jacket has little buttons down the front and a sort of ruffle in the back.”
Miss Robbin sounded elegant. I sighed and wondered what I looked like to her. I hoped she wouldn’t notice that my hand-me-down dress from Verna was too large for me. I knew my hair was tangled too. When it was long, like now, I had trouble combing it. Mama had been so busy she had forgotten to cut it.
“Even though she’s little, I think she’ll be able to handle the older boys,” said Verna. Last year’s teacher whined all the time about how bad the older boys were. They threw erasers across the schoolroom and didn’t do their lessons. They even tipped the privy over one night. The teacher complained, but she never did anything.
Verna and Johnny were good about telling me what happened at school, but it wasn’t the same as being there. I would have given just about anything to go to school.
2
The next day was Sunday. It was my favorite day because I got to go to church. The church was five miles away, so we all crowded into the wagon.
“Where were you before you came to us?” Mama asked Miss Robbin. Mama likes to know all there is to know about someone.
“I was born downstate, in Flint. When I was only a baby, my mother and father died of typhoid, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle on their farm. My uncle died six years ago. I lost my aunt last winter. I was teaching in a school near their farm, but after my aunt died, I decided to make a new start someplace else. I could never live in a city, so when I heard about the school up here in northern Michigan and how you had lakes nearby and woods, it seemed a perfect place.”
“Well, I don’t know that you’ll have much time to go walking in the woods or along the lakes, but it
is
pretty country,” said Mama. “My husband’s father homesteaded here. We’ve made a living off the farm, but not much more. You won’t find things fancy.” Then, because Mama was softer-hearted than she let on, she said, “I hope you don’t feel too bad about your aunt’s passing.”
I felt her stretch her arm out, and I guessed she had taken hold of Miss Robbin’s hand, because the teacher said, “I just thank the Lord that I have come to a kind family. If I do or say anything you don’t think right, you must let me know.”
But this show of feeling was too much for Mama. She took her hand back and made some remark about how warm it was for October. Our schools always started the first week in October and went until January. In the winter there was so much snow on the roads, school closed down. The snow got so high, even the sleighs couldn’t manage. Papa often had to dig a tunnel through the snow to the chicken house and the barn. In April school opened again. It went on until August. After that children helped to harvest the corn and wheat.
In church I waited for the choir to come down the aisle singing, “Holy, holy, holy.” That always half-thrilled and half-scared me. Since I couldn’t see anything, I was never sure but what God wasn’t right in the church looking at me. Pastor Olsen’s sermons were long, and my back got tired from sitting up straight. Sometimes Pastor Olsen would read a Psalm from the Bible. I would try to say the words over in my head so that I could keep some of them. Especially the Psalm where the mountains skip like rams and thelittle hills like lambs. Or the one where the precious ointment runs all the way down Aaron’s beard to the hem of his garment.
After church everyone clustered around us to meet the new teacher. People don’t often come to settle around here, so a new face causes a stir. After they were introduced to Miss Robbin, they said a few words of greeting to Mama and Papa and asked me, “And how is poor Hannah today?” I was always “poor Hannah,” like it was one word.
When we were back in the wagon, Miss Robbin asked me, “Why do they call you ‘poor Hannah’?”
“Because I can’t see,” I said.
“If it comes to
Miss Robbin sounded elegant. I sighed and wondered what I looked like to her. I hoped she wouldn’t notice that my hand-me-down dress from Verna was too large for me. I knew my hair was tangled too. When it was long, like now, I had trouble combing it. Mama had been so busy she had forgotten to cut it.
“Even though she’s little, I think she’ll be able to handle the older boys,” said Verna. Last year’s teacher whined all the time about how bad the older boys were. They threw erasers across the schoolroom and didn’t do their lessons. They even tipped the privy over one night. The teacher complained, but she never did anything.
Verna and Johnny were good about telling me what happened at school, but it wasn’t the same as being there. I would have given just about anything to go to school.
2
The next day was Sunday. It was my favorite day because I got to go to church. The church was five miles away, so we all crowded into the wagon.
“Where were you before you came to us?” Mama asked Miss Robbin. Mama likes to know all there is to know about someone.
“I was born downstate, in Flint. When I was only a baby, my mother and father died of typhoid, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle on their farm. My uncle died six years ago. I lost my aunt last winter. I was teaching in a school near their farm, but after my aunt died, I decided to make a new start someplace else. I could never live in a city, so when I heard about the school up here in northern Michigan and how you had lakes nearby and woods, it seemed a perfect place.”
“Well, I don’t know that you’ll have much time to go walking in the woods or along the lakes, but it
is
pretty country,” said Mama. “My husband’s father homesteaded here. We’ve made a living off the farm, but not much more. You won’t find things fancy.” Then, because Mama was softer-hearted than she let on, she said, “I hope you don’t feel too bad about your aunt’s passing.”
I felt her stretch her arm out, and I guessed she had taken hold of Miss Robbin’s hand, because the teacher said, “I just thank the Lord that I have come to a kind family. If I do or say anything you don’t think right, you must let me know.”
But this show of feeling was too much for Mama. She took her hand back and made some remark about how warm it was for October. Our schools always started the first week in October and went until January. In the winter there was so much snow on the roads, school closed down. The snow got so high, even the sleighs couldn’t manage. Papa often had to dig a tunnel through the snow to the chicken house and the barn. In April school opened again. It went on until August. After that children helped to harvest the corn and wheat.
In church I waited for the choir to come down the aisle singing, “Holy, holy, holy.” That always half-thrilled and half-scared me. Since I couldn’t see anything, I was never sure but what God wasn’t right in the church looking at me. Pastor Olsen’s sermons were long, and my back got tired from sitting up straight. Sometimes Pastor Olsen would read a Psalm from the Bible. I would try to say the words over in my head so that I could keep some of them. Especially the Psalm where the mountains skip like rams and thelittle hills like lambs. Or the one where the precious ointment runs all the way down Aaron’s beard to the hem of his garment.
After church everyone clustered around us to meet the new teacher. People don’t often come to settle around here, so a new face causes a stir. After they were introduced to Miss Robbin, they said a few words of greeting to Mama and Papa and asked me, “And how is poor Hannah today?” I was always “poor Hannah,” like it was one word.
When we were back in the wagon, Miss Robbin asked me, “Why do they call you ‘poor Hannah’?”
“Because I can’t see,” I said.
“If it comes to
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