With the certainty of one who knows the correctness of their mission, she had no cause for apprehension. Besides, she knew by his name this Mr. Ferguson was a Scot, like herself. Finally, the door to the inner office opened, and she was invited in. A rather small man, Catherine noted, remembering with satisfaction that small men are seldom very sure of themselves.
After introductions, she inquired if he knew which clan his people belonged to. He brightened, and she explained that she too, was a Scot, her maiden name being MacGaurin.
He shook her hand heartily, and for a few moments they exchanged stories about the old country, Mr. Ferguson explaining apologetically, that he had never actually been there, his knowledge coming strictly from his forebears.
With the bond of common heritage established, Catherine launched her mission.
“I would like to talk to you about my son’s teacher, Miss Caroline O’Dell.”
“Oh, yes, our new teacher—very dedicated.”
“Verisimilitude.” Catherine raised her eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“Dedication is the face she would have you see. However, Miss O’Dell oversteps her role as teacher in the following several ways.” She handed the letter to Mr. Ferguson.
As Mr. Ferguson read the list of grievances, Catherine recited them.
“She keeps my Jorie after school to help her with her chores so they can walk home together like school chums. She shares intimate details of her life with him, such as her broken engagement, and how if she married, she wouldn’t be allowed to teach.”
Catherine could see the color rise around Mr. Ferguson’s collar.
“Your son told you this?”
“He did. He is very open with me. In addition, she inquires into Jorie’s home life, prying out of him the most intimate details of our family. I find these conversations totally inappropriate.”
“An example, if you please, Mrs. Radcliff.”
“She demands to know the exact nature of discipline which he receives at home. This is none of her concern, Mr. Ferguson.”
The superintendent gave a noncommittal nod.
“She treats him differently than other students — he’s clearly her pet. And she encourages him to covet that which is unobtainable.”
“And what is that?”
“She has whetted his appetite for the University of Michigan. I cannot afford to send my son so far from home for his advanced studies. We have a perfectly good college here in Houghton, and he can board at home.”
“You refer to The Mining School.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps she thought your son’s interests lay elsewhere.”
“Indeed! But the curriculum is very broad here, I’m told. This arena too, is out of her domain.” Catherine took a deep breath and reined in her emotions. “In summary, Mr. Ferguson, Miss O’Dell’s behavior is totally improper.”
“Well, I shall have a talk with her.”
“Mr. Ferguson, it is not a talk that I am after. These are grievous charges against her character. When you read my letter, you will see that I do not believe she should be allowed to continue influencing the minds of our young people. I am asking that she be discharged immediately!”
“I understand your position, Mrs. Radcliff. I will bring your letter to the attention of the school board, which meets next Thursday. It will be up to them to make a decision in this matter.”
“But they will act on your recommendation, will they not?”
“It is no easy task to find competent teachers willing to brave northern Michigan’s winters. Especially on short notice.”
“Nevertheless, these are serious charges, which cannot go unattended.”
“I will make sure the board understands your grievances.” Mr. Ferguson rose.
Catherine put one last effort into her farewell, giving Mr. Ferguson her most captivating smile.
“I’m sure you’ll do everything possible to persuade them to our way of thinking.”
Miss O’Dell had not looked happy all day. She never smiled at him once, and after school she went straight to grading the math papers.
“Miss O’Dell, is something wrong?” Jorie asked.
“I think you’d best run along home.”
“But I’d be happy to sweep the floor before I go.”
“That won’t be necessary, Jorie.”
The teacher continued to study the papers she was grading and didn’t look up.
“Did I do something wrong, Miss?” he ventured.
Finally she put down her red pencil and looked into Jorie’s puzzled face.
“Has your mother said nothing to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“It is not my place to discuss this with you. You’d best ask your mother.”
“About what?”
“That’s all I can say. Run along, Jorie.” She picked up her red pencil and began making check marks again.
Jorie ran all the way home, flew in the door, and confronted his mother. “What did you say to Miss O'Dell?”
“Close the door and hang up your wraps. Then you may speak to me courteously.”
When he was seated he asked again.
“I said nothing to Miss O'Dell. I spoke with Mr. Ferguson, the superintendent of schools.”
Jorie paled. “Why?”
“Because your teacher’s behavior is totally inappropriate and I have asked for her removal.”
“You’re trying to get her fired?”
“If that’s the word you choose to use.”
“It’s not fair! She’s the best teacher I ever had!”
“I can’t agree with you. She’s a meddler, Jorie.”
“I like her! She’s my friend.”
“That is part of the problem. She is supposed to be your teacher, not your chum. The two don’t mix.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“I have said all I have to say. We will know in a few days whether the school board will take action to dismiss her.”
Jorie was miserable. After school the next day he tried to apologize to Miss O'Dell for getting her into trouble.
“It’s not your fault, Jorie. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
He bit his lip to stop the quivering.
“Whether or not I’m dismissed, we cannot continue our private talks. You do see that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He knew his chin was quivering. “No, I wouldn’t want to get you into more trouble.”
He started to leave. “Just to say, ma’am, you’re the best teacher I ever had, and I’m awfully grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Whatever happens, I’ll never forget you.”
He rushed out the door, unable to hold the tears back any longer.
He thrashed in his bed at night, going over and over the way he’d contributed to the jam Miss O'Dell was in now. He’d told Ma everything, well almost. She’d said he had to — it was part of the covenant they had. Well, damn the Golden Bubble. He was sorry he hadn’t been loyal to Miss O'Dell.
He prayed hard for three days that they wouldn’t let her go. There’d be an awful hole in his life even if they let her stay, but he’d feel worse if she couldn’t keep her job.
On Friday morning, after sleeping little the night before, he approached her before the others came in.
“I can’t help it, Miss O'Dell, but I have to know. Does your being here mean they didn’t let you go?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know yet. I expect to hear sometime today. And even if they decide to let me go, they may want me to stay until they find a replacement.”
About mid-morning someone came into the classroom and handed Miss O'Dell a letter. She looked nervous, but laid it aside. At lunchtime, while the others were eating she opened it.
Jorie watched her carefully. When she’d finished, she cast her eyes toward him. He thought she smiled, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. He dare not ask her again.
During math in the afternoon his attention wan
dered. Suddenly he heard her say to the class, “In the spring I will teach you more about geometry. But for now, that’s all.”
He jerked up and caught her eye. He was certain the remark was made to set his mind at ease. So she hadn’t been fired! He wanted to jump up in his seat.
“Well, I’m sure it’s only because they couldn’t find a replacement for her,” his mother said later.
He didn’t care what the reason was. He’d won one victory over his mother.
Still, he was very downhearted. He imagined he felt like someone who’d lost their sweetheart. She wasn’t that much older than he. How humiliating it must have been for her to face the school board. How awful, in her first year, to be made to feel as though she’d done such wrong. He imagined her as very lonely, with no one to befriend her at all.
He tried to be as cheerful as he could in class to buck up her spirits, and they still had little talks as she made her rounds among the students. She’d quiz him on material she’d assigned and give him ideas for further study. She was always pleasant and he was grateful for her smiles.
But the special after school times were gone forever.
In the early spring there was an outbreak of scarlet fever in town, and three of Miss O'Dell’s students came down with it.
“Jorie, I’m taking you out of school for the remainder of the term,” his mother said. “It’s not worth the risk. I will tutor you at home in those subjects — “
“You can’t do that!”
“I can and I have.”
“I’m going to speak to Pa.”
“Your father supports my decision.”
Jorie stewed all evening, and by bedtime had made up his mind. In the morning he was dressed and out of the house before his mother was down. In the dim light he walked to school and waited in the cold, sunless morn for Miss O'Dell to come and unlock the schoolhouse.
When at last she did, he followed her inside.
“Jorie, what are you doing here?”
“I’m not dropping out, Miss O'Dell; I’m going to stay the course.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you. I have a letter from your mother.”
Jorie’s heart sank.
“I cannot disregard it. It’s a parent’s prerogative, in cases like this. Surely you understand.”
Jorie felt angry and miserable, but he managed to say, “I wouldn’t want to get you in any more trouble.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait,” she called. He watched as she carefully chose a number of books. “Take these with you. I know you’ll put them to good use.”
He managed to say, ‘Thank you.’
Their eyes locked for a moment; then he turned and walked away.
He had lost the battle, after all. Ma knew that in the fall Miss O'Dell wouldn’t be his teacher. For his last two years, he’d have Mr. Smythe.
Catherine tutored him in French and Literature, while Pa instructed him in geology. Jorie remained distant with his mother, and Catherine wrote in her diary: He’ll get over it. Puppy love. And he should thank me for saving his life — he’d be the first to succumb, so prone to illness he is.
But when weeks passed, and he still had little appetite for conversation, she became concerned. He spent long hours in his room alone with his books or his writing.
A month later when Dr. Johnson came, Catherine said, “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Arthur?”
“I’ve come to see the boy.”
“I’m not sick, Doc,” Jorie said.
“Thank God, for that.”
They went in the parlor, and the doctor showed him the books he’d brought.
Jorie was delighted. “Look at this one — The Origin of the Species by Charles Darwin.”
“I think you’ll enjoy that.”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Arthur started making it a practice to stop by once a week to talk to the boy, and bring him books.
Chapter 21
From down the hall Catherine could hear little Eliza crying. She lay in bed luxuriating in the knowledge she didn’t have to get up. Thank God for Helena. Catherine had discovered she didn't have the enthusiasm or energy she thought she'd have for a baby. Well, the child was here now, and Helena seemed to derive great pleasure in caring for her.
In a moment, she could hear Helena cooing to the baby, and the crying stopped. Catherine stretched, feeling the sinewy tightness of her thighs as she did so. Her hands found her buttocks and realized they were tight and shapely too. At thirty-two, she was still in fine shape. And her face had not suffered the ravages of time that many her age had. She’d always been careful to wear a sunbonnet when in the garden.
Her mind turned to thoughts about Jorie that had been troubling her. He’d been so difficult to reach since she’d taken him out of school. She realized she was paying a heavy price for the course she’d taken.
She must think of something to bring him back to her.
Perhaps he’d open up more if she altered the curriculum. She decided this would be a good time to further his education in art.
In her closet she found her old art books. She could feel the flush on her cheeks as an idea came to her. She tried to sweep it from her mind. When it stubbornly refused to budge, she accepted it, prepared the groundwork.
She took down the books and decided which pictures she’d use. She called Jorie downstairs, and told him she wanted to review some of the art they’d studied.
“Eliza’s crying,” he said.
“Helena will see to her.”
She sat on the sofa, motioning him to sit beside her. Then she opened to the large book.
She spent little time in the review, as she didn’t want to lose his attention.
“Now I’m going to show you some work using modèles nus.”
She let a page fall open to a nude by Rubens, watched Jorie to catch his reaction. She saw him swallow twice, move closer to the picture. The she asked, “What are you thinking?”
What was he supposed to say? “I dunno.”
“Well, do you like it?”
He tried to stay on safe ground. “She’s kind of fat.”
Catherine laughed. Jorie tried to remember and apply some of the principles he’d learned before, things his mother would expect to hear. “The artist used pink, white and blue to create almost translucent skin tones.”
She smiled. “Très bon. Anything else?”
“A boy in our class drew a picture of a naked girl and the teacher caught him. I thought he’d be punished, but all Miss O’Dell said—”
He stopped short. He hadn’t wanted to mention her name in his mother’s presence ever again.
“What did she say?”
“That it was dirty and he was not to draw girls like that,” he mumbled. Then he pointed to the picture in the book. “Is this dirty?”
“No. This work is created by one of the masters. You see the lines of the body and how the artist has carefully arranged them to form the focal point of his composition. Notice the contrast between the very whiteness of her skin and the somber background. Many factors go into creating a work of art, such as this.”
“Do you mean it’s all right to draw bare naked people?”
“Under certain circumstances. God created our bodies and he was the greatest artist of all. We should not be ashamed of them. Our bodies are beautiful and meant to be appreciated. But if one uses them in drawing or any other way simply to titillate the senses, then it is not art. It is something coarse, lewd.”
“Oh.”
“In what sense do you think the boy at school was drawing the nude?”
“Lewd, I think.”
The next day Catherine told her son that she had another book of drawings and paintings she hadn’t shown him before.
“They’re all nudes,” she confided.
He sucked in his breath. “But they’re not lewd?”
Mother Lode Page 22