At exactly three o’clock he pulled the buggy up to the house. Nate regarded her with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you look nice.”
Angel sniffed. “I don’t want this teacher to think she’s dealing with just anybody. We’d better get some answers this afternoon.” She ran her palms over her skirt and pulled on brown leather gloves, glancing at Nate. “You look nervous.”
“Schools always scare me,” he confided, slapping the horses. “Teachers even more so.”
“Not me.” She jerked as the buggy started up.
The small school stood back from the main street. Because of the growth of the town in the last ten years, the school boasted two floors, four classrooms and four teachers.
Heart pounding, Nate ushered Angel up the front steps. Once inside, they spotted Mark, slumped on a bench in the hallway.
“Is this your classroom?” He said as they approached the boy.
“Yes. Miss Hathaway is waiting for you. I told her you were coming.” Mark swallowed several times. “Um, she may be a little mad ‘cause I skipped school yesterday.”
Nate took off his hat, and ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar. Angel sailed in ahead of them, head held high, back straight, looking as if she were ready to cross swords with the enemy.
Miss Hathaway sat behind a well-worn desk, working on papers. Everything about the desk, Miss Hathaway, and the classroom was tidy. No stray pencil lay on the floor; books on the shelves were precisely aligned. Everything on her desk had been neatly arranged.
The teacher was a stout woman of undetermined years, wearing a tight bun, and spectacles attached to her formidable person by a string around her neck. A starched white shirtwaist, with a watch pinned to the front, and a blue serge skirt completed the educator’s outfit. She didn’t stand when they entered, but put her pen down, and folding her hands at the edge of her desk, nodded to the two chairs in front of her.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Mark told me you would be here. I understand Mark was not ill yesterday as Matthew told me.”
Nate made a mental note to have a talk with his oldest son when the boy got home.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Hathaway, I understand Mark is having trouble in school. He says he can’t read too well.”
“Mr. Hale, your son cannot read at all.” She sniffed, glaring at the child who sat next to her in the small chair.
Angel shifted in her chair, and slid forward. “Tell me, Miss Hathaway, why can’t he read? He’s been in school here for almost three full years.”
The teacher sighed. “Mrs. Hale, as teachers, we’re aware some children don’t take well to school. They find learning hard, and eventually find it’s better to pursue other things that can provide them with a living as adults. Apprenticeships come to mind,” she finished, smiling sadly.
Angel moved further up in her seat until she sat so far forward, Nate was afraid her impressive posterior would slide to the floor.
“Are you suggesting our son isn’t capable of learning to read?” his wife said coolly.
“Well, so far he doesn’t seem able, and as you pointed out he’s been here almost three full years.”
“How dare you!” Angel leapt from her chair and leaned over Miss Hathaway’s desk. “Every child can learn if taught properly. Perhaps it's your methods at fault here.”
Not to be intimidated, the teacher drew herself up. “I will have you know I’ve been teaching for over seventeen years, and I know when a child can learn, and when he cannot. Mark cannot read the third grade reader, and the year is almost over.”
Angel leaned two fists on the desk, and moved closer to the teacher. “Can he read the second grade reader?”
Her face flushing, Miss Hathaway fumbled for a moment, and leaned back. “I don’t know, I don’t teach second grade.”
“Ha! Well, can he read the first grade reader?”
“What exactly is your point, Mrs. Hale?”
“My point, Miss Hathaway, is since you don’t know if he learned to read the first grade or second grade readers, how can you expect him to learn to read the third grade reader?” Crossing her arms, and tapping her foot, Angel glared at the teacher.
Nate and Mark looked at each other, eyes wide, jaws slackened at the back and forth conversation between the two women.
When Miss Hathaway didn’t respond, Angel sat back down and tugged on the cuffs of her sleeves. “May I see a first grade reader, please?”
“I don’t have one in this room. This is the third and fourth grade.”