Real Cowboys. Roz Denny FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
sat forward and prepared to turn over their papers. “If that’s it for questions, you may begin,” Kate said.
She checked her watch for the start time. She’d learned from her mother the art of watching students without seeming to. Midway through the test, she noticed that a bird had flown in one of the open windows and was hopping along the sill. Kate didn’t know what kind of bird it was. It had gray feathers and a yellow underbelly and throat. The bird cocked its head and warbled, sounding almost flutelike.
Kate saw she wasn’t the only one captivated by the bird. Clover Trueblood set down her pencil and slipped from her seat. She answered the birdcall with an uncanny repetition of the flute sounds.
Or maybe the bird had warbled again. Not wanting to disrupt the whole class, Kate rolled toward the girl. She thought Clover would scare the bird, but that didn’t happen. Clover walked right up and planted an elbow on either side of the creature. They both trilled again. Thinking it must be a tame bird, Kate went closer. Her arrival startled the bird and it flew away.
The girl whirled, fright widening her eyes. Kate offered a gentle smile. “Clover, did you complete your test? If not, you need to go back to your seat.”
Without speaking, the child sidled around Kate.
“I’ll allow you a few extra minutes. Later maybe we can discuss the bird.”
Clover bounded back to her seat, but not before she lifted her chin and gazed straight into Kate’s eyes. Kate wasn’t sure whether she felt confounded or challenged. It was an unsettling experience.
Back at her desk, she noticed that several students were done. “Shelly, please collect the tests beginning with eighth graders. I’m allowing Clover an extra five minutes. She had a slight distraction.”
It pleased Kate to see that her landlord’s daughter was hunched over her desk, her pencil flying across her paper.
As students handed their tests to Shelly, they began to whisper among themselves, especially the Keevler sisters and Meg Wheeler.
“Jeff—Jeff Goetz,” Kate called. “Will you and Adam Lightfoot pass out these books? I’ve attached names on sticky notes. They’re reading texts. I’d like you each to begin reading the first story in your book while I glance over the tests. It’s possible I’ll trade books for a few of you after I check your reading comprehension. I expect I’ll move some of you to more difficult books.”
There was the usual disorder that went along with a break in routine. Kate found these children better disciplined than she’d expected, given none of them had been in a formal classroom since before Christmas of the previous year.
She worked quickly with the aid of an answer sheet. Ron Quimby, Shelly Bent and her clone, Meg Wheeler, made perfect scores. Ron and Shelly were in eighth grade. They were probably working well above that. Terry Goetz missed two questions. He had terrible handwriting, but she saw no need to change his eighth-grade reader. Others in fifth through seventh grades held their own. Kate was feeling quite pleased until she reached the last test, which she knew belonged to Clover.
The girl’s name was not written on the test and not one question had been answered. Quite by accident Kate turned one sheet over. Her breath caught. A perfect rendering of the bird on the windowsill stared up at her. Its feathers, the markings and intelligent eyes had been captured in exquisite detail. On the back of the second sheet was an equally complex drawing of a steer.
Stunned, she thumbed through the permanent record folders to locate Clover’s. Had she missed a reference to this talent? Or a note saying the girl showed a total lack of regard for a teacher-mandated assignment? The most telling thing in the file was its brevity. All eleven students lived on rural routes. Clover Trueblood was no exception. A space for her mother’s given and maiden names was blank. Nothing indicated whether Mrs. Trueblood lived elsewhere or was deceased. A notation was made that Clover had passed grade one, but Mr. Sikes’s progress note simply stated she hadn’t been tested in grade two.
Had she been absent the day of state-mandated tests? If so, why had no one administered a makeup? Kate frowned and tucked the artwork in the folder, then pulled a pad from her book bag to jot down contact phone numbers from Clover’s record. Vida Smith, a housekeeper, was listed for Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Her father’s radio-phone number said, message only, will return calls. Three other numbers without names were noted for emergency purposes.
Sighing, Kate wrote Clover’s father a note requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. She put it in an envelope, sealed it and scrawled his name on the outside, then set it aside to send home with Clover.
Like most first days at school, this one passed quickly. As Kate was the only teacher, all grades broke for lunch and recess together. She was able to observe which kids paired up and who was on the outs. The older boys teamed up for three-on-a-side basketball.
From the sidelines, Kate suggested plays. She kept an eye on Jeff Goetz and Adam Lightfoot, who tossed a baseball in another part of the playground. She’d thought Danny would join them, but he moved off. Clover climbed on the monkey bars and chatted to Danny, who didn’t seem to mind.
At the end of the day, Kate stuck her note to Clover’s father into the girl’s pack. “This is important. Please give it to your dad as soon as you get home. Tell him I’ll be here tomorrow a half hour before school starts, or I’ll stay an hour after class.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clover skirted Kate’s wheelchair and bolted for the door.
Kate levered out of her chair to erase the math problems she’d had Meg Wheeler and Mike Delgado write on the board.
She and Danny were alone again.
“Did Clover do something wrong, Mom?”
“Wrong? Oh, you mean the note I sent her father? It’s nothing. Her record is incomplete so I need information from her dad. By the way, Danny, I saw you two talking at recess and lunch, after you left Jeff and Adam.”
“I asked them about a rodeo. Jeff doesn’t have horses, but Clover does. Her dad owns a bunch, a cavvy, she called them. She can ride any horse she wants. And her dad braids ropes. Clover said her dad used to teach a roping clinic. She knows all about slack handling, dallying, del viento, hoolihan, turnover and a bunch of other roping tricks.”
Kate set the eraser in its tray. “He used to teach roping?”
“Yeah. Well, maybe he still does.” Taking the eraser, Danny dusted it off in the waste basket. “Clover said he had to stop ’cause he spends so much time running back and forth to court. To Boise. When he’s gone she gets to ride in a real chuck wagon. Isn’t that the coolest thing, Mom?”
“Hmm.” Kate digested the news about Clover’s father spending a lot of time in court. A custody hassle might explain the girl’s distraction and account for the blanks on her permanent record.
A teacher ought to know if there was a court restraining order out against one parent or the other. Mentally, Kate added that to her list of things to discuss with Clover’s father.
That evening, Marge Goetz phoned. “Kate, may I call you that? During supper Jeff told his dad and me how rude Terry was today. He knows better. He will apologize tomorrow. And he’ll do without TV for a few days.”
“I’d planned to speak privately with Terry. He and the others wouldn’t have been so surprised if I’d mentioned my use of a wheelchair in my cover letter.”
“There’s no reason you should have. Except we would’ve provided better access to your cabin and the school. My husband, Ray, worries that you’ll have trouble when it snows.”
“Getting around is my problem to solve, Marge, and I’ll manage. When should I expect the first snow?”
“Could be another month. Two if we’re lucky. It won’t hurt the older boys to shovel a path from where you park into the school. I’ll have Ray or one of the other board members buy snow shovels for the school and your cabin.” After asking Kate