Lovey Read online

  Also by Mary MacCracken

  The Lost Children

  City Kid

  Turnabout Children

  Dedication

  For my remarkable father,

  Clifford Wilcox Burnham, and Ann

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Also by Mary MacCracken

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Coming soon …

  Exclusive sample chapter

  Moving Memories eNewsletter

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  ‘Wait just a minute, Mary. I want to talk to you.’ The Director covered the phone and nodded towards the coffeepot. ‘Pour yourself a cup. I’ll be right with you.’

  I hesitated, juggling the armload of books and old magazines I’d brought in. I didn’t want to stop now. This was the first day of school and the children would be arriving in a few minutes. I wanted to get down to my room, put away these last things, and make sure everything was ready.

  ‘Well, now, everything set?’ the Director said as she hung up.

  ‘I think so, except for these books and maybe a few travel posters that I’ll tack up until the kids get some paintings done.’ Our children were even more sensitive than most to the climate of their surroundings. I wanted no rush, no hurry, no helter-skelter when they first arrived. The Director understood this as well as I did. Why was she keeping me here, diddling around and chatting?

  ‘Uh, Mary, I wanted to tell you … there’s been a change in your class.’

  ‘A change? What do you mean? What’s wrong? Has something happened to one of my children?’

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just that I’ve rearranged things a little.’

  I was instantly on guard. Euphemisms from the Director were always a danger sign. ‘Rearranged things?’

  ‘Yes. Last night when I went over the class lists I decided to put Hannah Rosnic in with you and move Carolyn –’

  ‘Hannah Rosnic!’ I interrupted. ‘How can that work? Brian and Rufus are almost ready for regular school – Brian’s twelve; this is his last year – and even Jamie is able to sit long enough to do some reading. Carolyn will fit in beautifully, I know she will. We took her on trips with us last year. I know she’s withdrawn, and her fantasies –’

  ‘I’ve put Carolyn in Ellen’s class,’ the Director interrupted in her turn. ‘I realised last night that it was asking too much of Ellen to take on Hannah. Ellen’s too new. She’s right for her other three and she’ll be good with Carolyn. But Hannah will be better off with you.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘what about the boys? And I don’t even know Hannah – except what I heard from down the hall last year. I don’t have any rapport with her. How am I going to get anything going between her and the boys? What makes you think they’ll accept her at all?’

  The Director sipped her coffee and lit a cigarette, fanning the smoke away from her eyes. She looked exactly as she always had, cheerful, dynamic, the strong sinewy cords in her neck softened by her feathery white hair. ‘I’ve thought about it. The boys will be good for her, give her a nice balance.’ She paused and smiled at me. ‘And Hannah’ll stir them up a little – give your room a little more excitement.’

  ‘Excitement? What do we need with excitement? We’ve all come a long way, but it’s possible that we could lose everything we’ve gained so far with Hannah in there.’

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ the Director said coolly. The phone rang. She picked up my untouched coffee and her half-empty cup and headed back to her desk, nodding to me and dismissing me at the same time. ‘Well, that’s set, then. Fine, I’ll send Hannah down when she arrives.’

  I gathered up my books and magazines and went out into the hall. What was I going to do? All I knew about Hannah Rosnic was that she had come to our school sometime in the middle of last year and had been in Shirley’s class at the end of the hall. I’d seen her, fat, dumpy, and dirty, on the playground, and I’d heard her, screaming and howling from her classroom. But that was all, except for a few dim memories of discussions at staff meetings. And now she was going to be one of my four!

  A last-minute change like this was unprecedented. Ours was a school for children with severe emotional disturbances. Each of our children was unique, with such individual problems as well as strengths that what was planned to help one child deal with anger and hurt and isolation would be useless to another. What I had prepared for Carolyn would never work for Hannah.

  And yet, this was what was going to happen. Once the Director had made up her mind, she wouldn’t argue and there was no point in trying to discuss it. If she had decided to move Hannah into my classroom, Hannah would be there.

  I opened the door to my room and immediately my spirits rose. It was a beautiful room, facing south, large, sunny, and bright. One of the school’s trustees had arranged for us to use this church building, rent free, while we waited for our new school to be built. This particular Sunday-school room had previously been off limits to us. It was the church’s pride and joy, full of play equipment, rugs, tables, even an easel for painting. One whole wall was open to sunlight, with five floor-to-ceiling windows. Best of all, there was a door opening on to the driveway outside. There is absolutely nothing better than a door of your own to the outside world. Compared to the cold, barren rooms I’d taught in before, this was heaven.

  Brian was the first to arrive. He came so quietly that if I hadn’t been watching I wouldn’t have known he was there. He came to the hall door and stood just outside it, his hands hidden in his pockets so I couldn’t tell whether they were trembling or not. Each year I think I’ve outgrown the ridiculous soaring excitement that I felt the first time I came to the school and saw the children. And then each year I find I’m wrong. The same spine-jolting, rocking delight hits me and spins me around, and I have to be careful not to somersault across the room when the children come.

  ‘Hey, Brian, I’m glad to see you.’ I walked across the room towards him, waiting for his smile, thin and sweet, to come and warm his pointed little face.

  But Brian didn’t smile. He didn’t even come into the room.

  ‘Why are we in here?’ he asked. ‘This isn’t our room. This isn’t where we were last year.’

  It’s so hard for our children to handle new situations. Their sense of self is so small, their beings so fragile, that if their outer surroundings change, they fear that they themselves will fall apart.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘this is the best room we’ve ever had. Don’t spurn luxury. Look, we’ve got a whole coat closet, instead of just hooks.’

  Brian took a step or two into the room and peered at the coat closet. ‘I liked just the hooks,’ he said.

  ‘And we’ve got blocks and trucks and a whole toy kitchen – a stove and a sink and tables – and now, look here, our own door. How about that? No more having to go through the office when we want to sneak out before lunch to ride our bikes.’

  Brian was all the way in the room now. ‘Do we still have the bikes?’

  ‘Sure. We’ve even got a couple of new ones.’
They weren’t really new – the church ladies and the Junior Leaguers had donated them – but they were new to us.

  Within the next minute Rufus arrived. He looked tanned and healthy and had obviously had a good summer.

  ‘Hey, Mary,’ he announced, ‘maybe we’re going to get a cat I’m almost not ’lergic anymore and my mom says as soon as I’m not ’lergic we can get one.’ He turned towards Brian. ‘And I’ll bring it in here, Brian, so you can see it.’

  Rufus walked comfortably around the room, commenting on everything, and I could see Brian loosening up, his fears diminishing. The children did so much for each other without realising it. Rufus’s explorations freed Brian to begin his own, and soon both boys were settled on the floor taking out the books and papers and small supplies that I’d put in their individual cubbies.

  Jamie, the last of my three boys, burst through the classroom door and half rocked, half ran, across the room.

  I sat down fast. Jamie was eight and I’d only had him for one year. He was still potentially explosive, and the more body contact he got during times of stress, the better. A new room plus the first day of school added up to a lot of pressure.

  A huge grin stretched over Jamie’s face as he spotted me and headed straight on. I spread my legs as wide as I could to make a big lap and opened my arms. Without caution, without a pause in his breakneck run, Jamie took a flying leap and landed squarely in my lap.

  ‘Hey ho, Jamie,’ I said, wrapping him up in my arms. ‘What took you so long?’

  Jamie didn’t say anything, but then he rarely did. He just buried his head against my neck while I rocked him back and forth. Pretty soon he came up for air and surveyed the room from his safe station. Then, seeing Brian and Rufus contentedly sorting the contents of their cubbies and realising that he could stay where he was as long as he wanted, he gradually began to disentangle himself: first an arm, then another arm, then a foot, then the other – one quick turn around my chair, back on my lap, off again, this time to a chair of his own.

  By ten o’clock the room began to be ours. The boys had taken everything out of their cubbies and put it back again at least a dozen times – touching, feeling, even smelling everything before they were convinced that it really belonged to them. Jamie had tried out every chair in the classroom before he finally settled on one and thereafter carried it with him wherever he went.

  I’d cleaned out Carolyn’s cubby as unobtrusively as possible and was lettering new labels for Hannah’s cubby and hook in the coat closet when the yelling began. At first it was muffled; then the noise became louder, closer. There were piercing screams followed by silence. Then the screams began again, mixed with deep, throat-catching sobs.

  Was that Hannah? Had she arrived? If so, where was she? The Director had said she’d send her down when she came. It was ten-thirty. Surely she must have arrived by now.

  A moment later the Director stood in our doorway. ‘Good morning, boys.’ She smiled. ‘Isn’t this a lovely room? I see you’re working hard already. Mary, may I speak to you for a minute?’

  I walked over to where the Director stood by the hall door. She lowered her voice as she spoke.

  ‘Hannah’s down in her old classroom. I can’t seem to be able to get her to leave and join you, and I wondered if you’d step down there for a minute or two.’

  I didn’t want to go. Things were just getting started in our room; tension and anxiety were gradually seeping out. Fears could return too easily if the boys were suddenly left alone. Still, the screaming and sobbing were clearer now that the door was open – and that couldn’t go on.

  ‘Will you cover for me till I get back?’ I asked the Director. She nodded and I went over and squatted down next to Brian. ‘Bri, I have to go down the hall. The Director’s going to stay here while I’m gone. I won’t be long, okay?’

  I studied his face. He didn’t smile, but there was no sign of panic. He just nodded and turned back to his book. The Director sat down beside Jamie near the record player. Everything seemed to be all right.

  I closed the door and mentally crossed my fingers; so much depended on the first day. If the children began to feel safe and relaxed in the room and with each other, a great deal of time could be saved.

  The hall was no longer quiet. It was filled with the good sounds of school: chairs being pushed across the floor, record players set at various volumes, doors opening, closing, teachers speaking softly, a few children’s voices, a little laughter. Only Hannah’s screams sliced through the air, dividing time into short, painful segments.

  I stopped outside the back classroom and looked through the window. The new teacher, Ellen, had bolted the door, and for a minute I wished I hadn’t come. This was the room I’d first taught in when I was hired as a substitute five years before. I stood outside, remembering how inexperienced I’d been. My first act had been to unbolt the door, my second to fall flat on my face as I held on to a runaway child. But we’d both learned, and the door had stayed unlocked. Locks and cages were never meant for children, and I felt both sorrow and frustration to see the door bolted again.

  As I looked through the window I could see that Hannah had barricaded herself inside the wooden jungle gym that was wedged into a far corner. She clung to the bars, alternately screaming and sobbing, her face contorted with pain or rage or perhaps fear. The other children stood gaping at her, but if they ventured near she reached through the wooden rungs and swiped at them with her hand.

  I tapped on the window. Ellen looked up and her round, sweet face flooded with relief as she hurried to the door, unlocked it, and drew me inside.

  ‘Am I ever glad to see you,’ she said. ‘This has been going on for over an hour. Nothing helps. Somehow Hannah got away from the Director this morning and ran in here. I guess she was expecting to see her teacher from last year, because when she saw me she went crazy, yelling and tearing at my clothes as if she thought she’d find her old teacher somewhere underneath. Finally she gave up and climbed into the jungle gym, and now she won’t let anybody near her.’ Ellen lowered her voice. ‘Listen, Mary, you’ve got to get her out of here. She’s scaring the other kids half to death. I’ve tried everything I can think of and she just gets worse.’

  I looked over towards Hannah. She seemed smaller than I’d remembered, but what Ellen said was true – she was getting worse. Her sobs and screams were louder, deeper than ever. How could she keep it up for so long? In spite of everything, I felt a surge of admiration. Somewhere inside this child there must be tremendous strength.

  I walked towards the jungle gym, not sure what to do, only trying to get a feel, a sense, of Hannah. I had been anxious to have her in my classroom – Carolyn would have made things much easier. Still, if she was going to be with us, I had to get to know her. What must it be like to come back and find your teacher gone when you thought she’d be there? What was it like to be eight years old and hurt and angry and confused? If I were Hannah, what would I want, what would I need?

  As I approached, Hannah began stamping her feet. It was as if her vocal cords were already making all the noise they could and now, with a new danger, she needed another source of sound.

  Two sides of the jungle gym were against the walls. Hannah clung to the third side, shaking it and stamping her feet. With no plan at all, I climbed up the fourth side.

  Hannah’s screaming stopped and I took advantage of her surprise to reach the top, away from her clawing fingers. I lay flat on the top platform, trying to listen with my whole being, not just my ears. Nothing. There was absolutely no sound from below. I leaned over the platform and there was Hannah, bent over, her head pressed against the bars, great pink wads of gum stuck in the red-gold of her hair, I talked to the back of her small, grimy neck.

  ‘Hiya, Hannah.’

  There wasn’t any answer, not a twitch of response, but somehow I had the feeling that she’d heard me.

  ‘Listen,’ I continued, ‘this isn’t your class. You’re supposed to be with us,
in the room down the hall on the other side. We’ve been waiting for you down there.’

  Hannah didn’t make a sound, but she turned her head just a fraction of an inch. I went on.

  ‘Shirley, your teacher last year, didn’t want to leave. She liked our school and she liked teaching you. But her husband was studying to be a doctor and he was sent to a hospital a long way away – and so she had to stop teaching here to go with him.’

  The muscles in my neck were getting tired from dangling my head over the edge of the platform, and I longed to get down and stand beside her, get a closer look, maybe even hold onto her square, solid body and let some of her anger drain out. But Hannah seemed nowhere near ready. I was going to have to wait.

  Suddenly she turned and twisted her neck and body to peer up at me. For an instant she hung outside the wooden bars with her face turned up towards me and then she was gone, out of the jungle gym, out of the door that Ellen had left unlocked when she let me in, and down the hall. I climbed down quickly and followed, Ellen’s door clicked behind me and the bolt slid back in place.

  Hannah ran up and down, back and forth in the hall, like a fat mouse in a maze. She was dressed in a woman’s cotton housedress that was tied at the waist with a string. The dress reached to the tops of her heavy brown shoes and she stumbled around, banging against the walls, letting out periodic snarling howls. Once she turned back towards me and I could see that both her face and the front of her dress were wet – stained with tears, or sweat, or maybe both. She opened the door to our room, more by accident than design. The boys and the Director stood up simultaneously as Hannah crashed in. I was only a step behind and closed the door behind me. We needed a little space, a little time to ourselves.

  It was hard to tell who was more frightened, Hannah or the boys. They stared at each other silently until the Director called out cheerily, ‘Well, Hannah, I see you’ve found your room. Good enough. Now that we’re all set, I’ll get back to work. Phone never stops ringing, a thousand things to do. Have a good day.’