Читать книгу Real Cowboys - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 8

KATE DID NEED HER SECOND RAMP at school to get her to the front door, which she unlocked with an old-style brass key Marge had included in the box of student folders that had been left on her kitchen counter.

The folders were a disappointment. No grades had been posted from the previous year and family information was sketchy. And there were eleven folders instead of fourteen. The number of students had dwindled even before Kate started. Schools closed when enrollment dipped too low.

That concern and the general anxiety that went with a new job had seen her sewing curtains for the cabin long after Danny and Goldie had gone to sleep. She would’ve hung the curtains, but she needed Danny’s help. The realization that she’d be more dependent on him than she would have liked troubled her, too. Danny was only ten. Was she expecting too much? Melanie Steele would say yes. Last night Danny had worked without complaint. Today, though, he was grouchy. Kate was glad to leave him standing by the pickup. His absence let her savor the pleasure of entering her first classroom in too many years.

It was a typical country school. A square box with weathered siding. The central cupola at the top of the peaked roof no longer held a school bell. The single main room fanned into wings on either side, housing the boys’ and girls’ restrooms. Wood floors were oiled a dark umber. Five short rows of desks with space to walk between occupied the center of the room. Kate counted desks for twenty students, but with Danny she would only have twelve.

A huge oak desk stood at the front of the room and behind it a massive chair. What did it say to students, Kate thought: I’m the boss?

She loved that the chalkboard was black, not green or white as in newer schools. It ran the length of the wall behind her desk. The U.S. flag stood in one corner and alongside it was a black potbellied stove. Dry wood had been stacked under one window.

As she passed the wood, Kate sniffed the pungent pine scent. The air smelled mustily of smoke, wood oil, chalk dust and industrial-grade soap. Closing her eyes, she soaked in what, to her, was the aroma of knowledge and opportunity. She had attended a similar school in rural Kansas, the one where her mom had taught until she’d died of a ruptured aneurism. Kate had always wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. She belonged in front of a classroom.

Laughing, she threw up her arms, hugged herself and twirled her motorized chair. The sound echoed in the empty room, prompting Danny, who’d finally wandered in, to exclaim, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

She sobered. “Everything is right for the first time in ages, honey.” Seeing his skepticism, she held out her arms. He cast a furtive glance toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be observed before he accepted the hug. Then he pulled away fast.

“I hope you aren’t gonna do that in front of the other kids.”

“I won’t embarrass you, Danny. Are you worried kids here might bully you because you’re the teacher’s son?”

“I dunno. Maybe. In Fort Worth all the kids knew Pawpaw. They thought it was cool I got to live at the Bar R-S where all my friends trained for junior rodeo. Here…I’m nobody.”

“Just be yourself, Danny. I know you’ll make friends.”

He turned away.

“Wait, will you open the window? Oh, and put that monster teacher’s chair in the closet, please. You know, I wouldn’t turn down help in tacking up a bulletin board.”

He brightened, did as she requested, then worked feverishly to help Kate cover a small canvas board with red construction paper. Danny stapled on letters that spelled Welcome To School. Yellow happy faces peeked out from between letters. “It’s simple,” Kate said, “but it’s bright and cheery.”

“Yep, it’s nice, Mom.”

Finding a piece of chalk, Kate rose out of her chair and wrote Ms. Steele in printing and cursive on the blackboard.

A loud crunch of tires outside alerted them to someone’s arrival. Kate set the chalk in the tray and parked her wheelchair behind the desk. To anyone walking in the door, it would appear she was sitting in a regular chair.

At the door, Danny shouted, “It’s the van with the other kids.”

Kate’s confidence slipped. She caught herself rubbing damp palms down her slacks. “Let them follow their normal routine, Danny.” Calmly, Kate opened her book bag and pulled out papers.

“What should I do?” Danny asked.

“Pick a seat?” Kate waved at the desk he stood beside.

“What if some other kid sits there?”

“Oh. Good point. What do you think you should do?”

“Go back to Fort Worth. I hate it here.” He spoke with such fervor Kate winced.

“Honey, I agreed to work a full school year. In May I’ll reassess. Until then, we’re staying. Why don’t you ask the van driver what time he or she plans to return to pick up the students.”

“It’s a he,” Danny muttered, brushing past two boys who were timidly approaching.

Kate pasted on a smile. “Welcome boys. Take seats near the front of the room for now. Once I take attendance I’ll assign seating based on your grade.”

The duo, freckle-faced carrot tops, plopped down in the second row. Two giggly blond girls followed. All four appeared nervous.

The next five to straggle in tried to act cool and aloof. Three older boys waited to see where the girls who trailed in their wake decided to sit. The boys then put as much distance between themselves and the girls as humanly possible.

Kate noted that the last two students slipped in silently. The girl was possibly the youngest of the group. In a few years she would be stunning. Lustrous, straight black hair fell to below her shoulders. Eyes so dark they were almost purple studied Kate from beneath thick lashes. By comparison, the boy seemed bland. His black hair was cropped short, his liquid eyes somber. If Kate had to describe the color of his skin, she would call it flat tobacco, whereas the girl’s glowed like burnished copper. Kate had one Hispanic name on the list from Marge and two Native Americans. Checking grade levels, she concluded these two were her Native students.

Which meant the girl was her landlord’s daughter. Last night she’d barely glimpsed the child down beside Danny and Goldie.

Danny returned, trailed by a stocky man.

“You sent the boy to get me, ma’am? I’m Bill Hyder. Dave, there, is my youngest boy.” The van driver crushed a battered straw hat between work-scarred hands. His gaze lit proudly on a husky, toffee-haired teen who slumped in his seat.

Kate smiled, hoping to put the man and his son at ease. “I’m Ms. Steele. I forgot to ask Marge Goetz if I should stagger dismissals by grade levels.”

Bill shook his head, relaxing some. “All grades get out at two-thirty. I hope that’s okay. It saves on fuel and vehicle wear and tear. Plus, our driver volunteers pull double duty between farming, ranching or jobs in town.”

“Your board employs me, Mr. Hyder. I’ll abide by their rules. Two-thirty it is. Have a nice day.” She’d perfected a smile of dismissal.

He jammed on his hat and ducked out.

Kate beckoned to Danny. “Class, I’d like you to meet my son. Danny is in fifth grade. After he sits down, I’ll take attendance. Please raise your hand as I call your name. Then we’re going to have a two-page quiz. Simple questions designed to show me your skill levels in reading, math and science.” She expected groans or outright objection, but the room remained eerily silent.

The first sound was an audible gasp from the students after she completed attendance and motored out from behind her desk to hand out tests.

Kate hadn’t planned to explain her condition. The collective gasp changed her mind. “I was injured a couple of years ago in an auto accident.”

A boy Kate had already handed a test to raised his hand.

“Yes? You’re Terry Goetz, have I got that right?”

“Uh-huh. Did my mom know you were crippled?” he blurted, then yelped when the boy seated beside him, his younger brother, Jeff, socked him in the arm.

“Ow!” Terry scowled at Jeff. The other kids sat in shocked silence.

Kate felt shaky and needed a minute to collect her thoughts. She eased around the last seat in Terry’s row and headed up the next aisle, continuing to pass out tests. She had been right—Clover Trueblood was her youngest pupil. The girl had just turned eight. Kate recalled that Clover’s record hadn’t made it clear if she was in second or third grade. Kate set a test designed for second graders in front of Clover. Kate’s hands were empty now and it was time to deal with Terry Goetz.

“Terry,” she said quietly, crossing to her desk. “Do you think it’s necessary I be able to walk in order to teach?”

“I dunno,” the boy mumbled. “Depends on what you teach. Uh, I didn’t mean no offense, but me ’n’ Ron Quimby and Mike Delgado are probably gonna go to the consolidated high school next year. Sports are big there. Our last teacher, Mr. Sikes, he hung a basketball hoop on the back school wall and was teaching us how to make hook shots and blocks.” Terry slid lower on his spine.

“Basketball?” Kate repeated, stopping behind her desk. “It so happens I rarely miss watching an NBA game on TV. Naturally I can’t run with you on the court, but I bet I can help you. These tests are timed by the way,” she said in the same even tone. “Does everyone have a pencil?”

The kids scrambled to open their backpacks, and Kate saw she’d done the right thing in not coming down hard on Terry. She’d find a private moment to make him understand that the term cripple was hurtful.

“These scores won’t be recorded,” she assured them. “And accuracy is more important than speed. Is everyone ready?”

A blond girl named Shelly Bent raised her hand. “If we miss a lot of questions, Ms. Steele, are you going to move us back a grade?”

“Good question. The answer is no. Your most recent school year was interrupted. I’ll use these scores to see where you need help.”

That seemed to put them more at ease. At least they all sat forward and prepared to turn over their papers. “If that’s it for questions, you may begin,” Kate said.

She checked her watch for the start time. She’d learned from her mother the art of watching students without seeming to. Midway through the test, she noticed that a bird had flown in one of the open windows and was hopping along the sill. Kate didn’t know what kind of bird it was. It had gray feathers and a yellow underbelly and throat. The bird cocked its head and warbled, sounding almost flutelike.

Kate saw she wasn’t the only one captivated by the bird. Clover Trueblood set down her pencil and slipped from her seat. She answered the birdcall with an uncanny repetition of the flute sounds.

Or maybe the bird had warbled again. Not wanting to disrupt the whole class, Kate rolled toward the girl. She thought Clover would scare the bird, but that didn’t happen. Clover walked right up and planted an elbow on either side of the creature. They both trilled again. Thinking it must be a tame bird, Kate went closer. Her arrival startled the bird and it flew away.

The girl whirled, fright widening her eyes. Kate offered a gentle smile. “Clover, did you complete your test? If not, you need to go back to your seat.”

Without speaking, the child sidled around Kate.

“I’ll allow you a few extra minutes. Later maybe we can discuss the bird.”

Clover bounded back to her seat, but not before she lifted her chin and gazed straight into Kate’s eyes. Kate wasn’t sure whether she felt confounded or challenged. It was an unsettling experience.

Back at her desk, she noticed that several students were done. “Shelly, please collect the tests beginning with eighth graders. I’m allowing Clover an extra five minutes. She had a slight distraction.”

It pleased Kate to see that her landlord’s daughter was hunched over her desk, her pencil flying across her paper.

As students handed their tests to Shelly, they began to whisper among themselves, especially the Keevler sisters and Meg Wheeler.

“Jeff—Jeff Goetz,” Kate called. “Will you and Adam Lightfoot pass out these books? I’ve attached names on sticky notes. They’re reading texts. I’d like you each to begin reading the first story in your book while I glance over the tests. It’s possible I’ll trade books for a few of you after I check your reading comprehension. I expect I’ll move some of you to more difficult books.”

There was the usual disorder that went along with a break in routine. Kate found these children better disciplined than she’d expected, given none of them had been in a formal classroom since before Christmas of the previous year.

She worked quickly with the aid of an answer sheet. Ron Quimby, Shelly Bent and her clone, Meg Wheeler, made perfect scores. Ron and Shelly were in eighth grade. They were probably working well above that. Terry Goetz missed two questions. He had terrible handwriting, but she saw no need to change his eighth-grade reader. Others in fifth through seventh grades held their own. Kate was feeling quite pleased until she reached the last test, which she knew belonged to Clover.

The girl’s name was not written on the test and not one question had been answered. Quite by accident Kate turned one sheet over. Her breath caught. A perfect rendering of the bird on the windowsill stared up at her. Its feathers, the markings and intelligent eyes had been captured in exquisite detail. On the back of the second sheet was an equally complex drawing of a steer.

Stunned, she thumbed through the permanent record folders to locate Clover’s. Had she missed a reference to this talent? Or a note saying the girl showed a total lack of regard for a teacher-mandated assignment? The most telling thing in the file was its brevity. All eleven students lived on rural routes. Clover Trueblood was no exception. A space for her mother’s given and maiden names was blank. Nothing indicated whether Mrs. Trueblood lived elsewhere or was deceased. A notation was made that Clover had passed grade one, but Mr. Sikes’s progress note simply stated she hadn’t been tested in grade two.

Had she been absent the day of state-mandated tests? If so, why had no one administered a makeup? Kate frowned and tucked the artwork in the folder, then pulled a pad from her book bag to jot down contact phone numbers from Clover’s record. Vida Smith, a housekeeper, was listed for Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Her father’s radio-phone number said, message only, will return calls. Three other numbers without names were noted for emergency purposes.

Sighing, Kate wrote Clover’s father a note requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. She put it in an envelope, sealed it and scrawled his name on the outside, then set it aside to send home with Clover.

Like most first days at school, this one passed quickly. As Kate was the only teacher, all grades broke for lunch and recess together. She was able to observe which kids paired up and who was on the outs. The older boys teamed up for three-on-a-side basketball.

From the sidelines, Kate suggested plays. She kept an eye on Jeff Goetz and Adam Lightfoot, who tossed a baseball in another part of the playground. She’d thought Danny would join them, but he moved off. Clover climbed on the monkey bars and chatted to Danny, who didn’t seem to mind.

At the end of the day, Kate stuck her note to Clover’s father into the girl’s pack. “This is important. Please give it to your dad as soon as you get home. Tell him I’ll be here tomorrow a half hour before school starts, or I’ll stay an hour after class.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clover skirted Kate’s wheelchair and bolted for the door.

Kate levered out of her chair to erase the math problems she’d had Meg Wheeler and Mike Delgado write on the board.

She and Danny were alone again.

“Did Clover do something wrong, Mom?”

“Wrong? Oh, you mean the note I sent her father? It’s nothing. Her record is incomplete so I need information from her dad. By the way, Danny, I saw you two talking at recess and lunch, after you left Jeff and Adam.”

“I asked them about a rodeo. Jeff doesn’t have horses, but Clover does. Her dad owns a bunch, a cavvy, she called them. She can ride any horse she wants. And her dad braids ropes. Clover said her dad used to teach a roping clinic. She knows all about slack handling, dallying, del viento, hoolihan, turnover and a bunch of other roping tricks.”

Kate set the eraser in its tray. “He used to teach roping?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe he still does.” Taking the eraser, Danny dusted it off in the waste basket. “Clover said he had to stop ’cause he spends so much time running back and forth to court. To Boise. When he’s gone she gets to ride in a real chuck wagon. Isn’t that the coolest thing, Mom?”

“Hmm.” Kate digested the news about Clover’s father spending a lot of time in court. A custody hassle might explain the girl’s distraction and account for the blanks on her permanent record.

A teacher ought to know if there was a court restraining order out against one parent or the other. Mentally, Kate added that to her list of things to discuss with Clover’s father.

That evening, Marge Goetz phoned. “Kate, may I call you that? During supper Jeff told his dad and me how rude Terry was today. He knows better. He will apologize tomorrow. And he’ll do without TV for a few days.”

“I’d planned to speak privately with Terry. He and the others wouldn’t have been so surprised if I’d mentioned my use of a wheelchair in my cover letter.”

“There’s no reason you should have. Except we would’ve provided better access to your cabin and the school. My husband, Ray, worries that you’ll have trouble when it snows.”

“Getting around is my problem to solve, Marge, and I’ll manage. When should I expect the first snow?”

“Could be another month. Two if we’re lucky. It won’t hurt the older boys to shovel a path from where you park into the school. I’ll have Ray or one of the other board members buy snow shovels for the school and your cabin.” After asking Kate if she needed anything else, the board president said goodbye.

Kate wished she’d asked if Marge knew a way to reach Clover Trueblood’s father. But maybe he’d show up in the morning.

The next day, Kate rousted Danny from bed early so she’d be at school in the event Trueblood chose to come for a morning meeting, but he didn’t show. Clover got off the bus. Entering the room alone, she shyly crossed to Kate’s desk, where she set a peanut-butter jar filled with fragrant wildflowers.

The gesture and the child’s almost palpable anxiety touched Kate. “Why, thank you, Clover. These are beautiful. Do they grow wild near your house?”

The girl bobbed her head. Kate’s obvious pleasure triggered a sweet responsive smile before Clover spun and skipped to her desk.

Kate hated to bring up the letter she’d sent home, but she needed to know. “Clover, did you give your dad my note?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She sat, but didn’t look at Kate.

“What did he say after he read it?”

Fine black hair hid Clover’s face. “Nothing.”

“Is he picking you up from school today?”

“Uh-uh. I’m riding the bus and Miss Vida’s staying late to fix my supper ’cause Ben’s got a meeting in town.”

Kate closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you always call your father Ben?”

Clover shrugged, clearly puzzled. “That’s his name.”

“All right. Not to worry. I’ll write him another note. Or, better, I’ll phone and leave a message.”

The morning reading assignment netted Kate two more drawings from Clover—a dark horse with an oddly trimmed mane and a dog that looked like Goldie. Kate had Clover read out loud. She read about every fifth word, seeming easily distracted.

While the students were eating lunch at tables out back, Kate took a minute to call Ben Trueblood and was connected to an answering machine. “I understand if you’re busy,” she said, rushing to beat the time-out tone. “Perhaps I didn’t convey the urgency of my request to speak with you in my first note. We need to conference ASAP about your daughter.” The tone bleeped, so Kate clicked off, annoyed that she hadn’t repeated her offer to come in early or stay late.

THURSDAY AT SCHOOL was a repeat of Wednesday.

Frustrated, Kate again attempted to impress on Clover that she really needed to meet with her dad. “This is my cell-phone number,” she said, making sure Clover saw her stuff the note in a zip pocket of the girl’s red backpack. “Please tell him he can call me any evening. I’m up late.”

Blinking a couple of times, Clover dashed off to meet the van, leaving Kate with her day’s work—more art. Today there was a likeness of Kate seated at her desk and below it a sketch of the boys playing basketball. The last drawing was of a wizened man bent over a campfire, his features and arthritic hands compellingly lifelike.

If she didn’t see or hear from Ben Trueblood soon, Kate intended to load Danny in her pickup and follow Bill Hyder to Clover’s home. She’d wait for him there.

Kate spent a large part of the day observing Clover. She seemed a happy child, always humming to herself as she flitted about. And flit she did. Simple things caught her attention. Clouds. A fly. Colorful rocks.

The other kids didn’t exactly avoid her, but neither did they include her in play. And for some reason she chose to shadow Danny. Curiously, he let her, probably because she knew a lot about horses—Danny’s greatest love next to calf roping.

As she watched the kids at lunch, it struck Kate that if not for her pretty hair and girlish features, Clover could pass for one of the boys in her slant-heel boots, faded blue jeans and Western shirt.

Clover wasn’t disruptive in class. She listened attentively when anyone, especially Kate, talked. However, small things had her leaving her seat. A ladybug marching across a neighbor’s desk. Oak leaves that blew in and skittered across the floor when Meg Wheeler came in late. And of all things, a honeybee that Clover guided out the classroom window because she said its family was waiting outside.

Clover’s verbal skills were fine for her age and she gave detailed answers to the questions Kate asked. But she stubbornly chose not to do written assignments and she only read a handful of words on a page. Kate didn’t get it. The kid was an enigma. And so was the elusive dad, whom Danny pronounced “real cool.” According to Danny, buckaroos, as Clover called her dad and his crew, were the greatest because they lived in tepees on the range. They did nothing but ride horses, herd and brand cattle.

Kate didn’t share her son’s admiration for the man. Clover was a beautiful child who had somehow fallen through a huge crack in the education system and it was Kate’s job to see that her student got the help she needed.

Frustrated, Kate left a terse message saying that if she didn’t see him Friday, she was going to call the district superintendent’s office about his child. “I understand what it is to be a working, single parent. I’ll be at school until six o’clock.”

Danny overheard the last part of her call. “Are we staying late again tonight? If we stay till six that means I’ve gotta feed and exercise Flame in the dark.”

“Not tonight, Danny. I’m ready to go home now. Tomorrow, bring a book along to read. If Clover’s dad spends long hours out on the range, it’s up to me to remain flexible so that he and I can meet.”

“You said Clover wasn’t in trouble. So why do you need a meeting?”

“Danny, I can’t discuss another student with you, and I’m sorry you have to stay with me. You know, if Clover’s dad makes this meeting, you’ll have to sit in the truck until he and I finish talking. Our meeting is confidential.”

“Br-oth-er! You think I can’t keep a secret? I was with Mimi when she bought Pawpaw that fringed leather jacket for Christmas, and I didn’t tell.”

“This is different, honey. All students and their families have a legal right to privacy.”

“Not me. You’re my teacher and my mom. You know everything there is to know about me.”

Kate couldn’t resist teasing as she hugged him. “But you’re perfect, Danny.”

He wiggled out of her arms and delivered an eye roll like only ten-year-old boys could. However, he helped her collect her papers without being asked before they locked up.

FRIDAY THE KIDS WERE ANXIOUS to be off for the weekend. “Are you going to assign homework?” asked tall, lanky Ron Quimby.

“I prefer not to assign weekend homework. Tests I give will be on work you should be covering during class.” Kate couldn’t help glancing at Clover. She hadn’t completed any class assignments this entire week. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d done her math.

Last night, Marge Goetz had dropped by with a welcome casserole and Kate had been dying to ask the older woman about Clover’s father but didn’t feel she’d been at her job long enough to probe for such information. After Marge had left, Kate had looked up dyslexia in a teaching textbook. Kate wondered if that was Clover’s problem. But the text said a dyslexic child would have difficulty with reading, spelling and numbers, so that didn’t describe Clover.

Class ended in a stampede out to catch the bus.

“Danny, I’m going to grade papers,” Kate told her son. “Will you go see if anyone left sports equipment out on the playground?”

“Okay. Why do we hafta stay late every night? I want to ride Flame. Why doesn’t Clover’s dad show up?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Kate spent a half hour going over the day’s work. From the sporadic thump on the back wall, she knew Danny had gotten sidetracked shooting baskets.

At the sound of footsteps, Kate’s head shot up. In walked the most arresting man she’d seen in Lord only knew when. He was lean, not too muscular and oozed masculinity. He wore narrow-legged jeans tucked in tall snakeskin boots that jingled faintly and musically as he entered the classroom. Despite herself, Kate felt a tug in her belly as she watched the fascinating, hip-rolling gait of a born cowboy.

The faded red neckerchief he wore had seen better days and obviously wasn’t for show. Nor was the sweat-stained cotton shirt with stray strands of dry grass sticking out of one pocket and the shirtsleeves rolled up over deeply tanned forearms.

She hadn’t heard a truck. Had he dropped from the sky?

As he turned to glance out the window, Kate saw that his raven-black hair was tied at the nape with a leather thong. His clean-shaven jaw gave an appearance of strength.

No matter how irritated Kate was with herself over looking her fill, she was more chagrined to see that he studied her with equal interest—and equal reluctance.

“Mr. Trueblood, I presume? I’m Kate Steele, your daughter’s new teacher.” Kate tried to imagine what he was thinking. How did he feel about knocking off work early to come in for a meeting he probably considered frivolous? Clover’s dad struck her as a hard-nosed, no-frills kinda guy.

“I appreciate you making time to come talk about Clover,” Kate said. “I’ll try to be as brief as possible, but meanwhile, please be seated.” She indicated a folding chair she’d brought from home for this very occasion.

He hadn’t spoken since walking in and didn’t now. He merely dragged the chair out a foot or so farther from her desk and sat heavily, before hanging the flat-crowned hat he’d removed at the door over one knee.

At last he cleared his throat. “Clover’s a little bit of a thing, Ms. Steele. If she’s caused trouble for you in class, I’d have thought as a qualified teacher you’d know ways to deal with about any problem an eight-year-old girl could dish up.”