need me, don't hesitate to let me know.'
She's sure he'll do fine, though. Even if his nerves get the better of him, she knows her students well enough to know they'll carry him through. They aren't shy.
Which is evidenced by the first student who raises his hand, and upon being called on asks: "How'd you get that scar on your hand?"
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"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.
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"Did it hurt?" one of the younger girls asks, wide-eyed.
"I bet he handled it like a real man," Linda Miller interjects, cheeks flaring to match her red hair once again. The classroom snickers.
"Children," Katherine warns, a patient smile on her face. "Let's try to keep the questions of an educative nature."
"Are you married?" one girl calls from the back.
"Are you gonna marry Miss Katherine?"
Katherine's jaw works soundlessly a moment, cheeks pink. "Girls!" she finally scolds, and it's met again with giggles from the room. "That's ... extremely impolite, and..."
This may be the first time her classroom has seen her this flustered.
"There'll be no more questions, lest you learn to behave!" she insists. Her eyes flick over to Doc and then quickly away again. "I--Doc--Mr. Scurlock's private life is none of your concern. Let's... let's get back to the lesson."
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"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.
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He looks so natural doing it.
There's a fond smile on her face as he approaches the topic of poetry. She's interested in every word he is saying, and it's not just because the topic is something she enjoys. He's a good and engaging teacher, and the rest of the class, too, is all eyes and ears as he speaks to them. Katherine rarely has to discipline them or make sure they're paying attention.
Her smile grows especially bright as Doc begins writing on the board, a knowing light glinting in her eyes.
Her class murmurs.
One boy--Jack, from the previous day--raises his hand, and without waiting to be called on asks: "What are you doing?"
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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?"
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Honestly, Katherine might have looked the same way, had he not already mentioned his interest in Asian verse. She had spied a few hà nzì characters in amongst his poetry before. But it's mighty impressive-looking peering down from her blackboard, all the same.
She has to stifle a chuckle when Doc asks if there are any questions, and her entire class raises their hands. "Are there any questions about poetry?" she clarifies, and all but two hands fall.
"Have you any of your poetry, Mr. Scurlock?" asks Linda.
"Can you teach us how to write Chinese?!" asks Timothy. It's not exactly a poetry question, but he decided to chance being bold.
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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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He has a fan club.
But to be fair, the young girls aren't the only ones looking at him with stars in their eyes.
Katherine smiles warmly when he finishes reciting the poem. It makes her think of that moment last night, as Doc's fingers found her hand, standing side-by-side quietly simply because they did not know what to say. Their fingers did the talking.
"Class," she begins, tearing her eyes away from him as she clears her throat. "Would you like to thank Mr. Scurlock for coming to speak with us today?"
There are many excited expressions of gratitude, even a bit of clapping, and plenty of chattering before Katherine reminds them they're still in session and she expects them to remain composed. She gives the last hour of class to quiet study time, as she usually does, so the students can catch up on their homework and she can clean up the classroom.
She can't restrain the blush that comes to her cheeks when her cleaning efforts bring her close to him. She's wiping down the chalkboard, but careful not to touch the Chinese characters.
She'll let Doc present the rock candy to the class as soon as they're adjourned.
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