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Authors: Orson Scott Card

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BOOK: Prentice Alvin: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume III
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“For your help for Miss Lamer,” said Dr. Physicker. Then Po gee-ed the horses again and they went on, leaving Alvin to chew on the dust in the road.
He felt the weight of the coin in his hand, and for a moment he wanted to throw it after the carriage. But that wouldn’t do no good at all. No, he’d give it back to Physicker some other time, in some way that wouldn’t get nobody riled up. But still it hurt, it stung deep, to be paid for helping a lady, like as if he was a servant or a child or something. And what hurt worst was wondering if maybe it was her idea to pay him. As if she thought he had earned a quarter-day’s wages when he fought for her honor. It was sure that if he’d been wearing a coat and cravat instead of one filthy shirt, she’d have thought he done the service due a lady from any Christian gentleman, and she’d know she owed him gratitude instead of payment.
Payment. The coin burned in his hand. Why, for a few minutes there he’d almost thought she liked him. Almost he had hoped that maybe she’d agree to teach him, to help him work out some understanding of how the world works, of what he could do to be a true Maker and tame the Unmaker’s terrible power. But now that it was plain she despised him. how could he even ask? How could he even pretend to be worthy of teaching, when he knew that all she saw about him was filth and blood and stupid poverty? She knew he meant well, but he was still a brute in her eyes, like she said first off. It was still in her heart. Brutality.
Miss Larner. That’s what the doctor called her. He tasted the name as he said it. Dust in his mouth. You don’t take animals to school.
Teacher
Miss LARNER HAD no intention of giving an inch to these people. She had heard enough horror stories about frontier school boards to know that they would try to get out of keeping most of the promises they made in their letters. It was beginning already.
“In your letters you represented to me that I would have a residence provided as part of my salary. I do not regard an inn as a private residence.”
“You’ll have you own private room,” said Dr. Physicker.
“And take all my meals at a common table? This is not acceptable. If I stay, I will be spending all my days in the company of the children of this town, and when that day’s work is over, I expect to be able to prepare my own meals in private and eat them in solitude, and then spend the evening in the company of books, without distraction or annoyance. That is not possible in a roadhouse, gentlemen, and so a room in a roadhouse does
not
constitute a private residence.”
She could see them sizing her up. Some were abashed by the mere precision of her speech—she knew perfectly well that country
lawyers put on airs in their own towns, but they were no match for someone of real education. The only real trouble was going to come from the sheriff, Pauley Wiseman. How absurd, for a grown man still to use a child’s nickname.
“Now see here, young lady,” said the sheriff.
She raised an eyebrow. It was typical of such a man that, even though Miss Larner seemed to be on the greying side of forty, he would assume that her unmarried status gave him the right to call her “young lady,” as one addresses a recalcitrant girlchild.
“What is ‘here’ that I am failing to see?”
“Well, Horace and Peg Guester
did
plan to offer you a small house off by yourself, but we said no to it, plain and simple, we said no to them, and we say no to you.”
“Very well, then. I see that you do not, after all, intend to keep your word to me. Fortunately, gentlemen, I am not a common schoolteacher, grateful to take whatever is offered. I had a good position at the Penn School, and I assure you that I can return there at will. Good day.”
She rose to her feet. So did all the men except the sheriff—but they weren’t rising out of courtesy.
“Please.”
“Sit down.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
“Don’t be hasty.”
It was Dr. Physicker, the perfect conciliator, who took the floor now, after giving the sheriff a steady look to quell him. The sheriff, however, did not seem particularly quelled.
“Miss Larner, our decision on the private house was not an irrevocable one. But please consider the problems that worried us. First, we were concerned that the house would not be suitable. It’s not really a house at all, but a mere room, made out of an abandoned springhouse—”
The old springhouse. “Is it heated?”
“Yes.”
“Has it windows? A door that can be secured? A bed and table and chair?”
“All of that, yes.”
“Has it a wooden floor?”
“A nice one.”
“Then I doubt that its former service as a springhouse will bother me. Had you any other objections?”
“We damn well do!” cried Sheriff Wiseman. Then, seeing the horrified looks around the room, he added. “Begging the lady’s pardon for my rough language.”
“I am interested in hearing those objections,” said Miss Larner.
“A woman alone, in a solitary house in the woods! It ain’t proper!”
“It is the word
ain’t
which is not proper, Mr. Wiseman,” said Miss Larner. “As to the propriety of my living in a house to myself, I assure you that I have done so for many years, and have managed to pass that entire time quite unmolested. Is there another house within hailing distance?”
“The roadhouse to one side and the smith’s place to the other,” said Dr. Physicker.
“Then if I am under some duress or provocation. I can assure you that I will make myself heard, and I expect those who hear will come to my aid. Or are you afraid, Mr. Wiseman, that I may enter into some improper activity
voluntarily
?”
Of course that was exactly what he was thinking, and his reddening face showed it.
“I believe you have adequate references concerning my moral character,” said Miss Larner. “But if you have any doubts on that score, it would be better for me to return to Philadelphia at once, for if at my age I cannot be trusted to live an upright life without supervision, how can you possibly trust me to supervise your young children?”
“It just ain’t decent!” cried the sheriff. “Aren’t.”
“Isn’t.” She smiled benignly at Pauley Wiseman. “It has been my experience, Mr. Wiseman, that when a person assumes that others are eager to commit indecent acts whenever given the opportunity, he is merely confessing his own private struggle.”
Pauley Wiseman didn’t understand that she had just accused him,
not until several of the lawyers started in laughing behind their hands.
“As I see it, gentlemen of the school board, you have only two alternatives. First, you can pay my boat passage back to Dekane and my overland passage to Philadelphia, plus the salary for the month that I will have expended in traveling.”
“If you don’t teach, you get no salary,” said the sheriff.
“You speak hastily, Mr. Wiseman,” said Miss Larner. “I believe the lawyers present will inform you that the school board’s letters constitute a contract, of which you are in breach, and that I would therefore be entitled to collect, not just a month’s salary, but the entire year’s.”
“Well, that’s not
certain,
Miss Larner,” began one of the lawyers.
“Hio is one of the United States now, sir,” she answered, “and there is ample precedent in other state courts, precedent which is binding until and unless the government of Hio makes specific legislation to the contrary.”
“Is she a schoolteacher or a lawyer?” asked another lawyer, and they all laughed.
“Your second alternative is to allow me to inspect this—this springhouse—and determine whether I find it acceptable, and if I do, to allow me to live there. If you ever find me engaging in morally reprehensible behavior, it is within the terms of our contract that you may discharge me forthwith.”
“We can put you
in jail,
that’s what we can do,” said Wiseman.
“Why, Mr. Wiseman, aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves, talking of jail when I have yet to select which morally hideous act I shall perform?”
“Shut up, Pauley,” said one of the lawyers.
“Which alternative do you choose, gentlemen?” she asked.
Dr. Physicker was not about to let Pauley Wiseman have at the more weak-willed members of the board. He’d see to it there was no further debate. “We don’t need to retire to consider this, do we, gentlemen? We may not be Quakers here in Hatrack River, so we aren’t used to thinking of ladies as wanting to live by themselves
and engage in business and preach and whatnot. but we’re open-minded and willing to learn new ways. We want your services, and we’ll keep to the contract. All in favor?”
“Aye.”
“Opposed? The ayes have it.”
“Nay,” said Wiseman.
“The voting’s over, Pauley.”
“You called it too damn fast!”
“Your negative vote has been recorded. Pauley.”
Miss Larner smiled coldly. “You may be sure
I
won’t forget it, Sheriff Wiseman.”
Dr. Physicker tapped the table with his gavel. “This meeting is adjourned until next Tuesday afternoon at three. And now, Miss Larner, I’d be delighted to escort you to the Guesters’ springhouse, if this is a convenient hour. Not knowing when you would arrive, they have given me the key and asked me to open the cottage for you; they’ll greet you later.”
Miss Larner was aware, as they all were, that it was odd, to say the least, for the landlord not to greet his guest in person.
“You see, Miss Learner, it wasn’t certain whether you’d accept the cottage. They wanted you to make your decision when you saw the place—and not in their presence, lest you feel embarrassed to decline it.”
“Then they have acted graciously,” said Miss Larner, “and I will thank them when I meet them.”
 
It was humiliating, Old Peg having to walk out to the springhouse all by herself to plead with this stuck-up snooty old Philadelphia spinster. Horace ought to be going out there with her. Talk man to man with her—that’s what this woman seemed to think she was, not a lady but a lord. Might as well come from Camelot, she might, thinks she’s a princess giving orders to the common folk. Well, they took care of it in France. old Napoleon did, put old Louis the Seventeenth right in his place. But lordly women like this teacher lady, Miss Larner, they never got their comeuppance, just went on
through life thinking folks what didn’t talk perfect was too low to take much account of.
So where was Horace, to put this teacher lady in her place? Setting by the fire. Pouting. Just like a four-year-old. Even Arthur Stuart never got such a pout on him.
“I don’t like her,” says Horace.
“Well like her or not, if Arthur’s to get an education it’s going to be from her or nobody,” says Old Peg, talking plain sense as usual, but does Horace listen? I should laugh.
“She can live there and she can teach Arthur if she pleases, or not if she don’t please, but I don’t like her and I don’t think she belongs in that springhouse.”
“Why, is it holy ground?” says Old Peg. “Is there some curse on it? Should we have built a palace for her royal highness?” Oh, when Horace gets a notion on him it’s no use talking, so why did she keep on trying?
“None of that, Peg,” said Horace.
“Then what? Or don’t you need reasons anymore? Do you just decide and then other folks better make way?”
“Because it’s Little Peggy’s place, that’s why, and I don’t like having that benoctious woman living there!”
Wouldn’t you know? It was just like Horace, to bring up their runaway daughter, the one who never so much as wrote to them once she ran away, leaving Hatrack River without a torch and Horace without the love of his life. Yes ma’am, that’s what Little Peggy was to him, the love of his life. If I ran off, Horace, or, God forbid, if I died, would you treasure my memory and not let no other woman take my place? I reckon not. I reckon there wouldn’t be time for my spot on the sheet to get cold afore you’d have some other woman lying there. Me you could replace in a hot minute, but Little Peggy, we have to treat the springhouse as a
shrine
and make me come out here all by myself to face this high-falutin old maid and beg her to teach a little black child. Why, I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t try to buy him from me.
Miss Larner took her time about answering the door, too, and
when she did, she had a handkerchief to her face—probably a perfumed one, so she wouldn’t have to smell the odor of honest country folks.
“If you don’t mind I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to discuss with you,” said Old Peg.
Miss Larner looked away, off over Old Peg’s head, as if studying some bird in a far-off tree. “If it’s about the school, I was told I’d have a week to prepare before we actually registered students and began the autumn session.”
From down below, Old Peg could hear the
ching-ching-ching
of one of the smiths a-working at the forge. Against her will she couldn’t help thinking of Little Peggy, who purely hated that sound. Maybe Horace was right in his foolishness. Maybe Little Peggy haunted this springhouse.
Still, it was Miss Larner standing in the doorway now, and Miss Larner that Old Peg had to deal with. “Miss Larner, I’m Margaret Guester. My husband and I own this springhouse.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon. You’re my landlady, and I’m being ungracious. Please come in.”
That was a bit more like it. Old Peg stepped up through the open door and stood there a moment to take in the room. Only yesterday it had seemed bare but clean, a place full of promise. Now it was almost homey, what with a doily and a dozen books on the armoire, a small woven rug on the floor, and two dresses hanging from hooks on the wall. The trunks and bags filled a corner. It looked a bit like somebody lived there. Old Peg didn’t know what she’d expected. Of course Miss Larner had more dresses than this dark traveling outfit. It’s just Old Peg hadn’t thought of her doing something so ordinary as changing clothes. Why, when she’s got one dress off and before she puts on another, she probably stands there in her underwear, just like anybody.
“Do sit down, Mrs. Guester.”
“Around here we ain’t much with Mr. and Mrs., except them lawyers, Miss Larner. I’m Goody Guester, mostly, except when folks call me Old Peg.”
“Old Peg. What a—what an interesting name.”
She thought of spelling out why she was called “Old” Peg—how she had a daughter what run off, that sort of thing. But it was going to be hard enough to explain to this teacher lady how she come to have a Black son. Why make her family life seem even more strange?
BOOK: Prentice Alvin: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume III
13.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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