Charlie struggled to stay positive in her attitude the next few days. The family tried to help in their own ways. Teresa talked about a
particularly ferocious teacher she'd had in her early years-Murdoch said to give the teacher a chance to-again-"find her feet." Scott
was more quiet with his bolstering up, saying only, every morning, "Have a good day today, kiddo."
The situation in the small school building didn't improve. It seemed, actually, to be going downhill. Faster than a sled on a snowy hill.
Now, most days, hesitating at the bottom of the steps at school, instead of feeling curious about what was going to be taught, or feeling excited, Charlie
found her feet dragging, and her heart heavy.
Miss Hummle seemed to grow more irritated by the day. With the students, and what she spoke of as their "woeful ineptitude" in
subjects they should be far advanced in. With the supplies that were provided. With the manners of some of the children.
Admittedly, some of the kids had ceased to make an effort at all, as far as their studies were concerned. They began whispering and
drawing while Miss Hummle was talking. Infuriated, Miss Hummle would rap her ruler on the wooden desk, and raise her voice.
When she became agitated, it seemed as though her voice would begin to-well, to trill like sort of bird. She would flap her hands
too. This two things caused some of the boys to begin calling her "the Raven." Either that, or the "Ba Humbug" of previous days.
Since she was still trying to keep a brighter outlook, hard though it was, Charlie hadn't shared all her frustrations or what the
kids were up to, fully with Scott.
One afternoon, though, seemingly at her wit's end with her students, Miss Hummle lost her high-pitched tone of aggravation, and
called John to the front of the class. John had been especially irksome that day, even Charlie would agree with that-still-what
happened next caught all of the class by surprise.
"You seem to delight, John, in making this classroom a place where learning cannot take place-and I will tolerate it no longer. Hold
out your hand," Miss Hummle said.
Still with an impish look on his face, John did so, and with a swiftness that surprised him, and all the rest of the students, Miss Hummle
pulled out her wooden ruler, and lowered it sharply onto John's hand.
John yelped, and a horrified hush fell over the room. "The next time you disturb this classroom, John, you will receive two of those," Miss
Hummel warned. "Go to your desk."
John turned and walked back to the desk he shared with his best pal, Tommy Brewer, and there were tears shining from his eyes.
Charlie, who had winced when the ruler came down, looked towards Monte, wondering his reaction to his brother's disgrace.
Monte's cheeks were bright with color, nearly as red as his hair. From where she sat, Charlie could see Monte's fist, doubled in anger,
as if he wished he could pummel the teacher.
The end of the school day came shortly after that, and a group of children gathered outside the school building. John was putting on
a brave show of it, though his usual impish face was tear stained with the silent tears he'd shed. It was when she saw his hand, though, that
Charlie felt her stomach clench. The back of John's hand was puffy and swollen, and it looked as though his fingers were stumpy, not like
fingers at all.
"Look what she done," Tommy Brewer said, furiously.
"We'll get even with her, John," another boy promised.
"Yeah, Monte, what do ya say?" asked Hank Heider. "We'll fix her wagon but good!"
Monte still seemed to have steam coming from his ears. "Dunno yet," he muttered. "Gotta think on it-come on, John."
The group watched the brothers walk away, and, it was a somber group that said their goodbyes, and went their own ways.
Before they did, Rebecca squeezed Charlie's hand. "I don't like school anymore," she whispered.
"Me, either," Charlie said.
"Are ya gonna tell about it at home?" Rebecca asked.
"Maybe."
"If I do, my Pa'll only say that John had it coming. That he should oughta behave," Rebecca said.
The girls said goodbye to each other, and Charlie made her solitary walk to the stables, where Gurth was saddled and
waiting for her. Charlie thanked Mr. Williams and began her ride home.
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When she arrived at the ranch, Jelly came to greet her, carrying a bucket of water.
"How about some help?" he asked her. "I'm gettin' fixed to wash Miss Polly."
"Alright," Charlie said, and Jelly eyed her with his crinkle-eyed stare.
"What's eatin' you?" he asked.
"Just-school," Charlie admitted.
"I hear she's a sour one, that teacher," Jelly said.
"She is," Charlie agreed.
After she'd unsaddled her horse, and rubbed his down, Charlie let him out into the pasture. There was a sharp whistle, and she
looked, to see Johnny giving her a wave. She waved back, and went inside the hacienda.
Maria had prepared a snack, and it waited on the table. Lemonade and two sugar cookies. She turned with a smile to Charlie, and
gestured to the table.
"Hola. Change and eat," she instructed.
"I'm not hungry, Maria. But thank you."
The older woman turned completely to face Charlie, her forehead furrowed.
"Sin Hambre?"
Charlie knew the word 'hambre'. "No."
Maria reached out to lay a hand on Charlie's forehead. "Emferma?"
Charlie wasn't certain, but she took a guess. It wasn't difficult to determine Maria's question.
"No, ma'm," she said, with a shake of her head.
Maria still looked concerned, but nodded towards the staircase.
Charlie went to change her clothes, pulling on her comfortable overalls with relief. It was such pleasure, to be out of the petticoats and
dress. She could see Jelly from her window, still preparing to wash his pig. Suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, Charlie knew she didn't feel like
helping. She didn't want to do anything right at that moment. Except be in the sunshine and to not think about John. John and his swollen hand.
Charlie slipped down the stairs and out the front door, so that Maria wouldn't coax her about the snack again.
Then, it was a bit more slipping about, so that Jelly wouldn't catch sight of her and call her over. Charlie went to the barn, scooping up
her favorite from the latest batch of kittens, and went up the barn loft ladder, where she cuddled the kitten, and breathed in the smells
of the barn, and hay.
She tried to read on the book that she always left up there, in the loft, for when she had spare moments to read. But, she found she couldn't even
focus on the words on the page. Time passed, and she could hear some of the hands, riding in from their afternoon of work.
She was curled against a stack of fresh-smelling hay, still holding the kitten, when she heard footsteps entering the barn.
A voice at the bottom of the ladder spoke. "You up there, kiddo?"
Charlie scooted on her behind over to the ladder opening and peered downwards. "Yes."
"It's time to wash up for supper."
"Oh," Charlie said. The thought of food made her already turbulent stomach even more protesting. When she stayed where she was,
Scott took a step or two closer, so that he could see her more clearly, looking up.
"Come on," he said.
"Do I have to come to the table?" she asked him.
Clearly puzzled, he said, "Why wouldn't you?"
"I'm not hungry, Scott. Honest. Can I not eat, just this once?"
"Are you sick?" he asked.
"No. I'm not sick. Just not hungry."
Scott rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm getting a knot in my neck, looking up," he said. "Come down, will you?"
Charlie sighed, and came down the ladder, still toting the kitten in one hand.
Once she was at the bottom, and on the ground, Scott laid a hand on her forehead, once, and then moved his hand slightly, to the
side of her face.
"I'm not sick," Charlie said, again.
"Your stomach bothering you?"
Charlie hesitated, and then said, in honesty, "A little. But-not feeling sick sort of bother-just jumbly."
"Jumbly, huh?" he asked, and at her brief nod, he considered her, looking thoughtful.
"Was your day not so good?" he asked, then, astutely.
Looking into his tanned, kind face, Charlie felt all her resolve slipping. She, to her own surprise, felt her eyes fill with tears. She shook
her head in answer, swiping at her eye with the palm of her hand.
"Think that might be what's causing you to feel like this? All jumbly?" Scott asked.
Charlie nodded again, and Scott reached into his shirt pocket, taking out a handkerchief. He put a hand on her shoulder, and dabbed at her
cheeks and eyes with the handkerchief.
"What happened?" he asked, quietly.
"It was John-Miss Hummle hit him!" Charlie said, and then the words began to spill out, fast and running over one another. "She called him
up to the front-of the class, and then she hit him so hard-it was too harsh, Scott-"
"Alright," Scott said, his tone soothing, and brushing back her hair from her wet face. "Slow down a bit. Take a breath."
Charlie gulped in air, and Scott asked, then, "So he got whipped?"
"No," Charlie shook her head. "She hit his hand with a ruler."
"Hit his palm?"
"No," she said, again, and felt tears bursting again. "She-it was the back of his hand," she said, and tapped her own hand to
demonstrate. "And his hand's all swollen, and his fingers look chunky!"
For a brief few moments, Scott's face seemed to darken, and then he asked, "You're sure? That it was the back of his hand?"
"Yes, I'm sure-"
"Alright." He patted her cheeks again with the handkerchief, and then pressed it into her hand. "Come inside the house."
"Are you going to make me eat?"
"No. Not right now." Scott took her hand in his, and they began to walk towards the house. "What was John doing that got him
punished?"
"He was whispering, and he dropped his book twice, but he wasn't the only boy doing it-"
"Alright," Scott said, again. In the kitchen, Maria and Teresa were both spooning up food onto platters and into bowls.
"You didn't set the table," Teresa said, over her shoulder to Charlie, as she headed towards the dining room. "You know you're supposed to."
"Sorry," Charlie said, still sounding sniffly. It was enough that it caught Teresa's attention, and she stopped, and turned
back.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Wash your hands," Scott told Charlie, giving her a gentle push towards the kitchen pump. Charlie went to obey, and
Scott said, quietly, to Teresa, "I think it's probably alright, about Charlie not setting the table this once, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, sure," Teresa said, and even though Charlie kept her face turned, scrubbing at her fingernails, she could tell that
Teresa sounded sorry.
When Maria and Teresa had gone, carrying the food to the dining table, Scott stepped over to the sink, pulling a hand towel from the
stack that Maria kept nearby. He held it out to Charlie and she took it, drying her hands, and looking up at him.
"Don't feel like eating right now, huh?" he asked.
Charlie shook her head, and he said, "Do you have homework?"
Charlie gave a reluctant nod, and he said, "Well, you can read for awhile, if you want to. We'll tackle the homework
later."
Any other time, Charlie would have thought that Scott had gone totally soft about bypassing rules, but at the moment
she was just very grateful. He'd stood up for her, even though she'd not done her chore of setting the supper table. And now
he was telling her she could read instead of beginning homework right away.
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