Her expectations have come to pass. However, now that the anticipation is over, every fiber of her being blazes like a stoked furnace.
She was correct. He wants her gone. And he will force his way to get what he wants.
Among the other council members, Marco seems the most shocked. "You wish to discharge Miss Swan? On what grounds?"
Spencer crosses his arms over his chest. "She is inadequate."
"Inadequate? How?" Pastor Hopper adjusts his spectacles. "I have heard much praise from the children's parents. After all, she passed the probation period, and it has only been several months since she began her post. Rome was not built in a day. We should give her some time."
"Time? And money, I presume? My money." Spencer's voice hardens. "I know that the townspeople contributed what they could to the funds reserved for her salary. Please let me remind you that more than half of those funds were my donation. I refuse to waste more of them on a person who does not know what she is doing!"
"You do not say how she has failed," Marco argues. It warms her heart to see him rise to her defense, but it also worries her. A powerful, resourceful man is a dangerous enemy. "I see happy faces come from her schoolhouse. She is patient and understanding."
"You are a witness, are you?" he fires back. "Do tell, sir - have you ever set foot in that place while class was in session? No? Well, I have, and I do not second your account. This, then, is a secondhand tale from whom? Your son?"
August jumps to his feet. "You have no right to criticize Emma. She has been a saint, working every day without complaint."
Spencer laughs. "Is that your definition of good work? Discipline? It means nothing if the quality of the work is poor and lacking. But I am not surprised. Perhaps that is why you and your wood carvings are still in Storybrooke and not the city."
August marches up to the platform until he is right in front of the man, face to face. His hands are clenched into fists and his jaw is tight. "Perhaps. Perhaps that is also why you are rarely here. If people were to see more of you, you might not be mayor for much longer."
"Is that a threat, carpenter?"
"A promise. I am not an aggressive man."
"Neither am I. And I always deliver on my promises."
The air is taut as a bowstring, ready to snap back. She can stand it no longer.
"Excuse me, gentlemen." She passes by both of them and reaches the town council. "Being at the center of this debate, I feel I should address these accusations against me."
Spencer opens his mouth, but Pastor Hopper holds him at bay with an upheld hand. "Miss Swan, I wholeheartedly agree. Please. The floor is yours."
Closing her eyes, she takes several deep breaths to ready her resolve. Then she turns around and faces the town, hands clasped in front of her.
She must be meek and reserved. She must stay calm.
She has to get through this.
"Good evening, everyone. You know me as Miss Swan, the schoolteacher here. For several months, many of you have entrusted your children to my care. Every day, they have come to the schoolhouse to study and learn.
"And while there are those," she glances at Spencer, "who claim I have done nothing to help your children, I know they have come so far since they started their education. Before, they could not read or write. They had never seen numbers or letters before."
She smiles at a sudden image in her mind. After the Spencer debacle was over and class was dismissed for the day, a little girl named Bertie came up to her desk. All the other children had left. Saying nothing, the child handed her a drawing of the school and her classmates. It was simple and plain, etched in black charcoal, because the town could not afford colored chalk or ink. Under the drawing were the words "You are a great teacher, Miss Swan."
She folded the paper into quarters and slipped it into her pocket. Now, if she ever feels unsure of her goal, she takes the drawing out and looks at it.
Perhaps hope is only born in the midst of the deepest troubles. That is why Pandora's box had hope. Hope is needed the most in times of hardship.
Her voice gains conviction, and she takes a long look at the many faces in the room. They are questioning, puzzled. Some of the parents must be wondering why she feels the need to defend herself. Others seem warm and open.
She must convince them. They must believe that she can do this and follow through to the end.
"However, I am happy to report that all the children can now read and write their letters, and they understand counting and sums. No, they cannot read or write entire words yet. They do not know their math facts by heart. But they will! I know they will. I'm hopeful that with enough time and practice, they can learn more and grow these skills. I know we can achieve so much together. I have come to treasure all my students, and I want to help each and every one of them."
She swallows hard. "I know you sent your children to school because you want the best for them. You want them to have bright futures. As do I. I want to stay and help you all I can. I believe in your children, and I believe in Storybrooke's future. Please do not let Mr. Spencer send me away. Please let me stay and teach here."
His heart is pounding, and blood is rushing into his head. He can't see straight – can't see anything but Emma, brave and outspoken, beautiful as ever.
She is fighting hard to keep what is hers, what she deserves, and he wants nothing more than to stand by her side. To fight for her, so she knows she is not alone and at least one person believes in her.
Against all reason, he gets up from his seat and rushes toward her. He is about to reach for her hand when he realizes where he is.
All the townsfolk are staring at them. He is right in the middle of a crowded room, and Spencer looks like his eyes are about to bulge from his stupid head.
He coughs and clears his throat, saying the first thought in his mind. "I, uh, I would like to bring something before the council if I may. I know I am a bit late, but there was no opportunity for me to speak up before."
Spencer scoffs. "How touching. Even the local outcast has an opinion about all this."
Rubbing at his face with both hands, Pastor Hopper looks as if he has lost all patience. However, he quietly answers, "Yes, Mr. Jones, you can. Quickly, though, if you please."
This is a daft idea, but it just might work and solve one problem. "About the constable position… The town is trusting Mr. Spencer's word on Mr. Garrison's qualifications. And while I am sure he has qualities," he says through gritted teeth, "I propose that we nominate another candidate – in the spirit of democracy – and let the townsfolk decide whom they trust most to protect this town."
"Let us guess: you wish to nominate yourself?" Spencer snarls. "I for one cannot wait to hear how your own qualities measure up."
"Oh, I most certainly do not," Killian snaps back. What an arse. "I have another individual in mind. Someone whom everyone here knows and respects. Someone who always has the interests of Storybrooke at heart. I move to nominate David Nolan for constable."
Their audience gasps as a whole, breaking into an uproar of chatter and loud whispers.
Emma turns toward him. Sad and shaken, she stares into his eyes. Then, against all odds, her lips turn upward into a small, unmistakable smile.
His courage surges.
"You all know David as an upstanding, model citizen. He upholds law and order. He cares about people, and he loves this town. He loves his family. No one could be more qualified than he is."
"I agree. I second the motion." Arms crossed over his chest, August looks quite intimidating as he also glares at Spencer. "Let Nolan have a chance to be the constable, not some stranger."
"No one else in town is about to be evicted from his farm if he doesn't pay his mortgage." Spencer draws closer to Killian. The damn bastard makes his skin crawl. "Mr. Garrison may be a stranger, but he has a clear record and no debts. The council has already accepted him. In any case, what makes you think he will agree to this ridiculous plan of yours? It's not like he volunteered–"
"I'll do it." David jumps up. "I'd be honored to run for constable."
He marches forward until he is right in front of Spencer. Killian has never been more proud of his friend.
"You are absolutely right, Mr. Spencer. My farm is everything to me. It is my father's legacy, and my brother died for it. You know that well enough." He leans toward the evil scum's face. "But if you think you can use my land as a way to buy my silence, you are wrong. Take it. Take all of it. As long as it means I owe you nothing. I would rather beg in the streets than give you what you want."
"Oh, we'll see about that," he whispers back menacingly. Then he raises his voice and exclaims, "Council members, do you hear this? You cannot seriously consider this madness. You chose Mr. Garrison as constable, and the matter is closed. We were discussing Miss Swan, not Mr. Garrison. David Nolan is as fit to be a constable as Mr. Jones here."
"Just a moment, now." Marco leans forward. "Perhaps that is the problem, Signore Spencer. Perhaps we should be discussing who deserves to be constable. After all, you only brought one candidate, and we have had no chance to really decide who will be right for the position. Isn't that right?"
The other council members nod. Pastor Hopper seems visibly relieved. August grins widely.
"This is a serious post, and a town vote sounds more than fair between two likely candidates. Don't you agree?" He frowns. "Or are you suggesting the people have no say in this?"
George Spencer's bloody face is burning red, as if he might burst from rage. "No, of course not," he finally sputters. "The town must have their vote. One week from today."
"Magnifico. It is decided, then." Marco raises his hand. "All in favor?"
Killian can hardly contain himself as he strides forward and claps David on the back. He shakes his hand and congratulates him, but he doesn't know what else to say.
Heaven help them both if this turns into a godforsaken mess.
Together, they have thrown the town in an uproar. Spencer cannot leave the room quickly enough, Garrison following meekly behind him at a safe distance.
Townsfolk are coming up and surrounding David by the dozen. Their voices overwhelm him like a engulfing wave. Mary Margaret is not far behind.
"Well done, Jones." August comes and extends his hand. Killian hesitates before accepting the handshake. He knows nothing about this lad, but he seems like a decent fellow. "You just saved us from a terrible mistake.'
"Aye, but that doesn't mean Spencer won't still try to get his way."
"Oh, he will try, but the tiger is back in his cage for now. That's some victory right there." He turns his head and fixes his gaze on Emma. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I must speak to."