The Glory Wind Read online

  “You’d better think real hard about this, Luke,” she said in a low voice. “You know what will happen, don’t you?”

  I did know, and I had thought about it. In fact, I’d been thinking about it since the first day Gracie had to move seats. I’d thought about it when I was doing my chores after school, or eating supper, or lying in bed at night. I hadn’t been able to get away from thinking about it.

  So when Gracie asked me if I knew what I was getting myself into, I nodded and squared my shoulders the way I’d seen Pa do when he was about to take care of something he didn’t much care to do, like put down a lame horse.

  Gracie gave me a long, careful look. It reminded me of the way she’d stared at a dead butterfly we’d found one August morning. Her eyes had swept over it with a slow, searching sadness, as though she might be able to see what had caused its death if she looked hard enough.

  Gracie wasn’t the only one looking. I felt the stares that went with the ripple of whispers behind me. At that moment, I didn’t care. The only fear in me was that I might care later on, and this wasn’t something I could ever undo.

  It turned out that the boys weren’t nearly as good at shunning a person as the girls were. The fellows my age made some snide comments all right, and they made a general sort of effort to ignore me, but you could see their hearts weren’t in it. Not like the girls.

  The girls, of course, did ignore me, but it was impossible for me to see that as a bad thing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When she’d been working at the Prairie Inn for about a month, Raedine started to come home late one or two evenings a week. She’d land at the door to get Gracie with a breathless explanation that she’d had to work past her normal shift. Ma said she was happy to have a chance to show some Christian kindness, even in the summertime when Gracie had been around all day. We would just set an extra plate at dinner and, if Raedine was really late, Gracie would be put to sleep on the daybed until her mother finally arrived.

  But after the stories about Raedine never having been married started to go around, Ma’s Christian kindness wasn’t quite as conspicuous. I heard her talking about the situation with Pa one evening when they thought I was asleep.

  I’m not sure how long the conversation had been going on, but it came through more and more clearly as their voices rose. I guess I started to hear whole sentences around the time Ma said, “To think that I defended the woman! It’s not that I’m judging Raedine, Jack. People make mistakes. It’s the way she lied to us and made fools of us.”

  “I don’t suppose she thought she had much of a choice,” Pa said in a neutral voice.

  “You would take her part!”

  “Now hold on right there, Alice. I’m not taking anyone’s part. I’m just saying, you can’t punish the little one for something that’s not her fault.”

  “Who’s talking about punishing her? I just don’t know that I want to be doing her mother any more favours, is all.”

  “Then I guess the child can stay by herself until her mother gets home from work from now on. That’s what will happen if she can’t come here and you know it. Raedine isn’t going to find anyone else who’ll watch Gracie now. Not after those busybodies have been hard at work.”

  There was silence for a bit, then the sound of a newspaper being snapped open. I could picture Pa picking it up and reading, while Ma sat with her knitting and gave it some more thought. Ma could think on an argument for days and then suddenly bring it back up when Pa thought for sure he’d heard the last of it.

  I was nervous because she was thinking about not letting Gracie come over any more while Raedine was at work, even though I didn’t think she’d really do it. She liked Gracie, and besides that she was always saying how nice it was for me to have a friend to play with, and how much less she worried about me now. But you never knew for sure with Ma. In any case, I wanted to know how it came out, so I slid out of bed and crept to the top of the stairs so I wouldn’t miss anything. I was glad to hear Ma start into it again a half hour later.

  “I suppose you’re right about it not being Gracie’s fault,” she said. The paper rustled as Pa lowered it, something Ma insisted on when they were talking.

  “Uh, huh?” he said.

  “So, I guess she can keep coming here. It’s nice for Luke to have a friend anyway. But there are two things I won’t allow, and I expect you to back me up on both of them.

  “Except for the few moments it takes for her to pick up her daughter, Raedine Moor will never be welcomed into this house again. And Luke is not to go to her house anymore, for any reason.”

  “I see. Well, that seems reasonable, all right. How do you mean to explain it to Luke?”

  She didn’t answer right away, so I guess she hadn’t thought that far ahead. When she did speak, it was with a heavy sigh. “That’s one of the problems in this kind of situation. I don’t want Luke being exposed to talk of such things. But you’re right—I’ll need to think of something to tell him.”

  The explanation she came up with the next morning when she told me I wasn’t to go to the Moors’ house anymore was, “because I’m your mother and I said so.” She needn’t have worried. I was so relieved at the outcome that I would never have asked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mayor Anstruther called a town meeting just a few weeks later. It seemed that everyone in Junction was there, and Ma and Pa were no exception. It happened to be one of the nights Raedine was late coming for Gracie, which was how it came to be that Gracie and I were there too.

  If I’d been home by myself, I could have stayed alone. But since Gracie was still there, Ma insisted that we go along. She said she was responsible for watching Gracie and there was no way she was leaving her.

  When we got to the Junction Town Hall, it was decided that Gracie and I were to wait in the back of the truck while my folks went into the meeting. Pa predicted that it wouldn’t last more than half an hour at the most, an opinion Ma didn’t share, judging by the look she gave him. We were strictly warned not to go anywhere near the building. Apparently, this was not a matter for children to concern themselves with.

  They might as well have told us to get as close as possible. We waited only until cars and trucks had stopped arriving and everyone had gone inside. Then, we crept over to the side of the hall and crouched under a window near the platform end of the room, hoping to hear enough to find out what was going on.

  The first ten minutes or so were taken up by Mayor Anstruther talking, his voice rising and falling in a rhythm I’d heard before at public gatherings. It was neither loud nor clear enough for us to make out any actual words, and we had a whispered exchange about going back to the truck, where we could at least move around and talk out loud.

  We were on the verge of leaving when a scraping sound right over our heads made us freeze in place, hearts pounding at the thought of discovery. As we sat, as still as stones, the sound was repeated several more times, although not as nearby.

  It only took us a few seconds to realize the sound had been that of windows being pulled open—beginning with the one right above us. Almost immediately we heard “that’s much better,” and “a body can hardly breathe in this crowd,” and such.

  We’d just been given access to everything that was going on inside, and we could hardly suppress our glee. It was as if one of the secret missions we dreamed up in the Circle of Truth and carried out skulking around the fields, spying on farmers, had turned into a sort of reality. We’d been forbidden to listen, and yet there we were, about to take it all in.

  The mayor was wrapping up by then, ending with a little campaigning as he finished his spiel. Then he said he was calling on Alvin Dempsey, who would speak on behalf of a newly formed Citizens’ Committee. Mr. Dempsey must have been close to the front, because his voice boomed out a second later.

  “I guess we all know why we’re here tonight. A situation has developed at the school, and it needs righting at once.”

  As s
oon as I heard him mention the school I knew we shouldn’t be there, under that window, listening. I knew my pa had been right, and whatever was going to be said wasn’t something we ought to be hearing.

  I said as much to Gracie but she wasn’t buying it. Like me, she’d understood immediately that they were all gathered there to talk about the painted desk.

  And so we stayed and listened. The way they were talking, you’d have thought that Miss Prutko had put Gracie on a golden throne and demanded that the other girls curtsey to her when they went by.

  Mr. Dempsey’s speech went on and on. He said that it was outrageous and appalling that someone in a teacher’s position, someone who had been entrusted to set a proper example for her class, could have made such a complete mockery of common decency. It was truly beyond the committee’s comprehension and they would not, could not, tolerate it for one second longer.

  Come what may, Gracie Moor was not to sit at the painted desk ever again.

  Beside me in the growing dark, Gracie offered a small shrug.

  “The Chair recognizes Leah Zecchino.”

  A surprised murmur ran through the crowd at this announcement. Everyone knew Leah was shy and quiet—probably the last person they might have expected to ask for the floor in a meeting.

  By this time it had grown dark enough outside for us to risk peeking in at the corner of the window, so we watched as the pretty young woman made her way forward, turned, and faced the gathered crowd.

  “Hello,” she began, her voice trembling. “I guess you all know me since I grew up hereabouts. And you know I’m not a person who usually has much to say.”

  Nods and murmurs of assent ran through the room.

  “So I imagine you’re surprised to see me standing here and you’re probably wondering what could make me want to get up in front of a roomful of people.

  “Like I said, I grew up here, and I went to that very school where Miss Prutko is teaching this year. I went there and so did my brothers...and my cousins.”

  There was a pause during which Leah slowly scanned the crowd. “I guess most of you remember my cousin Eliza and her family, even though they moved east going on ten years ago.”

  People were starting to look at the floor. Leah took a tiny step forward, her face pale and earnest. “My cousin Eliza Price sat in that schoolhouse every day from grade one to five. She sat there with her cleft palate and a tongue that didn’t quite stay in her mouth. She wasn’t so pretty to look at—but she didn’t ask to be born that way, did she?

  “For five years Eliza was made fun of by the other children and no one did one single thing about it. It was as though it was all right to treat her unkindly because she had that deformity. That was her childhood from the time she was six until she was eleven. Sitting in that schoolhouse, taking in all the meanness and hurt…until the day of the tragedy. You all know what happened. And then she never sat in that classroom again.

  “This business about the desk has had me thinking about Eliza for the past while. Eliza didn’t ask to be born with a cleft palate any more than Gracie Moor asked to be born in her situation. I can’t help thinking that maybe if someone had shown my cousin some kindness, the way Miss Prutko is doing with Gracie, then things might have turned out differently for Eliza too.

  “So I’m standing up here to ask you to remember Eliza… and to look in your hearts. Please don’t make another little girl feel like an outcast when she hasn’t done anything to deserve it. And that’s all I have to say.”

  We watched as Leah made her way to the back of the room and sat down.

  “What happened to Eliza?” Gracie whispered.

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I never heard of her before.”

  Leah Zecchino’s brave speech had changed the feeling in the room. Even from outside the window we could feel the anger and meanness lifting. For a few moments it seemed that maybe everything was going to be all right. And then Alvin Dempsey was on his feet again, his face flushed.

  “What about our girls and the way they’re being made feel, to see this, this other girl treated better than the rest of them, and her coming from such a low situation? Is this Moor creature to be raised above our own daughters?”

  And from there, it was only a matter of a few moments before the crowd’s opinion had shifted back. Only this time, they were talking as if they only cared about doing what was fair to all the girls, and even the people who’d been on Gracie’s side at the start couldn’t find anything to argue about.

  A motion was made and passed that Miss Prutko would be told there was to be no further favouritism shown to Gracie, and that all the girls should be given a fair turn at sitting in the special desk. After a little more talk, they also decided that Gracie’s turn had been long enough already, and so she wasn’t to be allowed to sit at the special desk again for the rest of the school year.

  It wasn’t until then that I realized Miss Prutko hadn’t been at the meeting. I wondered why, since it was all about something she’d done. And somehow, I knew she hadn’t been invited.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gracie was subdued on the drive home that night, but the next morning when she joined me at the bus stop the spark was back.

  “They’ll all know, won’t they?” Before I could answer, she turned to face me, her eyes blazing. “I bet they can hardly wait to see me get kicked out of that seat. Well, they’re not going to see it.”

  I wondered how she meant to avoid it, but when the bell rang I saw that her plan was simple. She just stood and waited at the back of the room until Miss Prutko looked up from her desk. She seemed surprised to find Gracie there.

  “Take your seat, please, Gracie,” she said, nodding toward the painted desk.

  Gracie made her way there warily, taking slow, uncertain steps. I think she was expecting Miss Prutko to realize her mistake at any second and tell her to stop.

  An indignant buzz rose from the other girls and I knew Gracie had been right—they’d all heard about the outcome of the meeting.

  “What’s all the noise about?” Miss Prutko asked. No one answered.

  At recess, skipping ropes and hopscotch squares were ignored while the schoolyard buzzed with the indignation of the other girls. Before long, they’d decided among themselves that the newly formed Citizens’ Committee must not have been able to reach Miss Prutko the night before. Everyone was absolutely certain that the new rules would be put in place the next day. But the next day came, and the day after, and still Gracie sat at the special desk.

  The rest of the week went by. By the following Tuesday, Gracie and I had decided that somehow it had all blown over. We thought that perhaps Miss Prutko had changed the committee’s mind.

  But on the following Monday when we arrived at school, Miss Prutko wasn’t there. Instead, the former schoolmistress, Mrs. Drillon, was at the front of the classroom. She had been the teacher before Miss Prutko, and some of the students had heard unpleasant stories about her from their older siblings.

  Mrs. Drillon’s harsh voice instructed us to take our seats and be quiet, a dual command we lost no time in obeying. I watched Gracie slide into her place, and I could see by the way her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were downcast that she was expecting what came next.

  “Gracie Moor,” Mrs. Drillon called. “Remove your books from that desk and go stand at the back of the room. Evelyn Hamm, you will move your things to the desk Gracie was occupying.”

  Evelyn made her way to the white desk, smirking at Gracie on the way. Gracie continued to stand at the back of the room, holding her books, while Mrs. Drillon told us that Miss Prutko had quit her job and would not be returning.

  “I will be filling in until a suitable replacement can be found,” she told us, “and I run a tight ship, make no mistake about it!” She then launched into the day’s lessons, barking out assignments and assuring us we were all lazy and dull-witted when we didn’t keep up to the speed she demanded.

  “It seems you’ve been taught no
thing in either lessons or conduct,” she told us at one point. “Well, I’ll soon have things back in shape, you can depend on it.”

  Even though Mrs. Drillon had moved Evelyn to the special desk, it seemed that she had somehow forgotten all about Gracie, who remained standing silently through the first half of the morning. But when recess came Gracie turned toward the door and Mrs. Drillon stopped her at once.

  “Miss Moor! You were not told to leave. You will stay right there until you’re told otherwise.”

  Except for lunchtime, when she grudgingly allowed Gracie to eat her sandwich and go to the outhouse, Mrs. Drillon had her stand at the back of the room for the entire day. I tried to send her encouraging looks until Mrs. Drillon’s sharp eye caught me.

  “Luke Haliwell.” The tone of her voice as she said my name sent a chill through me.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I believe we’re all aware that you and Gracie Moor are special friends.” Titters of nervous laughter started up and died down almost instantly as a yardstick slapped against the desk. “I suppose that her mother is special friends with your mother, too—or perhaps with your father?”

  More snickers broke out at this but were quickly brought in check.

  “Be that as it may, I will not, do you understand me, not tolerate inattentiveness in my classroom. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now, come here. I have something that will help you remember.” As she said this, she stepped back and lifted the strap from its hanging place.

  My only previous experience with the strap had been that single time over the argument with Patty Dempsey. As I stood with my hand out, facing Mrs. Drillon, I reminded myself that it hadn’t hurt very much at all. Even though it was embarrassing I stepped forward without any real sense of dread.

  The shock of the first whack forced a cry from me. The pain was horrible and my hand instantly felt as though it was on fire. Without thinking, I pulled it away. I cringed as she shouted, “PUT YOUR HAND BACK OUT!”