The children complied and Marian smiled at them as she chose the poetry book from the stack on her table. “We’ll begin with reading. I’d like to see where you each are with your reading. Tommy, will you begin? Read the first five lines and then pass the book to Genny.”
Tommy Landry, one of the oldest children in the class, read the lines easily and handed the book to Genny Ashworthy. One by one, the children read—some better than others. The little girls in the front row fidgeted, but for the most part, all remained quiet while their fellow students read aloud. Little Bonnie had just taken the book when a knock came at the door.
“Hold on just a moment, Bonnie,” Marian said as she made her way to the door. She opened it, expecting a latecomer—and found several children clustered around the door.
“Good morning, miss. I apologize for us being so late,” the boy in the front said.
The Laingsburg boys. Marian had hoped they might come. She looked out the door and counted five of the nine boys. The youngest one gave her a grin, and Marian smiled back at him.
“It’s all right, Ned,” she said, turning back to the boy who had spoken. “I’m glad you’re here. Come in.”
The boys filed inside, filling most of the remaining desks. Marian bit her lip as she thought through other children who might come in the following days. If the six oldest Wendler children arrived, she would need to begin seating them on the floor if she couldn’t find more chairs.
The reading continued, and Marian made notes about the children’s varying abilities. They moved along to arithmetic and writing with little interruption. The little ones grew restless as the noon hour approached, and a couple of the older girls seemed to enjoy whispering to each other more than writing the sentences Marian dictated, but for the most part, the children were well-behaved.
The afternoon progressed much in the same way, although it appeared a few of the older boys were beginning to lose interest. By dismissal time, Marian was tired down to her very bones. But it was a good sort of tired, and she looked forward to seeing the children again tomorrow. She watched from the doorway as the older ones trudged toward home and the youngest met mothers and fathers waiting outside the schoolhouse.
A tug on her skirt drew her attention down to Zachary Hardison. He was a slight boy of eight, and Marian had to lean down to hear him speak.
“My pa isn’t here,” he said in his soft voice.
Marian glanced both ways down the road, but saw no one walking toward the schoolhouse. “Why don’t you wait here with me for a while, and if he still hasn’t arrived, I’ll walk you home.”
The little boy nodded and followed Marian back inside. She set him to work stacking the books they’d used on the table while she swept the room.
A half an hour passed as they tidied, but there was still no sign of Zachary’s father. The family was new to town, and Marian had yet to meet Zachary’s parents. When she asked the boy if he knew how to find his home, he nodded. Grateful for that, Marian led him back outside and locked the schoolhouse door.
It wasn’t far to the Hardisons’ home. Marian knocked on the door to the small house and waited. When no answer came, she knocked again.
“Might your father be working somewhere?” she asked Zachary.
The little boy shrugged. Marian didn’t know what that meant. But she had to find somewhere for Zachary to go. Perhaps a neighbor was home and could take him in until his father returned.
Just as she made up her mind to knock on the door of the neighboring house, a voice called out.
“Who are you?”
Marian turned toward the voice, clutching Zachary’s hand in her own. A shorter man, not much older than herself, strode toward her.
“That’s my pa,” Zachary said. But he remained beside Marian.
Confused, Marian glanced down at the boy, whose eyes were on the man who approached them. Looking back up at Mr. Hardison, she could see why Zachary didn’t run to him. His face was pulled into an angry frown, and his dark eyes grew cold as he assessed her. And if she wasn’t mistaken, it appeared the man had been drinking. With a quick jerk of his head, he indicated that Zachary should go inside the house.
The little boy complied, leaving Marian alone to face this man who looked ready to blame her for all that had gone wrong in his life. She hadn’t met Mr. Hardison this morning. Zachary had arrived with the Ashworthy children, and Marian didn’t remember seeing any adult with him.
She lifted her chin and spoke in a calm but measured voice. “I’m your son’s teacher. My name is Miss Scott. No one arrived to fetch him from school, so I—”
“I don’t want him going to that school.”
His words made Marian pause. “What do you mean? He arrived this morning with the other children.”
“That lady who has her nose in everyone else’s business must’ve took him after I left.” Mr. Hardison said this more to himself than to her.
“Miss Weatherspoon?”
Mr. Hardison’s stony gaze slid back to her. “That’s her name. I should’ve known you’d be in this together.”
Marian set aside her surprise that Jillian Weatherspoon, the bitter town gossip, was the one who had helped Zachary find his way to school. She drew back her shoulders and looked Zachary’s father square in the eyes. “I assure you, Mr. Hardison, that I did not bring your son to school against your wishes. However, he did very well today, and I would be happy to see him continue. It’s good for him to—”
