The Secret School (9 page)

"Is that why he told Mr. Jordan about our school?"

Herbert looked around. There was no grin on his face now. "Guess he did. Wasn't me who told Dad about it, though. Knew he'd object. You told him. He was pretty sore. Called me a liar. Then, couple of days ago, he told me how stupid I was. I got so mad, I let him know something about my learning."

"How did you do that?"

Herbert grinned. "I just stood there, pitching hay, and recited that whole darn speech from Shakespeare. You know, that one in the reader from
Julius Caesar
? The one Tom couldn't understand? 'Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.'"

Ida, feeling her anger melt, laughed and clapped her hands. "I didn't know you knew that speech," she said.

"How many years have I been going to that school? And how many kids had to learn that speech? I guess I heard it enough, didn't I?

"Anyway," Herbert went on, "I was going on like that, mighty high and powerful. Pretty soon the old man got so mad, he just took off. Guess that's when he told Jordan what we were doing. I think he wanted to fix it so I couldn't learn any more speeches."

Ida studied him. "Herbert Bixler, can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"You are really smart. How come you won't act it?"

"'Cause I'm dumb."

Ida sighed. "How'd you know I was down here?" she asked. "My ma tell you?"

"Nope. She don't know I'm here. I just watched till you showed. Followed you here. Don't mind, do you?"

"No," she said. "And you can sit. You've walked a long way."

"Don't mind if I do."

Shelby splashed and laughed.

They watched him for a while. "Wish I were like that," Herbert said.

"Why?"

"I suppose he don't know much of anything. I tell you, Miss Bidson, knowing things can worry you deep."

"I never saw you worried."

"Maybe not before."

Ida considered him anew. Herbert looked very serious. "But if you did worry," she asked carefully, "what kind of things would you be worried about now?"

"Well," Herbert drawled, "suppose a fellow knew there was going to be a school board meeting? And suppose that meeting was to make sure school stayed shut? And suppose that meeting was going to be held, not exactly secret, you see, but real quiet so people wouldn't know—except for folks like my dad who don't like schools much? And suppose, even, my dad bragged to me how there wouldn't
be
any school for me to go to anymore, 'cause, see, no one who likes schooling would be able to show up at that meeting because they wouldn't know about it?"

Ida's heart started hammering. "Herbert, when's a body to suppose that meeting would take place?"

"I guess he'd suppose it'd be tomorrow evening, seven sharp. At the schoolhouse. That's what."

"Herbert Bixler, is that what
you
suppose?"

"I do, Miss Bidson," Herbert returned with a grin. "I surely do."

"And what would you do about it?"

"I don't exactly know, but if I was you, I'd do
something.
Make sure the right people show up."

"Herbert Bixler," said Ida, smiling, "I do like you. I truly do."

Not looking at her, Herbert poked at his feet. "Better than Tom?"

Ida blushed, scooped up some water, and flung it at him. "Shooo!" she cried.

Herbert laughed, jumped up, and ran away.

Momentarily Ida looked after him, then grabbed Shelby's hand. "Come on. "We got a whole lot of work to do."

"M
A
, P
A
!" I
DA CRIED
, as she rushed into the barn, Shelby in her arms. "Mr. Jordan's called a school board meeting for tomorrow evening without telling people. It's to make sure the school stays shut down."

"Now hold on," her father said, "if he didn't tell, how'd you know?" He and Mrs. Bidson were shearing sheep. Mrs. Bidson was holding them steady while Mr. Bidson did the clipping.

Breathless, Ida explained about Herbert's visit and what he had said.

"That doesn't seem very fair," Mrs. Bidson said when Ida had finished.

"I have to tell everyone that it's happening," Ida said. "Get people to come to the meeting. And it's tomorrow night. Oh, why can't we have a telephone like they do in town?"

"Honey, there's not one soul in the valley that has a telephone."

Mr. and Mrs. Bidson released the sheep they had been shearing. For a moment he just stood there as if not sure what had happened to him. Then, with a shake of his head and a bleat, he bolted off.

"Can I take the car and go now? With Felix?"

"Ida, there's so much going on right—"

"Please," Ida cried, her eyes filling with tears. "This is the most important thing in my whole life! This summer, after school, all day, all the time, I'll work double hard. Triple hard. I'll take care of—"

"Ida," her mother interrupted sharply, "your pa's not trying to drive a bargain. You can see what's going on. You're needed here."

"I'm sorry," Ida managed, gazing at her parents, her tears streaming. "Please,
please,
" she implored, "I have to tell people about the meeting. I have to. Can I go,
please?
"

Mr. and Mrs. Bidson exchanged looks. Finally Mrs. Bidson said, "Course you can."

"And don't you worry," Mr. Bidson added. "We'll get to the meeting, too. When did you say it was?"

"Tomorrow night," Ida said, thrusting the baby into her mother's arms, then flying out of the barn. "Felix! I need you! Felix!"

Felix was behind the house, stacking small logs for the kitchen stove. She grabbed his hand and raced for the car.

"What's the matter?" Felix asked as they drove down the long driveway.

Ida explained as best she could. "And we have to tell everyone in the valley," she concluded.

"Maybe Tom could put it on his radio," Felix suggested.

"I don't think it works that way," she said. Then, in a burst of inspiration, she cried, "But he could print us up a circular. Come on! Clutch and gas!"

 

"Ah, ja, it's Ida and Felix Bidson," Tom's mother said, greeting the two of them at the porch door, apron around her waist, hands white with flour. She was a short, heavyset woman, with plump red cheeks. "Not seen you for the age of the dog. Though, you know, I hear all about you,
Ida, from our own Tom. You two come right on in. My pleasure. And your mother, she is good?"

"They're fine. Mrs. Kohl, I'm looking for Tom. I have to speak to him right away."

"Sure you do. Miss Ida, Tom says you are always doing fine things at the school. Being the good teacher, he says."

"Mrs. Kohl," Ida said, unable to contain her excitement, "something important is happening." She told the woman about the meeting.

"For shame! That's Mr. Jordan himself. Always thinking he's in charge of the whole world. A regular Kaiser. Ja, we had better be there, too."

"Can I speak to Tom?"

"You can, ja. He's over to the barn with his father. You know where that is, I think."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kohl."

"Go right on now. Mr. Felix, you find Mary and then come to the kitchen for a something. Miss Ida, say the hello to your mother."

Ida flew out of the house, across the yards, and into the Kohls' barn. It was a large structure, sweet with the smell of stacked hay.

Tom was on his back, under a truck that he and his father were repairing. Mr. Kohl was kneeling by his side, handing in tools.

"Who's that there?" he demanded as Ida approached. Mr. Kohl was a large man, with big features and a loud voice rich with a German accent, like his wife's.

"It's me, Mr. Kohl. Ida Bidson."

"Oh, I see you now, Ida. For sure that's you. How do you do? Tom," he said, giving a poke to his son, "here comes a visitor for you, I think. Not me."

Tom pushed himself out from beneath the truck and looked up.

"Hi!" he called.

"Tom," Ida said, too excited to make small talk, "Mr. Jordan's holding a secret school-board meeting tomorrow. To make sure the school stays closed. We have to get people there. You need to print up a circular."

"What's all this, now?" Mr. Kohl asked.

Ida explained how Herbert had come and what he had said. "Tom, if you could print up something, and we could spread it around so people in the valley would come, it might help."

"I guess I could," Tom said. "But ... Ida, I got this to do..." He looked to his father.

"No, no," said Mr. Kohl. "That's all right. I understand. You've got yourself a good idea, Ida. The missus and I will go to the meeting, too. For sure. Tom, you do like Ida said. I'll finish here myself."

Tom and Ida headed back toward the house. Tom asked, "What's the circular to say?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Ida admitted. She considered for a moment. "Maybe, 'School meeting: Is school to be open or closed? Wednesday, seven o'clock.' Could you do all that?"

Tom thought for a moment, counting on his fingers.

"What are you counting?"

"Os. Remember, I don't have a whole lot of them."

"Can we try, anyway?"

"Sure."

One hour later they pulled the first circular from the press.

Tom handed it to Ida. "Think it'll do?"

"It'll have to."

They printed off twenty sheets, then agreed who would go where, Tom on Ruckus, and Ida and Felix in the car to places farther away.

"Oh, Tom, do you think people will come?" Ida asked as she opened the car door for Felix.

"Don't know," he said. "Worth trying, though. And at the meeting, you're going to have to say something."

"Me? Why?"

"The teacher always talks at board meetings. And—in case you forgot—you're the teacher."

T
HE NEXT EVENING
the meeting of the Elk Valley School Board began on time. Mr. Jordan was there. So was Mr. Hawkins, the Methodist minister, a roly-poly man, too large for the dark suit he wore, and Mr. Morris, a down-valley sheep rancher, dressed in his working clothes. By his side was Mr. Plumstead, looking very formal in his suit with high white collar, tie, and wire-frame eyeglasses. The four sat on a bench brought forward for the occasion.

All eight schoolchildren, including Herbert, sat in a row before the board. They had gotten there early. Their parents sat behind them. Though Herbert was there, his father wasn't. But some dozen other men and women from the valley were in the back of the room. When Mr. Jordan had arrived, he had been surprised to see so many people.

"Seems to me," Mr. Jordan opened the meeting by saying, "we've got ourselves quite a mess here. This school was supposed to be closed. But not only was it kept open, Ida Bidson was pretending to be the teacher."

"And I'm afraid," interjected Mr. Plumstead, "I saw Miss Fletcher lock the front door. She gave me the key and I gave the key to you, Mr. Jordan. In other words, these children have been trespassing on township property. How did you get in?"

"Through the window," Herbert blurted out.

One of the parents in the audience barely suppressed a laugh.

"But may I ask," interrupted Mr. Hawkins, the minister, "if there's been any damage done to the building? You inspected it, Mr. Jordan. Any problems?"

Mr. Jordan pointed to the boys' wardrobe. "When I came in the other day, a mule was in there."

That time the crowd broke into laughter.

"Did you do an inspection?" Mr. Hawkins persisted.

"Well, yes. There was no damage," Mr. Jordan admitted. "But trespassing is trespassing. And a mule doesn't belong in school."

"Oh, I don't know," Mr. Morris drawled. "I can remember a few two-legged ones from my days."

The audience laughed again.

"Now, sir," said Mr. Hawkins, "I can't speak about mules, but seems to me these children were just trying to get on with their education. Fact is, gentlemen, I didn't even know Miss Fletcher was gone. Leastwise, Mr. Jordan, you never informed me. Did you know?" he asked Mr. Morris.

"Only recently."

"Too late to get a replacement," Mr. Jordan growled. "Didn't want to bother you."

"I accept your explanation, sir," said Mr. Hawkins. "But I can't see how these children did any real harm. Fact, I'd say they were only doing what we want them to do—learn. And I say, more power to them."

The audience applauded.

Looking uncomfortable, Mr. Jordan said, "But this girl"—he pointed to Ida—"this Ida Bidson was
pretending
to be a teacher. Can't pay the girl if she's got no license."

"
Did
you pay her?" called someone from the audience.

"Course not," Mr. Jordan said. "She isn't licensed."

"Then, sir, she saved us a considerable sum of money, didn't she?" said Mr. Hawkins.

Once again the room erupted with laughter.

Ida raised her hand.

"What do you want?" Mr. Jordan demanded.

"May I say something, please?" she said.

"I don't know as how—"

"Oh, let the girl speak, sir," Mr. Morris suggested. "After all, you have accused her of wrongdoing."

The other men on the board nodded.

Ida rose up from her bench seat. "Mr. Jordan, we didn't mean any harm. It's just that both Tom and I want to go on to high school so badly. Tom's going to be an electric specialist. I want to be a teacher. But we need to finish our schooling for that. And we need to take the exit exam so we can go. The other children wanted to move on, too, and not repeat anything. We did everything by votes. Majority always ruled."

"You can say that again," Herbert cried out.

"In conclusion," Ida went on, "I should like to recite a poem Miss Fletcher taught us."

"We don't do poetry at school board meetings," Mr. Jordan said gruffly.

"Might be a noble thing if we did," Mr. Hawkins said.

Red faced, Mr. Jordan said, "Well, I suppose you can do your piece."

Ida, hands extended, and gesturing dramatically as she spoke, began:

 

"Do what conscience says is right;
Do what reason says is best;
Do with all your mind and might;
Do your duty, and be blest."