by Deborah Heal
“You see, I inherited this house from my great aunt. She died in February and left it to me in her will. Then when I found out my husband…when he got involved with…. Well, I won’t go into that. Let’s just say I was lucky to have this chance to start over.”
“Merrideth said she’s going to go visit her dad.”
Pat glanced at the living room door and lowered her voice. “That’s not going to happen, not if I can help it.” She sighed and turned back to Abby. “I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t say anything to Merrideth. I’m waiting for the right time to tell her.”
“Okay.” Abby studied her lasagna. She didn’t know what to say. She realized suddenly that she had never actually talked to a divorced person before. Some of her high school classmates had suffered through the trauma of divorce, but she hadn’t thought of it from the parents’ perspective before.
“Anyway,” Pat continued briskly, “I’ve always wanted to live in a big old house. I’d love to restore it to its former glory. I can already see the way it should look. Of course, I realize there’s lots to do. For one thing, as you probably can tell, it isn’t air-conditioned. To be honest, I don’t have the money, at least not yet. Obviously, if I did, I’d pay you.”
“Don’t worry about that. I volunteered for this. I’m majoring in elementary education. Tutoring will be good teaching experience. And my parents live just over in St. Louis, so I can pop over and see them too.”
“Then I’ll try not to feel bad.” Pat’s smile left her face and she rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. “When my husband and I—well, I’ve been a little distracted. Actually, a lot distracted. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t notice for quite some time that Merrideth was having trouble in school. It was gradual at first, and then her grades started dropping like a rock. I never expected it since she’s so smart.”
“What does she need help with most?”
“Everything, actually. You know, math, English, history. I talked to her new principal and thankfully, she’s not going to hold Merrideth back a grade. She can transfer right into sixth grade. That is, if she works over the summer to catch up.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine by the time school starts this fall.” Abby wasn’t sure of any such thing, but it seemed like the kindest thing to say to a woman with a headache. She would do her best, but wouldn’t most of it depend on how committed Merrideth was? And she had a bad feeling about that.
“I’ve been swamped with my new job, and I will be all summer. So I didn’t know when I was going to get the time to work with her. Then I just happened to see a brochure about your college’s tutoring program. I was so relieved.”
“And here I am, at your service. We could get started first thing tomorrow. You said you had books for me to use?”
Pat stood and started stacking their dishes. “I’ll show you right after I clean up the kitchen.”
“I’ll help you.”
“That’s so sweet of you. I just know you’re going to be good for Merrideth. She hasn’t had much of a chance to meet friends.”
Abby took the salad bowl to the counter. “Then I hope I can be Merrideth’s first new friend.” If she’d let her. “By the way, Pat, I’m having trouble using my cell phone—”
“Oh. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Cell phone reception is really iffy out here. Feel free to use our home phone to call out.”
“Thanks, I want to call my parents tonight to let them know I arrived safe and sound.”
Abby carried the stack of textbooks she had been given, with the phone balanced on top, and plopped onto her bed. She had blinked in surprise when Pat first put the books into her arms. They were shabby and torn and smelled strongly of mildew. But knowing how tight money was, she hadn’t commented. Where on earth had she gotten them? A yard sale maybe?
She thumbed through the math book. It was as bad as she had imagined: copyright 1984 with black-and-white photos of dorky kids. The English book was even worse: 539 pages of wall-to-wall text with only a few lame illustrations to break the monotony. It looked boring even to her, and she loved English.
She couldn’t wait to hear what Merrideth would say when she got a look at the books.
Not bothering to open the other books, she stacked them all on the nightstand and picked up the phone. Her mom answered on the second ring. She didn’t say she had worried about her, but Abby knew she always did.
“Wait, your dad wants to hear all about this, too. I’ll get him on the extension.”
Abby reassured her dad that she’d had no trouble on the trip downstate. She had not run out of gas, been approached by axe murderers posing as hitchhikers, or had any breakdowns. Furthermore, she had found the address with no trouble. And she reassured her mom that even though it was a creepy house in a creepy neighborhood, Pat seemed like a really nice woman.
“Except she spoils the girl rotten, so Merrideth’s a little brat—well not so little. And she smells bad, too.”
“Really? What kind of woman doesn’t bathe?”
“Not her. Merrideth, the daughter. And worst of all, she’s a Cubs fan.”
“Now that’s the first thing you said that has me worried,” her dad said with a chuckle.
“Very funny. You should see the books I have to work with. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help her without some decent materials.”
Her dad chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Abby said.
“Maybe God put you there to bring a little discipline to her life,” her mother said. “And if God put you there—and He did—He’ll show you what to do.”
Later, when she turned out the nightstand lamp, she was astonished at how dark the room was. She couldn’t tell where the darkness of the walls met the darkness of the night sky in the window. There were no stars out and no streetlights. And no street noises intruded either. The bed was the right degree of softness, the sheets were cool and crisp, and she was wearing her favorite comfy nightshirt with the Ambassador College logo on the front. Perfect sleeping conditions.
But it was a long time before she felt herself drifting off. And when a tiny electronic beeping sound punctuated the silence she was instantly fully awake again. A blue glow, which in the absolute darkness seemed ridiculously intrusive, was streaming through the large crack under her door. Even though the light looked like something from a sci-fi movie about invading aliens, it was probably just Merrideth playing on the computer across the hall. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to get back to sleep, and so Abby pulled back the covers and got up.
The door to her room creaked horribly as she opened it. She hadn’t noticed it earlier in the light of day. Did doors creak only at night?
Both Pat and Merrideth’s doors were closed, and the only light was the blue one coming from the open door of the computer room. Merrideth wasn’t there, but the slide show of houses was going again. When she touched the mouse, it stopped and the words Beautiful Houses: Take a Virtual Tour were superimposed on an image of a contemporary glass and stone mansion.
Abby shut down the program and computer, and the room went black. Fortunately, she didn’t run into anything as she stumbled her way in the dark back to her bed.
Chapter 2
Sunlight pierced her closed eyelids, and a fly kept buzzing around her face. When it decided to land and walk around on her lip, she pulled her arm out from under the sheet and swatted at it. Kit Kat, lounging comfortably by her side, meowed at the sudden movement and jumped off the bed. Too early, Abby thought and turned over with a groan.
It had taken a long time to fall asleep, and when she finally did, the sound of passing trains awakened her several times. And once she dreamed that the blue light had come back on.
Now, there was only the pleasant sound of leaves rustling in the early morning breeze, mixed with a wonderful birdsong, one that had a dozen different melodies and seemed to come from just outside her
window. At about the same time, the sound of voices—a combination of cartoon and human—began to register. Tweety Bird and Sylvester were at it as usual, and so were Pat and Merrideth.
“I tawt I taw a putty tat.”
“It’s summertime, Mom. Remember? School’s over.”
“But, honey, you know you’re behind.”
“I deed, I deed tee a putty tat!”
“If you’ll do your schoolwork,” Pat pleaded desperately, “I’ll bring you home a nice treat. All right?”
Abby couldn’t entirely make out Merrideth’s reply, but she thought she heard something about Kit Kats, and then the front door thunked shut.
Abby’s eyes flew open and she looked at the clock. Oversleeping on her first day on the job sure wasn’t a good way to impress the boss.
She slipped out of bed and went to the window to check out the day. Her room faced east and the view was of the backyard and a weathered barn framed by flowering trees. Halfway between it and the house was an old well covered with warped wooden planks. Some kind of blooming vine twined up the iron pump handle.
She was about to turn away when the barn door opened and a small boy came out carrying a black cat and stood there in the morning sun as if he owned the place.
“Hi there!” Abby called.
Startled, the boy glanced up, trying to see where the voice came from. The cat began to hiss and struggle, and then springing from his arms, raced back to the barn. The boy took off just as quickly in the opposite direction.
“Hey, don’t be afraid.”
But the boy continued running and was soon out of sight behind the stand of trees at the edge of the yard.
She yawned and headed for the shower. It was time for the rookie teacher to prepare for battle.
As hot as it was already, shorts and a T-shirt would be nice, but instead she chose a loose-fitting white cotton dress, because it looked more mature. She wanted every weapon she could find to fortify her position with her student.
After toweling her hair a bit, she combed and scrunched it. If she left it down it would dry in a riot of brown curls. Instead, she pulled it to the top of her head and fastened it with a clip. It would be cooler off her neck, and more importantly, it might make her seem more teacher-ish.
With the hairstyle and the dress, Abby was as ready to face Merrideth as she ever would be.
“There are definitely kids in this neighborhood,” she said cheerfully as she entered the living room. “At least one, anyway.”
Merrideth didn’t reply. She was sprawled across the sofa in her pajamas. Her hair hung in limp, dull strands, even worse than the night before. Abby leaned against the doorway and waited. Merrideth continued to focus on the TV.
Finally, Abby went to stand in front of it. “Hi, Merrideth. What’s on?”
“Duh. Cartoons.”
“Did your mom leave for work?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I make you breakfast?”
“Already ate.”
“Okay, then.”
Abby found every evidence of that when she entered the kitchen. Three tiny, individual-sized boxes of Sugar Puffs lay empty on the table alongside a jug of milk getting warmer by the minute. A bowl of Sugar Puffs was glued to the table in a sticky puddle of milk and sugar, which Kit Kat and Chippy were helpfully lapping up.
Abby shooed them away and took the dishes to the sink. Remembering there was no dishwasher, she resolved to have more appreciation for the conveniences she usually took for granted.
When she had her own breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast ready, she sat at the kitchen table to eat. The morning sun was streaming in the window, which like all those in the house, was very large, nearly reaching the ten-foot ceiling. Its fluted and elegant wooden trim was covered with the same thick, yellowed paint of the cabinets. A window like that, she thought, was just begging to be refinished. The sill—maybe ten inches deep—would be perfect for pots of bright flowers.
When she got back to the living room, Merrideth was still draped over the sofa, having gone from cartoons to game shows. Kit Kat, purring loudly, seemed enthralled with the TV, but Chippy was on the windowsill thinking private cat thoughts.
“Merrideth, can we turn this off and talk now?”
“I’m watching this.”
“But it’s time to begin your lessons. So, what’s your favorite subject? I thought we’d start with math.”
“I hate math.”
“Okay, how about English?”
“I hate English, too.”
She’d heard Granddad say a dozen times, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” But what if you couldn’t even lead the horse to the water? It was time to improvise.
“You won’t get the Kit Kat bars your mom is bringing home if you don’t do your work.”
“Oh, all right!” Merrideth hauled herself out of the sofa and stomped over to the TV to turn it off.
That was easy, she thought. Who said bribery was a crime? “Good. Let’s work at the kitchen table.”
Merrideth underlined the verb twice and looked up from the book with satisfaction. “You’re wrong.” She said, sneering. “Not every sentence has a subject. This one doesn’t.”
“Let’s see.” Abby looked over Merrideth’s shoulder at the sentence in question: Pride goes before a fall. “Yes, it does. Look closer.”
“You said that the subject is always a noun or pronoun. And this one doesn’t have a noun or pronoun, so it doesn’t have a subject.”
“The subject is pride.”
“That’s not a noun.”
“Sure it is. It’s what’s doing the action of the verb go,” Abby explained.
“You obviously don’t know what you’re talking about.” Merrideth angrily swiped her bangs out of her eyes. “Fall is the verb.”
“No, it’s a noun. It’s the object of the preposition before. Haven’t you had prepositions yet?”
“Sure I have. But a noun is a person, place, or thing.” Merrideth pounded the table in frustration.
“Person, place, thing—or idea. A noun isn’t always something you can see or touch. It can be intangible.”
Merrideth frowned, but didn’t argue.
“And there’s another noun in that sentence. I’ll give you a clue. The articles a, an, and the always signal a noun is coming.”
“Fall? But that’s an action word, a verb.” Merrideth let her pencil drop from her hand and tugged at her hair.
Abby felt like tugging her hair too. “In this case, no one fell. It’s the hypothetical idea of falling, a noun.”
The English lesson went from bad to worse, frustrating both of them. Abby gave up trying to explain gerunds after a heated discussion that lasted fifteen minutes and got nowhere. The final straw for Merrideth came with the sentence, You will need hiking boots for this vacation. She confidently marked hiking as the verb of the sentence and closed the book.
“There,” she said. “Can I go now?”
“Wait a minute. Hiking isn’t the verb.”
“Yes it is. It’s definitely an action word.”
“Yes, but it—”
“Don’t tell me it’s another one of those gerund things!”
“No….” Abby didn’t have the heart to bring up participles. “We’ll discuss it after lunch. I think we need a break.”
But after lunch, Abby couldn’t face another English lesson and gave Merrideth the afternoon off. Merrideth spent the time glued to the TV, but Abby sequestered herself in her room with the English textbook and wondered what in the world she should do next.
Pat struggled through the door at five o’clock, carrying her purse, laptop, and several plastic grocery bags.
“I’m home.”
“Here, let me help,” Abby said, taking two of the bags from her.
Merrideth tried to look in the bags her mother still held. “Did you bring me a treat?”
“Of course I did. I promised you I would.” Pat clutched
the bags close and asked Abby, “Did she do her work?”
“Yes, we worked on grammar today.”
“Honey, I’m so proud of you.” She pulled out a twelve-pack of Kit Kat bars. Merrideth snatched it from her, and having obtained her reward, headed toward the living room.
“Just one for now,” Pat called. “I don’t want you to spoil your appetite. I brought home fried chicken, and I know you love it.”
Pat was pleased that Merrideth came to the table for dinner—although she didn’t touch the slaw and took only a few bites from her drumstick. And she was happy with the upbeat—if edited—report Abby gave of Merrideth’s progress with English. Merrideth frowned and said nothing.
“That’s great!” Pat said. “You’ll be caught up in no time.”
Abby wanted to ask her more about Merrideth, especially that bit about her being really bright. But she didn’t want to talk in front of her student. Pat chattered happily through the rest of dinner about how well her job was going, describing the office she had been assigned and talking about several promising contacts she had made for possible real estate deals.
Merrideth wore her frown all through dinner, and spoke only when spoken to, although Abby didn’t figure it had anything to do with that old-fashioned rule about kids being seen and not heard. And afterwards, when Abby suggested Merrideth help her wash the dishes Merrideth didn’t answer at all, just shuffled out of the kitchen, presumably to go watch more TV.
Pat seemed to take her behavior as normal, but Abby could barely resist the urge to go haul her back and hand her a dishtowel. When she was little, Abby had sworn to her parents that when she had children of her own, she would never spank them. Now, she wondered if she had been a little hasty in taking that option off the table.
Once Merrideth left the kitchen Abby expected the conversation to turn again to the topic of her academic progress. And she would have the opportunity to ask more about Merrideth’s ability and background. But Pat began a long, detailed story about a family who might be looking for a realtor since they were rumored to be moving away from the area.
