“We’d make the children welcome, but there won’t be any takers.”
“You threw it out there anyway. Mary Lynn, we’ve got to have some help out here. I mean, like every blessed day.”
“I’d come more than two days a week if I could.”
“I know, and so would I, but that’s not the same as someone being out there full time.”
“George is right about no one wanting to volunteer in Possum Hollow.”
“What about Miss Maude Pendleton?”
Mary Lynn choked. “She’s a hundred and forty years old!”
“She’s seventy-seven, the same age as Daddy. She only retired because she had her years in and didn’t like some of the new federal rules and regs, especially the testing.”
“I think it’s pretty dumb myself.”
“Well, it’s here to stay, I guess. I’ll bet Miss Maude would jump at the chance to work in a school again, even if she doesn’t get paid.”
“Maybe.”
Penelope shook her head. “No maybe about it. She doesn’t have a blessed thing to do except go to the library and check out murder mysteries. Think of what she could do to help the teachers out there.”
“She’s so bossy she might run them off.” Mary Lynn sighed. “We could ask her, I guess.”
“And I will. Tomorrow I’ll go to see her and just tell her we need her.”
Mary Lynn snorted. “She might run you off with her grandmother’s antique pearl-handled umbrella, the one with the bare spines—the one she used on Wally Powell.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Penelope chewed her lip. “But I’ll bet she’ll think about it at least.”
****
“When would you like for me to begin?” Miss Maude Pendleton set down a translucent porcelain tea cup and folded her hands in the lap of her trademark navy blue dress.
“You’ll do it?” Penelope leaned forward across the marble-topped table holding the silver tea service which had belonged to Miss Maude’s mother.
“Of course. They need help. Experienced help.” She dabbed her colorless lips with the corner of a linen napkin. “I taught George Harris, you know.”
“I guess you did, didn’t you?”
“Also Paul Hollis, though Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Hollis aren’t natives of Amaryllis. I retired, however, before Miss Tindall and Miss Foster reached my English literature class as seniors, but I knew them.”
I’ll just bet they knew you, too, and breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t have to endure three weeks of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. I kind of liked the stories, but most of the kids didn’t.
“You’d be a teacher’s aide,” Penelope said, trying to gauge Miss Maude’s reaction. “And these are elementary kids…”
“Pupils. Kids are the offspring of goats.”
“Yes, Miss Maude, but some of their parents are stubborn as billygoats—mules, too.”
“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware I will not be in charge of a classroom but rather there to serve the needs of the teachers. I believe I can make myself useful.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, Miss Maude.”
“My niece Priscilla is employed as a teacher aide at the junior high school, you know.”
“Yes, I knew that. I think her idea for a children’s theatre at the community center is wonderful.”
The corners of Miss Maude’s mouth turned up only briefly. “Mrs. Hargrove seemed to favor the idea.”
“I think everyone does.” Penelope placed her napkin beside her cup and saucer, making sure it was perpendicular to the edge of the table. “I’ll be going now, Miss Maude. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’ve agreed to help out. I’ll call George Harris when I get home, and he’ll get in touch with you.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing from him.” The older woman’s eyes fixed on Penelope’s. “I detect a change in your demeanor, Penelope Kelley.”
“I hope for the best, Miss Maude.” Penelope resisted the urge to check the buttons on her modest blouse worn with a skirt instead of jeans for this visit.
“You seem more at peace with yourself.”
“I’m very lucky to have what I have, if that’s what you mean. Daddy’s doing well, my son just married a lovely young woman, and I have plenty to keep me busy.”
“Perhaps that’s it. But it occurs to me that you’re still alone.”
Penelope felt her cheeks burning. “Well, that’s all right, Miss Maude. A woman doesn’t have to be married to be happy.”
“That’s true. As a young woman, I rejected two proposals because I knew very well the unions would be unsuccessful. Then, of course, the war ended the relationship which would have lasted a lifetime.”
“Oh, Miss Maude, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
Maude Pendleton inclined her head slightly. “But I’ve not been discontented, and I feel I’ve made a contribution.”
“Of course, you have.”
“And perhaps I’ll do the same in Possum Hollow.”
“I know you will—and thank you, Miss Maude. Thank you for everything.”
The woman held up a bony hand. “Possum Hollow isn’t a good place, Penelope. At my age, I don’t fear much of anything, but you and Mary Lynn Hargrove—you shouldn’t wander beyond the perimeters of the school.”
“So my son says.”
“Listen to him.”
CHAPTER SIX
Toward the end of October, George Harris caught Penelope between the office and the library. “When you told me you’d approached Miss Maude about helping out here, I thought you’d lost your mind.”
Penelope grimaced. “Trouble?”
“On the contrary—she sailed in here like the Queen Mary, dropped anchor, and the waters have been calm ever since.”
“What a relief! I did have some qualms about whether or not she could work in a classroom that she wasn’t in charge of.”
“Well, she can and does—but she’d pounce on you for dangling a preposition.” The principal grinned. “No, she just seems to have a calming effect on everyone. She does exactly what she’s asked to do—but she knows how to take the initiative. The children adore having her read aloud to them.”
“I used to like to listen to her, too.”
“Chaucer?”
“Chaucer, Shakespeare, poetry—nobody interrupted her or fidgeted even if they were bored.”
“Nobody had a death wish.”
Penelope giggled. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
George glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Listen, what I came to ask you about was Ellie Hadden. She’s been coming to school barefooted since September. I keep a supply of socks, but the child’s going to need some shoes before really cold weather.”
“I’ll make sure she gets some. Hadden. Not…”
“They’re all related out here, you know that.”
“I guess I do. I think I know who you’re talking about. She’s the fifth-grader Paul Hollis sends to the library because she zips through her work so fast.”
“He says she’s brilliant.”
“She certainly loves to read. I gave her Jane Eyre the other day.”
“Paul says there’s no point holding her back for the others when she can go to the library and soak up more information like a sponge.”
The bell, muted to provide a soothing atmosphere different from what the children experienced at home, sounded for K-2 lunch. “I’ll measure her foot next time I see her.”
“Thanks, Penelope. Carol said the thrift shop had a pretty good selection of children’s shoes last time she stopped in.”
“Anybody else?”
“Just Ellie for now.” He turned away as lines of children marched down the hall without speaking but rather waving a greeting as they’d been taught. He waved back and rubbed his stomach, eliciting giggles from the rag-tag bunch. “And by the way,” he said when the children disappeared into the small lunchroom where the elementary cafeteria manager personally oversaw the s
erving of the meals prepared in town and delivered to Possum Hollow, “watch her attendance. See if you can pick up a pattern for her absences.”
“I have to admit I haven’t put absences with faces yet.”
“She had perfect attendance until about a month ago. Then she started missing a day here, two days there…and Paul says she’s become more withdrawn than before.”
“Trouble at home.”
“Always. If it keeps up, I’ll go see her parents. I’ve met her mother, who seems pretty determined to keep Ellie in school. There’s a sister, too, about three or four.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“We don’t require notes from the parents, mainly because we know we’re not going to get them. Folks out here don’t explain anything to anybody.” He lowered his voice. “We fudge a bit, you know—mark most absences excused with enough unexcused so the state doesn’t get suspicious.”
“I understand.”
He glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. Paul Hollis and I have to deal with two of his sixth-graders caught duking it out before school. Taking their lunch time rather than their class time seems to make more of an impression than anything else.”
Penelope watched him disappear down the hall before she stepped into the library. Huddled among the cheerful pillows in one corner, a thin child bent over an open book in her lap, her stringy hair almost hiding her face. It took a few minutes for Penelope to realize the little girl was crying rather than reading.
“Honey…”
The child startled, clutching the open book against her like a shield. “I’m sorry, Miss.”
Penelope hunkered down beside her. “Miss Penelope. Remember, I’m helping out in here since Miss Tammy left.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Still reading Jane Eyre? How do you like it?”
Her eyes darted around the room. “Mr. Rochester scares me a little.”
“He scared me, too, but he wasn’t a bad man.” Penelope’s eyes drifted to the girl’s sock-clad feet. “Ellie, right? I’m supposed to measure your foot for some new shoes.”
The girl’s eyes brightened for a second, then dulled again. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Penelope fetched the slider bought from a shoe store in Little Rock when it closed. “Stand up and put your foot on this for me.”
The child obeyed, keeping her eyes fixed on the procedure.
“Okay, now the other one. Good, that’s fine.” Penelope jotted the numbers in a small notebook she carried in the pocket of her skirt. “What about your little sister?”
The girl froze, then bolted past Penelope and out the door. “Ellie, wait a minute! I just wanted to find out…” She got to her feet. That’s not a good sign. I’ll tell George. He said he was going out to talk to her mother anyway—though how he manages to survive those home visits, I’ll never know. She crossed herself quickly and mouthed a silent prayer for his safety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Ellie’s still insisting her mother has gone to visit a sister who’s ill,” George Harris told Penelope when he stopped into the library a week later. “I don’t buy it.”
“What about the little sister?”
“Evie. She’s four. I think Ellie’s staying home to take care of her when her father’s gone.”
“Where does he go?”
George shrugged. “I don’t even want to know. Both times I went out there, she wouldn’t let me in the house—said her father was sleeping.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy it,” he said again. “And this morning Paul said he noticed some bruises on Ellie’s neck.”
“Did he ask her about them?”
“Oh, sure, but the girl didn’t give him any answers that made sense. Paul will have to report them.”
“To child welfare?”
“Unfortunately. They’re the last folks I want nosing around out here. The state education department looks the other way—gives us credit for what we’re doing to keep these kids in school, but child welfare is another matter.”
“I take it you’ve dealt with them before.”
“Once, briefly, and that was enough. But Paul has to report this. He could lose his license if he doesn’t.”
“I’m not arguing that.”
“I told him to come to my office after school and make the call with me as a witness.”
“Well, if somebody’s abusing Ellie, it’s got to stop.”
“If her father had to smack her, I wish he’d done it where nobody would know.” George rubbed the perpetual frown lines between his eyes. “No, I don’t mean that. We all realize a lot goes on in these kids’ homes we don’t know about, and most of the time, we don’t want to know about it. But the law is the law, and this is one we can’t wink at.”
****
Penelope relayed the information to Bradley and Rosabel that evening over pork chops, red beans, and rice. “I hope whoever they send has enough sense to come by the PD and get an officer to go out to Jeremiah Hadden’s with them,” Bradley said.
“I don’t volunteer,” Rosabel said, winking at Penelope.
“You’re not getting within a mile of any house out in the Hollow,” Bradley snapped. “I’m proud of you for volunteering some of your time off to help out there, but don’t even think about getting involved with those kids on a personal basis.”
“They’re good kids,” Rosabel said, her voice neutral, though her cheeks had turned pink.
“I know that, Rosie,” Bradley said, turning apologetic, “but most of their parents aren’t.”
She nodded and helped herself to another roll.
“And there’s more bad news, Mother,” Bradley went on. “A man came by the PD last week and said he’d heard there was going to be a Christmas program at the community center—a Nativity Play—and wanted me to put a stop to it. I told him that wasn’t my job unless I had a court order.”
“So is he getting one?”
“I don’t know. He’s with some group I never heard of.”
“Atheist or one of those separation of church and state folks?” Jake asked.
“No idea, Pawpaw. He came in ready to fight, and I got him out of my office as quick as I could.”
“Can he get a court order to stop it?” Penelope asked.
“That all depends. The Town Council gave Aunt Mary Lynn some money to get started out there, but the rest of the work has been donated.”
“That’s right, no government money,” Jake said. “People like that just want to make trouble. They don’t really care about a prayer at high school graduation or a football game. It’s all about getting their way.”
“It’s more than that, Pawpaw,” Bradley said. “Some of the really organized groups are promoting an agenda, but they have a right to do it even if we don’t agree with what they’re after.”
“It’s wrong.” Jake set down his glass of milk with more force than necessary.
“I agree, but they have the right,” Bradley reiterated.
“Does Mary Lynn know?” Penelope asked.
“I haven’t said anything to her, but you could mention it. What kinds of records have you two kept about the money for repairs?”
“We write down the name of everybody who donates time and money—or anything else.”
“That’s good. I’m not really worried about this guy shutting down your program, but you never know.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I went off to war to fight for.”
“Sure you did, Pawpaw—the Constitution. Everybody’s rights.”
The older man shook his head. “I’ve got rights, too, Brad, and I aim to exercise them without anybody bothering me.”
****
Penelope’s mind ping-ponged between Ellie’s situation and the unknown protestor as she tried to fall asleep. At midnight, when she was still wide-awake, the phone rang beside her bed.
“Hello, Nell.”
“Two weeks and two days, Sam.”
He chuckled
. “Still keeping track.”
“It’s all I can do. Where are you? How are you?”
“I’m not in Amaryllis, and I’m fine. What about you?”
She filled him in on Miss Maude Pendleton, Ellie Hadden, and the man who wanted to shut down the Christmas program at the community center. “I can’t sleep,” she finished.
“If I was there, I’d rock you.”
“And get in a little grope while you did it.”
“Aw, Nell, that’s not fair. I don’t grope you anymore, and you liked it anyway.
“I did not!”
“I might be able to get there at Thanksgiving if there’s a seat at the table for me.”
“There is. It’ll just be the Hargroves and Brad and Rosabel.”
“I’m not sure yet, but I thought I’d put out some feelers. Sorry—wrong word.”
Penelope tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. “Just behave yourself.”
“Don’t I always?”
“No, you don’t.”
“What’s the name of the group this fellow is with, the one who wants Brad to close down the Christmas program?”
“Brad didn’t mention a name but said he’d never heard of the group the man supposedly represented.”
“I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I can do some nosing around. It’s my thing, you know.”
“I know.”
“Gotta go, Nell. Be good. Be careful anyway. And I mean that.”
“I don’t go beyond the school grounds in the Hollow.”
“Good. I’ll try to let you know if I’m coming for Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll leave the garage door unlocked.”
“You never lock it anyway. ‘Night, Nell.”
“Goodnight, Sam. I…” But he’d hung up.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days later, on the drive to Possum Hollow, Penelope filled Mary Lynn in on the man who wanted to shut down the Christmas program. She didn’t mention Sam had said he’d see what he could find out.
“Darn,” Mary Lynn said, “there’s always one fly in the ointment.”
The Possum Hollow Hullabaloo (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) Page 3