The Teacher's Star

and had tracked him to Belle. When he connected that man to the gang of rustlers stealing from ranchers south of this town, he knew the problem was bigger than merely taking Yancy Stubbins into custody. No, that man was a small part of a big problem for ranchers here in Wyoming. He had to catch the leader to stop the band of thieves.
He couldn’t let the teacher ruin it. His hands tightened on the leathers as he consider the problem. Did Miss Perkins know his real name? How?
Rubbing a hand across his cold face, Rol considered his next move. Seemed like it was time to sneak a look at the teacher’s room in the back of the school.
The confrontation with Roland Anderson and his daughter stung. Delia reminded herself that he was a bad guy, and bad guys always made good people miserable. But why did she feel this draw to him? The attraction she fought actually frightened Delia.
Ruminating over the problem with Enid Anderson and her father, Delia pushed her attention back to the board. Rag in hand, she cleaned it, something she did each Friday. The mindless activity allowed her thoughts to sneak back to Roland Anderson. Or, Rol Anders. Which was his real name?
She considered carefully what she knew about the man. She slipped so deeply into her mental meanderings that she missed hearing the squeak of the door’s hinges as it opened. If a current of cold air hadn’t alerted her, the man might have sneaked up behind her. But, at the feel of sudden coldness, she whipped around, heart pumping.
Standing in front of her, leering grotesquely, Jubal Yarborough held out a ribbon-tied box. The red velvet ribbon reminded her of blood-stained fabric. Refusing it, she retreated until her back came up against the slate board.
“Mr. Yarborough! What, uh, do you need?”
The man flashed yellowed teeth as he gave a confident smile. Delia wondered if he grinned because he knew she was trapped or if it was an attempt to seduce her. Either way, the smile brought on a flood of nausea.
A wheezing chuckle rattled through his rawboned frame. “I’ve brought you candy. Trying to make this nice for you before we get down to business.” He set the box down on the edge of her desk. Then, with two rapid strides, he grabbed Delia’s shoulders.
Stiffening with outrage, Delia used her best ‘teacher’ tone. “Sir, what do you think you are about? This is no way to treat a lady?”
“Lady, huh? Think I didn’t recognize you’re passin’.” At her shock, he wheezed out that odd chuckle again. “Yep, took me only a few minutes to see you’re not really what you want everyone to believe. White, my eye!” He squeezed her shoulders painfully. At her gasp, he leaned down and took advantage of her open mouth.
Pulling back at the touch of his tongue, Delia ducked and twisted. All she gained was an inch or two. Not enough to escape him.
Jubal threw her back, onto the desk. Coming down hard on her, he released one hand to move it downward, feeling for the hem of her skirt.
Desperate, Delia moved her hand across the desk, frantic to find it. Cold metal brushed against her fingers and she sent a prayer of thanks to the Lord. She now had the scissors.
As Yarborough lifted her skirt, Delia raised the scissors and plunged them into the man’s shoulder. Yanking them out, she raked the tip across his cheek before he could pull back.
Screaming obscenities, the villain fell back, away from her. Then, with a hand to his wounded face, he stepped toward her again. Delia stood with her back to the corner and held the scissors like a knife.
“The next time, Mr. Yarborough, I will do damage. Stomach? Heart? Which do you prefer?”
Blood dripped as the man swore. Then, strangely, he stopped to pick up the box of candy before exiting the school house. The strong taint of blood hung in the air. Delia looked down at her ruined white shirtwaist and sighed. The sound held a mix of relief and frustration.
Then she had a terrible thought. Would Yarborough tell others in Belle about her mixed blood?
Picking up the lantern from a table near her desk, Delia moved through the door connecting her room to the school. During the cold winter months, she especially appreciated being able to go to her room without putting on a coat and trudging outside. The last teacher told her how awful that had been. She was the one who’d pushed to have the door cut into the wall.
A sob erupted from her at this mundane thought. She’d been attacked moments before. Why was she thinking about the convenience of a door?
Breathing in and out, slowly and deeply, several times, she sunk to the edge of her bed and prayed.
She’d come through the attack. She was safe. The verse her mother taught her to rely on came to mind. Like a vow, she said it aloud.
“I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.” Psalm 91 never failed to comfort Delia. The warm memories of sitting on her mother’s lap as she memorized the chapter one verse at a time washed over her. Again, her savior had proved those words were true. She trusted and He protected her.
Rising, Delia lifted the lid of her trunk and removed a clean shirtwaist. As she did so, the envelope Jessup gave her seemed to stare up at her.
Why hadn’t a marshal contacted her?
Delia had been sure Mr. Jessup’s contact would find her. He’d said another marshal was in the area. Since she’d arrived on the same train Jessup should have been on, she believed someone would be waiting at the depot. In the days following her arrival in