New chapter, finally! Thanks to snoopy dances for the last review, I
didn't realize the formatting had gotten so weird in the first couple
chapters! They're better now, I think...they're still not indented right but
at least you get the idea where the paragraph starts and ends.
***
The next day was Saturday, and Marah walked into her classroom to go over some papers the kids had written. She was surprised by someone already sitting at her desk—a tall, thin man in a suit, with thinning brown hair and dull gray eyes. He rose when she walked in.
"Ms. Caraway?"
"Yes."
"I'm Philip Gold. I'm the head of the School Board of Education here in Tashmore."
"Nice to meet you," she said, and shook his hand, a little warily.
"Yes, er—it has come to the attention of the Board that you, that you, ah..."
"That I was out with Mort Rainey last night?" Marah asked, annoyed at the man's audacity to actually come and chastise her, not even ashamed of having made such a personal intrusion into her life.
The man looked a little taken aback, but nodded. "Yes, that's it. Well, as you know, the Board is always concerned that the teachers we hire are... competent... to teach our children. And if a circumstance ever arises that makes it apparent that a certain teacher is not, then we feel compelled to intervene. Therefore..."
Marah cut him off, even more annoyed by his failure to cut to the chase. "I hardly think that my personal life is subject to the review of the School Board, Mr. Gold," she said coldly. "I also can't see why, now that you have presumed to review it, you seem to now view me as incompetent."
Mr. Gold looked uncomfortable, but determined. "I don't think you are ignorant of Mr. Rainey's past history here?"
"I am aware that there appears to be a great deal of rumors about his past history, none of which have been proven."
"Ms. Caraway, you have to understand that, although there is inadequate evidence to convict him, there can be little doubt of..."
"I do not understand that, nor do I believe it."
The man sighed. "Well, I suppose that must be left to your discretion, Ms. Caraway, but—"
"Yes," Marah said firmly.
"But," the man continued with a little more emphasis, "the Board has come to a decision on this matter. The parents of the children that attend this school will not allow subject their children to a teacher who is involved in a relationship with a murderer."
"Mort Rainey is _not_," Marah began, but he spoke over her.
"Therefore, you must either promise to end your relationship with Mort Rainey, or we cannot allow you to remain in our employ."
Marah just stood there, dumbfounded. The man sat back down, looking grimly relieved to have delivered his message. When Marah spoke again, she had difficulty controlling her voice. She was spending so much energy holding back her anger that her words could barely squeeze out.
"So you will fire someone based on an intrusion into their personal life, and a few unproven rumors?
The man did seem to find it necessary to respond. He just stood regarding her, looking uncomfortable but also absolutely certain that he was in the right.
Marah gave up. "Well, can I have a few hours to clean out my desk, then," she said tightly.
Mr. Gold looked alarmed. "Ms. Caraway, I advise you to reconsider..."
"No." Marah couldn't trust herself to say anything else.
"Well then." Mr. Gold stood up. "I'm sorry things had to turn out this way. Yes, you have until Monday to clean out your desk."
"Thank you for being so generous."
Ignoring the sarcasm, he walked out and shut the door behind him. Marah picked up the paperweight the school had given her as a gift when she had arrived. She felt it cool and heavy and solid in her hand. Then she hurled it against the door frame, where the man had stood a moment ago, and collapsed into her chair, burying her head in her hands. She didn't know who she was hiding her tears from, but whoever it was, she couldn't bear to let them see her cry.
***
The space of a few hours found her walking home, a cardboard box in her arms containing the few specimens of her career at Tashmore Elementary: an attendance and grade book, a notebook, several pencils, a pack of pens, and a couple of crayon pictures that students had drawn for her. The kind with bright suns and blue skies and green grass. Smiling faces.
She was still partly in shock from what had happened; she had never expected such dire consequences from a relationship with Mort. But another part of her was simply resigned. Maybe, subconsciously, she'd known it was coming all along. All your relationships are doomed, a nasty voice inside her said. And it's because of you, not them...you're the one that leaves destruction in her wake...and then you run away.
When she finally reached home she was crying again, so she didn't see Mrs. Olmann standing in the doorway until she fairly bumped into her.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Olmann," she said hastily, trying to turn her head and wipe her tears in a way that would not be noticeable. "Hi. Hi."
Mrs. Olmann, usually a kindly old woman, was not smiling, and she did not move to let Marah pass through the doorway.
"What's in the box?" she asked sharply.
"Hm? Oh, just... some of my things..."
"So you decided to choose Mort Rainey over your job?"
Marah stared at her, confused for a second. "How did you know?"
"Oh, I know. News travels fast," said Mrs. Olmann blandly. "And it goes even faster if you're on the committee that made the recommendation to fire you if you didn't give him up." She looked hard at Marah. "I suppose if you're willing to do that much for the man, he must be awful special."
"He is," said Marah quietly.
"Well then," said Mrs. Olmann with a peremptory air, "I guess you'll have to get used to choosing him over a lot of things. Your board here, for intstance. I can't have a murderer's...girl...living in my house." The way she pronounced "girl" made it very clear that she was this close to saying "slut" instead. Marah seethed with rage.
"Mrs. Olmann, I can't see how it's any of your business—"
"For your convenience," said Mrs. Olmann, cutting her off, "I've packed up your things already. They're over there."
For the second time that day, Marah felt helpless, realizing how pointless it was to argue anymore. When she spoke her voice was tight with barely controlled anger again, so she could barely recognize herself. A hot black shape was growing in her chest. "How very kind of you," was all she said, drily. "Mind if I take a look around to make sure nothing's... missing?"
Mrs. Olmann didn't seem to mind the implication that she had stolen something of Marah's. "Oh, go right ahead."
A brief examination left Marah confident that Mrs. Olmann had indeed packed all her things. It wasn't as if she had a lot of valuables anyway. Or any, for that matter. She picked up the two duffel bags stacked by the door, trying to sling them over her shoulders while balancing the cardboard box as well. She refused to look at the older woman as she marched down the steps and started down the white sidewalk.
"You know, it would have ended this way anyway," came Mrs. Olmann's parting shot from behind her. "There's no way you can pay the rent now. Without a job and all."
"Thank you, Mrs. Olmann, for that piece of financial advice!" Marah said very loudly, her throat heaving with the emotion behind the words, fairly tame words compared with what she actually wanted to say. Without turning around, she kept walking away, and not until she was out of sight of the house did she allow herself to relax even slightly. And then realization began to dawn on her as the initial fog of shock and anger cleared:
She had nowhere to go.
***
The next day was Saturday, and Marah walked into her classroom to go over some papers the kids had written. She was surprised by someone already sitting at her desk—a tall, thin man in a suit, with thinning brown hair and dull gray eyes. He rose when she walked in.
"Ms. Caraway?"
"Yes."
"I'm Philip Gold. I'm the head of the School Board of Education here in Tashmore."
"Nice to meet you," she said, and shook his hand, a little warily.
"Yes, er—it has come to the attention of the Board that you, that you, ah..."
"That I was out with Mort Rainey last night?" Marah asked, annoyed at the man's audacity to actually come and chastise her, not even ashamed of having made such a personal intrusion into her life.
The man looked a little taken aback, but nodded. "Yes, that's it. Well, as you know, the Board is always concerned that the teachers we hire are... competent... to teach our children. And if a circumstance ever arises that makes it apparent that a certain teacher is not, then we feel compelled to intervene. Therefore..."
Marah cut him off, even more annoyed by his failure to cut to the chase. "I hardly think that my personal life is subject to the review of the School Board, Mr. Gold," she said coldly. "I also can't see why, now that you have presumed to review it, you seem to now view me as incompetent."
Mr. Gold looked uncomfortable, but determined. "I don't think you are ignorant of Mr. Rainey's past history here?"
"I am aware that there appears to be a great deal of rumors about his past history, none of which have been proven."
"Ms. Caraway, you have to understand that, although there is inadequate evidence to convict him, there can be little doubt of..."
"I do not understand that, nor do I believe it."
The man sighed. "Well, I suppose that must be left to your discretion, Ms. Caraway, but—"
"Yes," Marah said firmly.
"But," the man continued with a little more emphasis, "the Board has come to a decision on this matter. The parents of the children that attend this school will not allow subject their children to a teacher who is involved in a relationship with a murderer."
"Mort Rainey is _not_," Marah began, but he spoke over her.
"Therefore, you must either promise to end your relationship with Mort Rainey, or we cannot allow you to remain in our employ."
Marah just stood there, dumbfounded. The man sat back down, looking grimly relieved to have delivered his message. When Marah spoke again, she had difficulty controlling her voice. She was spending so much energy holding back her anger that her words could barely squeeze out.
"So you will fire someone based on an intrusion into their personal life, and a few unproven rumors?
The man did seem to find it necessary to respond. He just stood regarding her, looking uncomfortable but also absolutely certain that he was in the right.
Marah gave up. "Well, can I have a few hours to clean out my desk, then," she said tightly.
Mr. Gold looked alarmed. "Ms. Caraway, I advise you to reconsider..."
"No." Marah couldn't trust herself to say anything else.
"Well then." Mr. Gold stood up. "I'm sorry things had to turn out this way. Yes, you have until Monday to clean out your desk."
"Thank you for being so generous."
Ignoring the sarcasm, he walked out and shut the door behind him. Marah picked up the paperweight the school had given her as a gift when she had arrived. She felt it cool and heavy and solid in her hand. Then she hurled it against the door frame, where the man had stood a moment ago, and collapsed into her chair, burying her head in her hands. She didn't know who she was hiding her tears from, but whoever it was, she couldn't bear to let them see her cry.
***
The space of a few hours found her walking home, a cardboard box in her arms containing the few specimens of her career at Tashmore Elementary: an attendance and grade book, a notebook, several pencils, a pack of pens, and a couple of crayon pictures that students had drawn for her. The kind with bright suns and blue skies and green grass. Smiling faces.
She was still partly in shock from what had happened; she had never expected such dire consequences from a relationship with Mort. But another part of her was simply resigned. Maybe, subconsciously, she'd known it was coming all along. All your relationships are doomed, a nasty voice inside her said. And it's because of you, not them...you're the one that leaves destruction in her wake...and then you run away.
When she finally reached home she was crying again, so she didn't see Mrs. Olmann standing in the doorway until she fairly bumped into her.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Olmann," she said hastily, trying to turn her head and wipe her tears in a way that would not be noticeable. "Hi. Hi."
Mrs. Olmann, usually a kindly old woman, was not smiling, and she did not move to let Marah pass through the doorway.
"What's in the box?" she asked sharply.
"Hm? Oh, just... some of my things..."
"So you decided to choose Mort Rainey over your job?"
Marah stared at her, confused for a second. "How did you know?"
"Oh, I know. News travels fast," said Mrs. Olmann blandly. "And it goes even faster if you're on the committee that made the recommendation to fire you if you didn't give him up." She looked hard at Marah. "I suppose if you're willing to do that much for the man, he must be awful special."
"He is," said Marah quietly.
"Well then," said Mrs. Olmann with a peremptory air, "I guess you'll have to get used to choosing him over a lot of things. Your board here, for intstance. I can't have a murderer's...girl...living in my house." The way she pronounced "girl" made it very clear that she was this close to saying "slut" instead. Marah seethed with rage.
"Mrs. Olmann, I can't see how it's any of your business—"
"For your convenience," said Mrs. Olmann, cutting her off, "I've packed up your things already. They're over there."
For the second time that day, Marah felt helpless, realizing how pointless it was to argue anymore. When she spoke her voice was tight with barely controlled anger again, so she could barely recognize herself. A hot black shape was growing in her chest. "How very kind of you," was all she said, drily. "Mind if I take a look around to make sure nothing's... missing?"
Mrs. Olmann didn't seem to mind the implication that she had stolen something of Marah's. "Oh, go right ahead."
A brief examination left Marah confident that Mrs. Olmann had indeed packed all her things. It wasn't as if she had a lot of valuables anyway. Or any, for that matter. She picked up the two duffel bags stacked by the door, trying to sling them over her shoulders while balancing the cardboard box as well. She refused to look at the older woman as she marched down the steps and started down the white sidewalk.
"You know, it would have ended this way anyway," came Mrs. Olmann's parting shot from behind her. "There's no way you can pay the rent now. Without a job and all."
"Thank you, Mrs. Olmann, for that piece of financial advice!" Marah said very loudly, her throat heaving with the emotion behind the words, fairly tame words compared with what she actually wanted to say. Without turning around, she kept walking away, and not until she was out of sight of the house did she allow herself to relax even slightly. And then realization began to dawn on her as the initial fog of shock and anger cleared:
She had nowhere to go.