Chapter 10
On Monday morning Becca cleared her calendar of mid-day appointments and obligations, told Father Mark and his secretary that she’d be out of the building for lunch (she normally ate lunch at her desk and was available to answer the phone if all other staff were gone from their desks), and kept checking the clock amidst her full slate of reports and interviews.
Her well-rehearsed rendezvous with Jonah at the start of the day had gone smoothly. He emerged from Mrs. Brackett’s front door the minute she drove up in the foggy damp dawn, looking as spiffy as two days earlier and walking with an obvious spring in his step and pride at his canvas satchel that Becca’d given him just before leaving Saturday. He’d been practically garrulous during the short drive to the school, talking about a new picture he’d started, the dogfight that had occurred outside his window in the middle of the night, and even asking what Soldier’d be doing today (she’d told him Zach would be working on his novel but withheld the fact that he planned to return to Snake’s that afternoon). And when they got to the school, he’d jumped out of the car without a moment’s hesitation (it was, after all, the school he’d attended for the last three years) and started up the steps with his satchel and the bag lunch Becca’d given him before turning halfway up and waving to her with a smile then running on to the other students and their teachers convening under the covered entry.
But Becca was anxious to see how he was doing at midday. She believed firmly that early impressions went a long way toward determining the success or failure of any collective endeavor, especially an experimental educational program. She wanted to observe how Jonah interacted with his teacher, Mrs. Anders—a fortyish white woman from Pennsylvania who was new to the school system—and his classmates, wanted to see how comfortable he was with the less structured curriculum. At 11:30 she put her folders aside and headed out the door into a light shower for the ride across town to the school.
She reached the classroom door five minutes before the noon lunchtime and watched through the slot of wire-glass on one side of the heavy oak door. At first she was disappointed to see Jonah at a craft table by himself with his head down. Then she noticed that each child—there were ten total, one third the normal limit—was alone at a table, and saw that Jonah didn’t have his head down in sleep or punishment but was simply leaning his face close to the table as he worked on some project. Mrs. Anders was not at her desk but was strolling slowly from table to table, student to student, checking on their activities and offering quiet words that were inaudible through the door. Just before the noon bell rang, Mrs. Anders stopped by Jonah’s table and the boy sat upright, away from his drawing. Mrs. Anders showed an expression of genuine surprise followed by a big smile and what must’ve been words of praise. Jonah looked at the table but Becca could see the edges of his mouth turned up in a broad grin.
Then the bell rang and Mrs. Anders turned from Jonah and stepped to the middle of the room. Her strong and firm voice of authority pushed through to the hallway. “Please prepare your table for lunch by setting your projects and materials aside and clearing a space adequate for eating. We will each eat at our workstation, so it is your responsibility to keep your table clean and neat, both prior to lunch and after you are finished. Please indicate your agreement by raising your hand.”
The children all stopped what they were doing and raised their hands. Mrs. Anders did not take for granted that each child’s hand was up but took the time to turn a slow circle and confirm with eye contact each child’s affirmation.
“Thank you for your cooperation. Please finish readying your table, then pull up your chair and be seated while I check in the hall for delivery of our lunches.”
At just that moment, Becca heard the sound of a rolling cart enter at the far end of the long and dimly lit hall. A cafeteria worker pushed the cart toward her before stopping three classrooms away to hand a waiting teacher a box with that class’s lunches. Then the worker pushed her cart to the next classroom and knocked lightly on the door. Someone opened it and took their box.
The door beside Becca opened and Mrs. Anders stood in front of her with a questioning gaze. “You have our lunches?” she asked Becca.
Becca smiled. “No, I believe she does,” she said and pointed at the cart lady now one door away. “I spoke with you on the phone about coming to lunch. I’m Becca Coles, Jonah Bingham’s—.” She hesitated, genuinely stumped. Just what was she to Jonah—friend? social worker? surrogate parent? surrogate sister? what?
“Guardian,” Mrs. Anders volunteered with a helpful grin.
“Well, sort of,” Becca said, “Though not in any legal way.”
“Volunteer guardian, then.”
Becca nodded. “Good a title as any.”
“To Jonah?”
“To Jonah, I’m Me-bec.”
“Me-bec?”
“Long story.”
The cafeteria attendant rolled her cart up to them, checked the room number against the number on one of her cardboard boxes, then handed the box to Becca. The cold sides felt good on her arms. Becca laughed. “I’m not the teacher.”
The worker, a young black girl barely out of high school (or maybe not yet, maybe never to be) said, “You available.”
Becca said, “I am,” then followed Mrs. Anders into the classroom carrying the box.
By then each of the children was seated at their worktable, waiting quietly and watching the two adults intently. Becca set the box on Mrs. Anders’s desk then glanced over at Jonah. He said nothing and made no overt gesture, but his eyes latched onto hers, and he gave her a big smile and a subtle wave under the table. Becca returned the smile and traded a subtle nod for his wave. Mrs. Anders checked the contents of the box and distributed the lunches according to their labels. She handed out all the lunches brought from home in brown bags and various lunch boxes, then handed out the three pre-packaged meals the school had provided, along with the paper cartons of milk everyone got for their drink.
Mrs. Anders deposited the last of those pre-packaged meals on her desk then put the cardboard box on the floor. She sat at the chair behind her desk and gestured for Becca to sit in the chair alongside. Then the teacher said, “Let us bow our heads and give thanks for the one who provided us with this food.”
Everyone bowed their heads in a moment of silence.
Mrs. Anders said a loud “Amen” then raised her head and said, “Now children, please enjoy your lunch and recall that there are many in our world who have nothing to eat this day.” She didn’t have to add that some in this room might have nothing to eat this day if they weren’t here.
The children dove into their meals, though with a degree of restraint that was no doubt the result of their distance from one another, the lack of opportunities for competition or horseplay, and the atmosphere of dignity and respect Mrs. Anders had already established among them. Becca was disappointed though not surprised that there were no other parents or family members at this first-day’s lunch despite the invitation to attend included in the program’s welcome materials.
She quietly observed the children as they began eating. There were six girls (three white and three black) and four boys (all black). Though they all had just completed the second grade, they ranged widely in size and stature, with two of the boys much taller than the rest and several of the girls (including one tiny white girl that looked no older than five) much smaller in stature. Jonah was average in size, but seemed shier and more reserved than most of the others. Becca realized this observation could well be biased and resolved to keep a close eye on his behavior in comparison to his classmates.
“Miss Coles, you have no lunch,” Mrs. Anders commented quietly.
Becca burst out laughing, a sound that made all the students look up, with several of them joining her infectious giggle. She’d remembered everything—except her own lunch. She grinned at Mrs. Anders and shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll eat back at the church.”
Mrs. Anders nodded. “You work for
a church?”
“I coordinate the social ministry programs for a cooperative of five churches.”
“A worthy cause.”
“A big job.”
“God bless you.”
Becca nodded. “He has.”
“Jonah is a gifted artist.”
“I know.”
“This morning he’s been working on a black and white design of extraordinary detail and precision.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“We can look after lunch.”
“If it’s O.K., I’ll wait till he’s finished and ready to show it to me.”
Mrs. Anders nodded. “Of course.”
They both looked to the subject of their discussion. He was watching them patiently with his hand raised.
“Yes, Jonah?” Mrs. Anders said.
The boy stood slowly, slid his chair under the table, and turned to head their way.
Mrs. Anders said under her breath. “I’ve asked all the children to raise their hand if they need to use the restroom.”
Jonah walked up to the desk. But he wasn’t asking to use the restroom. Without a word, he laid a drumstick of fried chicken and a devilled egg, both cradled in a paper napkin, on the desk beside Becca. Then he returned to his worktable, carefully pulled out his chair, sat, and began to eat his remaining food without once looking up or returning their stares.
The teacher shook her head in silent wonder. “So you are.”
Becca looked up. “What?”
“Blessed.”
She could only nod agreement.
Birthday Dinner Page 19