All Quite Innocent

1936

Miss Annabelle Cranston, schoolteacher, leaned her bicycle against the huge old oak and slipped her leather satchel to the ground. A stranger passing by might suppose the young lady to be one of her own students, but Miss Cranston was fully twenty years old and a graduate of the Canton Normal School.

Annabelle, “Belle” to her friends, stripped off her shoes and stockings. She left the dense shade of the tree, padded to the end of a small dock, and sat with a heavy sigh. She plunged her feet into the cool water of the pond and leaned back on her elbows.

Soon, small beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and trickled down her neck. She sat forward and kicked sprays of muddy water toward the center of the pond. This made her sweat even more, so she contented herself with dangling her legs and swishing them back and forth.

Another heavy sigh escaped her, the sound in depressing contrast to the bright sunshine.

She bit her lip and grinned as an idea took hold. She glanced from side to side before she stood, stripped off her gray, pinstripe dress, backed up two steps, and took a running leap off the end of the dock.

She rose to the surface, laughing. The clear, cold water made her body tingle. She swam toward the dock until she could touch bottom.
The mud squelched up through her bare toes and this made her grin again.

The sweltering one-room schoolhouse, the noisy demands of twenty-three students of all ages, the surprise visit from two board members: all were washed away in a moment.

Belle enjoyed teaching; she couldn’t say she’d be sorry if she ever had to give it up, but she enjoyed it for the moment. Still, some days were awfully long and tiring.

Belle spread her arms, leaned back into the water, closed her eyes and turned her face to the sky. Bliss.

Gradually, she became aware of a sound, something out of place. Belle’s eyes flew open and her muscles froze. Someone was singing. The noise wafted out of the wood and across the water. A rich, rumbling male voice startled birds from their nests and sent small creatures scuttling into the underbrush.

She eyed the distance to her clothes and her bicycle, but knew there was no time for escape. She needed a hiding place and found it in the deep shadow below the dock. Several inches of air between the bottom of the unfinished boards and the surface of the water allowed her to breathe easily, but her vision was severely restricted; she could see only a narrow strip of the opposite shore.

“Whoever it is, let him just walk by,” she muttered. The voice drew closer. “Keep walking. Keep walking,” she begged.

The voice stopped.

Belle longed to peek and see who it was and what he was doing, but she knew that if she could see him, he could see her.

“Probably just Harold Giles on his way home from helping Mr. Miller with the hay.” Belle strained to hear past her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, but the singer’s silence continued. “Maybe whoever it is stopped singing but kept walking. I’m probably hiding under here for no reason.”

“Miss Cranston?”

Belle nearly choked on a mouthful of water. She knew that voice. It belonged to the new preacher, the one Aunt Ida said was far and away too young and handsome to be a preacher.

“Miss Cranston?” A note of concern had crept into his voice.

She began to move out from under the dock to allay his obvious concern - she was no longer anonymous anyway- but she looked down and remembered her lack of clothing. She could hardly appear before the preacher in her underwear. Before she could decide what to do, bare feet pounded the boards above her. A blur of white was followed by a huge splash in the center of the pond.

Belle counted the heartbeats until his head broke the surface of the water.

She started to speak, but he was already under again. This time he stayed under for a long time. She was tempted to sneak out of the water before he surfaced, but knew she couldn’t gather her clothes quickly enough to succeed. Besides, she would feel guilty leaving him to his fruitless search.
She hesitated a moment more, and then moved out from under the dock.

And stifled a scream as large hands grasped one leg then slid up to her waist.

He reared out of the water and gulped air, still clinging to her. His blue eyes frantically raked over her.

“Miss Cranston, are you all right?” Large drops of water slid down his face and over his lips.

A blush blazed in Belle’s cheeks. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

His breathing slowed gradually and he searched her face. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m quite sure. You can let go of me now, Reverend McLean.”

He startled and released her as though her skin had burned his hands.

He raked a hand down his face. “Are you hurt?”

Again, he looked her over, but this time, he seemed to notice what she was wearing. His eyes widened for a moment before he resolutely fixed his gaze on her face.

“Pardon me, I…I saw your things on the dock and when you didn’t answer, I…well…I thought you were drowning.” He seemed to notice for the first time that she was standing without difficulty and her shoulders were out of the water. He smiled ruefully. “I see now that I had no reason to fear. The pond is not as deep as I had supposed.”

He looked so chagrined and embarrassed that Belle forgot her own embarrassment for the moment. She tried to resist the bubble of laughter in her throat, but failed.

“You jumped in to rescue me. A true Sir Galahad.”

He relaxed at the sound of her laugh and smiled - a broad, easy grin. “A soggy Sir Galahad.”

He still wore his white shirt, plastered to his chest, and a tie that had gone crooked in the fray.

Belle clicked her tongue and looked mildly disapproving. “I’m afraid all of the starch has gone out of your shirt, Reverend, and this collar is quite ruined.”

He threw his head back and laughed. At that moment, he seemed nothing like the sober, morbid-mannered preacher she had met at church.

They stood looking at each other, remnants of laughter still in the air between them.

Belle glanced away first but returned her gaze immediately. “I’m sorry you got a soaking on my account.”

“I’m sorry I was so hasty. Why did you not answer when I called?”

“Well, honestly, I was trying to decide what to do. I’m not very properly dressed.”

“No, so I see. I mean…not that I’m looking…that wouldn’t be…” His voice trailed off and his Adam’s apple convulsed in confusion.

Belle bit her lip in a battle between amusement and embarrassment.

Again, the reverend cleared his throat to cover his discomfiture. “Well, what would Sir Galahad do in such a situation?”

“In such a situation, Sir Galahad would probably have married the fair damsel to rescue her from the loss of her reputation - a fate worse than drowning.”

Reverend McLean blanched. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

“It’s all right,” Belle whispered with a teasing gleam in her eye. “In this case, no one has seen our unfortunate situation, and I certainly can say that I won’t reveal it to anyone. I wouldn’t want my father to have to fight a duel with you.”

He gave a weak smile, but it was replaced by a worried scowl.

“Really, Mr. McLean, it’s all right. No one will be the wiser…”

A chill ran down Belle’s spine as a burst of giggles erupted from the shore behind her. She did not dare turn around, but the look of horror which passed over the preacher’s face confirmed her fears.

“Who is it?” she murmured.

He focused on Belle’s face again. “Two girls. I think one was the Longwood girl and one was a Johnson. They’ve run off down the path already.”

Belle had only experimented with curse words once in her life and had felt such guilt over it that she had never again dared. Now she felt like letting loose with every oath she had ever heard. Those girls - both thirteen years old, both her students – were known throughout town as the best source of the latest gossip. Aside from their mothers, of course. What they saw - or thought they saw - would be all over town by the time the school bell rang the next morning.

He studied Belle’s face. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

Some time later, Belle and Reverend McLean sat on the pond bank and stared into the water. She was still wet, but decently dressed. He was drying his shirt on his back, and his shoes and coat lay beside him in the sun.

Finally, Belle could stand the silence no longer. “Look, this is the twentieth century, after all. I know this is a small town, but really, we’ve got to adopt a few modern notions some time. If we just explain how it happened, how it was all quite innocent...”

She glanced at his face. Had it all been quite innocent? She wasn’t entirely sure. There had been a tension, an awareness, which she had never experienced before. Most likely, it could be explained by the unusual situation. Or the cold water. Or the fact that she had been inordinately distracted by the drops of water clinging to his dark eyelashes. No, it was certainly the situation.

“Yes, maybe,” he said. “And if we were just two kids, this would doubtless blow over with no more than a little embarrassment.” He plucked a long blade of grass and slowly shredded it. “But you are the school teacher and I am the preacher. Not just two innocent kids.”

Belle knew he was right. She had grown up in this tight-knit community and she knew how it functioned. But she was one of their own. These people all knew her and loved her; most of them had watched her grow up, knew her family, respected her enough to make her their children’s teacher.

“That's true, but I’ll explain. It will all be fine.”

They sat in silence again. Belle was aware of the lengthening shadows, the gentle stir of the evening breeze, an eager cricket starting its song before dusk had properly fallen.

The reverend sighed, gathered his coat and shoes, and rose. He reached down to help her up. “The first thing we should do is go and explain the whole thing to your folks.”

Belle stuffed her stockings into her satchel and slipped her shoes on. She pulled her bike away from the tree and turned it toward the path to the road.
Neither said a word as they turned and walked together, the bike between them.

Before they left the clearing beside the pond, she stopped and put a hand on his arm. “It’ll be all right.” She didn’t know if she was reassuring him or asking him to reassure her.

His eyes remained worried, but he smiled. “Yes,” he said, “it will be all right.”