Years

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “Fraternize with whom, Miss Brandonberg? Until the older boys come to school there’s nobody for him to fraternize with. Surely you don’t expect a fifteen-year-old boy to be overjoyed about playing hopscotch with the second and third graders?” Mrs. Severt’s voice was a velvet ice pick chipping away at Linnea’s self-esteem. Nerves prickled in places she hadn’t realized she had them. She wished she were home at Nissa’s where nobody talked at the table. Quivering inside, she nonetheless kept her voice placid.

  “Perhaps fraternize isn’t exactly the right term.” Linnea searched for another, but none came, so she blurted out, “Allen teases the other children a lot.”

  “All children tease. I did when I was a child. I’m sure Martin did, too, didn’t you, dear?”

  But not all children take such perverse pleasure in it, Linnea thought, though she could hardly say so to the minister and his wife.

  Reverend Severt ignored Lillian’s question and posed one of his own. “Specifically, what has he done?”

  Linnea hadn’t intended to name specifics, but it appeared Mrs. Severt had a blind eye where her son was concerned. If Allen was to be helped, Linnea must be frank. She related the incident about Frances and the garter snake.

  Lillian Severt demanded, “Did anyone see Allen put the snake through the moon?”

  “No, but—”

  “Well then.” She settled back with a satisfied air.

  Growing angrier by the minute, Linnea rushed on. “I was about to say that he was the only one not taking part in the kickball game that was going on in the playground at the time. And it happened right after he had stolen one of the cookies from Frances’s lunch bucket and she’d complained to me about it”

  Mr. Severt began, “Our Allen stole—”

  “Frances?” his wife interrupted yet again. “You mean Frances Westgaard, that rather dim-witted child of Ulmer and Helen’s?”

  Under the table, Linnea’s fists clenched in her lap. “Frances is not dim-witted. She’s a little slow, that’s all.”

  Lillian Severt took a ladylike sip of coffee. “Ah, slow... yes,” she said knowingly, replacing her cup in its delicate saucer. “And you’d take the word of a child like that over the word of the minister’s son?” One eyebrow raised in reproof, she let the question settle for several seconds, then brightened visibly. “And anyway,” she flashed a smile at her husband, then at Linnea, “there would be absolutely no reason for Allen to steal someone else’s cookies. I pack him an ample lunch myself every day, and as you just heard, he’s more than appreciative of the sweets I make around here. Granted, he does love cookies, but I always see to it that he’s well supplied.”

  Martin Severt leaned forward. “Miss Brandonberg, is there any chance you could be wrong about Allen stealing?”

  Linnea turned to him with new hope. “This particular time, I’m afraid not. He snatched it from her while all the children were together, and gobbled it down before she could get it back. But there have been other times when he’s managed to take bites and leave the cookies in their pails.”

  Again Mrs. Severt came to her boy’s defense. “You may call that stealing, Miss Brandonberg, but I’d call it a childish prank.”

  “Given my vocation,” the minister added, “you can well imagine that teaching the Ten Commandments has been of utmost importance to both Mrs. Severt and myself in raising our children. I know Allen isn’t perfect, but stealing is a serious allegation against a boy who’s been raised to read the Bible every night.”

  Allen’s list of words came back to Linnea — boring, stoopid, prayers, choclat cookys. It had revealed more about Allen Severt than she’d realized at the time. She was beginning to see more and more reason to be concerned about Allen’s behavior.

  Sitting before his parents, feeling chastised and ineffectual, Linnea couldn’t help but wonder what they’d say if she came right out and informed the Severts that their son spent an inordinate amount of time staring at her breasts. Undoubtedly, Lillian would intimate that Miss Brandonberg had done something to entice the boy. Having had a dose of the woman, Linnea wasn’t too sure Mrs. Severt wasn’t capable of costing a teacher her job on grounds much less serious than that.

  Tact seemed prudent until she had gathered more substantial proof of Allen’s misdeeds.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Severt, I didn’t come here to criticize how you raise your children. I wouldn’t presume to do that, but I wanted you to be aware that things are not running smoothly for Allen at school. His attitude must change before he gets into even bigger trouble, and when I give him an order, I expect it to be carried out.”

  “Specifically what orders has he not carried out?” Mrs. Severt asked.

  Linnea related the incident regarding the paragraph and the substituted list.

  “And did the list tell you anything — now that you’ve seen his home?”

  “Yes, but that’s not—”

  “The point is, Miss Brandonberg, Allen is an extremely bright boy. We’ve been told so ever since he began school. Bright children need constant challenge to perform at their best. Perhaps he isn’t receiving that challenge under your tutelage.” Linnea felt her face grow red and her anger multiply while Mrs. Severt went on almost indulgently. “You’re new here, Miss Brandonberg. You’ve been with us less than a month and already you’re labeling Allen a troublemaker. He’s had five other teachers in the past, all of them older and more experienced than you... and men, I might add. Don’t you find it strange that if our son is such a troublemaker we haven’t heard about it before this?”

  “Lillian, I don’t think Miss Brandonberg—”

  “And I don’t think” — Lillian leveled her husband with a look that made Linnea expect a lightning bolt to come through the ceiling — ” Miss Brandonberg has bothered to look for the positive traits of our son, Martin.” If her words hadn’t effectively silenced the minister, her condemnatory expression would have. “Perhaps she needs a little more time to do so. Let’s hope that next time she comes to dinner her report will be less prejudicial.”

  To his credit, Martin Severt squirmed and blushed. Linnea wondered what to look at, and how long it would take to clear out of here so she could blow off the steam that was close to erupting.

  “Yes, let’s hope so,” Linnea agreed quietly, then folding her napkin and pushing herself away from the table, added, “It was a delicious meal, Mrs. Severt. Thank you for having me.”

  “Not at all. You’re welcome any time. The door of a minister’s house is always open.” She extended her hand, and though Linnea would rather have touched a snake, she took it and made her departure as gracefully as possible.

  * * *

  Upstairs, in the bedroom directly above the dining room, Allen Severt lay on his belly on the linoleum floor, his face directly above the heat register. Through its adjustable metal slats he clearly saw and heard what was going on in the room below.

  “Allen, I’m gonna tell!” Libby whispered from the doorway. “You know you’re not supposed to listen through the register. You promised Daddy you wouldn’t.”

  Allen eased away from the grate slowly, so the floor wouldn’t creak.

  “Yeah, well, she’s sittin’ down there tellin’ all kinds of damn lies about me, tryin’ to make them think I cause trouble around school.”

  “You’re not supposed to cuss either, Allen Severt. I’m tellin’!”

  With a single insidious step he was at his sister’s side, one hand painfully squeezing her arm. “Yeah, you just try it, pignose, and see what happens.”

  “You can’t do anything to me. I’ll tell Daddy and he’ll make you recite verses.”

  Allen squeezed harder. “Oh, yeah, smarty? Well, how’d you like that cat of yours to get her tail dipped in kerosene? Cats dance real good when they get kerosene up their ass. And when you touch a match to ‘em — poom!”

  Libby’s chin quivered. Tears formed in her wide blue eyes as she tried to pull free. “Ouch, Allen! Let go. You’re hurting
me.”

  “Yeah, and just remember it when you wanna go tattle to the old man. When the teacher starts spreading lies about me it’s not my fault what happens around school after that.” He glared at the register, then gritted evilly. “Just who does she think she is anyway?” Then, as if he’d no further use for his sister, he thrust her aside.

  “Lawrence, I swear Tve never — never! — been so mad in my life! Why, that... that supercilious, misguided old bag! I swear to God, Lawrence, if she’d’ve made one more nasty crack, I would’ve pushed that flat snout of hers clear to the back of her skull!”

  Linnea bounced along on Clippa’s back, so infuriated her eyes teared. A lump of rage clotted her throat.

  “Clippa, slow down, you mangy old nag! And, Lawrence, come back here!”

  But Lawrence slunk away and Linnea needed someone with whom to vent her emotions. Perhaps it was fortuitous that only a quarter mile down the road she passed Clara and Trigg’s mailbox.

  “Whoa.”

  She stared down their lane at the lights beaming from the windows, recalled Clara’s invitation, and decided she had never before needed a friend as badly as she needed one now.

  It was Trigg who answered the door.

  “Why, Miss Brandonberg, what a surprise.” He glanced beyond her and frowned. “Is anything wrong at Teddy’s?”

  “No, everything’s fine. It’s just—”

  “Come in, come in!”

  At that moment Clara appeared behind her husband. “Linnea! Oh, this is wonderful.” She grabbed Linnea’s hand and drew her inside. “But the little ones are going to be so disappointed. They’re already in bed.”

  “Oh, this isn’t an official visit. I was just passing by, and I remembered you said the coffee was always hot and... ” Suddenly Linnea gulped to a stop, blinking rapidly.

  “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “I think In... need a friend.”

  The kitchen was warm, yellow, and cheerful, the welcome enthusiastic. Linnea’s pent-up frustrations came to a head, and before she could stop them, tears glistened in her eyes. Clara immediately put an arm around the younger woman and drew her toward a round oak table where a kerosene lantern lit tomorrow’s breakfast plates and cups already in place, upside down. While Clara urged Linnea into a chair, Trigg headed for the coffeepot.

  “Your hands are cold. Where have you been, out there in the dark?” Clara seated herself facing Linnea and rubbed her hands between her own.

  “I’m sorry to come here this way and... and wail on your shoulder, but I’m so upset and I... I... ”

  “Is it Teddy?”

  “No, it’s Allen Severt.”

  Clara sat back, her expression wry. “Oh, that little turd.”

  Unexpectedly, Linnea laughed. She looked at the down-to-earth Clara and a weight seemed to lift from her chest. The tears that had been threatening suddenly evaporated and things didn’t seem nearly as exasperating. She was going to love this woman.

  “He really is. I wonder how many times I’ve wanted to call him that myself.”

  “Bent tells me plenty about what goes on around school. So what has Allen done now?”

  “This time it isn’t him so much as his parents.” Linnea shook her head in exasperation. “His mother! Lord!”

  Smiling wryly, Clara overturned and filled three coffeecups. “So you’ve met Lillian the Hun.” Again Linnea laughed at the woman’s outrageous candor. Clara tipped her head aside and grinned. “Well, I’m glad you can still laugh. Feeling better now?”

  “Immeasurably.”

  “Then tell us what happened.”

  Linnea related the highlights of the confrontation and could see the anger growing in Clara.

  “She called our Frances what?”

  “Dim-witted. Can you imagine a minister’s wife saying a thing like that?”

  “Lillian thinks that being a minister’s wife covers a multitude of sins. Like criticizing others to make herself look good. You ought to hear her at Ladies’ Circle.” Clara waved the memory away. “Well, I don’t want to get into that, but you won’t find anybody around here who has one good thing to say about her. She hasn’t been liked since the first Sunday she stood beside the reverend on the church step and basked in reflected glory.

  “But to think she’d have the gall to tell you that you’re not doing your job at school when that devil of hers has been driving teachers crazy for years. I know more than one of them who didn’t stay because of Allen.

  “But that’s neither here nor there. Listen, Linnea, the stories coming home from school with the children are all good. And don’t you forget it! Lillian’s been whitewashing that brat’s foul streak her whole life. And she’s gonna keep on till one of these days he’ll pull one that she won’t be able to wish away.” Clara stopped, considered a moment, then asked, “Have you told Teddy about this?”

  Startled by the question, Linnea grew wide-eyed. “No.”

  “Well, if Allen keeps it up, I think you should.”

  Linnea shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Theodore doesn’t like to be bothered with school business.”

  “Oh. He’s been grumpy lately, huh? Well, don’t let that fool you. Underneath he cares about more than you’d guess. Take my word for it, if Allen keeps it up, the one to talk to is Teddy.”

  “All right. I’ll think about it.” The coffeepot was empty and Trigg was stifling a yawn. “It’s late,” Linnea said. “I’ve enjoyed this so much, but I really must go.”

  At the door she and Clara exchanged the customary parting niceties, but at the last minute they couldn’t resist sharing an impetuous hug.

  “You be careful riding home now.”

  “I will.”

  “Come anytime.”

  “I will. And you do the same.”

  At home, when Linnea reached the barn it was dark and silent. She lit a lantern, going over all of Theodore’s instructions for putting away the tack and turning Clippa out into the near paddock. But she had scarcely begun working on the girth knot when Theodore appeared silently behind her.

  “You’re late!”

  She jumped and spun, pressing a hand to her heart.

  “Oh, Theodore, I didn’t know you were there.”

  He’d been so worried. Pacing, listening for hoofbeats, wondering what could have happened to her. Her safe arrival brought relief, but along with it an irrational anger. “Haven’t you got more sense than to stay out this long? Why, anything could’ve happened to you!”

  “I stopped to visit Clara and Trigg.”

  He stood close enough to touch, but his face wore a mask of displeasure.

  “This isn’t the city, you know.”

  “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be up waiting.”

  “I wasn’t up waiting!”

  But he had been and they both knew it. While he scowled down at her she felt it again, that wild, wondrous new thing that filled her breast to bursting.

  Blast it, girl, don’t look at me that way, he thought, looking down into her somber face that hid little of what she was feeling. His heart pounded. His hands itched to touch her. He wanted to say he was sorry he’d shouted — it had little to do with her being out late. Instead, he reached for the girth knot.

  “You go on up to the house,” he ordered, more gently. “I’ll see to Clippa.”

  “Thank you, Theodore,” she replied softly.

  He nodded silently, concentrating solely on his task.

  She studied him as he turned away, but again he closed himself away from her. Why are you so afraid of what we’re beginning to feel, she wondered. It’s nothing to be afraid of. And you were waiting to see that I arrived home safely. You were, Theodore, whether you’ll admit it or not.

  But she kept her thoughts to herself and slipped quietly from the barn, leaving him to wrestle with his emotions.

  During the days that followed, Linnea visited the homes of the rest of her students, sharing meals and getting to kno
w the people whose lives were all so closely intertwined. She found them to be basic, hard-working, rather too introspective — the effervescent Clara was the exception — but flatteringly polite to the new teacher... if one disregarded table manners.

  The Lommen twins had a charm all their own, stemming from their constant good-natured competition with each other. It was a positive force in their lives, one that spurred them to try to please, not only at school but also at home.

  At Oscar Knutson’s Linnea was startled to find the house so cluttered with litter, they seemed to live in the paths between piles. Linnea made a mental note to create a desk-check day at school in an attempt to teach Jeannette the value of orderliness. Aside from the messy house, however, the visit was a success. Not only did Linnea enjoy a delicious meal, she had the chance to discuss such things as Christmas plays, county spelling bees, and a cakewalk she had in mind to raise funds for a real teacher’s desk.

  Her second visit to Clara and Trigg’s house cemented the friendship between the two women, and Linnea went away considering Clara a confidante.

  In making the rounds of the Westgaards, Linnea’s respect for their mother grew. Nissa had raised sensible, loving children, with the possible exception of Theodore, who seemed the least pleasant, the least loving of the lot. Especially since that night in the barn. They’d said very little to each other since then, had managed to stay out of each other’s way, but the fact that the older boys were still being withheld from school was like a rowel under Linnea’s hide. Every time she sat down across the table from Theodore, she wanted to lash out at him and demand that he release his son into her daytime custody.

  But October came and settled in with cooler weather, and still the older boys were missing.

  At school, Allen Severt continued to persecute Rosie and Frances more than any of the others, but always sneakily enough to keep from getting caught. He hid Rosie’s lunch pail, sometimes ate the choicest contents from it, then blamed it on someone else. When she ran to the teacher in tears, Allen taunted, mimicking her lisp in a singsong voice.

  Systematically he worked on shortening Frances’s left pigtail. Only her left. He did it in a way that could never be proven, somehow managing to trim off no more than a quarter inch at a time, leaving no fallen hair as evidence, no abrupt change in length to bring attention to what he was doing. It was only when Frances’s pigtails began to look lopsided that it came to light.