Ghost Girl (12 page)

Turning my attention back to my meal, I fell silent. I didn’t know what else to say. Perplexed, confused, and more than a little disconcerted by Jadie, I had no idea how to interpret what I was encountering. I didn’t really know even how to put it into words.

Three weeks remained until the end of the school year, and final arrangements were getting under way. All four children were due to return to the class in the autumn, so my job was greatly simplified in comparison with other years. All I needed to concern myself with was arrangements for the summer vacation.

Reuben was spending the summer in Los Angeles, where he would be part of a program for autistic children that emphasized a strong behavioral approach. One of his nannies was going along to stay with him, and his mother had arranged to go down herself for one week a month. Both parents were very excited about this newest venture and had come into the last parent conference clutching brochures and booklets outlining the program’s goals. While we had made steady, albeit very slow, progress with Reuben through the five months I’d been at the school, mine had not been a heavily behavioral approach, although I was well trained in the technique. I wasn’t fully convinced this summer program was going to make much difference in Reuben’s situation, but it sounded more beneficial than not, and his parents were so keen that I wished them well and promised to follow through in the fall if they found behaviorism the answer to Reuben’s problems.

Philip was going off to a camp for handicapped children. It was a local camp, run by one of the men’s benevolent organizations in Falls River and lasted for only two weeks. I liked the idea very much, however. Most of the children involved were severely handicapped, and all were assigned their own individual counselor, most of whom were college-aged boys. Philip would be one of the less seriously afflicted children, and this, I hoped, in combination with his engaging personality, would give him a chance to be popular and competent, experiences Philip richly deserved to enjoy.

Jeremiah had been difficult to plan for. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t left to his own devices the entire summer, because he was reaching the age where he could get up to serious mischief. We’d made a lot of progress, he and I, but it all depended on tight structure and a firm hand—things Jeremiah didn’t regularly experience at home. All I could come up with was a six-week summer school program for low achievers in Falls River. This meant a long bus journey back and forth, and Jeremiah was not an ideal bus passenger. In addition, the program was not precisely geared to his needs, but it was the best we could manage. I also arranged for him to be taken into the Boys’ Club on the nearby reservation for one day a week to provide additional structure.

This left Jadie. As with Jeremiah, I felt a strong need to see Jadie in some kind of structured setting for part of the summer, but I had a much harder time finding something. There were no school programs in Pecking whatsoever, and Jadie wasn’t behind in her schoolwork anyway. Thus, there was no justification for putting her into the same summer school class as Jeremiah. The only options left were a once-a-week arts-and-crafts program in the local park and two weeks at the Methodist Church camp.

“We’re not Methodists,” Jadie’s father said to me when I brought up the possibility of sending Jadie to camp.

“No, I realize that, but I’ve had a talk with the minister down at the church on Sixth Street, and he says their program is very ecumenical. Since it’s the only camp in this part of the state, they’re quite accustomed to taking children from other churches. A lot of the local children go.”

Mr. Ekdahl frowned. “We’re not what you’d call atheists, but we’re not believers. I just don’t believe in chucking all that Jesus crap down a little kid’s throat. We’re trying to raise Jade and Amber to have open minds, to have respect for all living things, not just the white-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant garbage. I want them to grow up able to decide for themselves what they believe.”

“I was thinking less about the religious side and more about the benefits of Jadie’s being able to spend time with other children and have fun in a natural environment.”

“Jade’ll have plenty of fun at home with her sisters,” Mr. Ekdahl replied.

Mrs. Ekdahl spoke up then. Previously, she had been sitting silently beside her husband. Sapphire in her arms, but now she leaned forward. “Jadie’s too young for something like that.”

“She’s eight and a half. While that does mean she’ll be in the younger group, there’ll be plenty of other girls that age at the camp.”

“But how would she cope?” Mrs. Ekdahl’s voice sounded plaintive. “She’s never done anything like that before.”

“Would this be her first time away alone?” I asked. “Has she ever stayed overnight with friends or with relatives?”

“Oh, no. We’ve never left the girls.”

I looked at her.

“They’re
our
girls,” Mrs. Ekdahl said. “I wouldn’t trust them with strangers. What if something happened? What if they needed their mama? We never even leave them with a babysitter.”

Incredulously, I looked at her. “
Never?
”

“No. Why would we want to? I think it’s plain terrible the way some folks go off and leave their children. Why bother having them, if you’re going to dump them on somebody else?”

“But you’ve
never
left any of your children with
anybody?
For
any
length of time?”

“No,” she replied straightforwardly, and I could sense this pleased her. “Why should I want to get rid of them?”

“So you see, don’t you,” Mr. Ekdahl put in, “that this is why we couldn’t possibly send Jadie to camp.”

During most of my years of teaching, I had celebrated the final day of school with a picnic. When the day approached, I suggested this to Mr. Tinbergen. There was only one park in Pecking, and it was quite a way from the school, but I thought that as a special treat, perhaps we could go there. Mr. Tinbergen and the other teachers discussed the idea, and in the end, we all decided to have the picnic right on the school grounds. While there was a sizable asphalt playground, a much larger field of grass extended away from the back of the school, and we could move folding tables out, Mr. Tinbergen said, bring in a couple of barbecues, and have a proper picnic right here where there’d be no need to haul things around nor to rush back for buses.

My class’s contribution to this festive occasion was to make a cake; so on the penultimate day, I took the children down to the teachers’ lounge, where we mixed up the batter. This proved to be a challenging, somewhat raucous experience, as none of the children had experienced cooking firsthand, other than the few attempts we’d made over the past few months, and we’d never tackled anything on the order of a cake. Making matters more difficult was the fact that we needed to make a very large sheet cake, and the oven wasn’t large enough to take it all in one go. Consequently, we spent the afternoon with a bowl of icing and four smaller cakes, “cutting and pasting” them into one grand one.

Jeremiah put the record player on to give us music while we worked. Reuben and Philip had to be constantly distracted from eating the cake and icing there and then, and even as it was, we needed to make up a second batch of icing, since we’d “tasted” the first so often there was insufficient left to cover the cake. Then, with an unexpected burst of creativity, Jeremiah, who could normally not keep his mind on anything for more than a few minutes, sorted a bag of jelly beans out into separate colors and carefully laid them across the white icing on the cake in the shape of a rainbow. It proved a marvelously effective design in its simplicity, and we all paused upon seeing it, momentarily overcome by its beauty.

Even Jeremiah was surprised by his success. Stepping back, he regarded the cake in stunned silence. “I done good, huh?” he murmured incredulously.

“It’s gorgeous,” I replied.

“I wish my mom could see this. I wish she could know I done good.”

“I’ve brought my camera in to use at the picnic,” I said. “Shall we take a picture of the cake now?”

This idea was greeted cheerfully by the boys, and I went to get my camera. When I returned, they were all jockeying for a position behind the cake.

“Come on, you too, Jadie,” I said. “We’ll make it a class picture.”

She stood apart.

“Come on.”

She shook her head.

“You can stand beside Jeremiah. You helped mix the batter, so it’s your cake too.”

“No,” she replied.

“No?”

“I don’t want my picture taken.”

“Come on. We’ve never had a class picture. The school photographer came before I was in the class, so I don’t have anything to remember this year by. Let’s take one now. To commemorate our cake and the good times we’ve had this spring.”

“I don’t want my picture taken,” she said again. The boys were losing patience. Coming around from behind the table, Jeremiah grabbed hold of Jadie and yanked her into place. “Don’t be such a boog, girlie-wurlie.”

“Okay, smile, you guys.” I focused the camera. All three boys produced wide, toothy grins. Jadie scowled.

I paused a moment to see if Jadie was going to get in the mood, but nothing materialized. “Jade, can you find a smile?”

“You can’t see her anyway, the way she always bends over like that,” Jeremiah said. “If she smiled, it’d just be at the ground, so you might as well take the picture. Jadie’s here and that’s good enough. Her smile don’t count.”

T
he last day of school. Mr. O’Banyon and Mr. Tinbergen set up long folding tables on the grass at the far end of the playing field. The smell of the barbecues came wafting in through our wide-open windows as we finished the last few details of the old year. There was still a poignancy for me in inventorying the supplies and taping shut the cupboards. The last day of school had always proved a more significant year’s end to me than December thirty-first, and I was always filled with the same type of reflective thought. However, this year wasn’t quite so sad, as all of us would be returning in the fall, so it was easy, too, to catch the festive spirit of the day.

When everything was finally done and we spilled out onto the playground at lunchtime, we found all the picnic things laid out and Mr. Tinbergen throwing wieners onto the grill. Lucy and I wrestled ice cream cartons from the cooler while the other teachers distributed paper plates and napkins.

It was a gorgeous June day, sunny, almost hot, the ideal sort for a picnic. When the hot dogs were ready, I rounded my four up and passed them plates. Lining up behind Lucy’s children, we helped ourselves to potato chips, baked beans, and cans of pop before retiring to a far corner under the shade of a giant sycamore tree.

“Hey, look at me!”

I looked up to see Jeremiah swarming along one of the low, spreading branches of the tree.

“I’m going to eat my lunch up here. Gimme my plate.”

“Magic word?” I inquired, as I handed Jeremiah’s food up to him.

“Look! See what Reuben’s doing!” he shrieked in response.

My back had been turned just long enough for Reuben to grab one of the squeezable catsup bottles and begin decorating the grass. Twirling around and swooping, I snatched up the catsup bottle too tightly and it spurted out in a crimson stream. Everyone laughed, even Jadie.

After lunch, we joined in the games. Jeremiah refused to play Drop the Hanky or Simple Simon, since those were “baby games,” and demanded to be let off to go play kick ball with the bigger boys. This lasted only a few minutes, as he couldn’t bear not being chosen first. In the end, Jeremiah swarmed up the monkey bars and played noisily at being He-Man all by himself. Reuben and Philip entertained themselves in the sandbox, and Jadie drifted aimlessly about.

“You want to help me?” I called to Jadie as she wandered by. “It won’t be long before going-home time, and we need to carry all these things back inside again.”

Jadie nodded and came over. I stacked dirty paper plates and cups together and shoved them into a garbage bag.

Just in the midst of all this, Reuben came running up, clutching the crotch of his pants. “Wee-wee!” he cried urgently.

“All right. Inside. Quickly,” I said and shoved him toward the door. Jadie knotted the garbage bag. “Can you carry that over and put it just inside the door? Mr. O’Banyon will get rid of it in the incinerator after school.”

Jadie nodded and staggered off with the bag.

Jeremiah had managed to persuade Philip to be Battle Cat to his He-Man and was thus leaping lustily on and off Philip’s back, as Philip, on all fours, plowed around in the sandbox. Checking to make sure they were well occupied, I carried the other things we’d brought out back to the classroom.

As I went up the stairs, I could hear Reuben sobbing. Bolting the last few steps, I dumped what was in my arms just inside the room and went in search of him.

“Reub? Reuben, where are you?”

Normally, the children used the boys’ and girls’ rest rooms in the basement; however, there was a toilet for the disabled much nearer our room. The others were not usually allowed to use it, but I let Reuben, as he was inclined to get lost if left to go downstairs on his own. It was just a small, closet-sized room with a toilet and small sink, and because it was for the disabled, it latched for privacy but did not lock.