1000 WORD EXCERPT



Land sakes but he's big!

That thought came into Emily's head even before she wondered what he wanted in her classroom. He carefully pushed open the door and his form filled the entire door frame. She judged him to be not much more than twenty years old so he couldn't be one of the town School Board members stopping in to monitor her class work. If he was a cowboy, he wasn't dressed for the rangenot with those store-bought britches, shirt and black string necktie. Even his boots were shined. Since she had met most of the townspeople, she was quite sure he wasn't one of them.

He meant to make his entry unobtrusive, but failed miserably. Although he ducked for the doorway, he misjudged the height and had his hat knocked off. Whirling to catch it, he collided with the door, slamming that heavy, double-planked member against the inner wall of the log building with a percussion that brought even the most lethargic student into shocked awareness. As heads turned in unison, one spur caught in a floorboard crack and would have sent him sprawling if he hadn't made a desperate grab for the door frame and hung on. While locked in that position, flushed and with perspiration showing on his untanned forehead, he reluctantly lifted his gaze to meet the fifteen pairs of eyes that watched in stunned silence.

It was Frida Anderson, a lively ten-year old, who finally broke the spell. Pointing at the unfortunate interloper, she broke into shrieking, wild laughter. That was joined by outbursts of one youngster after another until pandemonium ensued.

The teacher tried vainly to restore order until the absurdity of the whole situation overwhelmed her and she covered her mouth to hide her mirth. Emily O'Neill, graduate of Smith College, class of 1888, she said to herself, what are you doing so far from New york watching a clumsy lummox trying to break his neck in the tiny schoolhouse of Broken Wagon, Montana? She collected herself and was about to start forward to see if she could provide assistance, but with a supreme effort he tore loose the spur and, with it, a long splinter of wood from the floor. Then he stood and glared at the frolicking class. Each member, singled out by a stare that carried with it the horror of the unknown, became suddenly quiet until there was complete silence in the room.

Emily watched, fascinated. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "Is there something I can do for you Mister ...?" She waited for him to provide a name.

Frida spoke first. "That's Puddin' Head," she announced proudly.

"Frida!" the teacher admonished.

"Well, that's what everybody calls himPuddin' Head Jones." She partly covered her mouth and whispered to her seat-mate, Mary, "Wooden Head, Puddin' Head Jones," and both girls giggled.

Almost everyone heard, of course, and the giggling became contagious. "Class, that's quite enough!" The teacher's voice had risen another octave. "...And you, Frida, I'll speak to you after school. Now I'm sure that's not Mister...Jones' name." She gave him a questioning look.

"No ma'am," he said glaring at Frida. "It's ..." He hesitated for a moment. Then his face brightened with recollection. "Andrew. Andrew Jones."

"Very well, Mister Jones, would you please tell me why you're here." Her tone suggested that she was becoming a trifle impatient.

"Ma says I hafta go to school." When that brought forth snickers and chuckles, he glared at the class and added, "Ain't my idee."

"But aren't you a little...old?" she said gently. She had started to say "big".

"Ma says she pays school tax so she gits to send one of hers. I'm the youngest so I'm the one. Don't like it one bit."

Emily wondered how his mother could make that big clod do anything. "This is very unusual." She wished there was someone who could give her advice in dealing with the matter. "What grade would you be in, Mister Jones?"

"Dunno," he answered. "Ain't never been to school." Again the snickers.

"Land sakes! Why not?"

"Pa says I don't need it."

"And now he's changed his mind?"

"He's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She trBilly was sorry. The young man looked like he needed a father to whom he could turn for guidance. He certainly didn't seem to have control of his life. "Very well," she said at last. "Please take a seat next to Mister Vik." Puddin' Head knew Alf Vik's youngest son, Hans.

The students were seated on benches next to tablesboth types of furniture had been hand-hewn from logs. Unfortunately the pieces were intended to accomodate children and had not been sized to fit someone of Puddin' Head's dimensions. He sat with his knees at armpit level. Heads turned to observe his discomfort. The girls giggled with their heads togetherthe boys nudged each other and smirked.

Puddin' Head glowered as Emily handed him slate, chalk and a wipe cloth. "Now then, class, let's begin."

The eight boys and six girls that made up the class ranged in age from seven to fifteen. That and the wide variation in educational backgrounds made the teacher's job particularly challenging. Emily was trying to group her students according to their ability in several subjects. That tactic was not completely successful and was now further complicated by the big man sitting at the back of the room.

She consulted her notes. "Judith, Olav and Jacob, continue your longhand practice of letters 'J', 'K' and 'L'. Don't wipe your slates until I can look at your work.

"Melba and Edria, I want you to read together chapter three in the primer. Get startedI'll help you in a few minutes. Sven, Oskar, Arne and Henrymultiplication for numbers seven and eight. Frida, Mary and Tomthe story on page thirty-eight. Betsy and Hans, your history assignment for this week will be the Roman empire. You're going to be asked to write a brief summary."

Now Mister Jones, she thought. He was sitting there looking at her with that scowl on his face. Doesn't he ever smile, she wondered. If he tried, he might be fairly handsomecertainly has nice blue eyes. Strong jaw line. Fair complexionmust be another Swede. I suppose I'd better get on with this.

As she approached he tried to get to his feet as he'd seen gentlemen do. In the process he almost tipped over the bench. Hans grabbed for the table knocking his book to the floor.

"No!" she said in alarm. "Please stay seated."




THE TEACHER AND PUDDIN' HEAD









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