“I wanted to watch a little first, see how she was interacting, since the teacher has had a problem with it and all.”
“And?”
“Watch.”
Hannah stepped closer to him so they could both have a good view of Autumn’s table, where the other three children chatted about something or other, probably how they were going to make their set of magnetic balls look like the finished picture example hanging above the center, and Autumn merely watched. She still used the small set of silver balls in front of her to try to help them accomplish the goal, which was good, but her mouth never moved, remaining in a set flat line while the others all appeared to be unaware of her standoffish behavior. “Bless her heart.”
“I know. They aren’t even trying to talk to her, because they assume she won’t respond, and they’re okay with that,” Matt said thickly.
Hannah looked up at him and saw that he could barely contain his tears. “They just don’t want to hurt her feelings,” she said. “I bet they tried to communicate with her for a while before they stopped. They probably don’t want to embarrass her.” It could be worse, Hannah realized, because the children could have gone another route and made fun of Autumn’s peculiar behavior. She started to tell Matt, but decided that probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. His little girl was having a problem, and as a result, he was hurting.
God, please help her come out of her shell with us here. Let her come back to him completely, Lord, and if it be Your will, please let it be today.
Hannah opened her eyes and peered back through the glass. “Matt, look,” she said, keeping her tone low but excited.
Nathan, carrying a big bag of what appeared to be building blocks, moved to Autumn’s table and said something to her. The teacher stood behind him as he waited for Autumn to look up, smile and nod. Then Autumn grabbed one handle of the bag and Nathan held the other, while Mrs. Johnson went to the back door of the classroom and held it open for the pair to cross through.
“That’s a good boy,” Matt said, his words filled with emotion.
“Yes, he is,” Hannah said, and she added a silent thank you for Nathan Martin to her prayer.
Matt moved his fist to the door. “Well, here goes.”
“God is here,” Hannah said. “He’ll be with us, and with Autumn.”
Matt’s concerned face converted to a smile. “You know what? I believe you.” He turned toward her. “I’m glad He’s here, and I’m glad you’re here, with me. It will mean a lot to Autumn, and it means a lot to me.”
The door opened, and a little black-haired boy with dark eyes stood before them. “I’m Ryan,” he said, showcasing a gap where a front tooth used to be. “I’m the door opener today.”
“Well, thank you for opening the door, Ryan. You’re doing a great job,” Hannah said. “We’re here for story time.”
The little boy’s head tilted. “You Autumn’s parents?”
Mrs. Johnson looked up from where she was at the back of the classroom and smiled, while Matt answered, “I’m Autumn’s father, and this is mine and Autumn’s friend, Miss Taylor.”
Hannah smiled, and wondered if it was normal the amount of pleasure she had for that fleeting moment while the little boy assumed she was Autumn’s mommy.
“Hello, I’m so glad you could come,” Mrs. Johnson said, her words directed toward them as she wove through the children still cleaning up from the centers. “Autumn hadn’t said anything about anyone coming, so I had assumed she would be doing her story on her own. I mean, well, she hasn’t said much of anything, so I guess that doesn’t sound quite right. Anyway, I asked her yesterday if she had anyone coming to story time, and she said maybe.” Matt nodded.
“Now, we all understand Autumn’s situation,” Mrs. Johnson continued, “so I thought I could ask her to hold up her book to show the pictures she illustrated, and then I will make up a story that goes with those pictures.”
“I thought it was a story the children came up with,” Matt said.
“Well, it is. But, you know, this exercise involves the children merely illustrating their individual stories and telling us the words that match the pictures to form the tale. See, most first graders aren’t at the point where they can write a story in full sentences. They’re still learning their sight words and all. So this helps them feel a sense of accomplishment by letting them basically author a story without having to write all of the words. They draw the pictures and then tell us the story.” She paused, sighed. “So with Autumn, I thought I would tell the story.”
“Can we let Autumn tell her own story?” Matt asked.
“Why, yes, of course. I mean, I always ask if Autumn would like to verbally demonstrate her thoughts and feelings, but as I’ve mentioned on the phone, she simply isn’t that developed in her communication skills.” Another pause. “And as I mentioned to her grandmother yesterday, if that continues, I think it’d be best for Autumn to perhaps repeat first grade, but we can decide more about that as the year progresses.”
Matt’s mouth clamped closed, and Hannah’s heart ached for him.
Stay with us, Lord, she prayed. “We can let her try to tell her story first, though, right?” Hannah asked. “In case she does decide to communicate verbally today?”
Mrs. Johnson’s smile was instant and almost a little too perfected. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” Matt said curtly.
“Now both of you can go ahead and sit in our story time corner, over there,” Mrs. Johnson said, indicating an area at the front left of the classroom that was covered in pictures of books and characters and had lots of colored squares lined in a semicircle around a center seat. “The parent chairs are on the right.”
Sure enough, there were a few adult-size chairs on the right side of the circle, obviously set up so that the parents could sit directly behind all of the children and view their own child in the spotlight.
“Thank you,” Hannah said, taking Matt’s arm and leading him to their parent chairs. She sat down, waited for him to sit beside her. “This is nice.”
“She isn’t,” Matt grumbled, eyeing Mrs. Johnson, gathering the children up and telling them it was nearly time to hear Autumn’s story and then go to lunch.
“I’m sure she means well,” Hannah offered, but she’d also been less than thrilled with Mrs. Johnson’s assessment of Autumn’s behavior.
“You’re too nice,” he said. “Way too nice.” Hannah smothered her laugh.
“Now, class, as soon as Autumn and Nathan return from taking the blocks to Mrs. Dade’s room, we’ll listen to Autumn’s story and then we’ll head to lunch. Make sure if you brought your lunch that you already have your lunch bag or lunch box at your table place and ready to go. If you need lunch money or milk money, put that in your pocket now.”
The kids scurried to follow instructions, and then one by one, came to sit in the semicircle and wait.
“Now remember, we are quiet when our friend tells her story, because everyone’s story is important,” Mrs. Johnson instructed, and the bounty of heads accumulating in the circle bobbed in agreement.
Matt and Hannah waited while they eventually all sat down. Finally the back door opened and Nathan came through with Autumn following close behind.
“Hey, Miss Hannah!” Nathan exclaimed, which caused Autumn’s head to pop up and her face to break into a face-splitting smile. The two hurried through the classroom, and Nathan plopped down on an open purple square. “I’m glad you came for Autumn’s story,” he said.
“I’m glad, too,” Autumn said.
Hannah heard more than saw Mrs. Johnson’s gasp, but she definitely saw Matt’s face grin with pride.
“Hello, princess,” he said, while Autumn moved into his arms for a big hug.
“Hello, Daddy.”
Hannah looked toward the teacher to see her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.
“So, you’re going to tell us your story?” Hannah asked Autumn.
“Yes
,” she said, beaming. She gave Hannah a long hug and then turned and moved to the center of the circle, where all of the other children waited to hear what Autumn Graham had to say.
Thank you, God.
Mrs. Johnson seemed to collect her bearings, blinked a few times, and then said, “Okay, class. We’re going to be very good listeners while Autumn tells her story.” Then, to Matt and Hannah, “Each child could write a story about whatever they chose, either about something that has happened to them, like a trip they went on or a gift they received, or about their lives in general, or even a favorite pet. Whatever they choose to tell about,” she explained, her voice a little choppy from the apparent surprise of seeing Autumn speak for the first time.
Matt and Hannah nodded, with Matt’s smile never wavering as he glowed with pride toward his little girl.
Autumn smiled at her teacher, then at her classmates, and finally at Matt and Hannah, then she withdrew an oversize fabric book from an easel and said, “My story, by Autumn Graham.”
Hannah looked at Nathan, squirming on his square and telling every child around him, “See, I told you she can talk.”
“Nathan, we need to quietly listen,” Mrs. Johnson warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Nathan said, then looked at Autumn and grinned. “Just happy ’cause God said yes.”
Mrs. Johnson nodded, though Hannah was certain she didn’t understand the impact of what the precious little boy had said, but Autumn giggled a little, and Hannah was thrilled that Nathan had managed to break the tension of her first spoken sentences in the classroom.
“Okay, go ahead, Autumn,” Mrs. Johnson said. “We’re all listening.” She motioned for Nathan to turn around and sit down, which he did.
“My story,” Autumn said, turning the page.
The first picture was filled with tall skinny buildings or houses, and three stick people standing off to one side.
“This is my daddy,” Autumn said, pointing to the tallest of the three, with a patch of black hair and a smile. The bodies weren’t more than a straight line with more lines forming arms and legs and a circle for the heads, but each circle had a face, and all three faces had big smiles. “And this is my mommy.” She indicated the next figure, again smiling, with lots of red curly hair. “And this is me.” The smallest figure, also smiling, with brown hair past its shoulder. “This is when we lived in Atlanta and I stayed with Mommy and Daddy went to work.”
Hannah noticed Matt’s smile waver a bit, but he nodded his approval at his daughter.
Autumn turned the page. There were three figures again, but the three were different than before. Two were the same size, basically, and then there was the little one that depicted Autumn. There were some squiggly lines and circles around them and tall trees. “This is GiGi. She’s my grandmother. She’s my mommy’s mommy. And when Mommy got sick, GiGi came to live with us, and Daddy stayed at work. This is when we went to the park. We went to the park a lot ’cause it made Mommy feel better to be outside and watch me play.”
Hannah’s hand moved instinctively to find Matt’s, and she squeezed it gently, knowing that this was tough for him. He didn’t look at her, and she thought she knew why, because if he looked at her, he might let go of the sadness that was probably at the brink of being set free.
Autumn smiled at the group and held the book out so that they all could see the picture. Then she turned the page, and three figures were on the page, one lying down on a straight line that Hannah assumed was a bed. “This is me and GiGi. We are taking care of Mommy while Daddy works.”
Hannah examined the picture. There were several things that were different, but two obvious ones stood out immediately. Autumn’s mommy no longer had her pretty red curls, and instead a colored hat, kind of flat like maybe a scarf, circled her head. And Autumn’s face had no smile. In fact, she had no mouth at all. And one more thing Hannah noticed, drawn on the mommy’s chest was a little pink swirl. A pink ribbon.
Hannah noticed the look of pity in Mrs. Johnson’s face. The children all listened intently, none of them seeming to realize the emotional dilemma behind Autumn’s story.
Another turn of the page depicted three figures, and thankfully, the daddy was included again. “This is my daddy and me and GiGi, when we moved here, to Alabama.” The daddy looked the same as before, tall with black hair. GiGi also looked the same. And Autumn’s small figure still had one primary feature missing. Her mouth.
Matt’s palm was warm against Hannah’s and she continued holding tight to him, hoping that somehow she could give him the strength he’d obviously need to get through this. There seemed to be one more page in the story, and Hannah prayed that it’d be better than the other ones on Matt’s heart.
Autumn turned the page, and there were four figures now. “This is Daddy, and GiGi, and me—” Autumn looked up at Hannah and Matt “—and Miss Hannah.” Thankfully, Autumn’s figure now had a smile, wider than any of the previous smiles, and Hannah’s heart soared. “I’m very happy here. We’re all happy here.” She held the book out and moved it in a half circle around her to let the children see the picture.
Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat, and Hannah was fairly certain she saw the woman brush her fingers beneath her eyes. “Autumn, that was a lovely story, and we truly appreciate you telling it to us. Don’t we, boys and girls?”
The group clapped and emitted a chorus of “Yes!” and “Good job!” to Autumn.
“Okay, now, class, you can all gather to get your lunch items and line up at the door. Nathan, you’re our line leader today, so please go stand by the door, and everyone get your quiet faces on before we walk down the hall.”
The boys and girls quickly gathered their things and began lining up behind Nathan, while Autumn walked over to Hannah and Matt and hugged them.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
Matt swallowed. “Very much. I’m proud of you, angel. Very, very proud.”
“Thanks. Did you like it, Miss Hannah?”
“Oh, yes, Autumn.”
Matt appeared to notice that all of the children had lined up except Autumn, and he cleared his throat, then motioned for Mrs. Johnson to come over.
“Yes, Dr. Graham?” the teacher asked.
“Would it be okay if we brought Autumn to the lunchroom? I’d like to spend a few minutes with her, if that’s all right, to let her know what all we liked about her story.”
The woman’s eyes warmed, and she smiled tenderly at Autumn. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She paused then added, “And Dr. Graham, I believe I was wrong earlier, when I thought I knew what was best, you know, for next year. I can see that with the correct approach, everything will be right on track, and I promise to help make that happen.”
Hannah was so grateful for the woman’s words, because she and Matt both obviously knew what she was saying, that she wouldn’t try to hold Autumn back. Autumn’s communication wasn’t the problem here; it was more than that. And Hannah had a feeling that Matt was going to try to figure things out right here and now.
Help him, God, to say the right things to Autumn. And please God, help this wonderful little girl to find her way out of her shell for good. Help her live again, because I truly believe that’s what Matt needs too, and Maura, to see Autumn complete again. In Your Son’s precious holy name, amen.
“We’ll see you in the lunchroom, Autumn,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Autumn, now sitting in her daddy’s lap, nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Matt waited for the line of children to leave then glanced behind him to make sure they were the only ones in the room. They were. “Autumn,” he said, “that was a very nice story. You’re really a good little artist, did you know that?”
She had the book in her hands, and she nodded. She opened it to the first page. “Did you know that was you?” She pointed to the daddy on the page. “Before I said it was?”
“I had a strong suspicion,” he said with a soft laugh.
“All of the pictures a
re very nice,” Hannah added. “I love the colors that you chose.”
“Thanks,” Autumn said, her pride evident in the single word.
Matt casually flipped through the pages, and Hannah held her breath, wondering how he was going to approach the huge issues displayed on the fabric. “On this one,” he said, showing the first page where he was missing, “you said that I was at work, right?”
Autumn nodded.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not sure if you realized it back then, but when I went to work, I was trying to help Mommy get better, too, like you and GiGi were doing at home. I wanted her better, and I wish that I could have stayed with all of you while I was trying to do that, because I didn’t like being away from you so much.”
“I didn’t like being away from you so much either,” Autumn said softly.
Matt swallowed, kissed his little girl’s forehead and turned the page. “And here, when Mommy was sick,” he said, showing the one where Rebecca’s image was lying on the bed, “I think you forgot part of your picture here.”
Autumn squinted her face, her little mouth moving to the side as she examined each item on the page. “What?”
“Your mouth,” he said, smiling. “There isn’t a mouth on your picture.”
“I could get a crayon so you can draw one in,” Hannah offered.
Autumn shook her head. “No, there isn’t a mouth.”
Again, Matt visibly swallowed, breathed in deeply, let it out. “How come, sweetie?”
“Because I stopped talking.”
Matt didn’t seem to know what to say, so Hannah asked, “Why did you stop talking?”
This time, Autumn looked up and tears filled her dark eyes. “I don’t know. I got scared, because Mommy kept getting sicker and sicker, and Daddy wasn’t there, and I didn’t know what to do. So I stopped talking. And then, then Mommy got sicker and then she went to Heaven. Because I stopped talking.”
“Oh, honey,” Matt said, releasing Hannah’s hand and stroking his daughter’s hair. “Mommy didn’t go to Heaven because you stopped talking. Mommy went to Heaven because she was sick, and because God wanted her to go on to Heaven so He could make her better.” He squeezed her against him. “You—you started talking again when you saw Miss Hannah,” he reminded.
Healing Autumn's Heart (Love Inspired) Page 11
