American Struggle Page 26

  Gravitt’s likeness in her copybook until the bell rang for recess. It was a very good likeness, even if she had to say so herself.

  Grabbing her copybook and retrieving her cloak from the cloakroom, Meg hurried out the door to meet Susannah by the elm tree. The area beneath the elm was one of the few grassy places left in the yard. The girls enjoyed their privacy for only a short time before Fred and two of his friends came running by them, kicking up dirt and teasing.

  “Fred Buehler,” Susannah called out. “You’d better stop it, or I’ll tell your papa on you.”

  “Are you gonna tell my papa on me?” mocked Fred’s friend Aaron. “Ooo, I’m so scared.”

  Following Fred’s lead, he ran up to them, stopped suddenly, and then ran again, making the soft dirt fly up in a cloud.

  “Pretend they’re not even here,” Meg suggested, and she continued to pronounce words to Susannah.

  This made Fred dart in even closer. On the next run, he grabbed Meg’s copybook. Before she could protest, he wheeled about on a dead run and ran smack into Mrs. Gravitt.

  The copybook fell to the ground with the pages fluttering open to the picture Meg had drawn of Mrs. Gravitt! Meg felt her heart leap into her throat.

  CHAPTER 5

  Meg’s Punishment

  Everything seemed frozen in space for an eternal moment. Fred didn’t move, Mrs. Gravitt stared at the picture, and Meg didn’t dare breathe.

  “Frederick, is that your copybook?” Mrs. Gravitt asked. Fred shook his head and pointed at Meg. “It’s my sister’s.” “I see. Hand it here.”

  Fred reached down to pick up the copybook out of the dirt.

  Taking it from him, Mrs. Gravitt said, “You run along and stop bothering other students in the schoolyard.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Fred was gone.

  Mrs. Gravitt’s tall, spare figure walked toward Meg and Susannah, her silks rustling. “Margaret,” came the cool voice. “Please come inside with me.”

  Meg’s throat felt so tight she could barely answer. She glanced at Susannah, whose face was filled with sympathy. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Gravitt.” Slowly she followed her teacher into the schoolhouse with dozens of eyes watching her. Her face burned hot with humiliation.

  Mrs. Gravitt slowly removed her long cloak and hung it in the cloakroom, then stepped up on the platform and sat down at her desk. She motioned for Meg to come stand before her. Looking up at her teacher, Meg felt as small as a first grader.

  “I presume this was done during class, Margaret. What a waste of time. You should be ashamed of such foolishness.” Mrs. Gravitt riffled through the pages to see other sketches of Goldie the cat, fellow students, as well as myriads of designs and patterns.

  Up this close, Meg could see the detailed etching on Mrs. Gravitt’s gold pendant watch. The scene was of a graceful deer, with head erect, standing by the edge of a stream. Trees stood in the background. Looking at the etching was easier than looking at her teacher.

  Mrs. Gravitt closed the copybook, placed it on the desk, and looked at Meg with steady, gray eyes. Meg felt as though her teacher’s eyes were boring right through her.

  “I’ve noticed you do not pay attention well. Perhaps you haven’t enough work to keep you busy. If that’s the case, then you will be given extra work to be completed by the end of the week. As further punishment, you will remain after school this afternoon and write ‘I will not waste God’s valuable time’ three hundred times.”

  Meg said nothing. She felt as though her trembling legs might crumble beneath her. In all her six years of school, she’d never been held after class nor scolded in this manner. And it was all Frederick’s fault!

  That afternoon as the other students left to go home, Meg remained in her seat. Several glanced at her with questioning looks. She tried to keep her eyes down. When the room was empty, Susannah appeared at the door of the classroom. Sizing up the situation, she boldly walked to Mrs. Gravitt’s desk. “Excuse me, Mrs. Gravitt. Meg’s brother and sister are looking for her. What shall I tell them?”

  “Tell them to go on home. Margaret will be here for a time.”

  Meg could tell from the sparks in Susannah’s eyes that her friend was angry. But what could they do? Susannah looked over at Meg, and Meg slowly shook her head. She pulled several sheets of paper from her desk to begin writing the sentences.

  “Please leave now, Susannah. Margaret has work to do.”

  Three hundred times. It seemed an impossible task. As she bent over her work, she thought of the picture she’d drawn of Mrs. Gravitt. It had not been done in jest. It was not like the silly drawings she saw in the Gazette, which ridiculed the presidential candidates. But of course, she shouldn’t have been drawing during class time. Why did her mind think in pictures? Why couldn’t she listen in class like the other students?

  The wooden seat she’d been sitting in all day was already uncomfortable. As time dragged on, and as she filled the pages with one sentence after another, her back and neck began to ache. The ache spread to her shoulders. She twisted about to find a better position, but there was no way to stop the ache.

  Fifty sentences fit on a page. Six pages would be needed. After an hour, she’d filled only three and a half pages. She thought surely Mrs. Gravitt would want to go home. But Meg’s teacher sat in her wooden swivel chair, her back ramrod straight, reading a book. Meg could hear old Mr. Barnett sweeping out in the hall.

  She dipped her quill again and again. Fifty more sentences were done; one hundred more to go. She placed the quill down and rubbed at her hand and wrist, picked it back up, and began again. Mrs. Gravitt said nothing. The last fifty seemed to go more slowly than all the rest. Meg felt she could not move her hand to write one more line. The penmanship looked like chicken scratchings.

  At last, in a small, soft voice, she said, “The sentences are completed, ma’am.”

  “Bring them to me.”

  Meg wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. She scooted to the edge of the seat, and using her hands, she supported her weight as she slowly tested her legs. They felt weak and rubbery.

  “Please don’t dawdle, Margaret. The hour is late.”

  Picking up the pages, Meg willed her feet to carry her to the desk and placed the papers on the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Gravitt did not even look at them. “Let this be a lesson to you, Margaret. You come to school to learn, not to waste time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Gravitt handed her a paper with a list of extra assignments she was to complete by the end of the week. Extra problems in arithmetic, extra sentences to diagram in language, and a report to write. Meg stared at the sheet. She had no idea how she would get it all done.

  “You may go.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  From the cloakroom, she fetched her cloak, bonnet, and lunch bucket. Outside, twilight had covered the city, and the evening chill had set in. Meg shivered as she wrapped her cloak about her. It was not her heavy cloak because Mama hadn’t yet brought the winter things down from the attic.

  She lifted the latch on the schoolyard gate and made her way down the sidewalk toward home. Just then, she saw a figure up ahead leaning against the pole of the gas lamp.

  She squinted her eyes to see better. To her joy and surprise, it was Stephen! She felt her heart leap. He’d seen her as well and was coming toward her.

  “Hey there, Meggie. It’s about time you came along.”

  “Oh, Stephen.” She felt breathless. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mama sent me to walk you home.”

  “She sent you?” Meg could hardly believe it.

  Stephen smiled and handed her an apple. “Mama said you’d probably be hungry.”

  Because of the aching, Meg hadn’t even thought about hunger. But the apple looked wonderful. It made a crunching sound as she bit into it. She savored the tart juiciness. “You came all the way back from the store? You didn’t need to do that.” She felt embarrassed at bothering h
im.

  “Susannah told us what happened,” Stephen said as they walked along. “She was worried about you walking home so late. So Mama sent me.”

  Eating the apple infused Meg with a spurt of energy, but the pain continued to nag at her neck. Mama was going to be plenty upset about the situation. But if she knew the Hendrickses had been bothered, she’d be even more upset.

  “You needn’t walk me all the way home,” Meg protested. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Stephen ignored the remark. “That Fred can be pretty ornery, can’t he?”

  Meg took another bite of apple and pulled out her hankie to swipe at the juice on her chin. She didn’t like to think about the angry feelings she had against her brother. She knew she should forgive him, but every time she forgave him, he did something worse. “He’s ornery,” she agreed, and left it at that.

  “What did old Mrs. Gravitt give you to do?” Stephen asked.

  “Write ‘I will not waste God’s valuable time’ three hundred times.”

  Stephen gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of sentences.”

  “Plus extra assignments to be completed by Friday.”

  “Mrs. Gravitt is about as ornery as Frederick,” Stephen quipped.

  The remark surprised Meg. They were taught never to speak of their teachers with disrespect. Her mama would have washed Meg’s mouth out with soap if she’d ever made such a comment.

  “I shouldn’t have been drawing in class,” Meg said simply. She tossed the apple core into the street where the roaming pigs would have it for breakfast the next morning. “I should have been paying attention.”

  “Drawing pictures in class isn’t any more wrong than grabbing someone else’s belongings.”

  Meg knew he was referring to Fred. She wished he wouldn’t say such things. She didn’t want to think badly of her brother. “Papa says our teachers are always right.”

  “Teachers are people, Meggie. Just people. No person is always right. Mrs. Gravitt has her opinion; you have yours.”

  They’d turned off Liberty Street. She could see her house in the middle of the block on Everett Street. “I’ll be leaving you now,” Stephen said. “You’ll be fine.”

  Meg wasn’t sure about being fine. But she did feel better with food in her stomach. “Good-bye, Stephen. Thank you so much. Please give the family my best and thank your mama for me.”

  Stephen tipped his cap and turned to go back down Everett to Denman Street, where the Hendrickses lived.

  Meg knew Stephen could have gone all the way to the house with her, but he didn’t want to make the situation awkward. His kindness had taken the sting from the awful day.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Good Idea

  Mama never flared up in anger. Still, her children knew when she was sorely displeased. When Meg entered the kitchen through the back door, Mama looked at her with stern, unblinking eyes.

  “You are late. A daughter of mine made to stay after school? It is a disgrace.”

  Meg said nothing. She could hear Fred and Julia snickering from the hallway.

  “You were punished?” Mama asked.

  “I had to stay after school and write sentences.”

  “That is all?”

  Meg shook her head. She pulled a paper from her books and handed it to Mama. “I have this to do as well.” Goldie came into the kitchen and began her incessant rubbing against Meg’s ankles.

  Mama pursed her lips tightly together and shook her head. “All because of the drawing nonsense. Again it gets you in much trouble.”

  So Fred had already tattled. Meg wondered what Fred had said about the incident. Probably nothing about his teasing and tormenting her and Susannah at recess.

  Handing back the paper, Mama said, “This is not good. The oldest should set good examples for the younger.” Mama wiped her work-worn hands on a corner of her apron. “Change your dress and shut up the chickens. Help with supper, then to your room you will go to work on this punishment.”

  More snickers from the hallway.

  “One more thing,” Mama added. “Saturday you do not go to Oma’s, but Frederick will go instead.”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She was sure Fred would like having an extra afternoon away from all the work.

  “Go now to change.”

  As she left the kitchen, Meg heard her two siblings skitter off down the hallway, laughing and giggling as they went. She ignored them and trudged up the stairs.

  Actually she didn’t mind missing her turn to walk to Oma’s house on Saturday. Sometimes her grandmother could be out of sorts. And the walk to the German section of town on the other side of the Miami Canal always reminded her of her connection to that community—something she’d just as soon forget.

  Goldie bounded up the stairs ahead of Meg, around the corner, and into Meg and Julia’s bedroom. Meg closed the door and scooped the cat up in her arms. “Oh, Goldie,” she said, burying her face in the fluffy fur. “I don’t understand what’s happening, but it’s so frightening. How can everything get so twisted around?”

  She stood a moment, soaking in the peaceful purring. Somehow Goldie always made Meg feel better.

  “You’ll always be my friend,” she whispered in Goldie’s ear. She set the cat down on the bed, quickly changed, and hurried back downstairs.

  The chickens had already been fed, but Meg had to round them up from the garden and into the henhouse, which was no easy chore.

  Fred and Julia came creeping around the side of the house. As Meg shooed the chickens and guided them with a large stick, she wondered why Mama didn’t have the other two doing their chores.

  “Look at me, Julia,” Fred said. “I’m owling about—dreaming, dawdling, and dallying. Shilly-shally, poke and piddle. Frittering away the moments.”

  Meg turned to see Fred staggering around in circles, his eyes buggy, staring into the heavens. His singsong voice repeated: “Dawdle-dally, shilly-shally, poke and piddle.” He staggered about until he stumbled and went crashing into the dead tomato vines. “Whoa! Owling about is terribly dangerous. It gets a person in all sorts of trouble.”

  Julia laughed brightly at his antics. Fred knew he had a captive audience in his younger sister. She did everything she could to please him.

  “Get up, Fred,” she squealed. “Get up and owl about some more.”

  “What?” he said, cupping his hand to his ear. “Speak up. Pokey piddlers can’t hear too well.”

  This sent Julia into peals of laughter. “Pokey piddler, pokey piddler,” she repeated through the giggles.

  Meg felt the heat rising to her face as she herded the last hen into the fenced-in area. From there she shooed each one into the henhouse and barred the door.

  She couldn’t bring herself to scold Fred or to even fight back. How she wished he could see that his behavior was no different than the boys at the mercantile who had tormented poor Ida and Hulga. Not even glancing in their direction, Meg returned to the house, leaving her brother and sister to their merriment.

  Mama was quiet as Meg worked with her, cutting up the vegetables for beef stew and putting the heavy kettle on to boil. Meg mixed the flour and eggs for the spätzle, then dropped the noodles into the hot boiling broth. Before supper, Mama unwrapped the bandage of Meg’s hand, applied new salve, and bandaged it in a fresh, clean strip of white muslin. The pecks were still very painful.

  When Papa arrived home, it was Julia who delighted in telling the tale that sister Margaret had been made to stay after school. Julia had run to meet Papa at the front door. Clear into the kitchen, Meg could hear her little sister’s high-pitched voice.

  “Meg drew a funny picture of Mrs. Gravitt,” she said, talking fast as she usually did. “Gracious mercy, did Mrs. Gravitt get mad. Made Meg stay after school and write sentences. Everyone else got to go home. Fred and me came without her. She walked home all by herself. And it was almost dark.”

  Meg’s humiliation deepened as she heard how the story was growing. When Papa
came into the kitchen, Meg cringed to see the disappointment in his gentle eyes. She felt she’d let him down.

  “What’s this I hear?” he asked. Papa always smelled of wood and sawdust, and now he had bits of golden sawdust on his eyebrows and his beard.

  “Is so,” Mama said. “What Julia says is so.” Papa looked at her. “Meg?”

  Meg nodded and went back to putting the plates about the table.

  “We always knew her drawing would get her into trouble, isn’t that right, Papa?” Fred had entered the kitchen at that precise moment to put in another word. Fred talked about Meg as though she were not standing right there in the kitchen. And indeed she wished she were anywhere but there.

  Papa didn’t answer but went to the washbasin to rinse his hands and face, ridding himself of the flecks of sawdust.

  After emptying the basin and drying on the linen towel, Papa came to Mama’s side. “What is being done about the matter?”

  Mama took the big pot holder mitts and carried the kettle to the table. As she did, she explained both the teacher’s punishment for Meg and the ones Mama had added. Papa nodded and took his seat at the head of the table.

  Supper was awkward and uncomfortable. Although beef stew and spätzle were her favorites, Meg could barely eat. Across the table, Fred kept mouthing, “Shilly-shally, dilly-dally.” Julia stifled her snickers.

  Papa had more news about the Polk-Clay presidential campaigns, but Meg heard none of it. Fred joined in the conversation, which at least meant that for the moment, Meg didn’t have to put up with his teasing.

  Meg was surprised when after supper Papa told Fred to fetch his coat and cap. “You’re coming back to the factory with me. There’s some sweeping you can do.”

  It crossed Meg’s mind that Papa might have noticed Fred tormenting her, but then she quickly dismissed that idea. Papa often had Fred accompany him. By the time Fred turned eleven, he would be spending more and more hours learning the craft of wood carving and furniture making.

  While Fred ran upstairs to fetch his wrap, Papa walked over to where Meg was clearing away the plates from the table. “You like your school, do you not, Meg?” he asked.