by Erica Vetsch
“Your brother has been most helpful.” She withdrew her fingers from his clasp, smoothing her skirts. “Are you here long, Mr. Parker?”
He grimaced. “I’m afraid not. I had barely reached Mankato on Saturday when I received a telegram from the state board. Since I was unable to fill the vacant teaching position in Kettinger, I’m told I will be teaching there this term. Kettinger is on the southern edge of the county, about an hour’s ride from here. I’ll head down there tonight and start school in the morning.”
She pursed her lips. “I had hoped to talk with you about the conditions here. The school is almost completely unsupplied.”
Tyler nodded, turning his bowler around and around in his hands. “I am aware, believe me. There is just no money in the budget for books and the like. I can try to get you some chalk and paper, but most of the school’s allowance goes for coal and your salary. There’s not much left after that.”
Elias tucked his hands into his pockets. “The kids have some books, don’t they?”
She nodded and then shook her head, a contradiction. “None that are of much use to me. Most of them aren’t even in English.”
Tyler sank onto a front bench and let out a long sigh. “I’ve been telling the board for three years now that they’re neglecting the children in this part of the state. It seems like if you don’t live in the Twin Cities, you have to fight for every bit of attention and help you get.”
The clock chimed four. “I’m sorry.” Savannah hurried down the aisle to the cloakroom. “I must be getting back to the Halvorsons. I don’t want to make dinner late. Mr. Halvorson is a stickler for punctuality.”
Tyler and Elias followed, and Elias was pleased to see that she checked the water bucket before closing the door and locking it.
“Thank you again, Elias, for doing the floors, and for helping me find something to try tomorrow that I hope will give us a better day.” She gifted him with a small smile, nodded to Tyler and started down the road.
Elias watched her intently until he realized Tyler was doing the same. “Humph.”
“What?” his brother asked.
“So you’re going to teach down in Kettinger? For the whole term?”
Tyler nodded. “That means I need you to keep watching out for Miss Cox. Now more than ever.”
Something in Tyler’s tone grabbed Elias’s attention. “What do you mean?”
His older brother took off his hat again and ran his fingers through his hair. “That telegram I got? It was a long one. Basically, they’re not pleased with the reports from Blue Stone County in regards to the education system, and they say if we lose another teacher, they’ll remove me from my position. If that happens, I can kiss my future political career goodbye.”
Visions of Savannah crying after her first day, of her realizing she’d made a huge mistake coming here, of himself on his knees begging her to stay, drifted through Elias’s mind and stuck there.
“You’re going to owe me after all this,” he told his brother.
Chapter Six
Getting Mr. Halvorson to understand that she needed him to take her to school in the wagon the next morning nearly tipped Savannah’s frustration over the edge. She finally resorted to drawing what she needed on a piece of paper.
Lars took one look at her stick horses and boxy wagon and burst out laughing. He fired a couple quick sentences to his father and then pointed to the large case at the foot of the stairs. Savannah almost wept in relief when realization dawned on Mr. Halvorson’s face.
They rode in style to school on the second day, rattling along in the farm wagon, harness jingling. Mr. Halvorson dropped them off, and before he left, he asked Lars a question. The boy tugged his earlobe and shrugged.
“Come get?” Lars asked Savannah. “Later?”
Pleased that he had used English, Savannah smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “No. I will walk home.” She pantomimed with two fingers walking. Pointing to the case, she motioned that she would leave it in the school for now.
When class started for the day, Savannah couldn’t help but smile at the curious looks cast toward the case she’d placed in the corner.
Prayers, Scripture, roll call. She matched names and faces, and evidently did better this morning at pronouncing names, because she was corrected only twice.
When they’d finished the preliminaries, Johann raised his hand. “Miss Cox, vat is that?”
“A surprise. For later. First we have some work to do.”
“Do I say in Norwegian for class?”
She shook her head. “Not right now, thank you. For now, I want to use only English, to see how much everyone understands.”
From his bunched forehead, she suspected he didn’t understand. Still, they would learn faster if she taught in English. And they’d start with the basics.
She went to the blackboard and wrote the alphabet in capital letters. Using her ruler, she pointed to each letter, saying it aloud and waiting for the class to respond. Frustratingly, the letters looked the same in Norwegian, but nearly every letter had a different pronunciation in English. Perhaps it would be better to start with whole words? She just didn’t know.
Then she drew a picture of a cat’s face, and put together C, A and T.
“Cat.” She pointed to the animal, then the letters one at a time.
A few snickers.
“Cat,” she repeated. “Johann, what is the Norwegian word for cat?”
He grinned. “Katt.”
Startled, she set her ruler down. “If it sounds the same, why did they seem to have such a hard time with it?”
“Dat does not look like katt.” He shook his head. “Meow.”
Giggles sounded.
“All right. Come here.” She held out the chalk to him. “Draw me a cat.”
He slid from his desk and sauntered up, confidence in every line of his frame. With a few quick strokes, he drew a cat so lifelike Savannah’s jaw dropped.
“That’s amazing.”
“Vat is...a-may-zing?”
“It means good.”
He beamed.
“I think I will keep you busy making me some flashcards.” She tore three sheets of her precious paper into fourths and handed them to him. “Do you have a pencil?”
Johann shook his head.
“Use one of mine.” She gave him one of the two she had. This really was ridiculous, trying to teach without the proper tools. She’d give up some coal to have tablets and pencils and pens and ink.
All morning they struggled through reading and arithmetic, though the numbers looked the same in either language, which was a plus. Savannah resorted to drawing pictures again, using tally marks in place of numbers, adding and subtracting to show what she wanted the children to do.
By noon, she was worn through and not sure she had made much progress. The youngest children seemed to be trying and learning, but the older students... They were holding back, as if they didn’t trust what she was teaching them.
Or didn’t trust her.
At lunchtime, all the students went out into the sunshine to eat, leaving Savannah alone at her desk. The laughter of the girls opened a hollow ache in her chest. They sounded like her sisters. How often had Charlotte and Virginia’s hijinks irritated her? How often had she chided them for their hoydenish behavior?
How much wouldn’t she give to be with them right now?
She peeked into her lunch pail. What wouldn’t she give for some real Southern food, some cornbread and greens and fried ham? Though she’d been to Europe and sampled fine cuisine in the best hotels, she was a Southern girl at heart.
They all slogged through the afternoon until almost two, when Savannah set her pencil down and called for attention. She went to her case and hefted it onto her desk. Aware that
every student watched, she unsnapped the hasps and unbuckled the straps. Opening the case so that the lid rested on the desk, she reached in and touched her most precious possession.
Without her bidding the students gathered around. Nestled in its velvet-lined bed lay her Celtic harp. The wood gleamed, glowing with a patina that bespoke the harp’s age. As always, her heart thrilled at the sight of her beloved instrument.
Synove sucked in a breath, and Ingrid stood on tiptoe to see over the edge of the case.
Savannah raised the harp, sat in her chair and put the instrument on her lap, reveling in the familiar weight. With the back of her thumb, she strummed from the bass strings to the treble.
Wincing, she reached for her pitch pipe. After so much travel, bouncing and jouncing, and the change in climate, the harp was sadly out of tune. One by one she adjusted the strings until a harmonious sound vibrated through the schoolroom when she played. The children’s eyes were round, and she held their attention with ease.
Margrethe reached out to touch the carved rosewood frame and then drew back. Gently, Savannah clasped her hand and drew it to the ridges and valleys of the Celtic knots and ivy decorating the harp.
After that, each student wanted to touch the instrument. She allowed them to pluck and strum the strings, stroke the woodwork and finger the pins. When they’d each had a turn, she adjusted the harp, leaning it gently on her shoulder, and played the first line to “Rock of Ages.”
Faces lit up, recognition dawned and a couple students hummed along. She nodded to encourage them, and they began to sing, just as they had in church.
When the children reached the end of the first verse, she placed her hands flat on the strings to still their vibrations. “Now my turn.” She plucked the strings and sang.
“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from wrath and make me pure.”
Savannah knew she had a more than pleasant voice, especially after all her elocution and singing lessons, but the way her students listened to every word gratified her heart.
“Now you sing with me.” She began again, slowly this time. “Rock of Ages...”
Synove caught on first and sang the line with Savannah. Soon everyone was singing. Savannah would sing the line, and then they would all chime in to repeat it. Over and over they sang, until everyone knew every word.
Setting the harp aside, she asked Johann to write the first verse in Norwegian while she did the same in English, side by side on the blackboard. This was where they would begin. Music was a universal language.
A bit later, dismissing school for the day, Savannah felt optimistic for the first time. When the last student had scampered out the door, she picked up her harp and strummed quietly. Before she knew it, the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major filled the schoolroom. Something about the melody, the rhythm, the rich tapestry of the piece soothed her, and at the same time made her long for home and her sisters.
Charlotte played the violin and Virginia the pianoforte, and the three of them had spent many long hours sharing their love of music and playing together. Thinking of them, she dropped Pachelbel and strummed “Oh, Susanna.”
A knock on the door startled her, and she yelped, plucking a wrong string.
Elias entered, eyebrows tilted at a skeptical angle. “That doesn’t sound like the refined music I would expect from a cultured Southern belle.” His lips twitched.
Rattled at being caught playing at all, much less a folk song, Savannah pressed her cheek against the shoulder of the harp and her hands against the strings. “I’m sorry. My aunt Georgette deplores what she calls our ‘pedestrian tastes’ when my sisters and I play Foster.”
He shook his head. “I was only funning you. You’re so serious.” His long strides brought him up the aisle. “So this was what you were hiding in that big box.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything. I just didn’t open all my baggage for your inspection.”
“It also explains your hands.” He removed his hat and set it on the desk, brim up.
“My hands?”
“I noticed the calluses on your fingertips, and I couldn’t think how you got them.”
Savannah decided not to be offended. “Hours of playing.” She held up her hands. “They were hard won, though my deportment teacher despaired of me ever having ladylike hands. She used to make me do them up in goose grease and gloves at night, hoping to soften them.”
He grimaced. “The things girls worry about and the lengths they’ll go to.”
Savannah lifted the harp and stood, only to have Elias remove the musical instrument from her hands and lay it carefully in the case.
“That’s pretty heavy for a little thing like you. How’d you get it here to the schoolhouse?”
“Mr. Halvorson drove us this morning.”
“How did today go?” He looked at the blackboard. “Hymn singing?”
Savannah closed the lid on the harp and snicked the clasps. “Yes. Today went fine. You don’t have to check on me every day, you know.”
“I know. I’m playing postman.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a letter. “I thought you might like this now instead of waiting until Saturday to come to town and get it.”
Savannah snatched the letter from his hands, scanning the return address. “It’s from my sisters.” She pressed the envelope to her chest, blinking hard. “I’m surprised, since neither of them likes to write much. But a letter from home is just what I need.”
“Then you’ll be mighty happy, because there was another one.” He pulled it out. “This one is from a Miss Carolina Cox. Aunt Carolina, I presume? She of the sweet heart and dragon nature?”
This time he laid the envelope in Savannah’s outstretched hands. The heavy cream stationary bore her aunt’s embossed name and address. She’d written Savannah’s name in black ink, her personality leaping off the paper in those few bold strokes.
Savannah stood there, staring at the letter, homesickness washing over her like a rain shower. The letter was fat. It must be several pages long. She couldn’t contain her smile.
Elias rubbed his jaw. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since you got here—a real smile, I mean. You should do it more often. It looks good on you.”
Flustered, she reached for a hairpin and slit Aunt Carolina’s envelope first. “I hope you don’t think me rude, but I can’t wait. She must’ve mailed it the same day I left Raleigh for it to arrive so soon. She’s thoughtful that way.”
Savannah pulled out the pages, surprised when another envelope dropped out onto her desk.
She froze. Recognition was instantaneous. Her heart and throat squeezed tight.
Elias picked up the envelope. “Girard Brandeis? A relative of yours?”
With icy fingers, she plucked the missive from his hand. “No.”
Why would he be writing her now? What was there possibly to say? She stuffed everything back into Aunt Carolina’s envelope. “I believe I’ll read these later.” Savannah cleared her throat, angry at the smallness of her voice. “Thank you for delivering them. I am most appreciative.”
“Hmm.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Guess I’ll be going, then. You want a ride to the Halvorsons’? I have the buckboard today.”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, really.”
He picked up his hat, but lingered, his gray eyes clouded. Why didn’t he just go so she could fall apart in private?
“I’ll see you, then. Probably not until Saturday, when the Halvorsons come into town, un
less you need me before then.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure I won’t need to bother you.”
When he finally closed the door, she sagged onto the front bench.
Aunt Carolina had been right. Savannah might’ve left the whispers and stares behind, but the hurt had come north with her.
* * *
Savannah should’ve taken Elias up on his offer of a ride, but she’d wanted to be alone to make sense of her feelings after seeing Girard’s handwriting. With each step on the journey back to the Halvorsons’ she regretted her decision. She’d elected to wear an impractical pair of shoes, ones that matched her pale yellow gown perfectly, but pinched. Because Mr. Halvorson had given her a ride this morning, and because she spent a great deal of her day seated behind her desk, she hadn’t realized how unsuitable these kidskin boots were for walking on dirt roads.
Less than halfway to her lodgings, her heels screamed over new blisters, and her toes ground against one another at each step.
As she crossed over the wooden bridge that spanned a small creek, she gave in to the urge to stop and soak her feet. Easing down the bank, she found a reasonably clean patch of grass and unlaced her shoes. With quick jerks, she hiked her skirts to her knees, stripped off her stockings and lowered her burning toes into the water.
Savannah let out an unladylike sigh and rotated her ankles. The tall grass swayed, and the water drifted lazily. This was the perfect spot to read her letters unseen. Half dreading, half anticipating, she opened her sisters’ letter first.
Savannah, darling,
Charlotte here. I know you’ve only been gone a few hours, but I thought it might be nice to get a letter from home pretty soon after you arrived there. How have the first couple of days gone? Do you like teaching? I can’t imagine keeping control of a classroom and lessons and all that tedium. I don’t like school enough for myself that I’d want to inflict it on other people.
