When Lucy woke, it was to a chorus of birds and the morning sun streaming through the white curtains of her homely cottage. Last night had been thick with dreams. She scrunched her eyes closed and tried to hold on to the images, but they retreated, and she was left only with the memory of Josh de Lange’s lips on hers. She tried to downplay the effect the quick embrace had had on her.
If she was honest with herself, she had to admit it felt as if a fire had been lit somewhere deep inside, in a place she was determined to avoid. In the light of day, she felt exposed and she was sure Josh had sensed her fiery nature, even though for the last year she had done everything possible to avoid the attentions of the opposite sex.
There was no doubt in her mind that getting involved with him was a dangerous game and one she needed to steer clear of. For starters, it was too soon. Jason’s betrayal had dealt her self-belief, her confidence, and her emotional stability a full-on body blow. Last June, a life that had seemed so full of promise was shattered as if someone had casually tossed a grenade into it.
Daily, she reproached herself for having been so impulsive. If she had just left, walked out on Jason, dumping him a week before the wedding, that might have been payback enough. She was also angry with herself for having been so gullible. For months, she had gone over and over the time she’d spent with Jason. In hindsight, the clues of infidelity were subtle, but they were there. If only she had been more alert, less trusting. Lucy sat up in bed. What’s done can’t be undone, she tried to reassure herself.
In recent months, she had very slowly begun the process of piecing together the fragments of her fractured soul and life. She had vowed that from here on out, she would never rely on anyone but herself. She’d always prided herself on being strong and independent, and look what had happened when she’d let down her guard.
The question now was how would she deal with Mr. de Lange? She was sure to run into him on the farm. Perhaps she could just tell him straight-up that romance wasn’t in the cards, or maybe she should just pretend nothing had happened. Put last night down to the wine and a friendly hug that went further than expected. She decided on the latter approach and tiptoed to the airy little kitchen to put on the kettle.
When Lucy arrived at the school, the playground was alive with children playing, running, and laughing. Some of her students came up to greet her, offering to carry her books.
“That’s too high and you’re not allowed up there!” she yelled across the field to where two boys were attempting to climb up the school’s roof. The boys, two of the school’s naughtiest, halted their ascent but only came down reluctantly once Lucy had threatened them with double detention.
“Hello!” Lucy said, entering the small crowded lounge next to the office. This little room served as the staff and meeting room. There was a kettle, a few chipped cups, and instant coffee. No cappuccino machine here.
“And how are we on this fine morning?” asked Lena Abrahams. Lena was the principal of Swartberg Community School. She also served as its chief fundraiser and librarian and still had a full teaching job. Lucy didn’t know how she did it. Lena’s skin was the color of cinnamon and her hair was cropped close to her head. She favored large, dangling earrings. Lena was a woman of extravagant size and a warm, ready smile. Today, she wore a bright-colored kaftan in cheerful African print. Lena had taken a liking to Lucy, noticing both her talent with children and solid work ethic.
“All’s well, Lena. Ben and the Johnnie were climbing the roof again, but I seem to have dissuaded them.”
Lena shook her head. “Looks like I’ll be carrying my big stick today. Somebody’s already put a bullfrog in Sandy August’s desk drawer.”
Lucy started to giggle and Lena couldn’t help but join in. Sandy was also a relatively new teacher to the school. She was conscientious and earnest, but her lack of humor and ineffective attempts to instill discipline made her a soft target where the students were concerned.
“We shouldn’t laugh,” said Lucy. “Do you want me to go speak to her?”
“Nah, not to worry, Lucy. She’s hiding out in the library. I’ll sniff out the culprits and read them the riot act.”
With that, the bell rang and the children lined up in orderly rows. Lucy marveled at how neat they were in their clean uniforms. She knew most of the children were poor and affording the very simple school uniform was a sacrifice for their families.
Lucy’s second-grade class filed into their classroom. As always, she felt energized by the presence of these noisy, inquisitive little souls. Lucy was a talented teacher who had a natural authority with kids. In the first lesson, she asked the children to share their news. In the next period, the children were working at their desks in their exercise books and she asked one child at a time to come and read to her at her desk.
She saved little Mikey Smit for last. In the class of twenty-three, he straggled way behind the others. He sat down in front of her on the little plastic chair and she could see by his expression that he was apprehensive. She’d given him a first-grade reader, the easiest she had.
He opened the first page and with great concentration tried to stammer the words written in big bold print. Lucy could see the process was pure torture for Mikey, as his finger underscored each word. After struggling through three pages, he suddenly stopped reading.
“Does it feel like the words are swimming on the page?” Lucy asked gently. He nodded, and as he did so, a large salty tear fell onto the reading book.
“I’m going to tell you something, Mikey. Do you know that when I was your age, I struggled to read just like you do?”
Mikey still didn’t look up. For some time now, Lucy had suspected he had dyslexia. She had seen the telltale signs in his work, the manner in which he reversed his letters and confused b with d. It was clear that he was bright, and his contributions to class discussions were excellent. Lucy knew firsthand how her little student felt for she was dyslexic, too. She had learned to overcome it and her struggle was the driving force behind her ambition to teach, especially to teach children with learning challenges.
“Mikey. I want you to know that just because reading is hard for you it doesn’t mean that you are stupid. In fact, I think you’re really smart.” Putting her face close to his and keeping her voice low so that the other children wouldn’t hear she said, “I would like you to stay after class each day and I will give extra lessons which I know will help you.”
“But, miss, I will miss the taxi. How will I get home?”
“I’m sure myself or one of the other teachers would be happy to give you a lift,” Lucy said
“But, miss, you will have to speak to my mom or she will think that I am staying behind because I’m naughty.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I will have a meeting with your mother and explain everything to her.”
That seemed to satisfy the eight-year-old’s anxiety. He dried his tears with his sleeve. “Does this mean that I can stop reading now?” He looked at Lucy and smiled.
“Sure thing, pal,” she said, and they gave each other a high-five.
The day passed in a flurry of activity. In addition to teaching all day, she had located lost shoes and lunches, removed the terrified bullfrog from Miss August’s classroom, and finally attended an after-school staff meeting where they discussed possible themes for the school play. Just as she was packing up for the day, a message came through on her phone. She received so few these days on her new phone since nearly all of her old contacts had been removed for safety.
Any plans this weekend? I know a great little bistro in town. How does Saturday sound?
Lucy sighed. Clearly, Josh wasn’t keen to forget about last night. If truth be told, neither was she.