Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  Madelyn hadn’t budged from the doorstep while those thoughts swirled, but when she opened her mouth, she knew what to say. “Mrs. Burnham, I mean to say that I’m sorry it took me so long to be your friend. I misjudged you, and I was wrong.”

  She nodded. “Well, apparently, there’s a lot of that going around.” She reached out and embraced Madelyn. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

  After they sat down in Mrs. Burnham’s kitchen, it didn’t take long for the story to spill out. When Madelyn told her about Mrs. Cutler’s response, Mrs. Burnham started to make angry grunts, and actual steam nearly billowed from her head. “What a cowardly way to act. You never tell a child, or an adult for that matter, overtly or not, that she can’t learn. That either gives them permission not to, or worse, defeats them, so they never try. I ought to … I …” Her face was scarlet red, and she was bunching up her kitchen tablecloth in her grasp.

  Madelyn put her hand gently on top of Mrs. Burnham’s. “I told her she was wrong and made her apologize to Mom. It wasn’t much, but I couldn’t leave it that way.”

  She relaxed her grip on the defenseless tablecloth. “That’s good.”

  “Daniel suggested I get a second opinion, and I thought of you. Maybe you could evaluate her.”

  Her eyes opened in surprise, but then her demeanor changed as she sat taller and her eyes started to dance with thoughts and ideas, almost as if she were reading a book herself. Abruptly, she stood up. “Let’s go, Madelyn. We don’t have a moment to lose.”

  “But your hair … your wig?” Madelyn started to say. She’d learned by now that while Mrs. Burnham might skip wearing a wig inside her house, she never did when she left it.

  Mrs. Burnham dismissed the thought with a quick wave of her hand. Then, despite Madelyn’s youth and Mrs. Burnham’s middle age, Madelyn had a hard time keeping up with her as she made a determined beeline for their house. She only stopped to wait for Madelyn at the front door, decorum requiring she not barge on in.

  Jillian glanced up from the couch when they came in. “Where’s Mom?” Madelyn said.

  “When you got home, she went straight to her room and shut the door. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “No, but Daniel did. What do we do now?”

  Up until that point, Jillian hadn’t seen who was standing behind Madelyn. “Look who I have,” Madelyn said, moving to the side. “Mrs. Burnham wants to help. Do you think we could talk Mom into letting her?”

  Jillian looked from Mrs. Burnham to Madelyn. “Let me go talk to her.”

  They could hear from the bottom of the stairs Jillian’s side of the conversation.

  “Mom, could you come out for a minute? … Please?” She turned and shrugged her shoulders. “She didn’t even answer,” she mouthed. “Mom, this is Jillian,” she said using her full name instead of her nickname, surprising the others with the sternness of her tone. “You’re going to have to come out of there sometime, you know. It may as well be now. We need to talk.” Even with the little adult Jillian, there was no response.

  Just then, Daniel took matters into his own hands. The previous summer, Dad had made a traveling salesman very happy when he paid for fire alarms to be installed in their home. Apparently, a candle held very near one of them sets it off.

  The jarring alarm bells spurred them all to scamper out of the house as quickly as possible before even considering it might be Daniel. Much to their surprise, Mom was right behind them. Daniel was last, laughing his heart out.

  Madelyn thought Mom would ground him for a year, but she was wrong. Mom focused in on him then turned to take the others in, one by one. Her gaze settled on Mrs. Burnham. “Hello, Dorothy,” she finally said. Her calm composure was unsettling.

  No one knew what to do next. So, they all stood on the front lawn, pretending to busy themselves with the grass and the sky, feigning annoyance with the fire alarm still blaring inside.

  After a minute or two—that felt like ten, the alarm abruptly stopped. Mom turned to go back inside until Daniel spoke. “Mom, I’m sorry.” An apology for a Daniel prank was a rare occurrence, and it stopped her short. He threw his arms around her. “I just had to get you out,” he said. “Don’t let that witchy teacher make you sad. She was wrong. You’re the smartest Mom I have.”

  She returned the hug. “I’m also the only Mom you have, you know.” He just nodded his head, but his face was buried in Mom’s chest. His body started to shake. The devious genius was crying.

  Mom reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. “Well, Madelyn,” she said, “what now?”

  They were still standing on the front lawn. Madelyn felt exposed to the eyes of the neighborhood even though it was unlikely anyone was watching. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  . . .

  It wasn’t clear whose argument won her over, but every one of them begged Mom to let Mrs. Burnham sit down with her for a few minutes. In the end, it was probably simply a desperate attempt to get them to leave her alone. Her capitulation, however, came with a stipulation. “Fine, but this is it. I won’t speak with another teacher after this.”

  Mom, Mrs. Burnham, and for some reason, Jillian, settled in the kitchen with a few books Mrs. Burnham had scooped up on the way out of her house. Daniel settled on the couch while Madelyn took up pacing. Fifteen minutes into it, she realized Mom had played her. Mom truly believed Mrs. Burnham didn’t like her. So, the next logical thought was that she would declare Mom incapable of learning, just as Mrs. Cutler had. That would be the end of it—at least in Mom’s mind. Madelyn could only hope Mrs. Burnham was the ally she hoped she was, and that Mom would cooperate enough to let her be so.

  Thirty minutes passed and then an hour. Madelyn poked her head into the kitchen, afraid of what she might find. It seems they had been having a grand old time and hadn’t even bothered to consider those who were waiting for news. They were all smiling and chatting like old friends. Jillian was the first to notice Madelyn and her confused expression. She waved her in.

  “What’s going on?” Madelyn said, her brow still knit.

  Mom turned to her with shining eyes. “It’s not me! I’m not too stupid after all.”

  While Madelyn was glad to hear that, she was also quite skeptical at the transformation in her mom. Scrutinizing the gathering, she waited for a further explanation.

  “We figured something out, your mother and I. She’s likely dyslexic. Her mind mixes up b’s and d’s, words like was and saw. She just processes things differently. The school district should be able to test her, and then they can match her with a teacher who can help,” Mrs. Burnham said.

  Madelyn turned to Mom for confirmation. She was nodding her head. “Dorothy says I can be taught to read. Once they know the dyslexia exists, they can deal with it and teach me in different ways.” She started to cry. “I’m not too stupid, Madelyn. I’m really not too stupid.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Madelyn looked around the room at everyone, including Daniel, who had followed her into the kitchen. There was not a dry eye among them.

  Saturday

  The next day they held a celebration picnic in the backyard. Mrs. Burnham was the guest of honor, but they all felt like Mom was the real hero.

  As Madelyn was helping Mom carry food outside, she said, “Are you and Mrs. Burnham okay with each other now?”

  Mom chuckled. “Yesterday, before you came into the kitchen, we talked about that—even apologized to each other. Then we tried to talk like friends, but we’re not there yet. Anytime it got awkward, Jillian said something to smooth things over.” She set down the potato salad along with the sliced cucumbers and tomatoes from their garden. �
��You know, we thought we knew what the other one was like, and now we’re having to shed that image, while at the same time replacing it with something more accurate. It will take some time, but we’ve gotten off to a good start.”

  “That’s good.” Just then Madelyn spotted Mrs. Burnham making her way over to the picnic table. She wasn’t wearing a wig, but had fixed her own hair up nicely, and she was wearing a cute outfit. She carried something in each hand. “Hi, Mrs. Burnham. You look nice. Do you need some help?”

  “Thanks, and yes, why don’t you take this watermelon? And why don’t you call me Dory? Mrs. Burnham, while it may be respectful, makes me feel like an old lady.” She winked when she said it.

  “I couldn’t call you that. You’re my neighbor, you’re at least my mom’s age …”

  Mrs. Burnham laughed. “I understand. Why not Aunt Dory then?”

  “All right, Aunt Dory. I like the sound of that. So, Aunt Dory, what’s in your other hand?”

  “This is my famous chocolate mahogany cake.” She was bright and cheerful, with a bounce in her step none of them had seen before.

  “I didn’t know you had a famous cake,” Mom said.

  “Well, I haven’t made it in years—no one around to bake it for.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a secret recipe from my grandmother, so don’t even bother to ask for it.”

  . . .

  After they’d stuffed themselves on dinner, and then further stuffed themselves on cake, they sat on the back patio in lawn chairs, unable or unwilling to move. “Dorothy, that cake was delicious. You may not have made it in years, but it’s clear you haven’t lost your touch.”

  They all mumbled in agreement. “Well, Rachel, first off, you can call me Dory. And secondly, when you can read it, I’ll hand over the recipe.” She smiled at Mom. “That should be pretty soon I would think.” Mom just beamed.

  “You know, Rachel, I should have thought of dyslexia right off the bat, but I didn’t. It’s the bedtime stories you memorized that threw me.”

  “Oh, you know about that?”

  “Madelyn told me. Usually, it’s hard for someone with dyslexia to memorize.”

  “It is? Well, you’re not wrong. It took me years to memorize them. Roger read those three books to Madelyn from the time she was probably two. I didn’t take over for him until she was about five and Daniel was two. It made me feel like more of a mom.” Aunt Dory reached over and squeezed Mom’s hand.

  Week Seven – Summer 1975

  Monday

  Madelyn’s alarm woke her bright and early Monday morning. On Saturday, they’d figured out who she needed to call at the school district, even pulling out the phone book and writing down the appropriate numbers. With a plan in place, she couldn’t wait to get started.

  It had been hard not to spill everything to Dad during their Sunday phone call, but they had all decided to keep it a surprise. An excitement was building with this step forward Mom was taking. It would make the greatest surprise ever if they could just hold onto it. So, if anything, their conversations with Dad tended toward boring and uneventful—their only hope being to downplay everything so nothing seemed important, then nothing would slip out. However, the random stifled giggling from Jillian and Daniel when it was their turns made it clear it was going to be a difficult secret to keep. Madelyn at least had The Hobbit to fall back on for conversation ideas. But as soon as Dad hung up, the whoops, hollers, and high fives had been rampant.

  Now it was time to get down to work. Madelyn fidgeted through breakfast, waiting for the clock to register 8:00 when the school district office would be open. Right on the dot, she picked up the phone receiver and began to dial.

  She was transferred several times before her call landed at the desk of Mr. Henry Davis, head of something or other she didn’t quite hear. “What can I help you with?”

  “Well, we think my mom has dyslexia. So, I was wondering how we could get her tested.”

  He didn’t respond at first. Then he said, “Okay, why exactly do you want to have her tested?”

  “Because she can’t read, but she wants to learn—only the dyslexia is getting in the way. I figured, or we figured, that if we could get the dyslexia diagnosed, then we could get her the right teacher to help her learn to read.”

  It all seemed pretty straightforward to Madelyn. Only it didn’t strike Mr. Davis the same way. “Hmm … well, that’s kind of an unusual request. We have limited resources, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want people to learn to read?”

  “Well, of course we do.” He was getting annoyed. “But it’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because it takes money to do those kinds of things.” He was raising his voice, and while Madelyn knew she had a point, she also knew she needed him as an ally.

  “So, what do you suggest I do?” She tried to say it gently, but bits of frustration were leaking through. “Is there anyone who knows about dyslexia? Is there someone I can talk to for help?”

  “Well, …” Madelyn was getting tired of that word, but she held her tongue. “You could try talking with the public library. They might know where to direct you.” And then without even so much as a goodbye, he hung up the phone.

  Madelyn slammed the receiver down in response. Some little old man sitting atop his power heap at the school district office was not going to stop her. She picked up the phone and dialed again.

  “Hello, Stewart residence.”

  “Is Zane there? This is Madelyn.”

  “Sure. Just a minute.”

  She found herself twirling her fingers in the phone cord while waiting for him. She may be nervous, but she was even more determined.

  “Hi, Madelyn. What’s up?”

  “I need your help. Would you mind meeting me at the library?”

  . . .

  When they entered the library, Zane grabbed her hand. It wasn’t a romantic gesture—or at least she didn’t think so. It was more like an I’ve-got-your-back kind of gesture. He was now up to date on her mom’s reading situation—or lack thereof, and he was just as angry and determined as she was.

  Stepping up to the checkout counter, Madelyn said, “I wonder if there’s a librarian who I can speak to about illiteracy or dyslexia.” The woman on the other side of the desk acted as if she hadn’t heard her, but if she just wanted Madelyn to slink away, she was mistaken. Madelyn simply smiled at her and refused to budge an inch.

  “Well …” There was that word again. Madelyn could tell once again it was going to be used to put her off. “I don’t know that we do much with that.”

  Madelyn stood up straight. “Well,” she said purposely, “could I just speak with the head librarian?”

  The librarian stood up while glaring at her. Madelyn just smiled in return, but she was gripping Zane’s hand like a vice at the same time.

  “You’re doing great,” he whispered in her ear, and she relaxed her hold on his hand.

  A few minutes later they were seated in the office of Mrs. Laura Larsen. Madelyn was thinking she should have thought twice before marrying someone with that last name, but, then again, there’s no accounting for love. “Thank you, Mrs. Larsen. My mother, it appears, is dyslexic. I’m trying to find a way for her to be tested to verify that. Then with that knowledge, I’m hoping she can find the right teacher to help her learn to read.”

  “Your mother can’t read?” She acted appalled.

  “No, she can’t. I’m sure you can understand that this is a difficult situation for her, to come forward now and admit this, and be willing to accept help. It’s not really
her fault that she can’t read. Besides the supposed dyslexia, there were other extenuating circumstances.”

  “Oh, what circumstances?”

  Madelyn knit her brow and turned, puzzled, to Zane. Did she need to explain to everyone the circumstances of Mom’s growing up and convince them of all that she was, what she had done, how intelligent she was? Turning back to Mrs. Larsen, she said, “I’m not –”

  Zane cut her off. “I think what she’s trying to tell you is that we’re wasting time with these details when we should be working on getting her mother the guidance she needs. When someone wants to learn and is willing to put in the effort, even when she knows that effort will be great, then we should jump at the chance. Isn’t that right?” Then without pausing for her response, he continued. “Can you test her for dyslexia? That’s the first step we need to take.”

  “Well …” Zane had to hold Madelyn down. “Well, we don’t actually do any testing here. Generally, the school district does that. We’re just a small library, and we don’t have the resources for that kind of thing.”

  “Then why did you just waste our time?” Madelyn said. “Can you offer us any help at all?” She was standing by now, glaring down at Mrs. Larsen.

  She cowered but gratefully spoke. “There is a woman I know at the high school.” Madelyn’s immediate thought was, please don’t let it be Mrs. Cutler, please not Mrs. Cutler. “Her name is Miss Zimmerman. I know she’s arranged for some dyslexia testing before.”

  “Thank you. Do you know where I might find her?”

  “She should be at the high school now. She teaches summer school, I believe.”

  “Thanks,” Madelyn said, even though she was squeezing Zane’s hand again.

  . . .

  “Man, do you feel like we’re on a scavenger hunt, only we’re not able to collect anything along the way?” Zane said to her as they parked their bikes outside the high school.