The Endless Forest
Page 126
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And it was high time he got back to the classroom. He had to go, and so she had to come along with him. It was the plan they had made and they would hold to it, no matter how peaceful she looked sleeping. Or how distracted the process of waking her up turned out to be.
That was the most pressing reason for wanting to wake her, but plain common sense and good manners held him back. He was not a boy of seventeen anymore; he could control his base instincts and leave her be. But that didn’t mean he wanted to get out of bed, not quite yet.
He leaned over and put his chin on the shelf of her shoulder and resisted the urge to slip his arms around her.
“Time to get up, teacher.”
She couldn’t have roused more quickly had he poked her with a pin. Her expression was almost comical, but then again her anxiety was real and so Daniel bit back a smile.
He said, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
She sat up and the vaguest hint of a wince crossed her face. Daniel cursed himself for an immoderate fool and vowed to leave her in peace for at least a full day.
“Of course not,” she said. “You realize I know nothing of teaching, and I will most probably make a muddle of it.”
“Most likely,” he agreed.
She pinched him and he yelped.
“Are you sure you want to start a wrestling match right now? Because I could go without breakfast, but you are going to need your strength.”
“I don’t know about that,” Martha said. “I intend to race you down to the village, and to win. You had best eat hearty.”
She made him laugh. That was the biggest surprise, how easily she made him laugh, and how often.
The children were waiting by the time they got to the schoolhouse. Daniel could read their mood from a long distance, and this morning there was a lot of excitement barely being held in check. Last night they had promised the nieces and nephews that Hopper would be attending school with them, and Martha realized now that the puppy was a wonderful way to divert at least some of the excitement from herself.
“Eager,” Martha remarked.
“Curious,” he answered.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m curious myself.” But she kept casting glances up the lane toward the Red Dog that said quite clearly how nervous she was, and for more than one reason. They had talked about this at length, and her position was clear: She would not seek out Jemima, but neither could she hide. When the time came, they would cope with it.
“I’ll be within calling distance,” he had reminded her. It seemed that idea didn’t provide her with much comfort, because she only nodded nervously.
He said, “You think she might walk into the classroom to confront you.”
“Yes,” Martha had said. And then: “What are you thinking?”
“Not much. We can lock the doors once I sound the last bell.”
She looked surprised, and then thoughtful. “You think it will be so easy?”
He shrugged. “If we let it be.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Now the children pushed every other thought and worry out of her head. All fourteen of the littler ones gathered around her and vied for her attention. Six of them were Martha’s newly acquired nieces and nephews, which would require a bit of diplomacy. Luckily all of them seemed to be on their best behavior. No doubt they had been closely tutored about what was expected of relatives in the classroom. Birdie would take great pains with that, and Daniel had said a word to the older ones himself the evening before.
Birdie caught Daniel’s eye. She stood near the door, her hands folded in front of her and looking so much like their mother trying to hold on to her patience that Daniel almost laughed.
To Martha he said, “Can you cope?”
She shooed him away like a buzzing fly.
When she had her students assembled in the classroom, Martha found that her mind had gone blank; all the plans she had discussed with Daniel were simply gone.
Then Henry raised his hand and asked with perfect manners if she would like help calling the roll, a hint that she accepted thankfully. She found the sheet of paper in the top drawer of the desk and saw immediately that there were twenty-two names.
“Is Alois Cunningham here?”
Lottie Mayfair popped up from her seat. “Friend Martha,” she began, “Alois hasn’t been here since January and he’s not about to come back. Wouldst thou care to hear the particulars?”
Martha would, and so the longer story was told with contributions from all the children; it involved a complicated incident with a plow, a pig, and Alois’s grandfather Jed. Martha let them tell her whatever they seemed to think was important about all the names on the roll without children to claim them, an exercise that grew into a longer discussion of the flood and the aftermath of the flood. The conversation was informative, amusing, and best of all, it ate up some of the time she had to fill until recess.
From the next room came the murmuring of voices, Daniel’s chief among them.
“Children,” Martha said, her voice catching. “If you’ll take out your readers—”
The door, warped by water and ill-fitting, creaked when it opened, a sound that sounded to Martha like a rifle shot and just as welcome. Daniel had forgot to lock the door as he had planned, and when she turned, her mother would be standing there.
An African woman stood in the doorway, neatly dressed, her expression neutral. She held a boy by the hand. He was about nine, and he looked to be fit and strong as any child his age. He was supposed to be her half brother, but as far as she could see he had none of his mother’s features, or of his father’s. Which might mean nothing, or everything.
That was the most pressing reason for wanting to wake her, but plain common sense and good manners held him back. He was not a boy of seventeen anymore; he could control his base instincts and leave her be. But that didn’t mean he wanted to get out of bed, not quite yet.
He leaned over and put his chin on the shelf of her shoulder and resisted the urge to slip his arms around her.
“Time to get up, teacher.”
She couldn’t have roused more quickly had he poked her with a pin. Her expression was almost comical, but then again her anxiety was real and so Daniel bit back a smile.
He said, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
She sat up and the vaguest hint of a wince crossed her face. Daniel cursed himself for an immoderate fool and vowed to leave her in peace for at least a full day.
“Of course not,” she said. “You realize I know nothing of teaching, and I will most probably make a muddle of it.”
“Most likely,” he agreed.
She pinched him and he yelped.
“Are you sure you want to start a wrestling match right now? Because I could go without breakfast, but you are going to need your strength.”
“I don’t know about that,” Martha said. “I intend to race you down to the village, and to win. You had best eat hearty.”
She made him laugh. That was the biggest surprise, how easily she made him laugh, and how often.
The children were waiting by the time they got to the schoolhouse. Daniel could read their mood from a long distance, and this morning there was a lot of excitement barely being held in check. Last night they had promised the nieces and nephews that Hopper would be attending school with them, and Martha realized now that the puppy was a wonderful way to divert at least some of the excitement from herself.
“Eager,” Martha remarked.
“Curious,” he answered.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m curious myself.” But she kept casting glances up the lane toward the Red Dog that said quite clearly how nervous she was, and for more than one reason. They had talked about this at length, and her position was clear: She would not seek out Jemima, but neither could she hide. When the time came, they would cope with it.
“I’ll be within calling distance,” he had reminded her. It seemed that idea didn’t provide her with much comfort, because she only nodded nervously.
He said, “You think she might walk into the classroom to confront you.”
“Yes,” Martha had said. And then: “What are you thinking?”
“Not much. We can lock the doors once I sound the last bell.”
She looked surprised, and then thoughtful. “You think it will be so easy?”
He shrugged. “If we let it be.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Now the children pushed every other thought and worry out of her head. All fourteen of the littler ones gathered around her and vied for her attention. Six of them were Martha’s newly acquired nieces and nephews, which would require a bit of diplomacy. Luckily all of them seemed to be on their best behavior. No doubt they had been closely tutored about what was expected of relatives in the classroom. Birdie would take great pains with that, and Daniel had said a word to the older ones himself the evening before.
Birdie caught Daniel’s eye. She stood near the door, her hands folded in front of her and looking so much like their mother trying to hold on to her patience that Daniel almost laughed.
To Martha he said, “Can you cope?”
She shooed him away like a buzzing fly.
When she had her students assembled in the classroom, Martha found that her mind had gone blank; all the plans she had discussed with Daniel were simply gone.
Then Henry raised his hand and asked with perfect manners if she would like help calling the roll, a hint that she accepted thankfully. She found the sheet of paper in the top drawer of the desk and saw immediately that there were twenty-two names.
“Is Alois Cunningham here?”
Lottie Mayfair popped up from her seat. “Friend Martha,” she began, “Alois hasn’t been here since January and he’s not about to come back. Wouldst thou care to hear the particulars?”
Martha would, and so the longer story was told with contributions from all the children; it involved a complicated incident with a plow, a pig, and Alois’s grandfather Jed. Martha let them tell her whatever they seemed to think was important about all the names on the roll without children to claim them, an exercise that grew into a longer discussion of the flood and the aftermath of the flood. The conversation was informative, amusing, and best of all, it ate up some of the time she had to fill until recess.
From the next room came the murmuring of voices, Daniel’s chief among them.
“Children,” Martha said, her voice catching. “If you’ll take out your readers—”
The door, warped by water and ill-fitting, creaked when it opened, a sound that sounded to Martha like a rifle shot and just as welcome. Daniel had forgot to lock the door as he had planned, and when she turned, her mother would be standing there.
An African woman stood in the doorway, neatly dressed, her expression neutral. She held a boy by the hand. He was about nine, and he looked to be fit and strong as any child his age. He was supposed to be her half brother, but as far as she could see he had none of his mother’s features, or of his father’s. Which might mean nothing, or everything.
