THE WORD OF A CHILD

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Tracy's head went down again. In a choked mumble, she said, "I thought it was kind of cool that he liked me. Even though he's old.'"

  Mariah squeezed her hands again. "Who is it, Tracy?"

  The seventh-grader murmured something. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you."

  "Mr. Tanner."

  Mariah couldn't suppress an, "Oh, no."

  Tracy's chin shot up. "Do you think I'm lying?"

  "Did I say that?"

  She yanked her hands away. "You sound like it!"

  "No. I'm only … sorry. I thought he was a well-liked teacher."

  "You mean, well-liked by you," the girl said spitefully.

  "Tracy, I know him only as a colleague. We aren't personal friends. I'm on your side. I won't abuse your trust, I promise."

  The flash of fear and anger faded. "Oh."

  "Can you repeat your story for Mrs. Patterson?"

  "The principal?" she said in dismay.

  "She'll have to hear it, you know. And then I'm afraid you'll have to tell the police or a social worker. You may even have to testify in court."

  "In court?" Tracy shrank back. "They can't just fire him?"

  "It's not that simple. How can he be fired on the basis of one student saying he did something? He'll likely be suspended while an investigation goes on, but unless he admits to having relations with you, he may have to be convicted of a crime before he can be fired."

  The teenager looked genuinely frightened now. "But … what if I won't talk in court?"

  Mariah hated having to tell the poor girl what she'd set in motion by choosing to come to a teacher.

  "Now that you've told me," she said sympathetically, "I have to report your story. That's the law for teachers. It would certainly be hard to convict Mr. Tanner if you won't testify. That would leave him free to molest other girls. Do you want that?" She gave Tracy a moment to reflect, then levered herself out of the student desk. "I'm going to call Mrs. Patterson to come here right now. Please stay and tell her, just like you did me. The worst is over, Tracy. It'll be easier this time, I promise."

  Tracy sat hunched and small while they waited. Feeling out of her depth, Mariah talked gently about boys and how nice kisses were when both parties wanted them and how inexcusable it was for an adult to compel a child to have intercourse.

  Noreen Patterson was a plump woman of perhaps forty filled with good cheer that didn't disguise her willingness to command.

  The good humor faded the moment Mariah said gravely, "Tracy has something to tell you."

  Tracy did haltingly tell her story for the principal. Afterward Noreen hugged her and said, "I'll call your mother. We need to talk to her."

  "Will you fire him?"

  The principal explained again about the necessity for an investigation, which Tracy took as an insult. "You don't believe me!"

  As Mariah had a class, Mrs. Patterson took Tracy away. She paused to murmur, "Will you come to my office at the end of the day?"

  "Yes, of course."

  Her seventh-graders were reading As You Like It aloud, stumbling over unfamiliar words and requiring constant explanations of Shakespearean language. Perhaps Shakespeare was too difficult for them, she thought, but then a student would read a passage with sudden understanding and relish for the rich language, and she would decide she'd been right to challenge them.

  Today it was very difficult to keep her mind on the reading. Several times she was recalled by a loud, "Ms. Stavig? Ms. Stavig? I don't get it."

  She avoided the faculty room during her break to be sure she didn't run into Gerald Tanner, the computer teacher. He was likely to seek her out, as they'd talked about doing a joint project that involved Internet research in his class and a paper in hers.

  She liked Gerald, who was new at the middle school this year. A tall bony man who made her think of Ichabod Crane, he was in his late thirties and had been teaching at a community college before he'd decided to "get 'em young," as he'd put it.

  Sexually? she wondered now in distaste.

  But what if Tracy was lying for some reason? She might be afraid of her mother's current boyfriend who had raped her, or mad at Gerald because he was flunking her, or… The possibilities were endless. She had seemed genuinely distraught, but Mariah had thought before that Tracy, who was in her beginning drama class, had real talent on the stage.

  The accusation alone could be enough to ruin Gerald's career as a teacher; such stories tended to follow a man.

  She had reason to know.

  Simon had lost his job after rumors got around, even though the accusation was never substantiated and he was never taken to trial. The excuse for firing him was trumped up, and he had known the real reason, but he couldn't do anything about it. Now, three years later, he lived in Bremerton, where nobody whispered, but he'd had to take a job working at the Navy shipyard that wasn't as good as the one he'd lost.

  He'd lost his wife, too, but she didn't want to think about that. Not today.

  This was different, Mariah told herself; the victim was old enough to speak for herself, and it might not be too late for doctors to recover sperm and therefore DNA. This wasn't anything like a child's perhaps wild—or perhaps not—accusation.

  Zofie's daddy.

  She would hear the quiet accusation until the day she died. Not in the little girl's voice, because she'd never seen Lily Thalberg again. After the notoriety, after the investigation had stalled, the Thalbergs had moved away, wanting a fresh start, a friend of a friend had told Mariah. No, Mariah heard her husband named as a molester in the deep, certain voice of that police officer. Detective Connor McLean. He'd believed Lily Thalberg, she could tell. It was partly his certainty that had eaten at Mariah in the days and weeks following his initial visit, when Simon became furious at her smallest, meekest question and when she began to look at Zofie and worry.

  She hated remembering. Second-guessing herself, feeling guilt again because she hadn't stood behind her husband.

  Why did Tracy have to come to her? she wondered wretchedly.

  Her last student was barely out of the classroom when Mariah followed, locking the door behind her. In the office, the secretary said, "Mrs. Patterson is expecting you," and waved her down the hall where the counselors and the principal and vice principal had their offices.

  Both Mrs. Patterson and Mr. Lamarr, the vice principal, were in the office, she saw as she opened the door. But they weren't alone. A second man who had been standing by the window turned as Mariah entered.

  Her breath escaped in a gasp and she stopped halfway inside, clutching the doorknob.

  As the big man with short, reddish-brown hair faced her, his light gray eyes widened briefly just before his expression became utterly impassive.

  Anyone but him, she thought wildly. His voice would live forever in her nightmares and as the kernel of her guilt. If it had occurred to her he might be sent… But it hadn't.

  She heard herself say hoarsely, "I'm sorry, I can't…" as she began to back up.

  Noreen Patterson half rose from her chair behind the desk. "Mariah, what is it?"

  Her wild gaze touched on him. She was breathing like an untamed creature caught in a trap. "I … I just can't…" she said again, her voice high and panicky.

  He said nothing, only waited at the far end of the office. A nerve spasmed under one eye, the only visible sign he understood her distress or felt it.

  The vice principal had reached her. Gripping her arm, he said, "What is it? Are you sick, Mariah?"

  Sick. She seized on an excuse no one would dispute.

  "Yes." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling very well."

  Detective Connor McLean abruptly turned his back so that he looked out the window rather than at her.

  "The flu is going around," Ed Lamarr said. "Here. Why don't you come in and sit down."

  In? She couldn't.

  But it seemed she could, because she allowed herself to be led to the chairs facing Noreen's desk. Sinking into on
e, she tried not to look at the broad, powerful back of the man gazing out the window.

  The principal sank back into her seat. "Do you feel well enough to talk about Tracy for a minute?"

  Mariah breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. Slowly, carefully. She could be strong. He had never threatened her, never raised his voice.

  He had only destroyed her marriage and her belief in both her husband and herself.

  No. Her fingernails bit into her thighs. Be fair. It was childish to hold him responsible. He was not the accuser. If he had not come, it would have been someone else. He was only the messenger. The arm of the law.

  Lily Thalberg's voice.

  As now he would be Tracy Mitchell's.

  "Yes." Miraculously Mariah heard herself sound calm, if far away to her own ears. "I'm fine."

  "Ah. Well, let us know if it gets the best of you."

  Mariah sat with her knees and ankles together, her spine regally straight. Poised. A lady, who would never let anything get the best of her. "Of course," she agreed.

  "Then I want you to meet Detective Connor McLean of the Port Dare Police Department."

  Had he recognized her, or only seen that the sight of him upset her?

  He turned.

  She said stiffly, "How do you do." He nodded. "Ms. Stavig."

  Noreen smiled at Mariah. "Tracy Mitchell chose to come to Mariah. She tells me 'everyone' says you can be trusted."

  Mariah focused fiercely on the principal, blocking out her awareness of the police officer.

  "In this case, of course, I couldn't keep what she told me confidential. In the future, students may not think I can be trusted."

  "She understands that you did what you have to do."

  "Did she ask you to keep what she told you confidential, Ms. Stavig?" asked Detective McLean.

  Mariah stared fixedly at the pencil cup on the principal's desk. It was a crudely made and glazed coil pot, a child's effort. "No," she said. "What Tracy wanted, I think, was for Mr. Tanner to be fired. She must have realized I didn't have the power to accomplish that. She did get somewhat upset at the idea of the police becoming involved, and particularly that she might have to testify in court."

  From her peripheral vision, she saw him pull a notebook from an inside pocket of his well-cut gray suit coat. "Will you repeat what she told you to the best of your memory, Ms. Stavig? I believe she may have been more expansive with you than she was with Mrs. Patterson."

  "Yes. Okay." Mariah took a deep breath and began, at first disjointedly, feeling herself blush at the recitation of physical details, before pulling herself together to conclude like the articulate teacher she was.

  "What was your first reaction?" the detective asked.

  "That one of her mother's boyfriends…" Mariah stopped herself and felt heat in her cheeks.

  The principal smiled ruefully. "The same thought occurred to me."

  "Is it possible she's accusing Mr. Tanner as a smokescreen?"

  When no one else responded, Mariah did. "Anything is possible."

  He continued gently, relentlessly. "Tell me what you know of her home life."

  Mariah did, watching from the corner of her eyes as he took detailed notes.

  "Do you know Gerald Tanner well?"

  Surprised and made uneasy by the question, Mariah was unwary enough to look at him. Their eyes met briefly, and she turned her head quickly.

  "Well, um, no," she fumbled. "He's new this year…"

  "Aren't you planning a project together?" Ed Lamarr asked.

  "Yes." Mariah explained. "We've never had any discussions I'd consider personal, however. I don't even know if he's married or has children."

  "Actually he's single," Noreen contributed. "No children."

  Mariah didn't want to know that or anything else about her colleague. She wanted this never to have happened.

  "What will you do?" she asked the principal.

  "I've asked him to come to my office. I'll have to tell him about the accusation, of course. Tracy has gone to the hospital for an exam, and, um…"

  Mariah nodded.

  "Unless DNA is recovered, however, the exam won't be conclusive. Well," she corrected herself, "unless she's never had sexual intercourse at all and the entire story is fabricated.

  "Detective McLean will be conducting an investigation. I fear parents will demand that Mr. Tanner be suspended during the course of it. I'm undecided about that yet. Students have been known to make frivolous accusations. I don't want to overreact."

  "Tracy's grades are suffering in my class," Mariah said. "She may be flunking his."

  "And yet, the fact that she is a poor student can have no bearing on our response to her allegation," Noreen Patterson pointed out. "In fact, I suspect her failing grade explains why she responded to his … um, blackmail. He wouldn't have had the same leverage with a better student."

  Mariah nodded. "Yes. I understand. It's just that…"

  "That?" the principal prompted.

  "It occurred to me today while we were talking that she and I were alone in a classroom with the door shut. She could have claimed I'd said or done anything. How will you ever know the truth?"

  The police officer stirred. "I doubt a thirteen-year-old girl who is a poor student has the sophistication to have built an airtight case. She'll have talked to friends, for example, possibly bragging about how she was going to get rid of her computer teacher and make everybody feel sorry for her. Clearly she didn't understand that her accusation would go outside the school. In the stress of having to repeat her story to me, other officers, somebody from Child Protective Services, even a D.A., she'll likely slip up."

  "If she's not telling the truth," Mariah felt compelled to say, surprised at her sharpness.

  He lifted a brow. "Exactly."

  She started at a rap on the glass inset in the door.

  Galvanized, Mariah leaped to her feet. She said hastily, "I know you'll want to talk to Gerald without me here. Unless you need anything else, I'll be going home now."

  Detective McLean's light eyes flicked from her face to the man who stood behind her.

  "Actually, Mariah, I was hoping you could stay." Noreen cleared her throat. "I'd like your thoughts."

  Thoughts?

  She was backpedaling, careful to avoid looking at the police officer who remained by the window, as though he imagined he could ever be unobtrusive.

  "I don't know what else I can add." Please don't make me do this, she begged the principal with her eyes. You don't know what you're asking.

  But he did. And, damn him, remained silent.

  Noreen Patterson said firmly, "I'd appreciate it if you would stay."

  Mariah stood for a moment, so near rebellion that she trembled. Nostrils flaring, she stared at Detective McLean, knowing what was coming, hating it and him. He could have rescued her, could have said in that quiet voice, "I don't think we need Ms. Stavig to be here."

  But he said nothing of the kind, and after an intense inner battle Mariah went back to her seat and waited, head bowed.

  Noreen Patterson raised her voice. "Come in."

  "You wanted to see me?" Gerald Tanner looked wary.

  The principal asked him to take a seat. The remaining one was right beside Mariah. She stared down at her hands.

  "Mr. Tanner, one of your students has accused you of trading a passing grade for sex."

  His body jerked, as though he'd been struck by a bullet. "What?"

  Sounding calm, nonjudgmental, Noreen Patterson summarized Tracy's story.

  "Who is the student?" he asked, strain making his voice shake.

  "Tracy Mitchell."

  "God." He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "I've had conferences with her—I know she can do the work if only she'd try—but I've never…" He drew a breath that was painful to hear.

  Unable to prevent herself, Mariah turned her head to see the bewilderment and shock on his face.

  "You don't seriously thi
nk I…" He looked from face to face and saw that they did. "Oh my God. This can't be happening!"

  "I'm afraid it is, Mr. Tanner." Detective McLean spoke quietly. "Any accusation of this magnitude has to be taken seriously."

  "But she's thirteen years old! A … a child!" His Adam's apple bobbed. "I have never been interested, would never be interested…"

  They began to ask questions, and Mariah watched his horrified disintegration.

  "You're going to take her word over mine?" He shoved his chair back. His frenzied gaze encountered Mariah. "Why is she here?"

  Mariah opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  "The student chose to confide in Ms. Stavig," the principal said coolly. "Since she's involved this deeply, I asked her to stay."

  He looked at her with deep hurt. "You couldn't have come to me?"

  "I…" Her voice stuck, unstuck. "You know I have to…"

  "Set up an ambush?" He shot out of the chair as if he couldn't bear to be so close to her.

  "Ms. Stavig did nothing but what she is required by law to do, and you know it," Mrs. Patterson said sharply.

  "This is unbelievable!" He paced, his agitation making his gait jerky and his bony limbs look like sticks strung together. "Do I even get a chance to answer these charges? Does anybody care if I'm innocent?"

  "Of course we care…"

  He swung to face Detective McLean. "Are you going to arrest me?" he shouted. He stuck out his arms. "Here! Handcuff me now. Let's get it over with. Apparently we can skip the trial, too. The judge and jury are right here!"

  He had passed the point of listening to reason, and Mariah couldn't blame him. They had ambushed him, and she understood his terror as the snares whipped shut on his ankles.

  No matter the outcome, his life would never be the same again. Rumors would start, whispers would follow him. Even his best friends would feel doubt. Everyone would wonder: Did he do it? Even if Tracy Mitchell eventually recanted her story the doubts wouldn't be completely erased. Maybe she was afraid of him; maybe that's why she says it never happened. Maybe…

  "I'm sorry," Mariah whispered.