Whispers of the Wind

by Frances Devine

  He nodded. “As you wish. And will I be expected to learn this abominable practice as well?”

  Surprised at the director’s attitude and tone, Trent was silent for a moment. “That is entirely up to you. But I hope you will work on improving your attitude about the subject.”

  “Perhaps you would like for me to resign my position.”

  “Mr. Carter, I sincerely hope you won’t choose to do that. You have been an excellent director in matters of business and finances. I don’t know why you have an aversion to the teaching of something that can improve the lives of these children. If it’s a personal bias, you need to get it under control.” He took a few steps toward the door then stopped and turned. “But if you ever use that tone of voice with the children or any member of the staff and household, I will certainly accept that resignation. Good day, sir.”

  Disturbed at what had just transpired, Trent left the office and went in search of Virgie. Apparently the school wasn’t running as smoothly or congenially as he’d thought. If Virgie wouldn’t talk, he’d have a meeting with the entire staff. One way or the other he intended to get to the bottom of it.

  He found Virgie in the kitchen going over menus with Selma, the cook.

  Selma’s eyes brightened when she saw him. “Dr. Trent. You ain’t been in this kitchen since you was knee high to a grasshopper.”

  He laughed. “Now you know that’s not true. I came in here last Christmas and snitched sugar cookies that were cooling on the rack.”

  She gave a belly laugh and snapped her fingers. “So you did. You just as naughty as when you was knee high though.”

  Virgie shook her head. “Dr. Trent, I know you didn’t come in here looking for cookies, so I expect you’re looking for me.”

  “You’re right.” He glanced at the long worktable. “And since I don’t see any cookies, I guess I’ll go. Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

  “You know I always have time for you, Dr. Trent.”

  “Good. I’ll wait for you in the parlor. Finish what you’re doing if you like. I’m not in that big of a hurry.”

  He went into the parlor and shut the door then sat at the piano. He ran his fingers along the keys, wishing, not for the first time, he hadn’t quit piano lessons when he was a boy. Practice just couldn’t compete with fishing back then. He flexed his fingers and began playing, losing himself in music. Finally he sighed and put the lid down.

  “I love hearing you play, Trent. Wish you’d do it more often.”

  He stood and smiled at Virgie, who’d come in and sat in her corner chair while he played. He leaned over and kissed her on her wrinkled brown cheek. “And I love hearing you call me Trent. Wish you’d do it more often.”

  She shook her head. “Now you know that wouldn’t be respectful. But maybe sometimes. Like now.”

  He sat on the sofa. “Virgie, I’d like for you to tell me everything you can think of, good or bad, about Carter.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Dr. Trent, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know I don’t like to talk about folks behind their backs.”

  He frowned. “You’d tell me if he was mistreating someone wouldn’t you?”

  “You mean like hitting them?” Her voice never rose a notch, but a fire burned deep in her eyes. “I hope you know I wouldn’t wait to tell you or anyone else. He ever mistreated one of these young’uns, he’d wish he hadn’t.” She pressed her lips together and stood to leave. She laid her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle pat. “If it goin’ to make you feel better, my sweet Hunter crazy about Mr. Carter. Lord only knows why. But if my angel boy like him, he can’t be all bad.”

  ❧

  The hours seemed to crawl by all afternoon. Usually Abigail’s attention was riveted to her students and their needs. But today, her thoughts continually wandered to the meeting between Dr. Quincy and the director. She’d never have known about it if Helen hadn’t whispered in her ear between classes. She couldn’t help but wonder if they’d discussed the sign language class.

  Tommy Findlay’s hand popped up, and she went back to check his paper. “Teeher, did I do it wight?”

  Abigail’s heart swelled as the eight-year-old boy valiantly spoke the words he couldn’t hear. She nodded and spoke directly to him as he watched her lips. “Yes, Thomas. You didn’t miss a single one. But perhaps, you could practice making your G a little better. Remember how I taught you?”

  He nodded and smiled, motioning that he’d try again.

  When class was finally over, she dismissed the children and watched them file out. Eager to play after being inside all day, they were still orderly as they went to their rooms to change into playclothes.

  She went to her room and checked her clothing for spots or tears. Finding a small tear in the seam of one of her skirts, she sat in her rocking chair and mended it then replaced a button that had come loose from her favorite blouse. Having finished that chore, she chose the clothing she would wear to church on Sunday. Due to the measles outbreak, the children hadn’t been able to attend Sunday school for the past three weeks. The community had cancelled the Independence Day festivities, but planned to have a picnic later in the month that the children were very excited about.

  Finally she couldn’t handle the anxiety anymore and went downstairs in hopes someone would know something about the meeting. But no one had yet heard anything.

  Lily Ann’s parents arrived to take her home for the weekend, and with hugs for her teachers and promises to be good for Mama and Papa, they were off in their buggy. Lily Ann sat proudly between her parents, smiling with happiness. And her mother looked near tears from her own joy.

  How difficult it must be for them to let her go, week after week. But how brave of them to do it anyway, for the good of their daughter. Now that Trent seemed in favor of sign language for the deaf children, Abigail determined to speak to him soon about Braille for Lily Ann. As much as the family was sacrificing to give her a chance for a better life, they deserved the best for her.

  When suppertime rolled around, Mr. Carter still hadn’t come out of his office. Abigail wasn’t sure she could stand the suspense much longer. He requested a tray be brought to his rooms and sent back a summons for all the staff members to meet in his office directly after supper.

  Excitement rippled across the room during the meal. Abigail knew everyone was as anxious as she was.

  “Abigail, if the news is what we’re expecting, I want to say, my hat is off to you for succeeding where we’ve all failed for a number of years.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “It’s not my doing. If Dr. Quincy has made the decision we hope for, it was quite an act of God that I had the chance to tell him about the benefits of signing.”

  They finished the meal as quickly as possible and trooped down the hall to the director’s office.

  Apparently hearing them, he opened the door before they had a chance to knock.

  He offered polite nods to Charles, Helen, and both house-parents, barely glancing at Abigail. He didn’t sit or invite them to, but stood straight as a rod.

  “I wish to inform you that we will begin the instruction of sign language next week on a trial basis. Since Miss James is the only one qualified at this point, she will teach the class. If it proves to be successful, which I’m not convinced it will be, you will each be expected to learn signs so that the children can communicate with you in this way. We shall, of course, continue with oral speech classes and lip reading. That is all. You are dismissed.”

  He stalked to the door and held it open while they filed out then shut it firmly behind them.

  By the time they reached the parlor, Abigail was about to burst with unreleased glee, and from the expressions on the other faces, she knew she wasn’t alone.

  Mrs. Cole and Mr. Owens sailed joyfully up the stairs to attend to the children.

  Abigail followed Helen and Charles into the parlor where they found
Virgie waiting.

  Helen went to the older woman and took her hand. “It’s done, at last. We have our sign language class.”

  Virgie’s eyes filled with tears, and she clutched Helen’s hands in hers. “Praise be to our blessed Lord. Thank You, Father.”

  As her words of thanks and praise rang out, they all joined hands and added their voices to hers.

  eight

  Abigail breathed a sigh of relief Sunday morning when she took a seat on one of the reserved pews near the front of the small church. Three little girls slid in behind her, followed by Helen and Felicity. Charles and Howard sat behind them with the boys in between.

  Following the decision about the addition to the curriculum, the days had flown by this week. Abigail had lost no time in implementing the new class. Mr. Carter had left the following day, citing business appointments as the cause of his hasty departure. But with help from Betty and Charles, the class schedule had been rearranged.

  The children were a little apprehensive about being introduced to something new, but when Abigail showed them her signing book and taught them how to sign their names, their interest overrode the fear.

  On top of her new classroom schedule, Abigail spent most of her spare time handwriting worksheets for their individual use. But her tiredness couldn’t detract from the joy of knowing she’d succeeded in getting them what they needed. Well, most of them anyway. There was still the matter of Braille for Lily Ann.

  Because a few more cases of measles had popped up in the community, the picnic had been postponed again. So the teachers planned their own for after church today. Dr. Quincy had promised the children he’d be there if he possibly could, so Abigail was secretly plotting to take him aside and broach the subject of Braille.

  She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see Lily Ann and her parents. They hadn’t been here for Sunday school, but she hoped they’d attend the main service.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Trent walking down the outside aisle on her side. She turned around to face the front.

  “Is there room for me?” His whispered words seemed to resonate through the room, and she heard a giggle from Annie, who sat next to her. The little girls slid over, and Abigail moved to make a space on the end for Trent. At a twitter from someone behind her, she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

  Why had he chosen to sit next to her when there was plenty of room on the row in front where the boys and men sat? He should know how people loved to gossip at the most innocent things. Fidgeting, she grabbed a hymnbook from the rack.

  His arm pressed against her shoulder, and she tried to no avail to get the others to move down a little more. Apparently the pews were shorter than she’d realized.

  Reverend Shepherd stepped up to the podium and bowed his head to pray. He thanked God that the measles epidemic had run its course, and no serious side effects had occurred because of it. He then prayed for the service. After his amen, he looked out over the congregation. “Brothers and sisters, I’d like to welcome you. The topic today is Christ’s love to undeserving sinners. Our first scripture is Romans the first chapter and the eighth verse.”

  Abigail, who always looked forward each week to the reverend’s message, heard very little of the sermon, and relief washed over her as they stood for the final hymn. The beautiful words of “Jesus Paid It All,” touched her heart, and she wished she’d been more attentive to the sermon.

  As the people poured out of the door, the group from Quincy school waited until the aisle was clear.

  As soon as they stepped outside, the children surrounded the doctor, chattering with excitement about the picnic and begging him to go.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” His expression serious, Trent glanced around the group. “I have it on good authority that Cook has made one of her famous chocolate cakes for the event.”

  Oohs and aahs chorused through the children.

  Helen laughed. In an aside to Abigail she proclaimed, “He could hardly go wrong on that one. Cook always makes a chocolate cake for picnics. Oh look, Lily Ann is here.”

  Sure enough, Lily Ann stood with her parents as they conversed with Reverend Shepherd.

  Abigail started to walk past them, not wishing to interrupt, but Mrs. Parker touched her on the arm. “We’ll see you at the picnic.”

  “Oh good. I’m so glad.”

  “Miss Abigail.” Lily Ann reached out her hand, and Abigail enclosed it in hers. “Mama made lots of fried chicken and molasses cookies for the picnic.”

  “I’ll bet they’ll taste good.”

  The little girl nodded. “Uh-huh. Mama’s the best cook in the world.” She leaned toward Abigail. “But don’t tell Cook,” she whispered. “It might hurt her feelings.”

  “All right then. I won’t.” As she walked away, she shook her head in wonder at Lily Ann’s sensitivity to others. She had seen this repeated in other children at the Deaf School in Washington. Not that all handicapped children were selfless. But perhaps the trials they faced made them more aware of the feelings of others.

  Nat had been like that. Well, not so much when they were small. Sometimes he’d stand in the middle of a room and scream at the top of his lungs in order to get his way. And it worked for a while, until their parents caught on and realized they needed to be a little wiser.

  Humor arose in her as she recalled the first time Mother and Father turned and walked away, leaving five-year-old Nat standing there screaming at the top of his lungs. When he’d realized they really were gone, he’d clamped his mouth shut and stared after them in disbelief. Of course, it took a few more incidents like that before he got the idea.

  Abigail’s heart lurched. Nat had grown to be an obedient son and a kind and funny brother and friend. A boy whom everyone loved and wanted to be around.

  The picnic was held by the stream about a half mile from the house. Plenty of shade trees would offer protection from the late-July heat. While Abigail and the other women loaded the food and dishes onto the long picnic table, the boys dragged Trent into a game of marbles.

  Everyone was hungry by the time the food was ready to eat.

  Abigail sat on the ground beneath a live oak tree with Betty, her plate in her lap. She’d tried not to serve herself too much, but with fried chicken piled high on platters, fresh corn, sliced tomatoes, and cucumbers it was hard not to. And Lily Ann just might be right about her mother’s cooking.

  She kept darting glances at Trent, hoping to find a moment to speak with him, and several times their eyes met, but the boys and the other men kept him busy trading funny stories.

  When the desserts were finished and Lily Ann’s parents had left, the boys talked Trent and Charles into going fishing at the stream. She watched him saunter down the hill with Virgie’s grandson, Hunter, on his shoulders, the child’s tight black curls hugging his little head like a cap. He giggled at something Trent said.

  Abigail played button and bowl with the girls, who laughed each time she missed the bowl, which was nearly every time she tossed the button.

  Finally, tired but happy, they all trooped back to the house.

  The boys begged Trent for a story, so he agreed to tell them one while Albert fetched Warrior from the barn. He sat on the top step of the porch while they lined the lower steps.

  Abigail smiled at Trent’s common sense in choosing a story that calmed the children instead of getting them too stirred up to sleep. By the time they followed their houseparents inside, most of them were yawning. Abigail knew they’d be given a light supper then sent to bed. They had school tomorrow. Trent stood to go.

  Should she ask to talk to him? But it had been such a long and wonderful day. It would be a shame to end it with business. Especially since she wasn’t sure how he’d respond.

  He smiled down at her. “I’d hoped to have a moment to visit with you, but the boys kept me busy all day.”

  She laughed. “They like you a lot, Doctor, and I think the feeling is mutual.”

  “You’re
right. They’re all such great kids.” He grinned. “Some of the most likable people I know.”

  “I agree. Well, I really should go inside. Perhaps we can talk another time.”

  He nodded. “I’ll look forward to it. Good night, Miss James.” His eyes gazed into hers for a moment, and then he mounted Warrior and rode away.

  She stepped inside. Virgie stood in the foyer speaking to Mr. Carter. Little Hunter stood by her side, eyeing the golden eagle handle on the director’s cane. Abigail stopped in surprise. Mr. Carter’s lips were curved in a smile. When he noticed Abigail he pressed his lips together, gave her a nod, and turned toward the hall. But she would have sworn his eyelid drooped in a wink as he walked past the wide-eyed little boy.

  ❧

  Trent whistled a merry tune as he rode up the drive to the stable. Leaving Warrior with the stableboy, he went inside. It felt good to be home, but he’d much rather be sitting on the front porch of the school with Abigail.

  He probably shouldn’t have been so bold as to sit next to her in church. He feared he’d given some of the old gossips fodder to talk and caused her embarrassment, but the chance to be near her was too much to resist.

  The aroma of gumbo drew him to the kitchen, where he found Carrie dishing up a bowl for Solomon.

  “Dr. Trent, I didn’t hear you ride up. I’ll set the dining room table for you right away.”

  “No, don’t bother, Carrie.” He sat at the table opposite Solomon. “I’ll eat here with you and Solomon.”

  “All right, if that’s what you wanta do.” She grabbed a bowl and started filling it.

  Trent had grown up with Solomon and Carrie. They’d been playmates then friends. He’d taken part in the outlandish shivaree the night they were married, and Solomon had threatened to beat the tar out of him the next day. His years away at college then medical school could have changed that, but when he returned home, they fell effortlessly back into the old camaraderie. When they first agreed to work for Trent and live in his house, it was a little uncomfortable for all of them. But Trent needed the help and Solomon and Carrie needed the income, so they made it work.