Free Years by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

on hand before the first of October to see you through till spring.”
    She hadn’t an inkling about the coal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Does Mr. Westgaard supply the coal?”
    “He always has in the past. That’s got to do with an arrangement between him and the school board. They can pay whoever they want to bring in the coal, but it’s my job to seethat the arrangements are made.”
    “Mr. Westgaard is working somewhere in the fields. You might be able to find him and ask him.”
    He made a notation in a ledger he carried, and replied, “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be making my circuit again within two weeks, and I’ll make a note here to remind myself to check on it then. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d remind him about it.”
    She really didn’t want to have to remind Theodore Westgaard about anything, but she nodded and assured Mr. Dahl she’d see to the matter.
    He had brought her supplies: chalk, ink, and a brand-new teacher’s grade book. She held it reverently, running a palm over its hard red cover. As he watched, he saw beyond the frivolous child who’d been daydreaming on the swing when he drove up. He had a feeling about this one: she’d be dedicated.
    “As you know, Miss Brandonberg, school is in session from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, and your duties include building the fire early enough to have the building warm when the children arrive, keeping it clean at all times, doing the necessary shoveling, and becoming an integral part of the community life around you so that you get to know the families whose children you teach. The last you’ll find easiest of all. These are good people. Honest, hard-working. I believe you’ll find them cooperative and helpful. If you’re ever in need of something and can’t reach me fast enough, ask them. I think you’ll find nobody gets as much respect around here as the local teacher.”
    As long as he’s a man, she thought. But, of course, she didn’t say it. They wished each other good-bye, and she watched Mr. Dahl walk back toward his buggy. But before he reached it, she shaded her eyes with one hand and called, “Oh, Mr. Dahl?”
    “Yes?” He paused and turned.
    “What happened to those teachers and students who ran out of fuel during the Blizzard of ‘88?”
    He gazed at her steadily while the warm September sun beat down upon them benevolently. “Why, don’t you know? Many of them froze to death before help could get to them.”
    A shiver went through her, and she remembered Theodore’s admonition as they’d confronted each other at the train depot.“Teaching school is more than just scratching numbers on a slate, missy! It’s a mile’s walk, and the winters out here are tough!”
    So he hadn’t been just trying to scare her off. His warning held merit. She gazed out across the waving wheat, trying to imagine the high plains denuded of all but snow, the arctic wind whistling out of the northwest, and fourteen children depending upon her for their very lives while they waited for help to come.
    There’d be no solace to be found in fantasy then. She would need to keep her wits sharp and her head calm when and if that ever happened.
    But it was hard to imagine, standing on the steps with the sun warming her hair and the striped gophers playing hide-and-seek in their holes and the meadowlarks singing and the finches feeding on thistle seeds and the grain waving slowly.
    Still, she decided, she’d speak to Theodore immediately about the coal, and to Nissa about storing some emergency rations at the schoolhouse... just in case.

4
    T HERE WERE TIMES when Linnea remembered there was a war, but these were chiefly spawned by irritation or romanticized fantasy. Irritation when she had to do without the things she liked best such as sugar, bread, and roast beef, and romantic fantasy whenever it happened to beckon: soldiers kissing sweethearts good-bye as the train pulled from the station... those