It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book’s FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Mary Connealy and her book: Calico Canyon
Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)
About the Author:
MARY CONNEALY is married to Ivan a farmer, and she is the mother of four beautiful daughters, Joslyn, Wendy, Shelly and Katy. Mary is a GED Instructor by day and an author by night. And there is always a cape involved in her transformation.
Visit her website by clicking on her picture and drop by her blog.
List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)
And Now…The First Chapter:
Mosqueros, Texas, 1867
Tâ€‰he Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode in.
Late as usual.
Grace Calhoun was annoyed with their tardiness at the same time she wished theyâ€™d never come back from the noon recess.
They shoved their way into their desks, yelling and wrestling as if they were in a hurry. No doubt they were. They couldnâ€™t begin tormenting her until they sat down, now, could they?
Grace Calhoun clenched her jaw to stop herself from nagging. Early in the school year, sheâ€™d realized that her scolding amused them and, worse yet, inspired them. To think sheâ€™d begged their father to send his boys to school.
Her gaze locked on Mark Reeves. She knew that look. The glint in his eyes told her he was planning. . .something. . .awful.
Grace shuddered. Seven girls and fifteen boys in her school. Most were already working like industrious little angels.
The noise died down. Grace stood in front of the room and cleared her throat to buy time until her voice wouldnâ€™t shake. Normally she could handle themâ€”or at least survive their antics. But she hadnâ€™t eaten today and it didnâ€™t look as though sheâ€™d eat soon.
â€œSally, will you please open your book to page ten and read aloud for the class?â€
â€œYes, Miss Calhoun.â€ With a sweet smile, six-year-old Sally McClellen, her Texas accent so strong Grace smiled, stood beside her desk and lifted the first grade reader.
Graceâ€™s heart swelled as the little girl read without hesitation, her blue eyes focused on the pages, her white-blond hair pulled back in a tidy braid. Most of her students were coming along well.
Grace folded her skeletal hands together with a prayer of thank-fulness for the good and a prayer for courage for the bad. She added prayers for her little sisters, left behind in Chicago, supported with her meager teacherâ€™s salary.
A high-pitched squeak disrupted her prayerful search for peace. A quick glance caught only a too-innocent expression on Ike Reevesâ€™s face.
Markâ€™s older brother Ike stared at the slate in front of him. Ike studying was as likely as Grace roping a longhorn bull, dragging him in here, and expecting the creature to start parsing sentences. There was no doubt about it. The Reeves boys were up to something.
She noticed a set of narrow shoulders quivering beside Mark. Luke Reeves, the youngest of the tripletsâ€”Mark, Luke, and John. All three crammed in one front-row desk built to hold two children. The number of students was growing faster than the number of desks.
Sheâ€™d separated them, scolded, added extra pages to their assign-ments. Sheâ€™d kept them in from recess and sheâ€™d kept them after school.
And, of course, sheâ€™d turned tattletale and complained to their father, repeatedly, to absolutely no avail. Sheâ€™d survived the spring term with the Reeves twins, barely. The triplets werenâ€™t school age yet then. After the fall work was done, they came. All five of them. Like a plague of locusts, only with less charm.
The triplets were miniature versions of their older twin brothers, Abraham and Isaac. Their white-blond hair was as unruly as their behavior. They dressed in the next thing to rags. They were none too clean, and Grace had seen them gather for lunch around what seemed to be a bucket full of meat.
They had one tin bucket, and Abe, the oldest, would hand out what looked like cold beefsteak as the others sat beside him, apparently starved half to death, and eat with their bare hands until the bucket was empty.
Why didnâ€™t their father just strap a feed bag on their heads? What was that man thinking to feed his sons like this?
Easy question. Their father wasnâ€™t thinking at all.
He was as out of control as his sons. How many times had Grace talked to Daniel Reeves? The man had the intelligence of the average fence post, the personality of a wounded warthog, and the stubbornness of a flea-bitten mule. Grace silently apologized to all the animals sheâ€™d just insulted.
Grace noticed Sally standing awkwardly beside her desk, obviously finished.
â€œWell done, Sally.â€ Grace could only hope she told the truth. The youngest of the three McClellen girls could have been waltzing for all Grace knew.
â€œThank you, Miss Calhoun.â€ Sally handed the book across the aisle to John Reeves.
The five-year-old stood and began reading, but every few words he had to stop. John was a good reader, so it wasnâ€™t the words tripping him up. Grace suspected he couldnâ€™t control his breathing for wanting to laugh.
The rowdy Reeves boys were showing her up as a failure. She needed this job, and to keep it she had to find a way to manage these little monsters.
Sheâ€™d never spanked a student in her life. Can I do it? God, should
I do it?
Agitated nearly to tears, Grace went to her chair and sat down.
â€œAahhh!â€ She jumped to her feet.
All five Reeves boys erupted in laughter.
Grace turned around and saw the tack theyâ€™d put on her chair. Resisting the urge to rub her backside, she whirled to face the room.
Most of the boys were howling with laughter. Most of the girls looked annoyed on her behalf. Sally had a stubborn expression of loyalty on her face that would have warmed Graceâ€™s heart if she hadnâ€™t been pushed most of the way to madness.
Grace had been handling little girls all her life, but she knew noth-ing about boys.
Well, she was going to find out if a spanking would work. Slamming her fist onto her desk, she shouted, â€œI warned you boys, no more pranks. Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, John, you get up here. Youâ€™re going to be punished for this.â€
â€œWe didnâ€™t do it!â€ The boys chorused their denials at the top of their lungs. Sheâ€™d expected as much, but this time she wasnâ€™t going to let a lack of solid evidence sway her. She knew good and well whoâ€™d done this.
Driven by rage, Grace turned to get her ruler. Sick with the feeling of failure but not knowing what else to do, she jerked open the drawer in her teacherâ€™s desk.
A snake struck out at her. Screaming, Grace jumped back, tripped over her chair, and fell head over heels.
With a startled cry, Grace landed hard on her backside. She barely registered an alarming ripping sound as she bumped her head against the wall hard enough to see stars. Her skirt fell over her head, and her feetâ€”held up by her chairâ€”waved in the air. She shoved desperately at the flying gingham to cover herself decently. When her vision cleared, she looked up to see the snake, dangling down out of the drawer, drop onto her foot.
It disappeared under her skirt, and she felt it slither up her leg. Her scream could have peeled the whitewash off the wall.
Grace leapt to her feet. The chair got knocked aside, smashing into the wall. She stomped her leg, shrieking, the snake twisting and climbing past her knee. She felt it wriggling around her leg, climbing higher. She whacked at her skirt and danced around trying to shake the reptile loose.
The laughter grew louder. A glance told her all the children were out of the desks and running up and down the aisle.
One of the McClellen girls raced straight for her. Beth McClellen dashed to her side and dropped to her knees in front of Grace. The nine-year-old pushed Graceâ€™s skirt up and grabbed the snake.
Backing away before Grace accidentally kicked her, Beth said, â€œItâ€™s just a garter snake, maâ€™am. It wonâ€™t hurt you none.â€
Heaving whimpers escaped with every panting breath. Graceâ€™s heart pounded until it seemed likely to escape her chest and run off on its own. Fighting for control of herself, she got the horrible noises she was making under control then smoothed her hair with unsteady hands. She stared at the little snake, twined around Bethâ€™s arm.
Bethâ€™s worried eyes were locked on Grace. The child wasnâ€™t sparing the snake a single glance. Because, of course, Beth and every other child in this room knew it was harmless. Grace knew it, too. But that didnâ€™t mean she wanted the slithery thing crawling up her leg!
â€œThâ€”ankâ€”â€ Grace couldnâ€™t speak. She breathed like a winded horse, sides heaving, hands sunk in her hair. The laughing boys drowned out her words anyway.
Beth turned to the window, eased the wooden shutters open, and lowered the snake gently to the ground. The action gave Grace another few seconds to gather her scattered wits.
Trying again, she said, â€œThank you, B-Beth. Iâ€™m notâ€”not a-afraid of snakes.â€
The laughter grew louder. Mark Reeves fell out of his desk holding his stomach as his body shook with hilarity. The rest of the boys laughed harder.
Swallowing hard, Grace tried again to compose herself. â€œI was just startled. Thank you for helping me.â€ Taking a step toward Beth, Grace rested one trembling hand on the young girlâ€™s arm. â€œThank you very much, Beth.â€
Beth gave a tiny nod of her blond head, as if to encourage her and extend her deepest sympathy.
Grace turned to the rioting classroomâ€”and her skirt fell off.
With a cry of alarm, Grace grabbed at her skirt.
The boys in the class started to whoop with laughter. Mark kicked his older brother Ike. Ike dived out of his chair onto Mark. They knocked the heavy two-seater student desk out of line. Every time they bumped into some other boy, their victim would jump into the fray.
Pulling her skirt back into place, she turned a blind eye to the chaos to deal with her clothes. Only now did she see that the tissue-thin fabric was shredded. A huge hole gaped halfway down the front. It was the only skirt she owned.
Beth, a natural caretaker, noticed and grabbed Graceâ€™s apron off a hook near the back wall.
Mandy McClellen rushed up along with Sally and all the other girls. Mandy spoke low so the rioting boys couldnâ€™t overhear. â€œThis is your only dress, isnâ€™t it, Miss Calhoun?â€
Grace nodded, fighting not to cry as the girls adjusted the apron strings around her waist to hold up her skirt. Sheâ€™d patch it back to-gether somehow, although she had no needle and thread, no money to buy them, and no idea how to use them.
Grace looked up to see the older Reeves boys making for the back of the schoolroom.
â€œHold it right there.â€ Mandy used a voice Grace envied.
The boys froze. They pivoted and looked at Mandy, as blond as her sisters and a close match in coloring to the Reeves, but obviously blessed with extraordinary power she could draw on when necessary. After the boysâ€™ initial surpriseâ€”and possibly fearâ€”Grace saw the calculating expression come back over their faces.
â€œEvery one of you,â€ Mandy growled to frighten a hungry panther, â€œget back in your seats right now.â€ She planted her hands on her hips and stared.
The whole classroom full of boys stared back. They hesitated, then at last, with sullen anger, caved before a will stronger than their own. Under Mandyâ€™s burning gaze, they returned to their seats. Graceâ€™s heart wilted as she tried to figure out how Mandy did it.
When the boys were finally settled, the eleven-year-old turned to Grace, her brow furrowed with worry. â€œIâ€™m right sorry, Miss Calhoun,â€ she whispered, â€œbut you have to figure out how to manage â€™em yourself. I canâ€™t do it for you.â€
Grace nodded. The child spoke the complete and utter truth.
The girls fussed over Grace, setting her chair upright and returning to her desk a book that had been knocked to the floor.
â€œMiss Calhoun?â€ Beth patted Graceâ€™s arm.
â€œCan I give you some advice?â€
The little girl had pulled a snake out from under Graceâ€™s skirt. Grace would deny her nothing. â€œOf course.â€
â€œI think itâ€™s close enough to dayâ€™s end that you ought to let everyone go home. Youâ€™re too upset to handle this now. Come Monday morning youâ€™ll be calmer and not do something youâ€™ll regret.â€
â€œOr start something you canâ€™t finish,â€ Sally added.
Grace knew the girls were right. Her temper boiled too near the surface. She was on the verge of a screaming fit and a bout of tears.
My dress! God, what am I going to do about it?
These boys! Dear, dear Lord God, what am I going to do about them?
She tried to listen for the still, small voice of God that had taken her through the darkest days of her life during her childhood in Chicago. He seemed to abandon her today. The good Lord had to know one of His children had never needed an answer more. But if God sent an answer, her fury drowned it out. Sheâ€™d been putting off a showdown with these boys all term. It was time to deal with the problem once and for all.
Sally slipped her little hand into Graceâ€™s. â€œBoys are naughty.â€
Grace shared a look with Sally and had to force herself not to nod. Seven sweet little girls stood in a circle around her. Grace wanted to hug them all and then go after the boys with a broom, at least five of them. The other ten werenâ€™t so badly behaved. Except when inspired by the Reeves.
God had made boys and girls. Heâ€™d planned it. They were supposed to be this way. But how could a teacher stuff book learning in their heads when they wouldnâ€™t sit still or stop talking or quit wrestling?
Digging deep for composure, Grace said, â€œYou girls return to your seats, please. And thank you for your help.â€
Beth shook her head frantically, obviously sensing Grace wasnâ€™t going to take her advice.
â€œItâ€™s all right, Beth. Iâ€™ve put this off too long as it is. And thank you again.â€
Bethâ€™s feet dragged as she followed her sisters and the other girls to her seat.
Grace waited as the room returned to relative quiet, except for the usual giggling and squirming of the Reeves boys.
Glancing between her chair seat and her open desk drawer, Grace was worried she might develop a nervous tic. She sat down but left the drawer open. An almost insane calm took over her body. â€œSchool is dismissed except for Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, and John Reeves.â€
Forehead furrowed over her blond brows, Beth shook her head and gave a little â€œdonâ€™t do itâ€ wave.
Grace could tell by the way the sun shone in the west window that it was only a few minutes early for dismissal. Good. That gave her time to settle with these boys, and then sheâ€™d have it out with their father. Things were going to change around here!
The rest of the students, stealing frequent glances between her and the blond holy terrors in her midst, gathered up their coats and lunch pails and left the schoolhouse in almost total silence.
And that left Grace.
With the Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse.