The Secret School (2 page)

Humiliated, Ida shrank down.

No one dared say anything else.

After shaking hands with Miss Fletcher, Mr. Jordan left.

The children gazed at Miss Fletcher.

"Miss Fletcher...," Ida said, on the verge of tears.

"Yes, Ida?"

"I ... I am grieved for you and your mother. But you know how much I want to be a teacher. I
have
to graduate this year. This is my one chance. What am I supposed to do?"

Miss Fletcher sighed. "Ida," she said, "I want you to know I begged Mr. Jordan not to close down the school. As for your exam and graduation—and Tom's—I can't rightly say what will happen. I ... I will be gone. I am so sorry."

Silence filled the room.

"In the meanwhile," Miss Fletcher said softly, "we had best skip our morning song and get on with today's lessons." Quickly, she gave out the assignments.

The other children pulled out books and papers and began to work. Ida, sitting in numb silence, stared before her. All she was aware of was an enormous pain in her chest.

D
URING MIDMORNING
recess Ida and Tom sat together against the west side of the school building. Tom, eyes closed, tilted his face up toward the sun. Ida pensively braided bits of grass.

"Tom," Ida said sadly, "I won't ever get to be a teacher without going to high school." She flung away the grass. "Course, my folks probably wouldn't have had the money for me to board in town, anyway. So I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Sure it does," Tom said.

"Well, then, it doesn't matter that it matters," Ida said, snatching up another blade of grass and twisting it tightly around a finger. "You have any idea how much Miss Fletcher earns?" she said after a while.

"Nope," Tom said.

"Forty dollars each month, that's what."

"Banana oil!" Tom cried. "How'd you know?"

"Start of the year, I saw her contract on her desk."

"Sneak-peek!"

"Suppose I was. But, if I had all that money..."

"What would you do?"

"Teach in a big city. Denver, maybe. Have books. My own car. A new one. Travel round the whole world."

"Come on, you're no flapper. Nice girls don't do that."

"Then, I'm not nice," Ida snapped. "And what about your electricity and radio? Not likely you'll do much of that 'less you get yourself some high school learning."

"I know," Tom agreed. He gazed out at the mountains that ringed Elk Valley. Ida followed his look. At the moment the surrounding peaks felt like a cage.

Tom said, "I suppose I can learn some of what I need from a correspondence course. Saw an ad for one in a copy of
Popular Mechanics.
"

"Remember how Miss Fletcher told us weeks ago the exams were hard?" Ida said. "I'd already started studying."

"Well, then, guess it's time for a girl to have herself some fun."

Ida jumped up, hands on hips. "Tom Kohl," she yelled, braids almost flying off her head with fury, "you're such a sponge cake!" She stormed away.

"For crying out loud, Ida!" Tom called after her. "I was just kidding!"

Ida refused to turn about. She marched past the little kids playing on the teeter-totter.

Just up and down,
she thought.
Going nowhere. Suppose if I'm not going to graduate, I won't be going anywhere, either.

Reaching the other side of the school yard, Ida pumped up some cold water. As she drank from the tin cup that hung there from a string, Miss Fletcher opened the schoolhouse door.

"Ida, please come in!" she called. "I'd like to talk to you."

Not at all sure she wanted to talk, Ida went into the schoolhouse and sat down on the front-row bench.

Miss Fletcher took her place behind the desk.

For a moment they sat in silence.

"I want you to know how sorry I am," Miss Fletcher finally said. "I know how much you were set on going to high school."

"It's not your fault," Ida conceded. "Anyway, maybe your mother will get better soon so you can come back real quick."

Miss Fletcher shook her head. "Ida, she's had a stroke. Even if she does recover, more than likely I'll need to stay and help take care of her."

Ida averted her eyes. "I suppose it's selfish of me, Miss Fletcher," she said, once again resisting tears, "but I so wanted to go on and be a teacher. Like you."

Miss Fletcher managed a smile. "Ida, how long have I been your teacher?"

"Five years."

"And you've been my best pupil. Even if you put it off awhile, you'll make a fine teacher."

Ida stared at her hands. "But I
can't
wait. You see, up at our farm, it's been a good year. My folks said if I passed and if I found a family I could board with in town, I could continue my schooling. They might be able to afford that, this year." She looked up. "Miss Fletcher, I love my parents. I just don't want to be a sheep firmer my whole life."

"Ida, I wish it could be otherwise."

There was a noise. Ida glanced up. Tom was standing by the door. She wondered how much he had heard.

Miss Fletcher turned. "Tom," she said, "please call an end to recess."

"Yes, ma'am" He walked out.

Ida started to go back to her regular seat. She was halfway there when she paused. "Miss Fletcher, do you think girls don't need a high school education?"

"Oh no, of course I don't believe that. Mr. Jordan was not ... thinking."

"It's what he said."

Miss Fletcher sighed. "Ida, do try to be patient."

"It's hard being patient," Ida replied, "if there's nothing to be patient for."

 

At day's end Ida opened the Ford's door and flung in the empty syrup can. She was about to call Felix to get him to take his place by the pedals when Tom came over.

"Tom Kohl," Ida said, "I'm still peeved at you."

"Why?"

"Suggesting I should just have fun instead of being serious about my studies. You sounded like old toady Jordan."

"I was only trying to cheer you up," Tom said.

"You didn't."

"Hey," he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "I know I wasn't supposed to be listening, but I heard what Miss Fletcher said."

"And you called
me
a sneak-peek!"

"Said you'd be a good teacher."

"Never going to get the chance," Ida said.

"I thought of a way you could."

"How?"

"You could become our teacher."

Ida stared at him. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You're such a gravy know-it-all," Tom said. "
You
could take over the school when Miss Fletcher leaves. Look, your legs weren't long enough to reach your car pedals, right? So you figured how to get Felix to work them."

"So what?"

"You might drive like a half-inch inchworm, but you're getting to school a lot faster than you used to, aren't you? Same thing here. Just have to find a way. And the way is, you be our teacher."

Ida glared at him. "Are you telling me what to do?" Annoyed, she turned away from him. "Felix," she yelled, "come on!"

While she held the car door open, her brother squirmed into the cab and onto the floor. Then Ida got in and tied the door shut.

Not saying a word, Tom went to the front of the car, ready to crank up the motor as he usually did at the end of school when Ida and Felix went home.

A frowning Ida sat behind the steering wheel and set the spark lever—on the left side of the steering wheel—to the third notch, then fixed the throttle lever—on the right side of the wheel—on the fifth notch.

"Neutral," she said to Felix.

Below, Felix pushed the clutch pedal down.

"Ready," he said.

"Ready!" she called out to Tom, who turned the starter crank and gave the motor a couple of turns.

As the motor sputtered into motion, Ida adjusted the spark lever until the engine ran smoothly.

"Reverse!" she called to Felix, who pushed in the reverse pedal while she released the hand brake.

The car backed up and swung around, stopping when Ida pulled back the brake lever. "Forward clutch!" she called.

Felix released the reverse clutch pedal, then pushed in the forward one.

"Let's go!" Ida shouted while shifting the throttle lever.

In moments the old Ford was bumping down the dirt road toward home.

"Ida!" Felix called up from beneath the dashboard after they had gone on awhile.

"What?"

"Is something wrong? Did Tom say something mean? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Ida snapped. But in fact Tom's idea kept churning in her head.

Could I really become the teacher?
she thought.

A
S
I
DA PARKED THE
backfiring car in their farmyard driveway, bleating lambs, tails up, ran in fright, while Snooker, the old mare, looked over the corral fence.

"Felix," Ida whispered after they got out, "don't tell Ma or Pa what happened in school."

Felix's look turned quizzical. "How come?"

"I need to tell them my way. Understand?"

"No, but okay," he said, accepting, as always, his older sister's ways.

Ida opened the front door of their log cabin. It had been built by her father when he came from eastern Colorado years ago. At the time people thought there was gold in the surrounding mountains.

A red-faced Mrs. Bidson was in the steamy kitchen, stirring laundry atop the wood-burning stove. Baby Shelby was on her lap.

"Hi there!" she called. "How was school?"

"Fine," Ida said glumly.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Felix darted a look at Ida. She put a finger to her lips. "Want some help with Shelby?" she offered.

"Just been waiting for you to come home," Mrs. Bidson said with a smile as she handed the baby over. "Felix, your pa's in the barn. Said to say you were needed soon as you got in."

Felix gulped down a glass of milk, then stuffed a hunk of bread into his mouth. Before racing away, he beckoned Ida over and whispered, "Why didn't you tell Ma that Miss Fletcher is leaving?"

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

He screwed up his face. "
Do?
What's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell you when I make up my mind."

Ida stayed with the baby for an hour, then got on with her regular chores. She mucked out the horse's stall and milked the cow. Working along with her father, she checked the early lambs, and finally, after she'd helped her mother with supper preparations, Ida set out the soaking barrels for the next day's laundry.

At supper Ida didn't say a word about school. Most of the talk was about a new hay field Mr. Bidson was thinking about fencing in.

That evening, up in the loft bedroom Ida and Felix shared, Ida put aside the year-old
Saturday Evening Post
she'd been reading, lay back, and stared up at the wooden plank roof. She liked to imagine different pictures for the grain patterns. It always soothed her. One night it was a map. Another time it was secret writing. Sometimes it was even music. Tonight it was the road to school.

But as soon as Felix was asleep, Ida slipped out of her bed and crept down the steps to the kitchen. Her mother was still awake, boiling baby bottles in a big pot.

"Hello, love," her mother said with a quick if tired smile. "Thought you'd gone to sleep a long time ago."

"Felix has. I couldn't."

"Something on your mind?"

Ida perched upon a chair and pulled her flannel nightgown over her toes. "Can we talk?" she asked gravely.

Her mother continued working. "I'm listening."

"Where's Pa?"

"Out in the barn. The tractor motor is leaking. This girl talk?"

"It's school." Ida hesitated, then said, "Ma, Miss Fletcher's mother is very sick. On Wednesday she's leaving to go to Iowa to be with her."

"Oh dear!"

"And Mr. Jordan—he's head of the school board—"

"I know."

"—said they wouldn't replace her."

"For heaven's sake. Why not?"

"Said it was too late in the term." Ida paused. "I think he just wants to save money."

"Times
are
getting tight, honey. The valley doesn't have much money. I'm sorry about Miss Fletcher."

"I am, too, but they're closing the school for the year."

"Closing?"

"And Ma, the thing is, if school closes, it means Tom and I can't take the final exam."

"Oh, honey! And you've been working so hard."

"Ma, it's a lot more. No exam—no high school."

Mrs. Bidson thought for a moment. Then she said, "Ida, love, high school was only a possibility. Like we told you, your going depends on how we do on the farm, anyway. Year by year."

"I know."

Ida watched her mother pluck the baby bottles from the hot water and set them to dry. "Ma," she said after a moment, "you know what Tom said?"

"Guess I don't."

"He had an idea how we could keep the school going."

"How?"

"Said ... I should be the teacher."

Mrs. Bidson looked around. "You mean, you ... teaching?"

"Ma, I've been going to school almost forever. I guess I should know how to do it. And you know I've always wanted to be a teacher."

"Think they'd hire you?"

Ida shook her head. "Not for money."

"I don't understand."

"Just ... doing it."

Mrs. Bidson sat down, all attention now. "Honey, you're only fourteen. No one needs to tell me how smart you are. But think, if you were teacher, you'd have all that figuring out of the students' lessons, checking all their work, plus being in charge of the schoolhouse. It'd be hard making everyone mind, too. And you'd still have your own schoolwork to do on top of all that. What do the other children have to say?"

"Don't know. It was Tom's idea. I'd never even thought about it before he mentioned it."

"Well, Tom's sweet on you."

"Ma!"

"Course he is."

"Anyway, that doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Maybe," her mother said with a quick smile. "As for you teaching, I suppose it might work. But only if the other children went along. And I guess you'd need to speak to Mr. Jordan."