Read Online Under the Same Blue Sky by Pamela Schoenewaldt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Schoenewaldt
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you?”
“Yes, Miss Renner.” I promised to have Dr. Bentley explain what was known about epilepsy. I described in detail what would be done and not done if Alice had another fit.
“Now we won’t talk more about what happened. We’ll have Charlie and Horace tell us what they learned about toads.” They did this, shyly pleased with their list. Then came spelling and geography bees, with questions scaled for each grade. I made quick sketches of the winners. Perhaps, with enough varied competitions, every child could win a portrait by Christmas. At recess, I asked Emma about the five students who hadn’t returned.
She shrugged. “They always do that—show up the first day and then stay home.” Apparently nothing had made them act otherwise for me.
After school I went to Burnett’s Grocery and waited until Jim was alone to confess: “I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. How is Alice?”
“She cried all night. She’d convinced herself that she wouldn’t have a fit in your school, that everything would be different with a new teacher.”
Instead, everything was the same. “I’m so sorry, Jim,” I repeated.
“It’s not your fault. No teacher can stop fits.”
“I wish I could, but the children will not behave as they did. I can promise her that. You have our word.”
“It’s so hard to see your child suffer, and Dr. Bentley says it’s just something she’ll have to live with. But if the others don’t torment her, that’s something. I’ll tell her what you said, Hazel. Now you tell me about the rest of the day.” I described the toad incident, which made him laugh. It was, in retrospect, mildly funny. “And I’ll bet you won’t have any more trouble from Charlie and Horace. They’re good boys, once you’ve got them on your side.”
“I’m sure they are. But five country children weren’t there, andEmma said they won’t come back. The parents promised they’d attend. They didn’t tell me it was just for one day.”
“Hazel, you’re from the city. You asked a question in public. Of course they agreed. They’d be shamed not to. Besides, the older children have chores at home or on the farm. Sending them to school is a sacrifice.”
“So I need to convince the parents—”
“No, you don’t ‘convince’ these folks of anything, or tell them how to raise their children, or what’s important and what’s not. Do you want some advice?”
“Yes.”
“Go call on them in the evening or Sunday afternoon, so you don’t take up work time or market time. And don’t talk about school. Just listen.”
I did as Jim suggested, making hot, dusty treks on foot to cabins where I sat on porches or front stoops, hearing about bad harvests, bad knees, sprained backs, barn fires, and early deaths. I also heard the deep longing that sons and daughters would have a better life. I didn’t need to tell anyone the value of school. They already knew. The question, I learned, was whether my school was worth their sacrifice. The next week, two of the five began attending regularly. A third said she’d come “unless there’s sickness at home.”
“Amazing,” said Jim.
The next week, Mrs. Ashton walked Susanna to school. “I guess we did well to get a city teacher,” Henry said.
M Y PARENTS VISITED in late September. They marveled at the quiet and calm of Galway, the blue sky “like in Heidelberg,” and friendly greetings as we walked through town. Over coffee and my mother’s cookies on the porch, I related my new life: collecting wild foods with Ben,visiting families, preparing lessons, grading, and keeping house. Male teachers had the right to two free evenings a week for courting. How did they have time? The only drawings I did now were portraits of my students. Studying their faces, I could better judge what might frustrate or excite them. I described pacing off the dimensions of Egyptian pyramids, finding miniature geological structures in the stream that ran behind the
“Yes, Miss Renner.” I promised to have Dr. Bentley explain what was known about epilepsy. I described in detail what would be done and not done if Alice had another fit.
“Now we won’t talk more about what happened. We’ll have Charlie and Horace tell us what they learned about toads.” They did this, shyly pleased with their list. Then came spelling and geography bees, with questions scaled for each grade. I made quick sketches of the winners. Perhaps, with enough varied competitions, every child could win a portrait by Christmas. At recess, I asked Emma about the five students who hadn’t returned.
She shrugged. “They always do that—show up the first day and then stay home.” Apparently nothing had made them act otherwise for me.
After school I went to Burnett’s Grocery and waited until Jim was alone to confess: “I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. How is Alice?”
“She cried all night. She’d convinced herself that she wouldn’t have a fit in your school, that everything would be different with a new teacher.”
Instead, everything was the same. “I’m so sorry, Jim,” I repeated.
“It’s not your fault. No teacher can stop fits.”
“I wish I could, but the children will not behave as they did. I can promise her that. You have our word.”
“It’s so hard to see your child suffer, and Dr. Bentley says it’s just something she’ll have to live with. But if the others don’t torment her, that’s something. I’ll tell her what you said, Hazel. Now you tell me about the rest of the day.” I described the toad incident, which made him laugh. It was, in retrospect, mildly funny. “And I’ll bet you won’t have any more trouble from Charlie and Horace. They’re good boys, once you’ve got them on your side.”
“I’m sure they are. But five country children weren’t there, andEmma said they won’t come back. The parents promised they’d attend. They didn’t tell me it was just for one day.”
“Hazel, you’re from the city. You asked a question in public. Of course they agreed. They’d be shamed not to. Besides, the older children have chores at home or on the farm. Sending them to school is a sacrifice.”
“So I need to convince the parents—”
“No, you don’t ‘convince’ these folks of anything, or tell them how to raise their children, or what’s important and what’s not. Do you want some advice?”
“Yes.”
“Go call on them in the evening or Sunday afternoon, so you don’t take up work time or market time. And don’t talk about school. Just listen.”
I did as Jim suggested, making hot, dusty treks on foot to cabins where I sat on porches or front stoops, hearing about bad harvests, bad knees, sprained backs, barn fires, and early deaths. I also heard the deep longing that sons and daughters would have a better life. I didn’t need to tell anyone the value of school. They already knew. The question, I learned, was whether my school was worth their sacrifice. The next week, two of the five began attending regularly. A third said she’d come “unless there’s sickness at home.”
“Amazing,” said Jim.
The next week, Mrs. Ashton walked Susanna to school. “I guess we did well to get a city teacher,” Henry said.
M Y PARENTS VISITED in late September. They marveled at the quiet and calm of Galway, the blue sky “like in Heidelberg,” and friendly greetings as we walked through town. Over coffee and my mother’s cookies on the porch, I related my new life: collecting wild foods with Ben,visiting families, preparing lessons, grading, and keeping house. Male teachers had the right to two free evenings a week for courting. How did they have time? The only drawings I did now were portraits of my students. Studying their faces, I could better judge what might frustrate or excite them. I described pacing off the dimensions of Egyptian pyramids, finding miniature geological structures in the stream that ran behind the
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