I’ve been working on the final chapter for the book about schoolmarms of the Old West and was impacted by the affection Bethenia Owens-Adair had for her teacher. She was 12 years old when she entered his class in 1852 and terribly upset when he left to teach in another location. The following is a piece from the chapter.
“Bethenia blinked away more tears. Mr. Beaufort took her hand in his and led her out the door. The two walked down the dusty roadway to the gate and continued on for a bit without saying a word. Finally, Mr. Beaufort stopped and bent down next to the faithful student. “Now little one,” he kindly said, “you must go back. You are a nice little girl, and some day you will make a fine woman, but you must remember and study your book hard, and when you get to be a woman everybody will love you, and don’t forget your first teacher, will you?” Mr. Beaufort scooped Bethenia into his arms, kissed her cheek, sat her down in the direction of her home, and went on his way. Bethenia hurried back to the house where she found a quiet spot to cry over the loss of the teacher she so worshipped.”
If I had never experienced the effects of a vindictive teenager I would look upon the above as wholly innocent. But one person has changed the way I see such tales forever. All I could think of as I wrote about Mr. Beaufort was how afraid he should be. He was being kind, but a depraved person would see it differently. They would twist his actions to fit their own devious plan. And in this day and age Mr. Beaufort would be in prison for life…because all it takes is one false claim, one awful allegation. No proof. Just a claim…just an allegation.
