Years (8 page)

She halted in surprise and sucked in a quick breath. “Oh look! It seems we have company.”

Kristian had never before seen a girl who didn’t yelp in fright at the sight of a mouse.

“I’ll get a trap from home and set it for you.”

“Thank you, Kristian. I’m afraid if we don’t, he’ll eat up the books and papers — if he hasn’t already.”

At random she chose a book from the shelf. She let it fall open where it would. Petroleum, it said. She forgot about the mouse hole chewed at the edge of the pages and faced Kristian while reading aloud, “The observation that Horace Greeley made that ‘the man who makes two blades of grass grow where only one grew before is a benefactor to his race’ finds an analogy in the assertion that he who practically adds to the space of man’s life by increasing the number of hours wherein he can labor or enjoy himself is also a benefactor. The nineteenth century marked its course by a greater number of inventions, discoveries, and improvements, promotive of human civilization and happiness, than any like period that preceded it, and perhaps no feature of its record was more significant or beneficent than the improved methods of lighting our dwellings brought into use largely through the instrumentality of the great light bearer — petroleum.”

She slapped the book closed and the sound reverberated
through the room while she inhaled deeply, standing straight as a nail. He stared at her, wondering how a person could possibly learn to read such words, much less understand what they meant. He thought he had never known a smarter or prettier girl in his life, and welcomed the queer, light-bellied feeling that she inspired.

“I am going to love it here,” she said with quiet intensity, pinning Kristian with a beaming blue-eyed look of great resolve.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kristian answered, unable to think of anything else to say. “I’ll show you the rest, then I got to get back to the fields.”

“The rest?”

“Outside. Come on.” He turned and led the way through the door.

“Kristian.” At his name he stopped and turned.

“It’s never too early to begin teaching each other, is it?”

“No, Miss Brandonberg, I guess not.”

“Then let’s begin with the oldest rule of all. Ladies first.”

He blushed the color of a wild rose, hung a thumb from the rear pocket of his overalls, and backed up, waiting for her to pass before him. As she did, she said politely, “Thank you, Kristian. You may leave the door open behind us. It’s stuffy in here.”

Outside he showed her the pump and the empty coal shed, little more than a lean-to against the west wall of the building. The wheat fields crowded the edge of the school property to the north and east. To the west stood a tall row of cottonwoods, beneath which were the wooden privies with lattice walls guarding their entrances. The playground had two rope swings supported by a thick wooden spar, and a teeter-totter, also home made of a rough plank. On the east side of the building was a flat grassy stretch that looked like it was used as a ball diamond.

When they’d explored the entire schoolyard, Linnea lifted her eyes to the tip of the cupola and said impulsively, “Let’s ring the bell, Kristian, just to see what it sounds like.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Miss Brandonberg. Ring it and you’ll have every farmer off his rig and running to help.”

“Oh. It’s a distress signal?”

“Yes, ma’am. Same as the church bell, but that’s three miles in the other direction.” He thumbed toward the west.

She felt childish once again for having made the suggestion.
“I’ll just have to wait until Monday then. How many students will I have?”

“Oh, that’s hard to say. A dozen. Fourteen maybe. Most of ‘em’s my cousins.”

“Your life’s been a lot different than mine, growing up with so much family so close around. All of my grandparents are dead, and there are no aunts and uncles in this part of the country, so mostly it’s been my parents and my two sisters and me.”

“You got sisters?” he asked, surprised. He felt honored at being told something so personal.

“Two of them. One is your age — Carrie. The other one is four years younger. Her real name is Pauline, but she’s at that age — you know — when girls sometimes get rather round and roly-poly.” Suddenly she struck a pose, bulging out her cheeks with a big puff of breath until her lips almost disappeared and she waddled and pretended to hold a fat belly. “So we call her Pudge.”

He laughed, and she did the same.

No, he really didn’t know much at all about how girls changed. He’d never paid any attention to them before. Except to avoid them at every turn.

Until now.

Miss Brandonberg sobered and went on. “She doesn’t like it when we tease her, and I suppose sometimes we do it too much, but both Carrie and I went through the same stage and had to put up with teasing, and it didn’t hurt either of us.”

It was hard for him to imagine her pudgy. She was thin and small-boned, one of the most perfect females he’d ever seen.

“Aw, you was never pudgy.”

“Were
never pudgy,” she corrected automatically, then added, “Oh, yes I was. I’m glad you didn’t see me then!”

Suddenly he realized how long he’d been here dawdling away the time with her. He glanced toward the fields, hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, and swallowed. “Well, if there’s nothing else you need, I... I got to get back to help Pa and Uncle John.”

She spun around quickly and motioned him away. “Oh, of course, Kristian. I can get along just fine now. I have plenty to do to keep me busy. Thank you for bringing me down and showing me around.”

When Kristian was gone she went back inside and eagerly set to work. She spent the morning sweeping and scrubbing the floor, dusting the desks, and washing windows. At midday she took a break and sat on the front steps to dig into the lunch Nissa had packed for her in a small tin molasses pail. Munching a delicious sandwich made with some mysterious meat she’d never tasted before, Linnea relaxed in the sun and dreamed about Monday and how exciting it would be when she faced her first group of children. She imagined some would be eager, receptive, while others would be timid and needing encouragement, and still others would be bold and needing restraining.

The thought brought to mind John and Theodore, so different from one another.
Don’t ruin your day with thoughts of Theodore,
she scolded herself. But when she had wandered down to the pump to get a drink of cold water to wash down her sandwich, she found herself gazing west. All the fields for as far as she could see belonged to the two of them. Somewhere out there they were cutting wheat, Kristian along with them.

The land out here was so vast, treeless for the most part. To some it would seem desolate, but Linnea, gazing at the clear blue sky and munificent plains, saw only bounty and beauty.

Her mother always told her she had the gift for finding the good in anything. Perhaps it had something to do with her imagination. In the worst of times she always had an escape ready at hand. Lately, her mother had agreed with her father that it was time to give up such child’s play. But fantasy was magic. It took her places she’d never see any other way. It gave her feelings she’d never experience any other way. And it made her happy.

She wiped the cool water from her lips with the back of a hand and did a dance step across the schoolyard. She leaped onto a swing, sending it into motion, then leaning back and pumping, let herself glide into her own magical world again.

“Well, hello, Lawrence. I hadn’t expected to see you so soon again.”

Lawrence was dressed like a real dandy today, in a spiffy straw hat, a red and white striped shirt, and bright scarlet sleevebands. He had a way of standing with all his weight on one leg, one hip jutting, that often provoked her to flutter her eyelashes.

“I came to take you on a picnic.”

“Oh, don’t be silly
—
I can’t frolic off across afield to have a picnic with you. I have school to teach, and besides, the last time you left me with the mess to explain. I was very displeased with you.” She pouted as prettily as possible.

Lawrence stepped behind the swing and stopped it, putting his hands on her waist as if to make her step down off the wooden seat.

“I know a place where nobody will find us,” he said in a low, encouraging invitation.

She clung to the ropes and laughed teasingly, the sound lilting across the meadow...

Superintendent of schools, Frederic Dahl, guided his horse and buggy into the driveway of Public School 28 and found a most arresting sight waiting to greet him. A lissome young girl dressed in a full gray skirt and white shirtwaist clung to the rope of a swing high above her head, twisting it like a pretzel, first left, then right.

Across the grass he thought he heard a laugh, but a quick check of the surrounding area told him nobody else was in sight. The swing came unwound. She dipped her knees and set it in motion, then let her head hang back.

She was talking to someone — but to whom?

He halted the horse, secured the reins, and stepped from the carriage. As he approached, he could see that the girl was older than he thought, for with her arms upraised, he detected the shape of her breasts.

“Hello!” he called.

Linnea jerked upright and looked over her shoulder.
Crimany, caught again!

She leaped down, brushed at her skirts, and blushed.

“I’m looking for Mister Brandonberg.”

“Yes, it seems like everybody is, but you’ll have to settle for me. I’m
Miss
Brandonberg.”

His face registered surprise, but no displeasure. “And I’m Superintendent Dahl. My mistake for not clarifying the point in our correspondence. Well, this is a pleasant surprise!”

Superintendent Dahl! Her face grew hotter and she immediately began rolling down the sleeves of her shirtwaist. “Oh, Superintendent Dahl, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you!”

“I’ve come to bring your supplies and make sure you’re settled in all right.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Come inside. I... ” She laughed nervously and gestured at her rather soiled skirt. “I was cleaning, so excuse the way I look.”

Cleaning? he thought, glancing back over his shoulder as they moved toward the building. But still he found nobody else about. Inside, a ladder leaned against the wall, and the raw wood floor was still damp. She whirled to face him, clasping her hands and exclaiming, “I love it! My first school, and I’m so excited! I want to thank you for recommending me to the school board here.”

“You’ve earned your certificate. Don’t thank me. Are you satisfied with your lodging at the Westgaards?”

“I... I... ” She didn’t want him to think he’d hired a complainer. “Yes, they’re fine. Just fine!”

“Very well. I’m required to make an annual inspection of the property each year at this time, so you go about your work and I’ll join you when I’ve finished.”

She watched him walk away, smiling at the real Mr. Dahl, who was nothing at all like the dashing swain she’d imagined. He was scarcely more than five feet tall, about as big around as a rain barrel, and had balded so perfectly his head appeared tonsured. The circlet of hair he hadn’t lost was bright rust colored and stuck out like a May Day wreath above his ears.

When he’d gone outside, she rested an arm across her stomach, covered her smile with one hand, and chuckled softly.

Some knights in shining armor you dream up, Miss Brandonberg. First Theodore Westgaard and now this.

He inspected the outside of the building, the coal shed, even the privies, before he returned inside to do the same. When he was finished, he asked, “Has Mr. Westgaard mentioned the coal?”

“Coal?” she asked blankly.

“Since the Blizzard of ‘88, when some schools were caught unprepared, there’s been a law that there must be enough wood or coal on hand before the first of October to see you through till spring.”

She hadn’t an inkling about the coal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Does Mr. Westgaard supply the coal?”

“He always has in the past. That’s got to do with an arrangement between him and the school board. They can pay whoever they want to bring in the coal, but it’s my job to see
that the arrangements are made.”

“Mr. Westgaard is working somewhere in the fields. You might be able to find him and ask him.”

He made a notation in a ledger he carried, and replied, “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be making my circuit again within two weeks, and I’ll make a note here to remind myself to check on it then. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d remind him about it.”

She really didn’t want to have to remind Theodore Westgaard about anything, but she nodded and assured Mr. Dahl she’d see to the matter.

He had brought her supplies: chalk, ink, and a brand-new teacher’s grade book. She held it reverently, running a palm over its hard red cover. As he watched, he saw beyond the frivolous child who’d been daydreaming on the swing when he drove up. He had a feeling about this one: she’d be dedicated.

“As you know, Miss Brandonberg, school is in session from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, and your duties include building the fire early enough to have the building warm when the children arrive, keeping it clean at all times, doing the necessary shoveling, and becoming an integral part of the community life around you so that you get to know the families whose children you teach. The last you’ll find easiest of all. These are good people. Honest, hard-working. I believe you’ll find them cooperative and helpful. If you’re ever in need of something and can’t reach me fast enough, ask them. I think you’ll find nobody gets as much respect around here as the local teacher.”

As long as he’s a man, she thought. But, of course, she didn’t say it. They wished each other good-bye, and she watched Mr. Dahl walk back toward his buggy. But before he reached it, she shaded her eyes with one hand and called, “Oh, Mr. Dahl?”

“Yes?” He paused and turned.

“What happened to those teachers and students who ran out of fuel during the Blizzard of ‘88?”

He gazed at her steadily while the warm September sun beat down upon them benevolently. “Why, don’t you know? Many of them froze to death before help could get to them.”