copies to get it right. Isaac’s version of Abraham Lincoln was perfect, Calvin said, especially after they crafted a top hat out of black construction paper.
Then, the front door broke. Jake went flying out, slammed it back against the brick wall and busted the glass. Teacher Catherine’s face got red and she made Jake go sit in his seat.
She wrote a note for the school caretaker but he was down with a herniated disk, his back causing him awful grief. Isaac stepped up to the plate, offering Dat’s services, secretly plotting not Dat, but Sim’s expertise. He knew Sim could replace that window. He’d watched him plenty of times at home.
Gleefully, he cornered Sim in the forebay when he was leading the Belgians to the water trough that evening.
“Hey, the door—the window in the door—at school broke. Henna Zook broke his back, or something like that, so I told Catherine Dat would fix it. You will though, right? Right, you will?”
Sim looked at Isaac, then said he wasn’t going to go there when all the children were there, and Isaac said that was fine, Catherine stayed later in the day, he’d go along.
“Maybe you need to stay home.”
“If I do, will you ask her?”
Sim showed up at school the next day with a tape measure, while the children flocked around him wide-eyed, watching every move he made. He went off to the hardware store and returned just after everyone had gone home, with Isaac lingering on the front porch.
Perfect!
While Isaac watched, offering advice, Sim worked to remove the broken glass, and then the frame. Teacher Catherine stayed at her desk, checking papers, and nothing happened. Not one thing.
Sim whistled low under his breath, not even glancing in her direction.
She kept her head bent, her blond hair neatly combed back beneath her white covering.
The sun fell lower in the evening clouds, a red orb of inefficient heat in the winter sky, night-time fast approaching, the cold beginning to flex its muscles as Isaac sat on the cement steps.
“Why don’t you go on home, Isaac?” Sim suggested.
“I’m going with you.”
“You’ll freeze your backside, sitting there.”
“Will not.”
Finally, Sim tapped one last time and bent to retrieve his tools. Then he stood up, fixed his hat, adjusted his coat collar, opened the door, and walked into the classroom.
Isaac followed, eager to watch the action, his eyes bright pools of curiosity.
“How are you, Catherine?” Sim asked, in his deep, manly voice.
She looked up, smiled and didn’t look away. She didn’t answer, either. She just looked.
So Isaac scrambled happily up on Calvin’s desk and sat there.
“I’m fine,” Catherine said, and her voice was not shaky and flustered. It had music in it.
“How’s your dat?”
“Much better. I haven’t seen him with this much energy ever, I don’t think. Did I thank you for picking me up that day? In the sled?”
“I don’t remember, I’m sure you did.”
She laughed, sort of soft and low, and so did Sim, which made absolutely no sense to Isaac. They hadn’t even said anything funny, so why did they laugh?
They talked about the accident, and Catherine said she felt bad, still, that if only she would have been quicker she may have prevented it. Sim told her that was total nonsense, no one could have stopped Raymond if he darted into the path of a car that fast.
Catherine shook her head and her blue eyes turned darker and she looked sad, in a way.
Isaac said to Calvin the next day that he thought his brother Sim might like the teacher. Calvin said lots of guys did, but his mam said Catherine was terrible picky; that’s why she was still single.
So Isaac figured everything he’d gained pretty much shifted out of his grasp again, Calvin making that comment and Sim looking so dull these days.
The poster was looking more wonderful each day. Ruthie surprised him most. She drew a girl skating backward, going in a tight circle, her skirt and scarf blowing so realistic
Then, the front door broke. Jake went flying out, slammed it back against the brick wall and busted the glass. Teacher Catherine’s face got red and she made Jake go sit in his seat.
She wrote a note for the school caretaker but he was down with a herniated disk, his back causing him awful grief. Isaac stepped up to the plate, offering Dat’s services, secretly plotting not Dat, but Sim’s expertise. He knew Sim could replace that window. He’d watched him plenty of times at home.
Gleefully, he cornered Sim in the forebay when he was leading the Belgians to the water trough that evening.
“Hey, the door—the window in the door—at school broke. Henna Zook broke his back, or something like that, so I told Catherine Dat would fix it. You will though, right? Right, you will?”
Sim looked at Isaac, then said he wasn’t going to go there when all the children were there, and Isaac said that was fine, Catherine stayed later in the day, he’d go along.
“Maybe you need to stay home.”
“If I do, will you ask her?”
Sim showed up at school the next day with a tape measure, while the children flocked around him wide-eyed, watching every move he made. He went off to the hardware store and returned just after everyone had gone home, with Isaac lingering on the front porch.
Perfect!
While Isaac watched, offering advice, Sim worked to remove the broken glass, and then the frame. Teacher Catherine stayed at her desk, checking papers, and nothing happened. Not one thing.
Sim whistled low under his breath, not even glancing in her direction.
She kept her head bent, her blond hair neatly combed back beneath her white covering.
The sun fell lower in the evening clouds, a red orb of inefficient heat in the winter sky, night-time fast approaching, the cold beginning to flex its muscles as Isaac sat on the cement steps.
“Why don’t you go on home, Isaac?” Sim suggested.
“I’m going with you.”
“You’ll freeze your backside, sitting there.”
“Will not.”
Finally, Sim tapped one last time and bent to retrieve his tools. Then he stood up, fixed his hat, adjusted his coat collar, opened the door, and walked into the classroom.
Isaac followed, eager to watch the action, his eyes bright pools of curiosity.
“How are you, Catherine?” Sim asked, in his deep, manly voice.
She looked up, smiled and didn’t look away. She didn’t answer, either. She just looked.
So Isaac scrambled happily up on Calvin’s desk and sat there.
“I’m fine,” Catherine said, and her voice was not shaky and flustered. It had music in it.
“How’s your dat?”
“Much better. I haven’t seen him with this much energy ever, I don’t think. Did I thank you for picking me up that day? In the sled?”
“I don’t remember, I’m sure you did.”
She laughed, sort of soft and low, and so did Sim, which made absolutely no sense to Isaac. They hadn’t even said anything funny, so why did they laugh?
They talked about the accident, and Catherine said she felt bad, still, that if only she would have been quicker she may have prevented it. Sim told her that was total nonsense, no one could have stopped Raymond if he darted into the path of a car that fast.
Catherine shook her head and her blue eyes turned darker and she looked sad, in a way.
Isaac said to Calvin the next day that he thought his brother Sim might like the teacher. Calvin said lots of guys did, but his mam said Catherine was terrible picky; that’s why she was still single.
So Isaac figured everything he’d gained pretty much shifted out of his grasp again, Calvin making that comment and Sim looking so dull these days.
The poster was looking more wonderful each day. Ruthie surprised him most. She drew a girl skating backward, going in a tight circle, her skirt and scarf blowing so realistic
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