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

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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.

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She had anticipated he might be a little nervous at the onset, so she tried to get the ball rolling as best she could. Now as she moves past him to take a seat in the corner of the room to observe, she gives him a look. It's one of those clear, unspoken exchanges shared between two comrades.

'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?"

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.

There are the expected 'oohs' and 'ahhs.'

"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."

"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.

With that bit of embarrassment averted, Katherine manages to sit back and pay attention as Doc addresses her class.

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?"

"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?"

Katherine is just as impressed as the rest of her class, but perhaps not as vocal about it. The children squirm in their seats, murmuring their approval, craning their heads at the hànzì on the blackboard. They look like kids in a pet store, eager to get up and touch it.

Honestly, Katherine might have looked the same way, had he not already mentioned his interest in Asian verse. She had spied a few hànzì 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.

"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.

There is sighing among the girls in Katherine's class, stars in their eyes as they look upon Doc.

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.

Doc smiles when she comes near him but he does keep a proper, respectful distance for the moments they're near. He also roams the classroom, taking a look at homework being worked on and the studying that is being done, and giving help here and there when he sees that he can be of assistance.

Of course if a few of the girls ask for his assistance with simple tasks, well...that's just how it happens.

Eventually, however, he ends up sitting at her desk with a pen and blank sheet of paper, carefully writing some of the more basic characters in ink and their meanings beneath, using the last bit of that study hall time to do a bit of homework of his own, so to speak.

Then, of course, there will be candy passed out and then he's going to insist on helping her fix up a few things.

It's difficult not conversing with him overmuch during the study time. The silence in the room nearly engulfs her as the children work at their books and papers. There's so many things she could be saying--so many things she wants to be saying--to him. She debates passing him notes, the way some of the children in her class might when wanting to relay secret messages, but she brushes off the urge. It wouldn't be proper, after all. It wouldn't be adult.

It is difficult to concentrate on her chores when Doc is working at her desk, though she imagines he must know that's so. More than once she wanders close to sneak a glance at the characters he is etching out, wondering where he learned such a skill.

When she eventually dismisses her class for the day, few run immediately out the doors the way they usually would. Doc has a cloud of young ones around him for at least twenty minutes, the girls at the forefront, tittering and flirting in their innocent, young way.

Katherine smiles and gives him space to interact with the children as much as he wants until they all finally trickle from the schoolhouse.

Doc does take the time to interact with the children and he does so, almost sad when they're gone, but he's got more than enough good memories of the day to fill his head and keep with him.

Once they are gone, however, he leans back slightly in her chair and looks at her, smile on his face.

"You have a wonderful class of students, Miss Katherine," he says quietly, setting the pen down and glancing at the characters on the page a brief moment. "A very inquisitive bunch, but they really are a smart group."

"Thank you," Katherine smiles in return, pushing in desk chairs and tidying discarded papers and personal effects. "I am rather fond of them. They keep me on my toes."

When he says 'inquisitive bunch', a blush returns to her cheeks. She places one delicate hand over her face.

"Oh, heavens, Doc, I'm sorry about that. I don't know what got into them, really," she chuckles nervously.

"It was an honest question," he says softly, shaking his head. But they are nowhere near a real discussion of that at all. Besides...he's already married. Even this is a few years ahead of his time...and he's not sure if he's still even alive, in her time.

Thinking about it makes his head hurt, so he doesn't.

"I'd rather they ask questions than be afraid to," he continues. "Even if they do need a bit of guidance from time to time."

The ink on the page is nearly dry, so he stands from the chair. "Now we had a deal, you bring me to the picnic and I help you fix up a bit..." He's not about to let her get away with not letting him help.

"Honestly, I've always encouraged them to be vocal with their questions. If you don't ask questions, you'll never learn the answers. And the reason they come here is to learn. But they were full of the devil today," she says, shaking her head.

Her eyes fall to his left hand, focusing on the glossy scar that mars both front and back. "And I imagine you had to be less than honest about a thing or two, as well," she comments, sounding almost apologetic.

As he stands she smirks, shaking her head at him. "Honestly, Doc, you don't have to trouble yourself..." She's just glad he came.

Very glad he came.

Doc arches an eyebrow and gives her a look as he pulls his jacket off and slings it over the back of the chair, leaving him in the shirt and vest.

"Ain't no trouble at all, Kate," he says quietly, almost tentative in using the nickname, not sure if she'll mind it or if she'll ask him not to use it. "Honestly."

A beat.

"Besides, helpin' fix up a few things around her would be nothin' but helpin' the children, right?"

That grin says otherwise, but of course he won't say that.

She blushes, but judging by the smile on her face she doesn't mind the nickname at all. She ducks her head away a little.

"I..." she starts, fumbling with her words a bit. "I hate putting you to work. I have no way of repaying you."

Even if it is for the children.

Which it is. Of course.

Completely for the children.

"Repayin' me? Hell, you don't gotta..." a quick pause. "Heck, I mean, heck. You don't have to repay me. You brought me here t'Green Lake and let me teach your students. I had a hell of...heck of a good time today. Brought back a lot of good memories."

Doc reaches for the cuff of his shirt and unbuttons it, and rolls the sleeve up as he walks over closer to her.

"Besides, just gettin' to spend time with such fine company and bein' in a town where I ain't gettin' shot at," he adds quietly. "That's payment enough."

For the umpteenth time today, the blush on Katherine's face deepens. She feels the heat creep all the way down her neck as he steps closer to her, rolling up his sleeves.

"I..." Deep breath. "I'm glad. That you enjoyed yourself. It... it was wonderful of you to come. The children were... well, they loved it, I know."

So did I.

"Really, I feel like I've almost taken advantage of you. You've been--" another deep breath, and her eyes slip to her feet. "--you've been wonderful."

As she ducks her head and glances down at the floor, that blush rising in her cheeks, Doc pauses and finishes rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows so that he won't dirty them by accident, giving her a moment to regain what composure she's got left.

Then he talks, and his voice is a little quiet, a little shy, but he's telling the truth.

"Should be thankin' you," he insists, softly. "S'been a long time since I've been able t'walk 'round a town without my guns on," he admits. "Long time since I've felt safe someplace and I think I needed that more than I thought I did."

Before I head back out that door.

He glances over her head at the doorway of the schoolhouse, and seeing that nobody is near, he gently brushes his fingertips against her jaw and then presses his lips against her hair.

"Thank you."

A beat.

"And forgive me for bein' so forward," he adds, almost as an afterthought, before he slowly takes a step back.

Safe.

Her heart skips a beat when his fingers graze her jaw, and suddenly his lips are at her hair and he's so close she's breathing in his scent and the warmth cast from his body is wrapping itself around her.

Without thinking, she gently closes one tiny hand around his wrist, holding his hand at her chin even as he backs away. She can see his eyes again, and her blue eyes are turning with a hundred different emotions as she peers at him.

And then she lets go, and her eyes go back to her feet.

Safe.

"You're welcome," she murmurs quietly. "And thank you."

Safe.

Doc nods and smiles a little bit.

(Part of him is grateful she didn't hit him, but he's not about to mention that to her, because that just wouldn't be proper, granted that tiny kiss wasn't very proper either so he doesn't have very much room to talk.)

"Now 'bout puttin' me to work," he says, to move the subject along and keep from being too forward with the rest of the conversation, and he makes his way back up to the front of the classroom to his bag and the few tools he managed to get from bar, and he figures they're best suited for fixing the wobbly legs on those desks.

She combs an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, composing herself as he moves away from her.

What are you doing, Katherine?

...Kate.

If anybody in town caught sight of this, she would never live it down. The gossip would spread and grow like wildfire, morphing with each new ear it nested in, until she became the Woman of Ill-Repute in Green Lake.

You've gotta be proper.

Her fingers are trembling.

Get a hold of yourself!

She clears her throat and smiles at Doc.

"Only if you insist," she concedes, and carefully she unbuttons her cuffs and begins rolling up her sleeves as well.

She never really did give a damn what the rest of the town thought.

Doc stops walking with the tools and then gives her a look, with a carefully raised eyebrow as well.

He's not quite sure what to say, at first.

"Now that wasn't part of the deal," he protests. That's just not fair! He crosses the room and sets the tools on the nearest desk, still looking at her. "It ain't...you don't gotta help, Kate, I'm supposed to be repayin' you for all this!"

It's a weak protest at best, because Doc realizes that she's got him beat.

Her eyebrow arches to match his, and a devious little smirk comes to her lips.

The sleeves don't go up far. Just halfway to the elbow--far enough so she won't get her white cuffs dirty.

"You never said I couldn't help," she points out, coming to stand next to him so she can examine the tools.

"I'm alright with my hands. I told you, I grew up on a farm. My--" She hesitates only momentarily. "--My mother died when I was young. Pneumonia. For a long time it was just me and my daddy.

"Oh, we had help, of course, but they were always our equals; never our slaves. What work there was around the farm was divided evenly among us all, didn't matter if we were young or old, black or white."

She looks up at him and grins.

"I can mend a fence and muck a stall, too."

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