Years (14 page)

She passed John’s place and studied the small weathered house behind its windbreak of columnar cedars. A number of black and white cows stood beside the barn. A flock of song sparrows fluttered about the latticed derrick of his windmill, whose lower third was covered with thick morning glories lifting their blue trumpets toward an equally blue sky. Halfway between the house and the windmill sat an old washtub overflowing with bright pink and white petunias. Had he planted them? And the morning glories too? She felt a stab of loneliness for the shy, quiet man, then saw a patchwork cat sitting on the back step washing its white face with a gray paw. Somehow she felt better.

John, she thought. What a simple, dear man.

Theodore. She frowned. Anything but simple, and certainly not dear. How could two brothers possibly be so different? If only their personalities could in some way be homogenized — John could use some of Theodore’s gall and Theodore some of John’s shyness. Odd, how in spite of Theodore’s boorishness — or was it because of it? — she couldn’t stop trying to
win him over. There were times when she detected humor emerging, but always he submerged it. How many days could a man go without smiling? Without laughing? Did he never indulge in gaiety? Surely he had when he was young, when he’d had Melinda.

You just wait, Theodore, you old sourpuss. I’ll make you smile yet.

With that promise, she reached the schoolhouse. She paused in the driveway to relish the scene — white building, azure sky, emerald cottonwoods, gold wheat, birds singing somewhere in the grain, the awakening breeze brushing her ear, not a soul about... as if she were the only person arisen. Mine, she thought, filing away the memory, promising herself she would never forget these precious moments.

She walked to the concrete steps, touched the cool steel handrail, and opened the wooden door.
Mine... at last.

She moved through the cloakroom and stopped just inside the double doors — everything was exactly as she’d left it. She clasped her hands beneath her chin, savoring the anticipation of her first school day. Golden light poured through the long, clean windows of the schoolroom. The shadows of the desks angled crisp and black against the unfinished oak floor from which Saturday’s scrubbing had raised the smell of fresh wood. The shade pulls swayed lazily, their rings creating shifting oval shadows that undulated across a row of desks. Between the windows, the lamp chimneys gleamed. The flag hung motionless. The freshly blacked stove awaited its first fire, the inkwells their first filling, the words on the blackboard their first reading.

And the mouse was sitting in the middle of the floor.

She laughed. The sound sent the creature scampering toward the front of the room. “Well, good morning to you, too.” She watched as it scurried across the creaky floor and disappeared behind the bookcase. “So this is where you hide,” she said as she went down on one knee to peer behind the shelves. She stood up, brushed off her hands, and said aloud, “I’ll get you soon enough, but till I do, don’t stick your nose out, do you hear?”

She sat at her desk, pried open the lid of her tin pail, and found the wedge of cheese Nissa had sent. But after she’d set the mousetrap, she glanced at the bookcase, back at the deadly steel spring, and at the bookcase once more. Finally she mumbled,
“Oh, all right, just one more day.” She tripped the trap and set it on the floor, harmless, cheese and all.

Next she went outside and filled the water pail, lugged it inside, and transferred the water to the water crock. Last, she filled the inkwells then checked her watch impatiently. Fifteen minutes to wait. She glanced at the closed doors, tipped her head thoughtfully, then rushed across to open both the inner and outer ones, leaving them wide and welcoming.

From the door she studied her table. Then from her table she studied the door. She sat, clasped her hands on the scarred oak table, and studied the view: the west schoolyard and cottonwood Windbreak framed by white walls and cleanly dissected by the black stovepipe.

She was sitting precisely that way when the first three heads appeared and peeked around the stovepipe.

“Good morning.” Immediately Linnea was on her feet, moving toward them. Lars and Evie’s children. Each of them held a theme book and a tin molasses pail, and they all stared at her. The boy was freckled, his hair parted on the side and severely slicked down. His dark-blue britches were held up by gray suspenders, and the toes of his boots hadn’t a scuff mark on them. The taller girl held the hand of a younger one who tried to hide behind her sister’s shoulder. The two girls were dressed similarly, in flowered cotton dresses reaching their high-top brown boots, which were obviously as new as their brother’s. The younger girl wore a starched white pinafore over her dress. Both of them had their hair parted down the middle, slicked back into tight, neat pigtails bound by tiny yellow ribbons.

“Good morning, Miss Brandonberg,” the older two singsonged in unison.

Linnea’s heart hammered as she tried desperately to recall their names, but dredged up only one. “You’re Norna, aren’t you? Norna Westgaard.”

“Uh-huh. And this is Skipp and Roseanne.”

“Hello, Skipp.”

He nodded and colored while Roseanne stuck her finger in the side of her mouth and looked as if she were about to cry.

“Hello, Roseanne.”

Norna nudged her with a knee and the little tyke recited the obviously rehearsed greeting. “Good morning, Mith Brandonberg.
” Norna leaned over and pulled her sister’s finger from her mouth, ordering, “Say it nice now.”

“Good morning, Mith Brandonberg.” This time it came out a little more clearly, but with the same captivating lisp as the first time.

Linnea’s heart melted immediately. She came forward, but not too near, afraid of rushing Roseanne. “Well, Roseanne, this is your very first day of school, I’ve heard.”

Roseanne pulled out her cheek and nodded, her eyes never leaving Linnea’s.

“Did you know it’s mine, too? You’re my very first students. And I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone else.” Linnea folded her hands, pressed them between her knees as she bent down, and confided, “I’ve been just a little bit nervous about meeting you.”

Roseanne’s finger came out of her mouth and she gazed up at Norna, who smiled down reassuringly.

Another figure came to the door just then. It was Frances Westgaard with a little brother in tow. Recognizing them as Ulmer and Helen’s children, Linnea expected to see two older brothers join them momentarily. But as the children filed in to meet her, there were no older brothers.

After an exchange of greetings, they all went outside, the children to the playground and Linnea to the school steps to meet each student who came. She kept one eye on the road for the approach of the missing boys. But minutes passed and the oldest one to arrive was Allen Severt, who sauntered off to the playground where he immediately began pestering the older girls pushing the younger children on the swings.

At nine o’clock Linnea was still short of her four oldest male students and went back inside to check her class list to make sure she hadn’t been mistaken about whom to expect.

But she couldn’t be mistaken about Kristian! Where was he? Scouring her memory, she came up with a face to go with the name “Raymond Westgaard” — a tall, angular boy who, as soon as he’d been introduced to her on Sunday, had gone off with Kristian. And the Lommen girl had already arrived — she was the pretty one with trailing auburn hair and stunning, long eyelashes — but where was her twin brother? And who else was missing? Oh, yes — Linnea checked her list — Anton. Tony, Nissa had called him, and Linnea had marked his nickname in the
margin. Tony Westgaard, age fourteen, was missing, too.

Linnea drew a deep breath and felt her stomach tense. Were they putting her to some test already, the older boys? Deliberately arriving late the first day just to see what her reaction would be?

Thinking of Kristian, she found it impossible to believe he’d be part of such maneuvering. But it was ten after nine already and she still hadn’t rung the bell. Finally she looked over all the students and chose the one who looked the most sensible and trustworthy.

“Norna, may I speak to you a moment?” she called from the edge of the playground. Immediately Norna left the rest and came to stand before her.

“Yes, Miss Brandonberg?”

“It’s ten after nine, and I’m missing four students. All the older boys. Would you happen to know where they are?”

Norna looked dumbfounded. “Oh, didn’t you know?”

“Know?... know what?”

“They won’t be coming at all.”

“Won’t be coming?” Linnea repeated disbelievingly.

“Well, no. Not till the wheat’s in and threshing’s done.”

Confused, Linnea repeated, “The wheat? You mean today? Somebody’s threshing today?”

“No, ma’am. Not only today, but at the end of the season. The boys got to help with the harvest.”

As a glimmer of comprehension surfaced, Linnea feared she was beginning to understand only too well. “The harvest. You mean the whole thing?” She waved a hand at the vast fields around the schoolyard.
“All that?”

Norna glanced nervously at her hands, then up again. “Well, they need the boys, else how would they get it all in and threshed before the snow flies?”

“Before the snow flies? You mean they intend to keep the boys out of school all that time?”

“Well... yes, ma’am,” the girl answered with a worried expression.

Realizing she was making Norna uncomfortable, Linnea disguised her dismay and returned mildly, “Thank you, Norna.”

But she was already seething as she gazed off toward the northwest, in the direction the boys had been cutting yesterday. Not a soul in sight. And when she stepped into the cloakroom and yanked the heavy knotted rope from its bent nail, she rang
the bell with such vehemence that it pulled her feet completely off the floor on the upswing!

What a disastrous beginning to the day that she’d built up in her mind with such idealism. They really got by with it, year after year? Robbing the older boys of valuable school time to help them get their precious wheat in? Well, they’d better think again, because this year Miss Brandonberg was here and things were going to be a little different!

The incident ruined Linnea’s entire day. Though she went through the motions of setting up a routine and getting acquainted with her charges, whenever they were busy and she was not, her thoughts turned sour and she couldn’t wait to get home and tie into Theodore.

She assigned seats and drew herself a name chart, then had all the children who knew it say the “Pledge of Allegiance” to begin the day. After that they all took turns standing beside their desks, stating their names, ages, and the approximate place each had been working in various subjects when school ended last year. Most of the books the children used had no demarcation indicating grade level.

In an attempt to familiarize herself with each student, both personally and academically, she assigned the older ones the task of writing a short essay about any one member of their family. Those who were in the middle grades were assigned to write a list of ten words they thought described their family, and the younger ones were asked to draw pictures of their family. Meanwhile, she gathered her “first grade” around her — cousins Roseanne and Sonny Westgaard — and began teaching them the alphabet with her prepared flashcards.

It was tricky, Linnea found, keeping seven grade levels going at once, and there were times when it seemed she’d given one or a pair of her students enough to occupy their time for a full hour when — presto! — there they’d be, all finished and ready for the next lesson, long before she’d completed a task with another group.

She was grateful for the midmorning recess break and the lunch break at noon, though she couldn’t force herself to choke down the tongue sandwich. She ended up discreetly throwing most of it away and spending the afternoon with a growling stomach.

Because the children worked alone so much of the time it
was easy to tell who applied himself and who didn’t, who was fast and who wasn’t, who could work without constantly being watched and who couldn’t be trusted.

Allen Severt was the worst of the lot.

His written work was slipshod, his attitude bordering on insolent, and his treatment of the other children boorish and inconsiderate. During the lunch break he went off to drown gophers — there was a bounty of gophers, Linnea learned, so gopher-catching was the boys’ favorite noon activity — and brought back not only two tails but one tiny, furry foot, which he quietly laid on Frances Westgaard’s shoulder after class resumed. When she discovered it, her shriek unsettled the whole schoolroom as she leaped to her feet and brushed the thing off onto the floor.

“Allen!” Linnea ordered, “you will apologize to Frances immediately, then take that vile thing outside and dispose of it!”

He slouched in his seat indifferently and demanded, “Why? I didn’t put it there.”

“Weren’t you the one who caught the gophers at noon?”

Instead of answering, he let the cynical curl remain on his lips as he slowly dragged himself to his feet. He bent from the waist with a cheeky attitude and swished the gopher foot from the floor.

“Whatever you say, teacher,” he drawled.

The way Allen said the word
teacher
was like a slap in the face. It took every bit of fortitude Linnea possessed to keep from giving him the smack he deserved. Their eyes clashed — his lazily victorious, hers snapping — then he hooked a thumb in his back pocket and began to turn away.

“The apology first,” she demanded.

He stopped, one shoulder drooping lower than the other with an air of persecution, and barely took his eyes off Linnea. “Sorry, twerp,” he grunted.

“Outside!” Linnea snapped, realizing the psychological importance of getting in the last word. The boy shuffled to the door with a loose-jointed impudence, deliberately dragging his feet so they clunked on the hollow floor.

Thankfully, the incident happened near the end of the day, for it left Linnea in a state of trembling anger. She tried not to let it show as Allen shuffled back in and resumed his seat with
the same bored attitude as before.