museum.”
But Aletha didn’t make it to the museum because Renata sent her to baby-sit three children in a pseudo-Victorian condominium for the rest of the day and into the night. When she did crawl into the dorm bed at the Sheridan, she had ambivalent feelings. She wished she could tell Cree Mackelwain about the nude in the painting. But she was relieved not to be sleeping in with a possible narc. Mostly she was excited about meeting Miss Heisinger in the morning.
7
Mildred Heisinger wore her black gathered skirt with a satin cummerbund, snowy blouse, and a black ribbon around her throat. This was her second post. Mildred was eighteen. Things had not gone well in her first position for reasons she still did not understand. She’d not been asked to return and came here without recommendation. Knowing she must succeed in Alta set a feathery, cold sensation to crawling in her stomach. It also caused her to withdraw, giving her the appearance of an icy composure far from her true state.
Her students ranged from four to fourteen, the usual mix of bright, willing, obstreperous, and disinterested. Mildred believed she’d pretty well won them over. Except for one. Brambaugh O’Connell, the oldest, who stood much taller than she, who had to sit sideways with his legs in the aisle, who never spoke unless spoken to and never missed a word while reading aloud or in composition.
She’d taken to seating him in her own chair when working with him, and standing herself so he’d be more comfortable and she’d feel more in control. He had a dignity she knew to be part resentment at being forced to attend her school and part attraction to her. Sometimes he was a little boy in an oversized body, sometimes his eyes held a maturity that made her drop her own.
Mildred found herself engaged in small fantasies concerning her oldest pupil: She would surprise him with some sudden bit of knowledge that would light up the sullen expression. Or she would see him as a grown man returned to find his teacher whom he’d never been able to forget. She stood behind him now and watched his large hand make small, perfect ciphers on his tablet. She could almost feel the power growing in the restless shoulders, was tempted to touch him carelessly as she did the other children. But of course she did not.
Johann Peterson reached around Callie O’Connell and stuffed something down the back of Mable Fisherdicks’ dress. Mable wiggled and screamed. Miss Heisinger tapped Johann on the head and pointed to his destination in the corner. She asked Callie to accompany Mable to the cloakroom and help remove whatever forced her to squirm so. No one ever teased Callie with her brother in the room.
Sudden thunder from the sky displaced the thunder of the mill, shook the earth beneath the school, rolled in on gusts of wind that rattled in the rafters. Raindrops splayed across window glass and lightning dazzled the room. This was the third day in a row a thunderstorm had flared shortly before the school day was to end. Yesterday she’d kept her students late to let it pass.
“That was a wise decision, Miss Heisinger,” Timothy Traub, the Alta mine manager and her host, had said at dinner. “The ground was fairly crackling with electricity this afternoon. It’s a wonder nothing was struck here on the hill. Or, God forbid, the current from the plant below should arc and shut down the mill.”
The entire area had been electrified even before many large cities by mining interests who’d denuded mountain slopes of timber to fuel steam boilers and who needed cheaper power than coal to continue operations. This was the first time Mildred had actually lived with electric power and she’d been amazed to find a light bulb on a long movable cord available in every room of the manager’s house. There were two stationary bulbs in the schoolhouse. She switched these on now to brighten the storm gloom and calm the children.
Just as Callie and Mable scurried back and
But Aletha didn’t make it to the museum because Renata sent her to baby-sit three children in a pseudo-Victorian condominium for the rest of the day and into the night. When she did crawl into the dorm bed at the Sheridan, she had ambivalent feelings. She wished she could tell Cree Mackelwain about the nude in the painting. But she was relieved not to be sleeping in with a possible narc. Mostly she was excited about meeting Miss Heisinger in the morning.
7
Mildred Heisinger wore her black gathered skirt with a satin cummerbund, snowy blouse, and a black ribbon around her throat. This was her second post. Mildred was eighteen. Things had not gone well in her first position for reasons she still did not understand. She’d not been asked to return and came here without recommendation. Knowing she must succeed in Alta set a feathery, cold sensation to crawling in her stomach. It also caused her to withdraw, giving her the appearance of an icy composure far from her true state.
Her students ranged from four to fourteen, the usual mix of bright, willing, obstreperous, and disinterested. Mildred believed she’d pretty well won them over. Except for one. Brambaugh O’Connell, the oldest, who stood much taller than she, who had to sit sideways with his legs in the aisle, who never spoke unless spoken to and never missed a word while reading aloud or in composition.
She’d taken to seating him in her own chair when working with him, and standing herself so he’d be more comfortable and she’d feel more in control. He had a dignity she knew to be part resentment at being forced to attend her school and part attraction to her. Sometimes he was a little boy in an oversized body, sometimes his eyes held a maturity that made her drop her own.
Mildred found herself engaged in small fantasies concerning her oldest pupil: She would surprise him with some sudden bit of knowledge that would light up the sullen expression. Or she would see him as a grown man returned to find his teacher whom he’d never been able to forget. She stood behind him now and watched his large hand make small, perfect ciphers on his tablet. She could almost feel the power growing in the restless shoulders, was tempted to touch him carelessly as she did the other children. But of course she did not.
Johann Peterson reached around Callie O’Connell and stuffed something down the back of Mable Fisherdicks’ dress. Mable wiggled and screamed. Miss Heisinger tapped Johann on the head and pointed to his destination in the corner. She asked Callie to accompany Mable to the cloakroom and help remove whatever forced her to squirm so. No one ever teased Callie with her brother in the room.
Sudden thunder from the sky displaced the thunder of the mill, shook the earth beneath the school, rolled in on gusts of wind that rattled in the rafters. Raindrops splayed across window glass and lightning dazzled the room. This was the third day in a row a thunderstorm had flared shortly before the school day was to end. Yesterday she’d kept her students late to let it pass.
“That was a wise decision, Miss Heisinger,” Timothy Traub, the Alta mine manager and her host, had said at dinner. “The ground was fairly crackling with electricity this afternoon. It’s a wonder nothing was struck here on the hill. Or, God forbid, the current from the plant below should arc and shut down the mill.”
The entire area had been electrified even before many large cities by mining interests who’d denuded mountain slopes of timber to fuel steam boilers and who needed cheaper power than coal to continue operations. This was the first time Mildred had actually lived with electric power and she’d been amazed to find a light bulb on a long movable cord available in every room of the manager’s house. There were two stationary bulbs in the schoolhouse. She switched these on now to brighten the storm gloom and calm the children.
Just as Callie and Mable scurried back and
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