by Janette Oke
“No way Miss Grace’ll let ya. ’Sides, we hardly keep any of what we make. Most of our earnin’s help out to buy stuff for all of us, just like we’re a real family.”
“I know. But I could help too.”
Lemuel flipped off his second boot. “What kinda job you think you can get without schoolin’?”
“A normal one. I could be a cowboy or a store clerk or a miner. Once I finish grade eight I’ll have as much school as most grown folks do.”
In his stocking feet, Lemuel crossed to stand directly in front of George. His expression was serious. “You should just tell ’em. They’d wanna know.”
“Can’t.”
Lemuel crouched down to eye level. “Everybody else knows by now. You should just tell ’em so they can help.”
“I can care fer myself.”
“No, Georgie. No, you can’t. That’s why we need other people to help. He’s bigger and stronger than you. You can’t fight him. If he does it again, you gotta just walk away.”
“Don’t reckon I will.”
Lemuel shook his head. “Stay near Mr. Jensen. He’ll make sure nothing happens.”
“I ain’t scared’a Albert McCready. Let him do it again. Just let ’im try.”
“Oh, George, it ain’t gonna end well.”
Lemuel continued into the kitchen. Grace was seated at the table, and Miss Tilly stirred a pot on the stove. It would be so easy for him to tell, to get the truth about George and the other boy out into the open. He believed it would be best, would benefit George most of all. And yet he felt encumbered by the code of ethics that governed the classroom, silenced by the way things had to be.
“Miss Grace?”
She worked slowly with a careful hand, painting letters on the paper poster that covered half the table. “Yes, Lemuel?”
“The last rehearsal being tomorrow, I wondered if me and George could miss school. We’re not in the play, and we’ve already done our part by making sets. So I thought we could help Mr. Scott fix the hole in the barn roof instead.”
“Oh, I think you should both go to school anyway. You should support the others. Everyone has worked so hard. I’m sure they’d all like to see you there. And maybe you can find a way to help out.”
He thought about George again. “Miss Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe Mr. Scott could come too. Think I might ask him, okay?”
Miss Grace raised her face at last. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He looked into her eyes, willed her to understand. “No, ma’am.” He turned away. “I’ll get started on my homework now.”
The school had leased Brookfield’s playhouse for the evening of the performance. The stage was trimmed with a garland of leaves cut from butcher paper and painted by the primary class to give the impression of fall foliage. Never mind that there had already been two light snows. It was still officially fall. It was considered such an important event that even Matty’s surgical procedure had been postponed until it was over.
Grace and Lillian took their places in the center of the audience beside Miss Tilly and Roland Scott. As the lights were beginning to flicker, signaling the start of the show, Walter shuffled down the row to join them. Lemuel and George had opted to sit in the front with a cluster of other students who had also chosen to help behind the scenes. On the left side of the auditorium sat Albert McCready with a couple of his friends. Lillian eyed them carefully. She had grown up knowing Albert’s father, Wallace. If the boy was anything like his dad—bold, opinionated, vain—it came as little surprise that this was the boy with whom George had clashed.
The first presentation came from the primary class. Milton and Matty were front row center, grinning out at the audience. Lillian had never known them to be shy. Oblivious perhaps, but never shy. Bryony stood near the end of the row.
The recitation began, and soon Matty leaned against Milton. Milton shoved him away. Matty began to giggle. Milton motioned him to hush with an exaggerated finger to his lips. Matty giggled harder and a few parents joined his laughter. The moment the boys realized that they had drawn attention to themselves their shenanigans blossomed.
Milton pushed Matty with his hip. Matty pushed back with an elbow. Milton whispered, “Stop,” just loudly enough so that the whole audience could hear. With one finger hooked on his lower lip, Matty giggled, his eyes on the crowd. Miss Campbell snapped her fingers at them. This only made those watching laugh a little more. It was a struggle for their poor teacher to bring back control, to keep the other students on cue. Lillian hoped that the rolling applause following their song was an adequate sign of the gratitude felt for poor Miss Campbell’s hard work.
Next came Hazel and Harrison’s class. They assembled on stage, each holding a sheet of paper. As the recitation began the pages turned toward the audience one at a time.
“T is for the trust we have, our God supplies our needs,
H is for the hands that work, our families to feed.
A is for the autumn when we harvest all we’ve grown,
N is for our neighbors, those friends whom we have known. . . .”
Something was happening. Children on stage had begun to snicker. The chorus of voices faltered. And then Lillian gasped. Hazel had dropped the paper she was holding. Her hands went up instead to cover her face. It seemed she might be crying. Had she forgotten the words? Had she been overcome by stage fright? But Harrison seemed affected too. He was looking away from the teacher. His attention was focused down the row at Hazel. Back and forth his eyes darted from her to the side of the stage where Albert McCready was stationed.
Grace was on her feet, already heading toward them. But before she could approach, another commotion erupted. It was George. Lillian saw him thrust himself across the row of seats until he was face-to-face with Albert. She saw his fist swing through the air. Then a crowd encompassed them. Lillian knotted her fingers together and lifted them clenched to her lips. What on earth was happening beyond her view?
Mr. Thompson and Mr. Jensen moved quickly to remove the two boys out to the left-side hallway. Mrs. Murphy gathered the children together on stage. It seemed she intended to restart their poem. Hazel escaped and rushed toward Grace, who had at last found a tunnel through the crowd in order to retrieve her. She was visibly weeping by then. Harrison followed close behind as Grace exited out through the door on the right side of the stage.
“I’ve got to go to George.” Lillian half rose. She whispered tersely, “Someone needs to be with George.”
Walter stood, motioning at Lillian to be seated again. He sidestepped down the row of whispering parents and hurried toward the front. If it hadn’t been for the primary class participating in the last song of the night, Lillian would have swooped down there too, gathered her brood up, and headed home. As it was, her mind was too distressed to listen as the poem was recited again, now missing a K and a V from the word Thanksgiving. Her eyes were on the hallway door.
And suddenly the face of Maeve Gardner came into focus. She was seated in the audience between Lillian and the hallway door. Her expression was frowning, scowling. Their eyes locked for a moment and Maeve shook her head in disgust before turning away. Lillian wished that the floor could swallow her up. She knew that by the next morning she and the children would be the talk of the town.
Then she straightened in her chair. It didn’t matter what Maeve said about her. Lillian cared only that the children would be protected in any way she was able.
Lemuel had followed the little turbulent crowd. Whatever happened, he was determined to stand up for George. Mr. Jensen had a large hand clamped down squarely on George’s shoulder. Mr. Thompson held Albert away with his own outstretched arm. Lemuel pushed in closer where George could see him, would know that he wasn’t alone. The commotion around them was difficult to understand until Mr. Thompson took charge.
“This is outrageous behavior. Boys, I’ve never seen anything like it. George Whitaker, Albert McCready, I hope you
know you’re both in very big trouble. It wasn’t enough to fight in front of the other students on the playground. You chose to continue your disgraceful behavior on performance night. On performance night!”
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Albert claimed. “He just went off.”
George held his tongue, glaring at his rival.
Walter Norberg arrived. But next through the door was Mr. McCready, stomping toward the gathering.
“I didn’t do nothin’, Pop!”
“I believe ya, son.”
Mr. Jensen moved his large form one step in front of George, sheltering him from the angry father.
Mr. Thompson also moved quickly. “Wallace, take your boy home. This is over for tonight. But I want to see you both in my office first thing tomorrow.”
Mr. McCready leered. “Oh, I’ll be there. That boy just attacked my son out of nowhere in full view of everybody in that room. You bet your life I’ll be there. And you’d better be able to tell me how you plan on punishin’ thet runaway stray.”
Making a riotous exit, the McCreadys disappeared. The hallway seemed suddenly very quiet.
Mr. Thompson was still visibly angry. “What on earth possessed you, George?”
His teeth clenched, George refused to speak.
“George, you must understand that you will be expelled if you can’t give a good explanation for your actions. Now, I saw that Hazel was crying. Harrison was upset too. Was that because of something Albert did?”
George lowered his head, his shoulders heaving rhythmically from the angry gulps of air he was taking.
“Mr. Thompson, may I speak to you?”
All eyes pivoted toward Lemuel. “I’m sorry, George. I’m gonna tell him. He’s gotta know. Then if he punishes you, fine—I’m sorry. But he’s gotta know.”
The principal’s stern face softened a little. “What do you know, son?”
“I don’t know what Albert did tonight. I didn’t see. But last time he held up a sign to the kids that had cruel words on it. Whenever the teachers walked by, he’d hide it. But I know he did it more than once. If that’s what he did tonight, all the kids on stage would’a seen, but none of the teachers and parents. So I think that’s what happened again.”
“Is that true, George?”
Silence.
“Tell him, Georgie. Just trust him.”
At last, through gritted teeth, “Yes.”
“What did the paper say?”
George wiped a sleeve across his nose. “It said, ‘Go home.’ It said, ‘Go home, guttersnipes. Go home.’” There was a tear in his eye as he spit out, “I ain’t a guttersnipe. And Hazel ain’t either! He’s just a stupid, ign’rant . . .”
“Whoa, George. I heard you. Let’s leave it at that.” Mr. Thompson rubbed at the back of his neck. “Walter, can you please take George home? Lemuel, you should probably go with them too. Help him calm down. Make sure he stays put until Miss Bennett comes back with the smaller ones.”
Mr. Norberg said, “She’s gone. She took Hazel and Harrison and left already.”
“I see. Is there anyone to stay with the others?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Lillian’s still here. At least, she was.” Lemuel was glad that Mr. Norberg was also present. It helped to have at least one adult on George’s side.
“Fine then.” Mr. Thompson exhaled a burst of frustration. “I’m sorry, George, but I don’t think you should come to school tomorrow. I think you’d better just stay home. Mr. Jensen, can you send his work home with Hazel for the near future?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll try to stop by after school. Let me know tomorrow if that’s acceptable to Miss Bennett. But please, whatever you do, boys, stay away from the McCreadys. Don’t let anything else happen till we can sort this all out.”
“Yes, sir.”
By the time Lillian returned home with her three small charges, Walter was sitting on the front porch steps. His breath was visible in the cold night air. He stood and removed his hat solemnly as Lillian approached. “Grace is inside. I thought about coming back to the playhouse to pick you up, but . . .” He frowned down at his feet before finishing, “Honestly, I felt better knowing there was a man here tonight just in case.”
Lillian steered Matty and Milton up the steps, Bryony following behind like a caboose. “Yes, thank you.” The door opened before she touched the knob.
“Oh, sis, you’re home.” Grace’s eyes were red, her cheeks shiny. She pulled Matty and Milton into the house, hugging them each, then reached for Bryony.
Lillian accepted an embrace, held her tightly. “They’re fine, Grace. They don’t know much about what’s gone on.”
“Good.” And then, “Walter?”
His answer came from outside. “Yes, I’m here.”
Grace proceeded out to the porch, walking gingerly in her stocking feet. “I’m sorry, Walter.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“I misjudged you.” She reached up to hug his neck.
From where she stood, Lillian could see the confusion descend over Walter’s face. His eyes met hers with a silent question. Lillian shrugged. She really didn’t know what it was Grace had been thinking.
Stepping back, Grace said, “It’s past your bedtime, children. Let’s go up to your rooms and get ready. What do you say we read two chapters tonight instead of just one?” As Grace passed Lillian, she gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Take your time.”
They were gone up the stairs. Walter stood in the doorway, still plainly confused. “What did she mean she misjudged me? Didn’t she like me?”
Lillian wrapped her coat tighter around herself and joined him on the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “I’m not sure. She’s been acting strangely. She started to say something to me at one point, but then she just clammed up.”
He frowned. “When did that start?”
“I’m not sure. It was before Roland arrived. Before this thing with George, I think . . .”
“Lillian, has it been since that day she walked into the barn?”
Her face grew hot. Though she didn’t regret the moment they’d shared, she was embarrassed to discuss it aloud. “Perhaps.”
Walter moved closer, lowered his face near hers. “Do you think she might be jealous? It would make so much sense for her to worry about us. What happens to her? What happens to the children if . . . ?” He let the question hang unfinished in the little cloud of his breath.
Lillian hadn’t considered that. If she and Walter began courting, where would that leave Grace? Yes, it seemed likely that this was her sister’s unspoken worry.
“But I never said anything like that to her. I never . . .”
“You don’t think she’s noticed how often I’m here, how often we find a way to be alone?”
“Do we?”
He stepped back a little. “I thought we did.”
Lillian’s thoughts became tangled. She tried to sort through them.
“Walter, I . . . I don’t know what to expect will happen next.” She risked a look into his eyes, pleading for him to understand. “I don’t know when the children will be adopted, or if I’ve committed myself to actually raising them here with Grace if we don’t find homes for everyone. I don’t know when my father will come home and what will happen then, but I’m sure he’ll expect to live in our house again. What will I do if we’re still . . .”
She felt a gentle hand on the back of one shoulder, drawing her a step toward him. “You’ve been worried. I’m sorry I didn’t realize. It’s a lot of responsibility for the two of you to carry, isn’t it? Bein’ provisional parents to seven kids when a year ago you were . . .”
She dropped her forehead against his coat and held her breath. Lillian wasn’t certain what he had intended to say. She wondered if Walter himself had known before he began the statement, but she finished it for him. “A year ago I was watching my mother die—very slowly.”
“Oh, Lillian, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.�
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“No, that’s just the truth.” She sniffed back the sensation of tears rising, blinked hard, refusing to surrender. “And now George is falling apart and there’s trouble to be faced tomorrow. I’m not sure how this all happened. I sure feel like it’s gotten away from me, as if I’ve completely lost control of my life.”
She felt a second hand on the small of her back. “I’m not sure we’re supposed to feel like we’re in control.” Walter stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to say I’ve figured everythin’ out. I get worried about how my own life is goin’ sometimes too. But I feel like God’s been showin’ me that it isn’t my job to be in charge of it all. That if I trust Him, He’ll lead me—direct my paths. Right?”
Lillian wanted to argue, wanted to step away, but it was too important just now to let him be so close. She turned her cheek to rest against his chest. “I don’t have that kind of faith, Walter. I’m . . . I’m more of a . . . of a doubting Thomas, I suppose. I want God to tell me why things happen, show me what the plan is . . . what the future is.” Her head drew back. “Can I—can I just tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
Tears squeezed loose and dropped freely against his coat. She shook her head and pinched her eyes shut hard. Her words came out uncomfortably acidic and cold. “I prayed that God would save my mother. I prayed for years. But He never did. God let her die. He let both my mothers die.” She waited in agony—waited for his arms to release her. Walter trusted that God was always good. Now that he knew she didn’t, surely he’d draw away.
But his arms tightened instead. His voice broke too. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t explain that. But I believe there’s a plan, and I believe God’s gonna carry it on to completion.” He let her cry for a moment, holding her tightly against him. And then more softly, earnestly, “Lillian, Jesus didn’t reject Thomas. He chose him, knowing everythin’. He loved him. He met him exactly where he was—even to the point of holdin’ out His ruined hands so that Thomas could touch them, raisin’ up the hem of His garment to uncover His broken feet, and moving His very clothes out of the way so that the ragged wound on His side was exposed to all. If my God can do that for a doubter, I know—oh, Lillian, I’m completely convinced—He loves you too. Even while it’s hard for you to trust Him. Don’t give up hopin’ in Him.”