Real Cowboys. Roz Denny Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, СКАЧАТЬ