by Jane Peart
It wasn't until she heard Blaine speaking to Jesse that Holly snapped back to consciousness and knew the ordeal was over. She heard Blaine say, "Let's wrap him in a blanket, get him into bed, heat some bricks, and place them at his feet; see that he doesn't get a chill. He'll be fine. I'll look in on him in the morning, but I don't think you have to worry, Jesse. He may have a mild concussion from the fall, but the wound on his forehead will heal, and he'll just have a slight scar, that's all."
Left alone in the dark kitchen, Holly stripped off the blood-spattered petticoat from the table, rolled it into a tight ball, and stuck it under her arm. Shuddering, she walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped out onto the porch and took a long, shaky breath.
Every muscle in her body ached with released tension. She began to tremble and felt suddenly cold. How had she ever been able to do what she had just done? The Holly she knew was one who grew faint at the merest drop of blood on a pricked finger and turned away from a plucked chicken or a dead mouse!
Within a few minutes, she felt a firm hand on her arm and Blaine's voice saying solicitously, "You all right?"
She nodded.
"Come on, then, I'll take you home."
They drove back to the schoolhouse in silence. When Blaine took her up to the door, he asked softly, "Will you ever go on another picnic with me?"
Her laugh sounded slightly hysterical. "Of course."
"You were splendid, Holly. Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said faintly.
There was much left unspoken, but there seemed no adequate words to be said. This was the second time they had shared something for which there seemed no words.
"Good night, Holly. Bless you."
"Good night, Blaine."
One morning about two weeks later Holly was awakened out of a sound sleep by an unusual sound outside. Reaching for her wrapper, she got out of bed and padded barefoot to the window and looked out. To her surprise she saw Jesse Renner and Chad unloading a cart of firewood and stacking it beside the school-house.
She realized it was their way of saying thanks for her part in helping Blaine when Chad was injured. She rapped on the window, and they both looked up; and she smiled and waved her appreciation. Jesse shook his head as if to say "No need!" and went on working.
Somehow the incident made her feel a special bond with Blaine. This was the kind of payment for "services rendered" he usually received. They had shared something important, and now she understood something else about him: the warmth of people's gratitude. It made her feel a new closeness to Riverbend's doctor.
Chapter 15
Riverbend, Oregon; October 1882
"Dearest Mama," Holly wrote,
I have now been a full-fledged teacher for over a month! From your letter, which I received today, I am aware of the full extent of your and Papa's surprise at the news. It is so like Papa to say, as you quote him: "Well, well, maybe all the hefty fees I paid out to Blue Ridge Female Academy are being put to some practical use after all." I can just see his eyes twinkle while he says that. But in all seriousness I seem to have taken to teaching like the proverbial duck to water.
"Of course, I would not be entirely truthful if I didn't relate some of the mishaps that have occurred, although in retrospect some of them have been quite comical. For example, I have certainly been put to the test as people tell me all new teachers are. Particularly by some of the older boys. Because they only attend school sporadically, when they are not needed on the farms, they do not have the desire to learn as do most of the other children. The three who are most troublesome have played some tricks. I will not go into full detail but just mention a few—such as putting old rags in the classroom stove so that one chilly morning when I decided to light a cozy fire, it smoked terribly creating such a cloud of fumes that I had to evacuate the building and conduct the rest of the school day outdoors. Thankfully, the weather here is still warm in the middle of the day so we all rather enjoyed the change of location! Another time a small garter snake was found in the bottom of the drinking water bucket, much to the horror of two screaming little girls.
But I think my stern reprimand and threat of worse has straightened these youngsters out sufficiently—at least temporarily. Nothing untoward has happened recently. They are woefully behind in their studies, so I have separated them from their usual places in the back of the classroom and set them to practicing their letters and doing sums.
The children who come to school are all ages, so I have to be quite versatile in planning each day's schedule. On the whole, I find them all anxious to learn and attentive. I try not to have favorites, but two of the children are especially appealing—a little boy named Joel and his younger sister, whom he calls Cissy. He is about eight, I think; she about six. Both have angelic expressions on not-always-too-clean faces, curly golden hair, large brown eyes. Sadly enough, they are the poorest-dressed children at school. There is an air of neglect about them, although it is touching to see how Joel, such a manly little fellow, is so protective of his sister.
Holly stopped writing for a minute as she thought about Joel and Cissy. How to explain children like these to her comfortable, well-fed family? How could they possibly understand? Try as she might, Holly could not remember having seen any really poor people in Willow Springs. Had she actually been that sheltered or too-self-centered to notice if there were?
These two children had become a matter of concern to Holly. Both came to school barefooted even now when the weather was getting cooler. Holly had worried what they would do when winter really set in. She soon found out. One particularly chilly, damp morning Cissy was wearing shoes, much too big for her little feet, but no stockings.
They both looked small and underweight for their ages, and Holly wondered if they got enough to eat. Most of the other children came with full lunch buckets, but one day Holly had seen Joel sitting with Cissy at recess, sharing what appeared to be a meager one. It looked as though it might only be a piece of crumbly cornbread. Another time she had seen Joel picking up one of the Healy boys' discarded thick ham sandwich and giving it to Cissy, who devoured it hungrily. After that. Holly felt she must do something.
She remembered one of her favorite folk tales from her childhood: "Stone Soup"—the story of a beggar who came into a poor village and cleverly got everyone to contribute something to what was only a stone in a pot of boiling water until a rich concoction of meat, potatoes, carrots, lentils, and beans was soon bubbling over the fire with enough to feed everyone. So Holly told it to the children one afternoon and suggested that the next day they make some stone soup and each child could bring something to put in it. The idea delighted them, and the following morning Holly, who had purchased a nice soup bone with plenty of meat on it at the butcher shop, placed it in a pot on the schoolroom stove. It was sending up a delicious smell as the children filed into the class. Each child had brought something to add; Joel and Cissy had brought wild onions. By lunchtime, Holly ladled out a delicious bowl of soup for everyone, and she felt this day Joel and his little sister had gone home with full stomachs. The children were so enthusiastic about stone soup that it became a weekly treat.
When Holly confided in Geneva that she felt some of the children did not have adequate lunches, Geneva suggested putting potatoes in the warm ashes of the stove at the end of each day and letting them roast overnight. That way any of the children who wanted one could have one the next day with no one being pointed out as not having enough to eat.
Holly realized she was learning something every day: how to deal with problems, meet challenges, use good judgment in ways she had never before been called upon to do. She had been used to living in a world where all her wants had been met, where there was always someone to take care of things, see that food was provided, that her clothes were not only warm and comfortable but fashionable as well. All that was changing for her; she was seeing things with new eyes; a different kind of world was coming into focus for her. This new awareness
in her feelings seemed to be centered on Joel and Cissy, not only because of their physical needs but they also seemed hungry for care and affection. What was their home life like? Holly wondered.
One rainy morning she found them both wet and shivering on the schoolhouse porch long before time for school. Holly brought them inside, back to her own warm little kitchen, dished them each a bowl of oatmeal and hot tea with plenty of sugar. While she dried Cissy's hair and rubbed her cold little feet in her own hands, she noticed the bruise on Joel's forehead and his swollen eyes. What kind of parents did these children have?
When she asked Geneva what she knew about the family, Geneva just shook her head. "Not much. No one does. The McKays always keep to themselves. They don't attend church. I do know he came out here originally to mine, and when that didn't work out he tried farming. But I don't think he was ever much of a farmer; he's sold off his land piece by piece, cut most of the timber too. The few times I saw her, she looked a poor, beaten thing. When I tried to be friendly and talk to her, she just scurried away. Not much I can tell you, Holly."
For not being able to tell her much Geneva had given Holly a lot of information about the McKays. However, it was nothing that made her feel very good about the children. Holly frowned and said, "Joel is so bright. He's one of the smartest children in school. Eager to learn, wants to recite—," she halted midsentence as Geneva regarded her curiously. Holly could guess what her friend was thinking—what her own good sense told her, that it was unwise getting emotionally involved with her students. Especially since she'd be leaving in the spring. Holly knew she was already growing almost too attached to the little boy and his sister.
But it was true. Joel was always the first to raise his hand, first to volunteer for any little job she wanted done around the schoolroom. They were always the first children to arrive at school and the last ones to leave in the afternoon. It was as though this was a place where they felt warm, happy, and safe. Safe? That thought that came unbidden into her mind troubled Holly most.
Holly decided not to write any more about Joel and Cissy in her letter home. It would only distress her soft-hearted mother to hear the things that bothered her so much. Dipping her pen in the inkwell, Holly went back to writing an "edited" version of her life in Riverbend.
As to my "social life," Mama, about which you inquired, I cannot say my calendar is crowded! I find I need much time to prepare my daily lessons and have only the weekends for "fun and frivolity," of which there is not a great deal in Riverbend! I keep the lending library going one Saturday a month so I get to see some of my acquaintances, and the Literary Society meets once a month. I've told you about Viola Dodd and Geneva Healy, both have become dear friends.
Her pen halted a second, then she wrote, "I don't see as much of Hetty or the children as I would like, but she has a busy life and, as you can see, my own is quite full." Here Holly's pen stopped moving across the page. She had never been able to tell her mother about the situation between her and Hetty or that it had been the spur that moved her to apply for the teacher's job. It would grieve both her own mother and Aunt Dolly to know that their daughters did not get along, that, in fact, there had been a clear break in their relationship.
Holly tapped her teeth with the end of her pen thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, it isn't my fault!" she said to herself before starting to write again.
I have also attended performances of two plays put on by a traveling acting group who were in Riverbend for two nights. Both were well-attended and received enthusiastic applause from the audiences. One presentation was of Shakespeare's As You Like It. So you see we are not completely without cultural amenities here. I was escorted to this performance by Adam Corcoran, the editor of the town newspaper, a gentleman of refined taste and intellectual background.
Holly halted the flow of her pen; that description did not exactly describe Ad. Actually, she knew that his sophistication and his satirical bent in conversation would make her mother uncomfortable, and she might not consider him a suitable escort for her daughter. However, Holly found Adam intensely attractive and interesting and enjoyed hearing his comments, listening to his views, and sometimes arguing with him. He took delight in prodding her to defend her opinions and that was stimulating to Holly, who spent most of her time with minds under the age of twelve.
The other, a modern melodrama, was The Fate of fenny Osborne, and to this one I went with Dr. Stevens, our town physician. He was, however, called out in the middle of the performance by a seriously ill patient and had to leave. He made arrangements for me to be escorted safely home by our mutual friend Mr. Corcoran.
In her letter Holly did not mention the other times she had spent with Blaine. Her mother would have been shocked to know about her helping Larkin and that she had assisted him in an emergency surgery! How could she put into words her relationship with Blaine? She and Blaine had established a special bond that was more than friendship but a little less than love. At least there was nothing the least bit romantic between them—
Quickly Holly dipped her pen into the inkwell, unable and unwilling to explore her own feelings about Blaine. She went on to finish the letter, saying,
I will take this into town to the post office now so that it will go out with the mail on the morning stage. I don't want you to worry about me if it is a long time between my letters. From what I have described of my life now you will understand. Do not imagine for one minute that you are not all often in my thoughts and always in my love. Your affectionate daughter.
Just before Holly sighed it with a flourish, she scribbled a postscript along the margin.
Please thank Great-Aunt Ancilla for all the tracts!
Afterward, when Holly thought about it, she told herself that perhaps she should have been more alert to the restless atmosphere in the classroom that afternoon. But when the children had filed back in from lunch hour, she was preoccupied with finding written work for the fourth- and fifth-graders to do while she drilled the third-graders on their times tables. She had received a letter of intent from the District that the County School Supervisor was making his annual rounds of the grammar schools of the area and would be in Riverbend within the next few weeks. Holly was anxious that her students would make a good showing.
Still, if she had been a more experienced teacher, she might have sensed an unusual undercurrent in the classroom. It wasn't until she had to interrupt her drills three times to quiet the other children and settle a squabble between the Healy twins, that she had noticed that the three older boys, Sam Durkin and Ben Hostler and Wes Spurgeon, were missing.
She stood up and looked around. She hoped that all three of them hadn't gone to the "necessary" behind the schoolhouse at the same time. If they had, that meant they were probably jostling and roughhousing outside instead of coming straight back into the classroom. She frowned; now that she came to think about it, she didn't remember having seen them since before lunch. She usually put them to doing more sums than she knew they could finish before the day's end when they got back from recess. This usually settled them down quickly after their vigorous outdoor playtime.
But no, they weren't in the classroom. Walking to the back of the room, she looked at their desks and saw no open workbooks. Where had those rascals got to? Holly heard snickering behind her, and she turned around to see all heads swiveled in her direction, all eyes upon her. Aha! Everyone knew something that she didn't. She marched to the front of the class and, folding her arms, glanced around. Sly glances were exchanged one to another, a few hands were suddenly clapped to mouth, covering guilty smiles, and a few suppressed giggles could be heard. Something was definitely afoot.
Holly employed her sternest schoolmarm voice. "If anyone is keeping the whereabouts of Sam and Ben and Wes a secret from me, he or she will be punished as severely as they will be when I find out."
Dead silence. Holly scanned the room, searching out her most vulnerable prey. Who would break first? She maintained her severest expression
and began to pace up and down, then walk slowly along the aisles between the desks. The silence grew heavier. Finally reaching the front of the classroom again, Holly casually took down her pointer and tapped it on the teacher's desk. At this, one or two tentative hands were raised. She spotted Suzanne Rogers.
"Well, I see that one of my pupils is honorable enough to speak up." She gave the rest of the class a scathing look, then said, "Suzanne, do you know where the big boys went after lunch?"
"Yes, ma'm, I-uh, I think so," the little girl stammered.
"I do! I do!" Tommy Mason waved his hand wildly.
"So do I!" shouted Fred Kohl, not to be outdone, and jumped up. "I heard them talking at lunch." "Well, then?" Holly waited.
Full of himself, Fred squared his fat little shoulders and announced, "They said they wuz goin' to a saloon and get them a beer!"
A shock wave of gasps and titters echoed throughout the room. Holly blinked and tried to maintain a straight face. "You're sure, Fred, that they really said that's where they were going? They weren't just showing off? Teasing you younger boys?"
Fred shook his head from side to side vigorously. "No ma'am, I sure as anything heard them say that. And so did Billy, didn't you, Billy." Shy Bill Sanders nodded solemnly.
"So did I hear 'em, Miss Lambeth," piped up Bucky Jensen.
Holly took a deep breath, trying not to lose her composure. This was a serious matter. This was insurrection at its worst. If the Town Council learned that three of her students had taken off, heading for one of the town's drinking and gambling establishments during the school day, they would be convinced that she had lost control. They would dismiss her without a doubt. Holly knew a couple of them had had grave reservations that a young female teacher could not handle the big boys who worked on farms alongside the men who didn't think much of "school larnin" anyhow.
