Years (64 page)

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 the 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.

Lastly, with a lump in her throat, she asked them all to pray for world peace, and told them Kristian would be leaving the following day for Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, for voluntary enlistment into the army.

She thanked them one last time with tears in her eyes and turned the program back to Superintendent Dahl for the distribution of grade-achievement certificates and eighth-grade diplomas.

Afterward, they had apple cider and cookies, and Linnea found herself hugged by nearly every parent present, and to a number, her students told her they wished she were coming back next year. By the time the benches were carried into the building and stacked up against the side walls, it was dusk.

Kristian had gone off with Patricia, but Nissa and Theodore waited in the wagon.

Standing in the cloakroom doorway and looking at the shadowed room with its desks pushed against the side walls, its flag furled tightly in brown paper, its blackboard washed, and its stovepipe freshly cleaned, Linnea felt as if she were leaving a small part of her heart behind. Ah, the smell of this room. She’d never forget it. A little dusty, a little musty — like sweating heads — and perhaps tinged with the undying after scent of cabbage from their Fridays’ soup.

“Ready?” Theodore asked behind her.

“I guess so.” But she didn’t turn. Her shoulders sagged slightly.

He squeezed them, pulling her back against his chest. “You’ll miss it, huh?”

She nodded sadly. “I grew up a lot here.”

“So did I.”

“Oh, Teddy... ” She found his hand and pulled it to her lips. The twilight settled upon their shoulders. Outside, the horses waited — Nelly and Fly now. Inside, memory’s voices drifted back from yesterday — the children’s, John’s, Kristian’s, the hired hands’, their own.

“In six years one of ours will be coming here,” he mused. “And we can tell him the stories about when his mother was teacher.”

She smiled up at him over her shoulder, then raised up on tiptoe and kissed him.

He rested his hands on her waist. “I know how much you’d like to come back... and it’s okay. Cause I know you want the baby, too.”

“Oh, I love you, Theodore Westgaard.” She linked her fingers behind his neck.

“I love you, too, little missy.” He kissed the end of her nose. “And Ma’s waiting.”

With one last look, they closed all four doors and walked arm in arm to the wagon.

It was a breezeless night. The big dipper was pouring light into the northern sky and the moon in three-quarter phase lit the world like a blue flame. The first crickets had arrived and they sawed away dissonantly from the shadows, stopping momentarily at the sound of a horse passing, then tuning up again.

Clippa plodded unhurriedly along the grassy verge between two wheat fields, head down, backside swaying lazily. On her warm, bare hide Kristian rode with the reins loose in his fingers and Patricia’s cheek pressed against his back, her hands hugging his belly. They’d been riding that way, aimlessly, for nearly an hour, loam to face the final good-bye.

“I should get you home.”

Her arms tightened. “No, not yet.”

“It’s late.”

“Not yet,” she whispered fiercely. Beneath her palm she felt his heart beat, strong and sure. Against her thighs she felt his legs rub with the rhythm of the hoofbeats on the grass.

“We’re almost to the creek.”

The branch of a black willow touched his face and he bent to avoid it, tilting her with him.

“Stop a minute.”

He reined in. Clippa obeyed instantly, her head drooping while the pair on her back sat still, listening. They could hear the purling water some distance off, and the pulsing duet of two bullfrogs. Kristian tipped his head back to look at the stars. It bumped hers and he felt her breath blowing warm through his shirt, heating his shoulder blade. He swallowed and closed his eyes, covering her arms with his own.

“We shouldn’t’ve stopped.”

She kissed his shoulder blade once more. “You could die, Kristian.”

“I’m not gonna die.”

“But you could! You could, and I’d never see you again.”

“I don’t want to go either.”

“Then why are you?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something in me. But I aim to come back and marry you.”

Behind him, he felt her straighten. “Marry me?”