by Janette Oke
It was too late now. There was no way she could retrieve what she had deposited in the shed.
With a deep sigh she looked for a place to sit. There was only one chair in the room and it was across the floor from her. What if it belonged to someone else? Perhaps it would be safer if she sat on the bed. But the bed was so white and smooth that she didn’t dare sit on it.
At last she sank down to the floor, Dollie clutched tightly in her arms.
But Kendra had no idea what she was waiting for nor how long she might have to sit there. She didn’t think much of this girls’ school. She had been told that she was sent here to learn. She had expected to be able to use all the new clothes Papa Mac and Mrs. Miller had provided. She had been told about books and maps and all manner of interesting things that would help her to learn about the world.
But there was nothing. Nothing but a room with stark white beds. Papa Mac was gone and she was all alone. She didn’t know where she was or how to ever get back to Bent River Crossing again. She didn’t know how to find Nonie. Or Oscar. She was alone. Alone. And so frightened and lonely. Besides all that—her feet hurt in the tight, stiff new shoes. Kendra reached down and slipped them off. She hated them. She wanted her comfortable moccasins back. She wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home.
Kendra curled up on the hard board floor with Dollie held tightly in her arms. She longed to cry, but she refused to allow herself even that small comfort.
George McMannus walked slowly. He had delivered Kendra as he had known he must do. Martha Adams’ School for Girls was known to be a good one. It would be good for Kendra. The first few days might be hard, but she would quickly adjust. She was a bright little thing. She would soon have everything in the place all figured out. She would soon make friends with the other little girls.
He had done the right thing. He knew that. But he had not done the easy thing.
No. He was miserable. He knew that he would likely be miserable for months to come. How long? How long was the school term before Kendra could come home again? Not until spring. Not until almost summer. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to stand it.
He knew that the winter ahead would be the loneliest winter of his life. He hoped that he would be able to endure it. That he could make it through. He wouldn’t even have Nonie moving silently about the cabin. There would be no need for Nonie to come now. There would be just him and Oscar. He thought of the sled dog. He was really too big to be taking up room in the cabin. It was totally unnecessary. He had a warm, thick coat. He would be as comfortable out of doors as any of the other team members. But for the first time, George felt thankful that Oscar was a cabin dog. It wouldn’t be quite as lonely. At least he would have the pampered dog to talk to.
It was going to be a long winter. An awfully long and lonely one.
“Kendra! What are you doing?”
It was the stern-looking young woman who stood over Kendra, her brow furrowed, her eyes flashing frustration. “You missed your lunch.”
Kendra struggled to her feet, Dollie hanging limply from her hand. She had no words to answer. She wasn’t quite sure of the question.
But it came again. “What are you doing? You were told to put away your things and come for the lunch bell. We have strict rules. If you miss the lunch bell, there will be nothing to eat until the supper hour. And if you miss that—nothing until breakfast. Do you understand?”
Kendra nodded. There was so much she did not understand, but she felt she had understood those few severe words.
“Come now,” said the woman. “It is time for your first class.”
She wheeled on her heel and Kendra obediently stepped forward to follow.
“And leave that—that worn-out—rag—behind,” hissed the woman, motioning toward Dollie.
Kendra looked down at the doll that still dangled from her hand.
Then she looked about the spotless, bare room. Dollie would look so out of place.
“Put her in the drawer where you put your clothes.”
Kendra stood stark-still. She remembered then. She was to have put her clothing in the chest. In the chest with the drawers. She was to have the two at the bottom. But she had put her clothes in the storage shed. She had made a dreadful mistake.
“And where is your pillowcase?” a disturbed and angry voice demanded.
“I—I needed it,” Kendra stammered. She still stood holding Dollie. Slowly the doll was lifted until Kendra was clutching her tightly against her chest. Her large green eyes were dark. There were no tears. Kendra was beyond that.
“And get your shoes back on,” ordered the woman, totally beside herself.
Kendra didn’t know what order to try to fill first. She lowered Dollie to the wooden boards of the floor and sank down beside her, reaching for a shoe as she did so. She hated to put the miserable things back on her aching feet. They hurt. And they made noise when one walked.
“Now—about that pillowcase—where—?”
Just then another woman entered the room. She was shorter than the blustering woman who stood before Kendra. And she was not as thin, nor as straight. Nor did she look quite as sour.
“You have found her,” the woman said, and there was both concern and relief in her voice.
“She was right here in the room—the whole time,” answered the younger one, annoyance still evident in her voice.
Kendra was sitting on the floor struggling with her shoe. She said not a word, though her thoughts reminded her that she had not been in the room “the whole time.” She had gone to the shed.
“I told her plainly to come at the lunch bell, Miss Jennings.” The woman went on to explain to her elder that she had done her job properly but had not been obeyed.
“Perhaps she didn’t know where the dining room is. Did you tell her that?” the older woman inquired softly.
The younger one seemed flustered. “Well, we must get her to her class. We don’t want her late so she disturbs the others,” Miss Jennings said. The one called Miss Bruce bent and snatched Dollie off the floor from Kendra’s side and moved quickly to the chest of drawers.
“She has done something with the pillowcase.” The thin one fairly spat out the words. “I was trying to get to the bottom of it.”
She leaned and jerked open the drawer, then straightened with a horrified look on her face.
“She hasn’t even unpacked her clothes!” she exclaimed, then wheeled back to Kendra.
“Why didn’t you unpack as you were told.”
“I—I did,” floundered Kendra.
The woman turned back to the empty drawer before her. “No, you didn’t,” she denied hotly. “There’s not a thing in here.”
Miss Bruce spun around and lifted Kendra’s case from the floor, opening the latch with hands that trembled with anger.
“There’s nothing here either,” she said, her face filled with unbelief. “What did you do with them, child?”
“Perhaps she put them in the wrong drawers,” suggested the other woman.
“They wouldn’t fit.” But even as the younger woman said the words, she crossed to the chest and pulled out one drawer after another. Kendra’s things were not there. “What did you do with them?”
“I—I—” Kendra could not meet the angry eyes. She lowered her head, her eyes on the floor.
The older woman, Miss Jennings, had not left the room. She seemed to sense Kendra’s deep discomfiture. Kendra heard the swishing of skirts and felt a hand placed on her head.
“What is it, child?”
Kendra longed to weep but she stood silent. As tall as she could. Completely still.
“Did you unpack?” asked the woman. Her voice did not sound harsh and angry, just concerned.
Kendra nodded her head.
“Where did you put them?”
“In the storage shed,” answered Kendra.
“What storage shed?”
“The one at the back—down the hall.”
“But the
shed is always to be locked.”
Kendra nodded again. It was locked.
“How did you get in,” the voice above her went on.
“I put them through the window,” said Kendra in a small, trembling voice.
Kendra heard a sharp intake of breath. It came from the tall, brisk, angry woman.
“Miss Bruce—find the gardener and check the storage shed,” ordered the older woman, her voice even and controlled. “Kendra— come with me. We’ll have a little talk.”
Kendra was led from the room with its four beds, through the hall, down some steps, and to a small office.
“Sometimes first days can be confusing,” Miss Jennings commented as they walked.
Kendra sat down on the big chair indicated to her and nodded her head silently.
“Miss Bruce asked you to unpack your things and put them in the drawers?” It was more a question than a statement. Kendra nodded again.
“So why didn’t you?” The question was direct and firm but without accusation.
“I got mixed up. I thought she said to put them in the storage shed.”
“In the storage shed? Why did you think that?”
“I forgot. She—she—I think she said the case was for the storage shed.”
“The pillowcase?” The woman sounded confused.
“No. The clothes case. When it was empty,” explained Kendra without looking up.
“The suitcase?”
“I don’t have suits,” replied Kendra, and for the first time she lifted her eyes.
A small smile played about Miss Jennings’ lips. She lowered her own eyes to the hands that were clasped together on the desk in front of her. “And the pillowcase?” she asked Kendra.
“I couldn’t carry the clothes. They kept unpiling,” said Kendra. “I borrowed it.”
The woman nodded.
“Did you hear the lunch bell?” she went on, changing the direction of their conversation.
“I heard—something,” admitted Kendra.
“But you didn’t come to lunch. We have rules that one must be at lunch.”
Kendra nodded. She had heard about the rule. Even talking about lunch made her stomach growl. She’d had nothing to eat since early morning.
“Were you shown the dining room?” asked Miss Jennings.
Kendra nodded her head. She and her grandfather had been given a tour of the school. But it was so big and had so many halls and doors and steps up and down. It wasn’t like her familiar home area where one could travel by landmarks.
“Would you take me to the dining room?” Miss Jennings stood as she asked the question and motioned for Kendra to lead the way.
Kendra knew she must obey, so she nodded again and stepped from the door.
But she couldn’t remember. She had no idea which way to turn. She went to her left and started down the long hall. They came to steps and Kendra didn’t know whether to take the ones that went up or the ones that went down. She decided to go down.
Another long hall. Should she go left—or right. She took a deep breath and turned left.
“Kendra—” The voice stopped her. “Kendra, you will never get to the dining room this way. It’s on the bottom floor at the end of the hall.”
Kendra wasn’t sure what to do. What would the woman do with her now? She didn’t know. Along with her confusion and loneliness a new emotion filled her. Fear. Kendra was quite unaccustomed to fear, but it shook her young body now.
“Come,” said the woman, and she extended her hand. “It’s already too late for you to join your first class. We will get you some soup and bread. But this must not happen again—understand. I am waiving the rule this one time because you did not know where to find the dining room, but in the future we will expect you to be at meals on time. There will be no bowl of soup should this happen again.”
Kendra trembled. She had no intention of missing a meal in the future.
“We will henceforth appoint a classmate, a big sister, to help you get acquainted with the layout of the building.”
There were a few words that Kendra had not understood, but she felt that she knew the woman’s meaning.
She was glad to accept the offered hand and be led to the dining room.
Chapter Twelve
Adjustments
It was not a good start for Kendra. The feelings of being left on her own in an alien environment lingered with her even after she had eaten her bowl of reheated split pea soup and a slice of dark bread. The bread tasted fine, but Kendra didn’t like the soup and wished she could refuse it. But she was hungry, and the lady who sat down opposite her told her that she was to eat. Kendra ate obediently, but she did not enjoy the strange soup and felt her stomach threaten to refuse it on a couple of occasions.
When the bowl was finally empty, Kendra pushed it back with no intention of asking for more.
“Now—we must show you the classroom. We won’t go in. The rule is that one must be on time for class. If students don’t get there before the door closes, they do not get in.”
It seemed to Kendra that there were rather a lot of rules.
Miss Jennings stood up and Kendra stood with her. As soon as the woman took a step, Kendra was at her heels. She was reminded of Oscar, and with the thought came another wave of loneliness. How was Oscar doing without her? Was the dog as lonesome as she?
They walked together down the hall. Kendra heard her unfamiliar shoes clicking against the hard board floors, a strange sensation to be hearing each step. She was used to walking silently except for the possible rustling of dried leaves that had tumbled to the trail.
She missed the sound of the leaves. They whispered to her as she walked through them—not the loud clunk, clunk as did the solid boards.
They came to some steps. These, too, were wooden, and Kendra noted the hollow sound as they thumped their way up the stairs.
Then they traveled down another hall, and Miss Jennings stopped and pointed at the door with one hand and raised the other to put a finger before her lips. Kendra had no plans to utter a sound. She wouldn’t have needed the warning. But with the pointed finger and the quiet “sh-h-,” Kendra did not even dare to breathe.
“This is the classroom you will be attending,” the woman whispered.
Kendra’s eyes grew larger. If there was one redeeming factor about going to school, she felt she would discover it behind this closed door. Her grandfather, Papa Mac, had spoken excitedly about all the things she would get to learn and be able to share with him when she returned to their home at Bent River Crossing. Kendra could hardly wait.
“Since class has already started, you may go to the library,” Miss Jennings went on. “We mustn’t waste precious time. I will give you a reading assignment and expect a report at the end of the normal class time. When rules are disobeyed we give library assignments. This is your first day and there seems to be some excuse for your failure to follow orders—but we cannot set new precedents. The other girls will expect to see you studying—not loafing.”
Kendra had no idea what the library was. She did understand that she was going there as a result of her failure to obey instructions, so the library must be a place of punishment.
Dejectedly she followed the woman. They traveled the hall and Miss Jennings pushed open a large wooden door with a word on it that said “Library.”
“Remember the rule,” spoke the woman before they entered. “There is to be no talking in the library. Any communication with the librarian must be written clearly on a slip of paper and handed to her in silence.”
More rules. Kendra began to wonder if there was ever an end to them.
Miss Jennings stepped in and Kendra followed. She had expected a horrid place—one of some kind of wicked torture, but instead what she saw was a room with shelves and shelves of books. To the side were two long tables with straight-backed wooden benches tucked along them. At one end was a desk where a woman sat with her head bent over a book. Kendra could see nothing but a
pile of red-gold hair and the tip of an oval-shaped chin. In front of the woman was a lettered sign that read “Miss Dorcas. Librarian.”
Miss Jennings motioned Kendra to one of the benches. Kendra went obediently and sat down quietly while the woman moved on. She searched along a shelf while Kendra’s eyes traveled over the room. Never had she seen anything so breathtaking. Papa Mac had been right. She would be able to learn all sorts of things.
Before Kendra was able to take in all that was around her, Miss Jennings was back. In one hand she held a book and in the other a sheet of paper and a pencil. The paper said “Report,” and then some instructions. “Complete your report on your assigned reading, sign your name, and hand it to the librarian before leaving the library.” The rest of the sheet was blank except for faint lines across the paper.
Kendra stared at the sheet. She wished she could ask what a report was, but she had already been told sternly that one was never to speak in the library. She looked up at the silent woman before her and said nothing.
Then the woman leaned over, and with the pencil still held in her hands she wrote on Kendra’s sheet of paper: “Assigned reading—pages 1–20,” and handed the sheet and the pencil to Kendra.
Kendra was still puzzling when Miss Jennings left the room. But she turned her attention back to the book that had been laid on the table before her.
She had never seen the story before. It was called The Mystery of the Yellow Crow. Kendra had never seen a yellow crow. She couldn’t even imagine one. She began the book with some reservation.
By the time she reached page twenty, the story had barely begun. Hardly noticing that she had completed the assigned pages, Kendra kept reading. The purpose of reading a book was to discover what happened.
Somewhere a bell rang. Kendra scarcely heard it. The farmer and his wife had just decided to paint their house a nice bright yellow.
