The Secret School (7 page)

Ida was certain she saw Herbert dive away, back into the barn's interior.

For a moment she stood there, angry at Mr. Bixler but angrier still at herself. Had she given everything away? Worried, she ran back to the car and all but jumped into the seat.

"What's the matter?" Felix asked.

"Nothing," Ida snapped. "Let's get on home. Chores are waiting."

As she drove she went over what had been said, getting more and more worried. Then, three miles from their home, she called out, "Brake, clutch!"

Abruptly, she swung the car down a side road.

"Where we going now?"

"Got to see Tom."

"Why?"

"I need to speak to him."

They reached Tom's house in moments. The Kohls, like the Bidsons, were sheep farmers, and fairly successful ones. Where everything was shabby about the Bixler farm, the Kohl farm was neat and spruce. Beneath the soft shadows of Sand Mountain, buildings, fences, and machinery were all in good order.

Ida came to a jerky stop in front of the main house, where there was a long open porch. Mary was on the front steps, playing with three dolls. Tom was hunched over a table.

"Hey there!" he called. There were streaks of black over his face. His hands were dirty.

Ida let Felix out of the car, then climbed out herself. "I have to talk to you," she announced.

"You Miss Bidson or Ida?"

"Oh, Tom! Please don't."

"Come on up," he said with a grin. Felix, not waiting for an invitation, had already joined Mary on the steps.

Ida stepped onto the porch. On the table was some kind of small machine. There were lots of dirty sheets of paper about. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Got me a little old printing press," Tom said. "My dad found it in the junk shop in town. I made myself some ink out of old crankcase oil and solvent. Got most of the letters. Just not enough Os. And it only does one page at a time."

"What are you printing?" Ida asked.

"Circular about a church supper. But what is it? You look all ragged."

"Tom," Ida said, "I just went to Herbert's place. Wanted to find out why he wasn't at school."

"His father keeps him close."

"I know. Mr. Bixler didn't know what we were doing at school. And by mistake ... I told him."

"You did?"

"Tom, he said he might talk to Mr. Jordan. Think he will?"

"Don't know."

"But, if he does, what do you think will happen?"

Tom considered the question. Then, with a shrug, he said, "Guess your guess is as good as mine."

"You tell your folks?"

"Some."

"About me?"

"Well, yes."

"What did they say?"

Tom grinned. "Said they always figured you as smart."

Ida felt pleased but embarrassed. "Well, I'm
really
worried. Just hope I didn't ruin everything."

"Can't imagine you ruining anything."

Suddenly feeling shy, Ida turned and stepped off the porch. "Come on, Felix," she said brusquely. "We've got work at home."

Tom followed them to the car. "Thanks for coming by," he said.

"I'm sorry I can't stay," she said.

"Pretty busy," Tom said.

"I guess I am."

Tom bent over the crank.

Felix got in, then Ida. "Tom!" Ida called.

Tom stood up.

"Your farm, ours," Ida said, "they're so different than Herbert's. His was so ... sad." Finding it difficult to say what she felt, she gripped the steering wheel hard. "Why do you think that has to be?"

"Don't know. Luck maybe. My old man says it's a different way of working. Maybe we'll learn all about that in high school."

She shook her head. "I wish I knew."

"Hey, Ida..."

"What?"

Tom pushed the hair away from his forehead. "Just want you to understand we all know how hard you're working. Can't be easy."

"Thank you," she said. "Felix, clutch."

Tom gave the motor crank a few turns.

Ida adjusted the spark and throttle, then called, "Clutch and brake!"

"We going home now?" Felix asked, as the car began to move.

"Yes," Ida said, watching Tom's image grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

T
HOUGH
I
DA STILL HADN'T
figured out how to be teacher, student, family member, and herself all at the same time, she found herself truly enjoying teaching. Each time she drove to school, she looked forward to what new things would happen.

As the days passed, she worked with or listened to each student separately, though there were times she worked simultaneously with two or three. When she wasn't spending time with them, the children were either learning lessons by themselves, memorizing, working with each other, studying together if they were on the same level,
or helping one another if they were not. When they became tired or bored—which happened—they sat quietly, staring out the windows at the mountains, daydreaming. Sometimes they did little but listen to the other lessons that buzzed ceaselessly around them. Of course there were arguments, spats, even mean words—some of which brought tears. Once Herbert and Charley even got into a fight. Everything took sorting out.

Then there were school chores. Sweeping, mopping, cutting and hauling wood, dusting, taking out ashes, polishing desks, filling the stove, cleaning the privies, washing windows. Everybody did some of everything.

But with every passing day Ida felt more confident that things were truly going well. The children seemed to be working hard. She herself was not quite as exhausted as she had been. Even Herbert was in school more often than not. Maybe, after all, her visit had helped.

One afternoon as they were driving home, Felix said, "Ida, guess what Tom was talking about?"

"What?"

"That final exam you have to take."

"What did he say?"

"Said he's going to pass it easy."

Gritting her teeth, Ida said, "I hate that Tom Kohl," and immediately resolved to concentrate wholly on her
own
studies. But as soon as she arrived home, she was greeted by her father saying, "Ida, I need you in the barn." It was lambing season, an exciting but unsettled time. Newborns had a schedule all their own.

It was quite late when Ida finally crawled into her bed. She—working with her mother and
father
—had helped deliver twelve lambs. Spent, she lay down, only to realize she had done absolutely no schoolwork that night, neither for the students nor for herself.

She sat bolt upright. She
must
do something. Then Felix, across the room, gave a deep sigh in his sleep. He sounded so content, so utterly at rest, that Ida could do nothing but give way to her own tiredness.

Full of the pleasing sensation of willfully doing nothing, of being aware of nothing but her own body, she snuggled beneath her blanket. It seemed the sweetest thing to do in the whole world. In moments she was asleep.

 

Exactly two weeks after the day Miss Sedgewick had appeared, the weather turned springtime glorious. The air was balmy, with fluffy clouds floating through an arcing blue sky. The mountains themselves—with their constantly retreating snowcaps—seemed to be soaring. Tom announced he'd seen a bald eagle on the way to school. Charley countered by insisting he'd seen hummingbirds, the season's first. Early flowers—brilliant yellow snow lilies—dotted the valley, signaling spring's late arrival and the promise of summer, wonderful summer. No one, including Ida, wanted to be inside. Still, she told herself, they had to be.

All that morning, Ida kept stealing glances out the open window. Once, when she noticed Ruckus grazing, she even caught herself wishing she could be a mule for a day.

Four times she quietly opened her desk drawer, pulled the sheepskin aside, and checked the clock. She wasn't tired; she was restless. The room—despite the open windows—seemed small and stuffy.

"When Ida caught sight of a mule deer coming down the road and then trotting off into the woods, she gave up. She had to get out, too. Suddenly she said, "I wish to make an announcement."

The fidgeting children gave her their attention.

"It's recess time and I've decided that I need recess, too. From now on I shall go outside and play when you do. When I do, I shall be Ida. But when recess is over, I will be Miss Bidson, your teacher, again. May we agree on that? All in favor, raise hands."

"Ida's gonna be a human again!" Herbert shouted as he stretched both hands high.

All the other hands shot up, too, and there was a dash for the door.

Once outside Ida didn't stop. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she ran as hard as she could—away from everyone, toward the eastern hills—as if determined to reach the top of a mountain. It felt so good to run again. Then she flopped down in the tall grass, spread her arms and legs like a windmill, and gazed up at the sky.

The sun was warm. The breeze in her face was fresh and clean. High above her, a hawk began to circle.

Ida giggled.
Maybe he thinks I'm a mouse,
she thought.

Suddenly consumed with a desire to play, she ran back to the school yard.

As soon as Tom saw Ida coming he huddled with Herbert. Then he called out, "Crack the whip! Crack the whip!"

Everybody tore down behind the privies to the flat area near the pond. Once there they all joined hands, urging Ida to be at the end. Completely giddy to be romping again, she agreed. It was Herbert who grasped her hand securely. Tom, being tallest, naturally took the lead. He led them round and round in tighter and tighter circles until Ida had a hard time staying on her feet. She didn't care. She was so happy to be part of the group again.

Tom led on, fester and fester, until, as he made the final cracking twist, he shouted, "Let her go!" With that, Herbert let Ida's hand slip. The boys had it all perfectly planned and timed. Ida went flying through the air until she landed, with a great splash, right in the middle of the pond.

Soaked and mud spattered, she sat in the water. For a moment she just remained there, gasping for breath, shocked. The next moment she broke out into laughter, laughing as she had not laughed in a long time. As the other children joined in, she could not stop.

Suddenly they heard a voice say, "My dear Miss Bidson. Are you giving swimming lessons?"

They looked around. It was the county examiner, Miss Sedgewick. She seemed to be struggling not to laugh herself. "I have visited many a school," she said, "but never one like this. Now I'm afraid I really do need to speak to you all."

Dripping wet, red faced, and mud streaked, Ida waded out of the pond and plodded in sodden shoes toward the schoolhouse. The other children followed uncertainly.

Tom edged up to Ida. "Sorry," he whispered.

She looked up at him. He looked so pathetically guilty that for a moment she felt an almost irrepressible giggle rising. "Do I look a sight?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Yes," and started to laugh again but tried to repress it.

Ida bit her lip to keep herself from laughing more.

As the students filed into their places, Ida stood shivering beside the teacher's desk. This was, she knew, a very serious moment. "Why was she so desperate to laugh?

"My dear," said Miss Sedgewick, "have you no dry clothes?"

"No, ma'am. Can I explain what we were—?"

"Miss Bidson, you
are
the teacher here. Do take your place."

Wet though she was, Ida sat down. Under the cover of her desk she slipped off her shoes. She was aware that if she so much as peeked at Tom, she would burst out laughing again.

"I am sorry to have come at such an awkward moment," Miss Sedgewick began, addressing Ida as well as the class. "I should begin by commending you all for your desire to be in school. As far as
I'm
concerned, there's no harm in your studying together. In fact, I admire it greatly. If you wish to allow Miss Bidson to be your unofficial teacher, there's nothing wrong with that, either."

The other children burst into applause. Ida allowed herself a big smile. The desire to laugh eased.

"However," Miss Sedgewick said with new severity, "as for getting
credit
for what you are doing, that's quite another matter. Credit for the term will require passing an exam given by the county."

Tom raised his hand. "For the eighth graders? Is that what you mean, ma'am?"

"For the eighth graders, certainly. But here's the choice I offer: I'll keep your secret, but in return you must
all
take a final exam."

"All?" Ida said, now very serious.

"All," Miss Sedgewick repeated.

"Me, too?" asked Mary tremulously.

"You, too, my dear."

"I thought tests were just supposed to be for Tom and Ida," Herbert objected.

"Young man, you have changed the rules here," Miss Sedgewick replied. "Now I have, too. You can't get credit for taking a full term unless we see that you have truly mastered it."

"Miss Sedgewick," asked Ida, "can ... can I see the exams so I can make sure I know what to teach?"

"But then the results would only tell us what you taught your students, Miss Bidson, not what they know. No, my dear, just continue as you've been doing. The test will allow me to see what you have accomplished. Agreed?"

No one spoke.

"Is that a yes or a no?" asked Miss Sedgewick.

"We've been doing everything by voting," Ida said.

"Then please feel free to vote," Miss Sedgewick urged.

Ida stood up. "Those in favor of everybody taking exams like Miss Sedgewick says, raise hands."

All hands—except Herbert's—went up.

"I'm afraid," said Miss Sedgewick, "this won't work unless everyone agrees." She turned to Herbert. "Young man, would you reconsider?"

"Aw,"—he scowled—"if I take that exam, I'm just gonna fail it."

"Herbert, please," Ida pleaded.

Herbert stared down at his desk.

Once more, Ida said, "Those in favor."

This time all hands—including Herbert's—rose.

"Good," said Miss Sedgewick. "Then I shall be here bright and early on the morning of June the seventh to conduct examinations. I presume for you, too, Miss Bidson."