Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

“Look, Artie Dole wears ribbons!” Two boys farther back in line cackled, and Ellen’s tormentor scowled.

“I wasn’t wearin’ ‘em, anyway,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled ribbon back to Ellen, who took it and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. This was not how she’d wanted to start her first day of school.

The whistle blew, and the lines

of children began filing through the now open double doors. It was too late to tie her hair back, and so with a dark look at Artie Dole, Ellen slipped the ribbon into her pinafore pocket.

The classroom for twelve to fourteen year olds was a bright, sunny room with ten desks, each meant for two pupils, and a chalkboard at the front.

As everyone found a seat, girls linking arms with their friends, Ellen realized there were thirteen pupils in her class, and she was the thirteenth. Swallowing hard, she slid into a desk alone at the back.

“Good morning, class, and welcome to a new school year! I am your teacher this year, Miss Evans.” The teacher smiled at everyone in turn, and with relief Ellen decided she liked the look of her.

Miss Evans was young and pretty, her dark hair caught up in one of the newer, looser styles. She turned to the chalkboard, and Ellen saw a boy in the back slip another boy an alarmingly large bullfrog.

Miss Evans turned around. “I’ll have that frog, please, Jeremy Bentham.” She held her hand out, smiling, but there was a steely glint in her eye that Ellen rather liked. Shamefaced, the boy walked up front to hand Miss Evans his contraband frog. She took it firmly with two hands, deposited it out the open window, and then turned back to her class.

“Now, then. Shall we start with a hymn?”

The morning passed quickly enough, with Miss Evans administering tests to the children to see how proficient they were in all the subjects.

Ellen managed her penmanship well enough, but she struggled with her arithmetic. Since she’d left school several years before, she hadn’t had a chance to catch up with her learning, though she’d read nearly any book she could get her hands on. That didn’t teach her multiplication tables, she soon discovered.

When everyone was dismissed for lunch, Miss Evans called her to the front. Ellen stood by her desk as the other children filed out of the room, more than a few shooting her covert, curious looks that didn’t seem too friendly.

“Hello, Ellen.” Miss Evans smiled kindly, but it had too much compassion in it for Ellen to feel comfortable.

“Hello, Miss.”

“You’ve just arrived here, haven’t you? I know we haven’t met formally, but I know your aunt and uncle, of course.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you go to school in Scotland, Ellen?”

Ellen squirmed, a hot blush creeping over her cheeks. “I did, but I had to stop when I was eleven My mam was ill.”

“I see.” Miss Evans looked down at something on her desk, which Ellen quickly saw was her arithmetic paper. It had a great deal of crossed out answers on it, and she squirmed some more.

“I think you’re a very bright young lady, Ellen,” Miss Evans continued after a moment. “And I’m sure you would do very well in this class. When you read aloud for me, it was really quite perfect, despite your accent.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Ellen waited, for Miss Evans was looking at her with a faint frown line between her brows.

“I’m afraid, however, your arithmetic and grammar are simply not up to task,” she continued. “I can’t have you continue in this class at your current rate of progress.”

Ellen’s stomach dipped. But it was only the first day! “You mean I have to go home?”

“No, of course not. You may go in the class for the ten to twelve year olds. And when your arithmetic and grammar improve, you may join us again.” Miss Evans smiled kindly. “It happens quite often, dear, especially with the farm children. They take time off for the harvest, and it’s difficult to catch up. You understand, I’m sure.”

She did, but it did not make it any easier, or less humiliating, when Ellen transferred her pencils and composition book to the other classroom.

Mr. Phillips was her new teacher, and he regarded her sternly, without a flicker of warmth in his small, shrewd eyes.

“Weren’t up to scratch, were you? We’ll soon get you in shape, little miss.”

Taking her lunch pail out to the yard, Ellen decided she liked Miss Evans much better.

The rest of the day passed in an unhappy blur. As much as she hungered for knowledge, administered by Mr. Phillips’ stern hand, she found it much less palatable. Even worse perhaps was the blatant unfriendliness of the other children. No one was actually unkind, and no one bullied her. Ellen thought she might have preferred that. Instead, in their little clumps in the schoolyard, they regarded her with cautious curiosity, or worse, indifference. To them, she was a nobody, not worth approaching or befriending. Ellen wondered how anyone made friends in this town.