Years

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “He’s not a child anymore.” They watched Kristian and Patricia dancing, so close a gnat couldn’t have come between them. “If he’s made his decision, I think you’ll have to let him go.”

  “I know,” Theodore said softly, his eyes following the pair. “I know.”

  And so the end of the school year would bring additional heartache. But, come what may, the days marched on and Linnea felt both the exhilaration inherent with term’s end and the sadness of realizing these were her last precious days as a teacher. She had been a good one; she felt no false sense of modesty about it and wished that when fall came she could somehow have both the baby and her old job back. But when she said good-bye to the children on the last day, she’d be bidding farewell to a phase of her life.

  Final examinations were held, then it was time for the last-day picnic. The class had voted to hold it down by the creek so they could all swim.

  The day turned out ideally — warm and sunny with little wind. Just perfect for a crew of excited children celebrating the end of school. They played games, swam, ate, explored. The boys fished downstream while the girls searched for wild-flowers and twined them in each other’s French braids.

  It was near the end of the afternoon when Norna approached Linnea with a frown, announcing, “I can’t find Frances anyplace.”

  “She’s with the others, picking flowers.”

  “She was, but she isn’t anymore.”

  Linnea glanced upstream. Laughter floated down from the small group of girls who were busily engaged in making clover rings. But Frances wasn’t with them.

  Automatically, Linnea turned to the one she always seemed to turn to. “Kristian, have you seen Frances?” she called.

  Kristian’s head came up. He and Patricia were sitting quietly on the creek bank, talking. He glanced around. “No, ma’am.”

  “Have you, Patricia?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  All four of them looked at the creek. But it wasn’t deep enough here for Frances to drown. Quickly Linnea took a nose count. Her heart beat out a warning when she realized Allen Severt, too. was missing.

  * * *

  Frances Westgaard had been in and out of the creek four times that day. She had water in one ear that refused to be shaken out, and a bad case of shivers. Hugging herself, she made her way through the thick underbrush toward the place where the girls had left their clothes.

  When she grew up, Frances decided, she was going to be a teacher, just like Aunt Linnea. She’d take her class on picnics like this all the time, at least once every week when the weather was good. And in the winter they’d cook soup, too. And rabbits on Thanksgiving and popcorn whenever the kids said they wanted it.

  Her wet bathing drawers felt thick and sticky. They clung like leeches when she tried to pull them down. Hobbling around, she managed to work them to her hips, and finally to her knees, but even hopping one-footed she couldn’t get them off completely. Finally she gave up and plopped down on the scratchy grass. Her teeth were chattering, her jaw dancing as she tried to work the clinging drawers over her ankles.

  “Hey, Frances, whatcha doin’?” an unctuous voice drawled.

  Frances jumped and tried to jerk the drawers back up, but they were rolled up tight as a new rope. “I’m changin’ my clothes. You git outa here, Allen!”

  Allen stepped out from behind a cottonwood with a smart-aleck expression on his mouth. “Why should I? It’s a free country.” Allen had had all year long to nurse his rancor for Mrs. Westgaard and Frances. Both of them had caused him embarrassment more times than he cared to count. There was no way for him to get back at his teacher, but he could even the score with this little dummy.

  “You better get outa here or I’m gonna tell Aunt Linnea!” Frantically Frances fumbled with the drawers, trying to straighten them out, but Allen advanced and stood over her, pinning the wet garment to the ground between her ankles with his foot. “Oh yeah? What you gonna tell her?”

  Allen’s eyes raked Frances’s bare skin and she shielded her lap with her hands.

  “You ain’t supposed to be here. This is where the girls change.”

  But Allen only gave a sinister laugh that struck a bolt of fear through the girl.

  “Allen, I don’t like you. I’m gonna tell on you!”

  “You been tellin’ on me all year, gettin’ me in trouble all the time. Haven’t you, snot?”

  “No, I—”

  “You have, too, and I’m gonna make you sorry... dummy!”

  Before she could wiggle away Allen jumped her. The force of his body knocked her flat. She shrieked out, “I’m gonna tell!” before he clapped a hand across her mouth and slammed her head against the earth. Frances’s eyes widened with fear and her mouth opened in a suppressed scream beneath his palm.

  “You tell and I’ll get you good, Frances!” he threatened in an ugly voice. “You tell and I’ll do something worse to you next time. All I wanna do now is look.”

  Again Frances gave a muffled scream. She thrashed and kicked, but he was older than she and much bigger. “Frances, you shut up! You scream and they’ll all come runnin’ and I’ll tell ‘em you pulled your pants down right in front of me. You know what they do to girls who pull their pants down in front of boys?”

  Terrified, Frances fell still, her heart hammering pitifully as Allen thrust a knee between her legs, trying to force them apart. But the wet drawers shackled her ankles, aiding her. Nose to nose, they struggled until Allen finally managed to wedge her knees open. Beneath him the frightened face had turned the color of chalk, only the dark, horrified eyes holding any color. Allen’s breath came in a hard hiss. He squeezed her face till her cheek sliced against a tooth and she tasted blood. Struck afresh by terror, she squirmed harder. Twisting frantically, fighting for breath, Frances felt his weight shift as he yanked her wet shirt up. Behind his hand, she screamed again. His face contorted with ugliness. “You scream and you’ll be sorry. Cuz once you do they’ll all know you been doing dirty things with me.” With the speed of a snake he shifted, got her by the neck, and squeezed, completely subduing her at last. Her fingers uselessly plucked at his stranglehold while he knelt between her legs and braced back.

  The next moment he was jerked to his feet like a marionette, then a fist slammed into his face and sent him crashing against the trunk of a cottonwood.

  “You filthy rotten son of a bitch!” This time the fist caught him in the solar plexus and doubled him over like a pocket knife. In a flash he was jerked erect and hammered again. Somebody screamed. Blood flew across the grass. Children came running. Sobs filled the air. Linnea shouted, “Kristian, stop it this moment! Kristian, I said stop!”

  It ended as abruptly as it had begun.

  Allen Severt held his bloody face in both hands and looked up to see Kristian spraddled above him like Zeus outraged. Linnea held a whimpering Frances in her lap. Libby Severt gaped at her brother in horrified disbelief. Raymond stormed onto the scene with fists clenched. “Get away from him, Kristian. It’s my turn!”

  “Mine, too!” echoed Tony, arriving on his brother’s heels. Had the situation not been so grave it might have been humorous to see Tony, bristling mad, clenching his weak fists and squaring his skinny shoulders as if he had the power to do more than swat mosquitoes.

  “Boys! That’s enough!”

  “That puny little bastard ain’t gonna forget the day he laid hands on my little sister!” Raymond vowed, being restrained now by Kristian.

  Transferring the weeping Frances into Patricia’s arms, Linnea leaped to her feet and confronted the three angry boys. “Watch your language in front of the little ones, and don’t raise your voice to me!” Her insides trembled and her knees had turned to aspic, but she hid it well. “Allen, get up,” she ordered officiously. “You get back to school and wait for me, and so help me God, you’d better be there when I get there! Patricia, help Frances get dried and dressed. Raymond, you may carry your little sister back to school. Kristian, b
utton your shirt and head cross country to our place and get Clippa for Raymond and Frances. The rest of you, change out of your wet things and collect your lunch pails.”

  Linnea’s quick commands subdued them all, but she herself was still in a state of fury thirty minutes later when she marched up the lane to the Severts’ front door. She followed Libby inside while Allen whimpered behind them, holding his jaw, blood congealed in one nostril and dried on his fingers.

  “Mother?” Libby called, and a moment later Lillian Severt appeared in the far archway.

  “Allen!” She scurried across the room. “Oh, dear Lord, what’s happened to you?”

  “He got precisely what he deserved,” Linnea retorted, then went on coldly, “Where is your husband?”

  “He’s busy right now, in the church.”

  “Get him.”

  “But Allen’s face—”

  “Get him!”

  “How dare you—”

  “Get him!” Linnea’s blast of outrage finally stunned Lillian Severt into compliance. She ran from the room, casting a baleful glance over her shoulder at Allen’s bloody nose, while Libby dropped her chin. When Mr. and Mrs. Severt returned, Linnea gave them no chance to coddle their son. She made sure she had him sitting on a straight-backed chair with herself standing over him like a prison guard. His face was swollen, the right eye nearly shut. Lillian moved as if to console him, but Linnea stopped her by ordering, “All right, Allen, talk!”

  Allen held his jaw and mumbled, “Can’t... hurts.”

  She gave him a nudge that nearly knocked him off the chair. “I said, talk!” He dropped his head onto the table and cradled it in his arms. “Very well, I’ll tell them myself.” She pierced his parents with a glare. “Your son attacked Frances Westgaard today during the school picnic. He pulled her pants down and—”

  “I did not!” howled Allen, coming up straight, but immediately he clutched his jaw and subsided into moans of pain.

  “He followed her to the girls’ changing spot when nobody else was, around and attacked her. Pulled her pants down and threatened to get her again and do worse if she dared tell on him. He had her pinned to the ground by the throat when we found them.”

  “I don’t believe you!” declared Lillian Severt, her eyes huge.

  “You didn’t believe me the last time I came to you, or the time before that. Not only didn’t you believe me, you went so far as to intimate that the fault for Allen’s misbehavior should be placed on me. You refused to see that his violations are much more than simple boyish pranks and that steps must be taken to help him. This time, I’m afraid you’ll have no choice. The whole school witnessed it. I happened to have all the children out searching for them when it happened. Tell them, Libby.”

  “I... he... ” Libby’s terrified eyes flashed from her brother to her teacher.

  “You needn’t be afraid, Libby,” Linnea said, softening for the first time, but she could see Libby’s fear of retribution was greater than her fear of not answering. “You know that to avoid telling the truth is as good as a lie, don’t you, Libby?”

  “But I’m scared. He’ll hurt me if I tell.”

  Martin finally spoke up. “Hurt you?” He came forward, reaching for Libby’s hand.

  “He always hurts me if I do anything to make him mad.”

  His wife began, “Martin, how can you be concerned with her when his nose is bleeding and—”

  “Let her talk,” Martin demanded, and encouraged his daughter. “Hurt you? How?”

  “He pinches me and pulls my hair. And he said he’d kill my cat. He said he’d put k... kerosene in her... in her... “Chagrined, Libby hung her head.

  “What a preposterous—”

  “Quiet!” Martin roared, spinning toward his wife. “You’ve had your way with him for as long as you’re going to. If I had stepped in years ago, this never would have happened.” Gently he turned to Libby. “So it’s all true, what Mrs. Westgaard said?”

  “Yes!” she cried. “Yes!” Tears poured from her eyes. “He was laying on top of poor Frances and he was choking her and her... her pants were down and... and... everybody in the school saw it and then Kristian pulled Allen off and slugged him a good one and Raymond wanted to slug him, too, but Mrs. Westgaard wouldn’t let him. But I wish he would’ve! I wish Raymond would’ve knocked his teeth clear out... because he’s... he’s mean and hateful and he’s always teasing people and calling them names when they never did anything to him. He just hurts everybody to be sp... spiteful!” When she broke into a rash of weeping and buried herself in her father’s arms, Linnea took over.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Seven, I’m afraid this time there will be serious repercussions. I’m going to recommend to Superintendent Dahl that Allen be officially expelled from school as of today. And I caution you to see to it that Allen does nothing to hurt Libby because she told the truth.”

  Mrs. Seven’s face had turned ashen, and for the first time ever she had nothing to say in defense of her darling. By the time Linnea left the house, Allen was howling in pain, but getting little sympathy.

  She went directly to Ulmer and Helen’s to find Frances already tucked into bed, being coddled by all her sisters and brothers. A moment after Linnea arrived, so did Theodore. He stalked into the house scowling, and announced, “Kristian told me. How’s the little one?”

  So naturally they banded together in times of distress. Without hesitation, without explanation. Seeing Teddy appear with Kristian at his side brought tears at last to Linnea’s eyes. She’d been running on adrenaline for well over an hour, but now that Teddy was here and the incident was over, she felt like a piece of old rope.

  “You okay?” Teddy asked, turning to her.

  She nodded shakily. “Yes.”

  But he opened his arms anyway, and she went into them like a child to her mother. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered against his chest. His shirt was stained beneath the arms and he smelled of sweat and horses, but she had never loved him more nor been more grateful for his support.

  “This time we’re gonna nail that little bastard,” he vowed against her hair. He rarely cursed, and never in front of Kristian. Hearing him, she realized the depth of his concern. “I brought the wagon,” he added, “figured you could use a ride over to Dahl’s.”

  She looked up at him and smiled tenderly. “If I accept, will you think I’m a hothouse pansy?”

  And there before all the others he did something he’d never done before: kissed her full on the lips.

  Not only did Raymond and Kristian refuse to be shunted off from underfoot while the incident was discussed, they insisted on coming along to relate the tale as they’d seen it. They were old enough to be in on this and weren’t going to budge until they were assured that Allen Severt got his comeuppance.

  Though it took the remainder of the day, the outcome was decided before nightfall. Allen Severt was officially expelled from school and would not be allowed at the graduation ceremonies. Whether or not he would be allowed to attend next year would be decided by the school board at its next meeting.

  The children tittered about the fact that if Allen were allowed to return, he’d undoubtedly do so not only much mollified, but also much thinner, for Kristian’s first punch had broken Allen’s jaw, and it would have to be wired shut for six weeks.

  The graduation ceremony was held in the schoolyard on the last Friday evening in May. Mourning doves cooed their soothing vespers. The sun slanted down through the ticking leaves of the cottonwoods and dappled the scene with gray and gold. The smell of fecund earth lifted from the adjacent fields where wheat sprouted like a youth’s first beard.

  The parents came in wagons, bringing kitchen chairs again, setting them in neat rows upon the beaten grass of the schoolyard. The four- and five-year-olds scrambled among the recitation benches up front, pretending they were as old as their sisters and brothers.

  Kristian delivered the valedictory speech with all due gravity. He spoke of t
he war in Europe and the responsibility of the new generation to seek and assure peace for all mankind. When it was over Linnea, with misty eyes, directed the children in “America the Beautiful.”

  Superintendent Dahl gave his windy oration at the end of which he surprised Linnea by declaring that her leadership had been superlative, her innovations noteworthy, and her personal conduct exemplary. So much so, he continued, that the state board of education had asked him on their behalf to bestow upon her an award for excellence for organizing the first official “Domestics” class in a school of this size in the state; also for her organizational ability on behalf of the war effort, for her cool-headedness during the blizzard, and her foresight in having stocked emergency rations beforehand. Mr. Dahl added with a grin, “In spite of what some of the children might think of raisins as emergency rations.” A ripple of laughter passed over the crowd, then he continued, earnestly, “And last but not least, the State Board of Education commends Mrs. Westgaard for accomplishing what no other teacher has done before her. She has persuaded the P.S. 28 parents to agree to extend the school year to a full nine months for both girls and boys of all ages.”

  Linnea felt herself blushing, but hid it as she rose to take the podium herself. Gazing out at the familiar faces, looking back on the rewards and heartbreak of the past nine months, she felt a lump form in her throat. There were few out there whom she couldn’t honestly say she loved. Equally as few who didn’t love her in return.

  “My dear friends,” she opened, then paused, glanced over their sunlit faces. “Where should I begin?”

  She thanked them for a year of wonderful experiences, for their support, their friendship. She thanked them for opening their homes and hearts to her and for giving her one of their own to be her own. And she announced that though she would gladly have come back next fall to teach another year, she’d be staying home to have a baby. She invited the children to come and visit her during the summer, and admonished them to start victory gardens. In the fall, should the war not have ended, they could work together with their new teacher on an autumn-harvest auction.