Read Online Under the Same Blue Sky by Pamela Schoenewaldt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Pamela Schoenewaldt
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bucket, and cover it with glass.”
“How?”
I wouldn’t answer, only glared. Horace and Charlie managed the maneuver, mortified to be so close to me. “Now get your slates and list thirty things you notice about a toad. Don’t stop until you do.” The class was watching me, openmouthed, as if I were a toad-charmer.“We’ll do nature drawing now,” I said. They moved meekly to the table, chose their objects, and set to work, their backs to the boys with the bucket.
By recess time, Horace and Charlie had listed ten factors of color, size, and shape. “There’s nothing else to notice,” they moaned.
“Twenty more. You noticed enough to catch him. When the others are outside for recess, you’ll have more quiet for noticing, won’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Renner,” they said.
When the children trooped back, we began our regular lessons. So many reciting in a small space made a deafening noise; my throat ached from speaking when lunchtime finally came. I sent the children outside, including Horace and Charlie, whose list had reached twenty-five. Dripping with sweat, I sank into my chair, listening to their shouts and calls from the schoolyard. I’ll draw them, I was thinking wearily, but not today.
Suddenly the screaming stopped. Why? I ran to the window and saw Alice Burnett rolling and jerking in the dust. The class made a gawking circle around her. Some twitched in mockery, encouraged by their friends. I raced outside. “The devil’s got her!” Frances was shouting in gleeful horror.
“Devil fit, devil fit!” others chanted.
“Get back! Leave her alone!” I shouted. By now the fit had passed, and Alice lay spent, hiding her face in shame.
“Is it catching?” asked a voice behind me.
“Of course not. Charlie, take everybody inside. Lunchtime’s over.” I had Emma, the oldest girl, help Alice clean herself at the well. I might have predicted that the first day of school might cause anxiety. Which Jim Burnett had said could bring on a fit. I should have been more attentive to her, or given her a small task inside with me. Now all I could do was lecture the children until they hung their heads.“Will this happen again?” I asked in a steely voice that was new to me.
“No, Miss Renner,” they chorused.
Emma slipped back into the room. “Alice went home,” she said. “She wasn’t feeling well.” Of course not. Her first day in my classroom had been mortifying.
I handed out paper from the small stock that Henry provided. “You’ll each describe a time someone laughed at you and how you felt. Then you’ll describe how you think Alice feels today. The younger children can draw pictures. If this happens again, I’ll show these papers to your parents.” Every child gulped. I watched them work. So this was what they’d remember of their first day at my school: a punishment.
For the rest of the afternoon I marched the children through spelling and mathematics exercises at their several levels, released them at three, and dragged myself home. I couldn’t face Alice’s parents. Henry had dropped off a package from my mother: butterplätzchen , carefully wrapped. “For our Hazel,” the note read, “who will be an exceptional teacher.” Exhausted, embarrassed, demoralized, I bent over the table and cried. Ben had been gone for days, driven to Red Gorge by his voices. Owls hooted outside, laughing at me. Fortunately I’d already planned the first week’s lessons. I ate a bowl of cold soup and spent a miserable night. Why had I thought teaching was easy? What arrogance suggested I’d be exceptional?
Alice wasn’t in school the next day. Nor were five of the older country children. After morning prayer, Emma cleared her throat and announced: “Miss Renner, we’re sorry about yesterday with Alice.”
“And—?”
“And about the toad.”
“Thank you, Emma. I appreciate the apology. And I’m sure you’ll all apologize personally to Alice.” Silence. “Won’t
“How?”
I wouldn’t answer, only glared. Horace and Charlie managed the maneuver, mortified to be so close to me. “Now get your slates and list thirty things you notice about a toad. Don’t stop until you do.” The class was watching me, openmouthed, as if I were a toad-charmer.“We’ll do nature drawing now,” I said. They moved meekly to the table, chose their objects, and set to work, their backs to the boys with the bucket.
By recess time, Horace and Charlie had listed ten factors of color, size, and shape. “There’s nothing else to notice,” they moaned.
“Twenty more. You noticed enough to catch him. When the others are outside for recess, you’ll have more quiet for noticing, won’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Renner,” they said.
When the children trooped back, we began our regular lessons. So many reciting in a small space made a deafening noise; my throat ached from speaking when lunchtime finally came. I sent the children outside, including Horace and Charlie, whose list had reached twenty-five. Dripping with sweat, I sank into my chair, listening to their shouts and calls from the schoolyard. I’ll draw them, I was thinking wearily, but not today.
Suddenly the screaming stopped. Why? I ran to the window and saw Alice Burnett rolling and jerking in the dust. The class made a gawking circle around her. Some twitched in mockery, encouraged by their friends. I raced outside. “The devil’s got her!” Frances was shouting in gleeful horror.
“Devil fit, devil fit!” others chanted.
“Get back! Leave her alone!” I shouted. By now the fit had passed, and Alice lay spent, hiding her face in shame.
“Is it catching?” asked a voice behind me.
“Of course not. Charlie, take everybody inside. Lunchtime’s over.” I had Emma, the oldest girl, help Alice clean herself at the well. I might have predicted that the first day of school might cause anxiety. Which Jim Burnett had said could bring on a fit. I should have been more attentive to her, or given her a small task inside with me. Now all I could do was lecture the children until they hung their heads.“Will this happen again?” I asked in a steely voice that was new to me.
“No, Miss Renner,” they chorused.
Emma slipped back into the room. “Alice went home,” she said. “She wasn’t feeling well.” Of course not. Her first day in my classroom had been mortifying.
I handed out paper from the small stock that Henry provided. “You’ll each describe a time someone laughed at you and how you felt. Then you’ll describe how you think Alice feels today. The younger children can draw pictures. If this happens again, I’ll show these papers to your parents.” Every child gulped. I watched them work. So this was what they’d remember of their first day at my school: a punishment.
For the rest of the afternoon I marched the children through spelling and mathematics exercises at their several levels, released them at three, and dragged myself home. I couldn’t face Alice’s parents. Henry had dropped off a package from my mother: butterplätzchen , carefully wrapped. “For our Hazel,” the note read, “who will be an exceptional teacher.” Exhausted, embarrassed, demoralized, I bent over the table and cried. Ben had been gone for days, driven to Red Gorge by his voices. Owls hooted outside, laughing at me. Fortunately I’d already planned the first week’s lessons. I ate a bowl of cold soup and spent a miserable night. Why had I thought teaching was easy? What arrogance suggested I’d be exceptional?
Alice wasn’t in school the next day. Nor were five of the older country children. After morning prayer, Emma cleared her throat and announced: “Miss Renner, we’re sorry about yesterday with Alice.”
“And—?”
“And about the toad.”
“Thank you, Emma. I appreciate the apology. And I’m sure you’ll all apologize personally to Alice.” Silence. “Won’t
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