. TOM, FANNY, OUR JANE, KEITH, AND I HAD HARDLY HIT the schoolyard on Monday morning when Tom was pointing out the new boy, the very one he'd spotted staring at me in church. Wien I turned to look toward the ball field where the boys were already playing, my breath caught. He stood out from all the others, this new boy in better clothes than the valley boys wore. The morning sun behind him put a sort of fiery halo above his dark hair, so I couldn't really see his face that was in shadow, yet I knew from the way he stood, tall and straight, not slouched like some mountain boys who were ashamed of their height, that I liked him right from the beginning. It was silly, of course, to like a complete stranger just because he had a certain kind of confidence that wasn't arrogance, only visible strength and poise. I glanced at Tom, and knew why I immediately liked a boy I'd never seen before. Logan and Tom both had the same kind of natural grace and ease with themselves that came from snowing who and what they were. I looked again at Tom. How could he stride so proudly beside me when Ito was a Casteel?
I longingly wished I had his poise, his confidence, his ability to accept, though I might have if I'd had my father's love--as he had.
"He's staring at you again," whispered Tom, giving me a sharp nudge, causing Fanny to shrill in her too-loud voice, "He is NOT starin at Heaven! He's starin at ME!"
Fanny embarrassed me again. But if that new boy heard, he didn't show any signs. He stood out like a Christmas tree in his sharply creased gray flannel slacks and his bright green sweater worn over a white shirt and a gray-and-green-striped tie. He had on regular Sunday hard shoes, polished to a shine. All the valley boys wore jeans and knit tops, and sneakers. No one, ever, came to school dressed up as Logan Stonewall was.
Did he see us staring? He must have, for suddenly, alarmingly, he came our way! What would I say to someone so dressed up? I tried to shrink into my shoes. Each step that brought him closer put panic in my heart. I wasn't ready yet to meet anyone wearing gray flannel slacks (something I wouldn't have known if Miss Deale hadn't once worn a gray suit to school of the same fabric; she was always trying to educate me on fabrics, clothes, and such). I tried to scurry away with Keith and Our Jane before he saw the shabbiness of my worn, colorless dress with the hem half out and my scuffed, almost soleless shoes, but Our Jane resisted.
"Don't feel good," she wailed. "Wanna go home, Hey-lee."
"You can't go home again," I whispered. "You'll never finish first grade if you stay out sick all the time. Maybe I can bring you and Keith a sandwich this noon--and some milk."
"Tuna fish!" Keith sang out happily, and with thoughts of half a tuna fish sandwich, Our Jane let go of my hand and with slow small steps entered the classroom where all the first graders seemed to have fun--all but Our Jane.
I hurried after my two charges, but not so fast that Logan Stonewall didn't catch up in the hall just outside the first grade. I turned to see him shaking hands with Tom. Logan was good-looking in the kind of way I'd seen in books and magazines, like someone with years and years of cultured background that had given him what none of us in the hills had--quality. His nose was slender and straight, his lower lip much fuller and more shapely than his upper one, and even from six feet away I could see his dark blue eyes smiling warmly at me. His jaw was squarish and strong, and a dimple in his left cheek played in and out as he smiled my way. His demeanor of assurance made me feel awkward, afraid I'd do and say everything wrong, and then he'd turn for sure to Fanny, and if she said and did everything wrong, it wouldn't matter. Boys always fell for Fanny.
"Hi there, stranga," greeted Fanny, skipping forward and smiling up into his face. Fanny had never bothered to accompany Our Jane or Keith to their respective classrooms before. "Yer t'best-lookin boy I eva did see."
"That's Fanny, my sister," explained Tom.
"Hi, Fanny. ." But Logan Stonewall didn't do more than glance at Fanny. He waited for Tom to introduce me.
"And this is my sister, Heaven Leigh." There was so much pride in Tom's voice, as if he didn't see my shapeless ugly dress, or think I had any reason to be ashamed of my shoes. "And that small girl who's peaking out of the first-grade door is my youngest sister, who we call Our Jane, and across the hall, that amber-haired boy grinning at us is my brother, Keith. Go sit down, Keith; you too, Our Jane."
How could Tom act so natural around a boy as citified and well dressed as Logan Stonewall? I was all aflutter with excitement as those smiling sapphire eyes looked at me as I'd never been looked at before. "What a pr
etty name," said Logan, his eyes meeting mine. "It suits you very well. I don't think I've ever seen more heavenly blue eyes."
"I've got black eyes," shouted Fanny, stepping in front of me to block his view. "Anybody kin have blue eyes . . . like Heaven's. I like yer color blue betta."
"Cornflower-blue eyes, Miss Deale calls the color of Heavenly's eyes," informed Tom with evident pride, "and there isn't another girl fer ten miles around with eyes that same shade of blue that I call heavenly blue."
"I believe you. . ." murmured Logan Stonewall, still staring at me.
I was only thirteen; he couldn't have been more than fifteen, or at the most sixteen, yet our eyes seemed to cling and strike a gong that would resound throughout the rest of our lives.
It was only the school bell ringing.
I was saved from having to say anything by the bustling scurry of kids rushing to their homerooms and seating themselves before the teacher came in. Tom was laughing when he sat behind his desk. "Heavenly, I never saw you turn so many shades of red. Logan Stonewall is just another boy. Better dressed than most, and better looking, but only another boy."
He wasn't feeling what I was feeling, yet he narrowed his eyes and stared at me in an odd way, until he turned and bowed his head, and I bowed mine.
Miss Deale came in, and before I could figure out what I'd say to Logan when next I saw him, it was lunchtime. I had to keep my promise about the sandwich and milk. I sat at my desk as all the others left for lunch. Miss Deale looked up. "Why, Heaven, do you want to speak with me about something?"
I wanted to plead for a sandwich to give to Keith and Our Jane, but somehow I just couldn't. Standing, I smiled and hurried out, staring at the floor of the corridor, just praying to find a quarter . . and that's when Logan's gray shoes came into view. "I waited for you to come out with Tom." He looked earnest even as his eyes still smiled. "Will you have lunch with me?"
"I never eat lunch."
My answer made him frown. "Everybody eats lunch. So come along, and we'll have hamburgers, shakes, and french fries."
Did that mean he was going to pay for my lunch as well as his own? My pride reared high. "I have to take care of Our Jane and Keith during the lunch hour . . ."
"Okay, they're invited, too," he said
nonchalantly, "and I might as well include Tom and Fanny, in case you're thinking of them."
"We can afford to pay for our own lunches."