Winter Chill (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

It was noon on Monday, and Marian had spent most of the morning getting her books and papers together.

“Well, I’d better get going.” She put on a cheerful smile for Dan’s benefit. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get the wheelchair, honey? You could move around down here if you weren’t stuck in bed.”

“No!” Dan’s voice was sharp. “I’m fine here in bed, honey. Leave that damn thing in the closet. It just takes up space in here.”

Dan’s face seemed so suddenly vulnerable. Marian tried to understand. The wheelchair represented sickness, disability. It was the symbol of all the things he didn’t want to face. If only Dan could think of it as temporary, he might accept it. He had to believe he wasn’t going to be in a wheelchair forever. Dan needed to keep up his spirits if he wanted to recover.

“I’ll put the phone right here.” Marian plugged in the extension and placed it on the bedside table. “Call the school if you need anything. Mary said she’d send a message to my room right away.”

“Have a good day, honey.”

She turned back, but Dan’s eyes were closed. He’d been silent and thoughtful ever since his walking dream. She wished she could shake him out of his quiet mood, but she had to start for school. It wouldn’t do to be late on her first day back.

Marian felt empty and sad as she picked up her books and papers, and retrieved the car keys. They used to leave together. Dan would warm up the van, and they’d ride together to the school. They would kiss good-bye in the parking lot and meet again for lunch in the faculty dining room. Sometimes they’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home or taken Laura out for a hamburger. Now all that was over. Now she was alone. Marian warmed up the van herself and carried her own books and papers. Life was so very different now.

The brilliant sun glancing off the fresh white snow did nothing to erase Marian’s loneliness. She backed the van out of the garage and turned onto the plowed street, trying not to breathe too heavily until the defroster kicked in. Already the windshield was beginning to cloud on the inside, and she wiped her glove over the surface, melting a space large enough to see through. It was slightly warmer today, but she felt chilled to the bone. It was a cold born of loneliness, and she hoped going back to work would help. At least the kids in her class would be glad to see her.

“Yes, Jenny?” Marian had purposely dressed in a bright yellow pantsuit this afternoon. She wanted to appear as cheerful and normal as possible. Her second-grade students were bound to be uncomfortable, and it was up to her to reassure them. She gave Jenny Powell an encouraging smile as the tiny redhead raised her hand. Jenny got quickly to her feet and cleared her throat.

“Uh . . . Mrs. Larsen . . . well, the whole class wants you to know how sorry we are about the accident, and if there’s anything we can do to help you, all you have to do is ask.”

Jenny got to the end of her obviously prepared speech and sighed dramatically. “My mom wrote that for us, and I practiced last night. I feel so awful, Mrs. Larsen, and so do the rest of the kids. We really loved Laura, and it just isn’t fair!”

“Thank you, Jenny.” Marian swallowed hard. “That was very sweet, and thank your mother for her help. Actually, I think the best thing you can do to help me right now is to take recess five minutes early. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

“No, ma’am, Mrs. Larsen!” Ricky Owens spoke up from the back of the room. “Can we stay out until the regular bell? Then us guys could play King of the Mountain!”

Marian winced at his grammar, but she nodded. “Until the regular bell. Now button up those coats. It’s cold out there.”

Two minutes later it looked as though a tornado had swept through the second-grade classroom. Marian picked up a forgotten textbook and placed it neatly on top of a desk. Then she took a deep breath and headed for the teachers’ lounge. No doubt they’d all be wondering how she was doing her first day back at work.

“Do you think we should say anything?” Midge Carlson’s voice carried clearly out to the hall.

“It might be easier if we just acted the same as always,” Edith Peters, the music teacher, chimed in.

“Let’s play it by ear.” Sally was speaking now. “We’ll take our cue from Marian.”

A ghost of a smile touched Marian’s lips. They were worried about her. She’d have to set them at ease immediately, or there would be more than a few uncomfortable moments.

“No, you shouldn’t say anything.” Marian opened the door to the teachers’ lounge and walked in. “And I wish you would act the way you always do . . . especially if someone made coffee.”

“Oh, Marian!” Edith looked embarrassed. “We didn’t expect you so soon. We just didn’t know the best way to—”

“I know.” Marian smiled at the assembled group. “I’ll be sure to call out for help if I need it, so don’t worry about that. Right now I’m more interested in having a cup of this terrible coffee than anything else. Is it left over from last Friday?”

“I made it fresh this morning.” Edith hurried to pour. “Have a couple of cups, Marian. Consider it your civic duty. If someone doesn’t drink it, we’ll have it again tomorrow.”

For just a moment, with her hand on her coffee cup, Marian considered telling her friends how she really felt. She could say she was alienated, stuck in a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. It had started with Laura’s desk, the front desk in the second row. It was so empty now. She kept glancing at it, knowing that she should move another child to Laura’s place, but somehow she couldn’t. No one could take Laura’s place. Then there were the papers, the best artwork displayed on the bulletin board, with Laura’s picture among them. And the roll book, with Laura’s name in black ink. An efficient teacher would reassign Laura’s seat, file away her artwork, erase her name from the roll book. But how could she wipe out all traces of her baby when Laura was still so alive in her heart? If there was nothing left of Laura in her classroom, would the wonderful memories die, as well?

Marian wanted to confide in her friends, tell them how frightened and alone she felt, but of course, she couldn’t do that. Oh, they would be sympathetic to poor, poor Marian, but not one of them, not even Sally, would really understand.

She was quiet for a moment, and the conversation went on without her. They were talking about the Christmas program now. That was safe. Marian joined in gladly. Her class was scheduled to sing three carols. She would hold a practice right after recess.

“There goes the bell.” Marian rinsed out her cup and set it to drain on the small sink. “I promised to get the children started on their Christmas presents today. I guess we’ll make candles this year.”

She paused for a moment just outside the door. They were talking about her again, saying how brave she was, how well she managed. Marian smiled to herself as she walked up the hall, high heels clicking against the old, wooden floor. They hadn’t guessed she was playing a part. No one knew the truth. Now all she had to do was never let anyone know how desperate she really felt.

 

 

For once, the faculty meeting started on time. Marian pulled out her notepad and pen, prepared to write down any schedule changes for the holiday season. There was a murmuring as the principal walked in and took his place at the lectern in the front of the library. Harvey Woodruff was a small man, dressed in a traditional brown suit, an ever-present white carnation in his lapel. He was a picture of frustrated authority as he cleared his throat and banged the small, wooden gavel on the stand for attention.

“Worse than the senior study hall.” He paused for a moment and smiled at the predictable burst of laughter. “Now that I have your attention, the December all-school faculty meeting will come to order. The secretary will read the minutes of the November meeting.”

As Miss Pepin, the home economics teacher, droned on in her colorless voice, Marian found herself staring out the window at the playground, absently noting the “angels” the younger children had made. She remembered making an angel with Laura last winter, helping her fall backward in the fresh snow, laughing as she swept her arms and legs out in arcs, and lifting her carefully to her feet to see the wings and gown she had made.

“Marian?”

She came out of her reverie with a start. Harvey was calling her name. “We’d like a report on how Dan is doing, Marian. Mrs. Baltar says she got at least a dozen calls last week from concerned parents.”

Marian stood up and nodded at the twenty-five faces turned her way. “Dr. Hinkley says there’s been no change in his condition as yet, but he’s very hopeful. Dan is in good spirits and sends his regards. He misses all of you.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to miss us for long!” Drew Burns stood up. “Tell Dan his hockey team is suffering from a lack of expert attention and they’ve written up a petition for him to come back. They say they don’t care if he can get out on the ice with them or not. They’ll rig up some way to get him out to the rink and back, if he’ll just be there for practice. Those kids miss him, Marian. Try to convince Dan that it’s his duty to come back right away.”

“That’s my feeling exactly.” Harvey nodded. “Dan could certainly handle his history classes, and we’d work out something for hockey practice. The important thing is to keep up morale. The state championship is only eight weeks away, and we’ve got a good crack at it if Dan comes back. Do you think he’s well enough, Marian? We’d make every concession possible.”

“I’ll ask Dr. Hinkley.” Marian nodded. “Yes . . . I’m sure Dan could handle it if everyone cooperated. It might be a good idea to send over some of the boys from the team to talk to him. If he knows they need him, it might help.”

“It’s as good as done.” Drew was grinning, and Marian smiled back. Drew would be relieved to have the hockey team off his back. The basketball championships were coming up too, and Drew had his hands full with his own department.

“That’s it, group.” Harvey Woodruff dismissed them. “Only two weeks until Christmas vacation. And let’s watch the tree lights this year. Last year’s power bill was definitely out of line.”

“Do you think Dan’ll come back right away?” Edith picked up her stack of papers and walked with Marian to the door. “I think getting right back to work is the best medicine. Look what it did for you. You’re amazing, Marian. I always knew you were a tower of strength.”

“Thank you, Edith.” Marian put on a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. She just hoped Dan wouldn’t feel everyone was pressuring him. He had a kind of stubborn pride. She knew he’d never go back to work if he thought he couldn’t do the job. And then he’d turn bitter and disillusioned if he stayed cooped up in the house day after day with nothing to do but watch television. Somehow she had to convince him to go back to work. It was the only solution.

As she stepped out into the icy twilight, Marian drew in her breath sharply. Fear, deeply hidden in the depths of her mind, came crashing to the surface. What if Dan wouldn’t go back to work? What if he never got better? Could she even pretend to be strong enough for both of them?

 

 

“They’re coming tonight?” Dan frowned as Marian gave him the news. “Oh, honey . . . isn’t there some way you could put it off for a while?”

“They’re anxious, Dan. Drew says they even signed a petition for you to come back.”

Dan sighed. He supposed there was no way to get out of it now. He’d have to talk to them whether he was up to it or not.

“I’ll make supper right now, honey.” Marian smiled brightly, and Dan tried to concentrate on what she was saying. “Would you like pork chops or steak?”

“Either one’s fine. It really doesn’t matter, Marian. How about some scalloped potatoes? We haven’t had those in a long time.”

The scalloped potatoes were a stroke of pure genius. Dan was proud of himself for thinking of it. Now Marian would be tied up in the kitchen, and he’d have time to think. He had to come up with something to say to stall the team. There was no way he was going back to work in a wheelchair. The boys might not understand, but certainly Drew would have a little consideration for his feelings!

Dan raised himself up in bed and leaned against the backrest pillow Marian had bought him. His shoulders ached, and he was tired. He’d tried to be cheerful for Marian, even though he hadn’t felt like it. Poor Marian. It had been a rough afternoon for her. She’d cried when she told him about Laura’s empty desk, and he had felt like crying right along with her. It must have been painful, facing all Laura’s friends and classmates. Dan knew he couldn’t have done it.

Dan knew Marian would worry about him if he confessed he hated the children who were Laura’s age. He had tried, but he couldn’t control his feelings. They walked past the house in the mornings, laughing and throwing snowballs on their way to school. They were so damn happy! It just wasn’t fair. Why should they be happy when Laura was dead? It should have been one of them and not Laura!