Chapter 22

 

Tuesday

 

Ned was already home when Abby arrived, feeling both exhilarated and exhausted. He greeted her with a glass of white wine. “So, how’d it go?”

“I don’t even know where to start! I’m not sure what I expected, but it was kind of fascinating to watch the kids both singly and as a group. I think I told you that I’ve never spent any time with an autistic child, and whatever research I did barely scratched the surface. And dealing with a group of children, all of whom had different needs and abilities, isn’t easy.” She took a sip of wine. “I’m beat. And all I did was watch, and talk to people.”

Ned’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Yeah, using your brain is tiring. Sit down and tell me about it.”

“First I’m taking my shoes off.” She sat at the kitchen table and pulled off her shoes, then sat back with a happy sigh. “Better. So, from the top. Arrived on time, but Carolyn was already there waiting for me. We talked for a while, about why she even agreed to consider me at all, given my total lack of relevant credentials, and what her philosophy for the school is, and how students are chosen, and then how they’re grouped, and what she hopes to accomplish. I really like her—she seems well grounded.”

“Any surprises?”

“Not from her. But when I spent time with the kids I realized I hadn’t given enough thought to the challenges of teaching such a diverse group who don’t think like most of us do. I mean the day-to-day stuff, not the big picture. There are things that a lot of them understand, but in completely different ways. Math is easy for a lot of them. But music? Art? How do you put that into words? Or do you even try? By the way, some of the art the kids make is amazing—colors, structure, a full spectrum.”

“They’re not just copying an image?”

“Not at all. Well, in some cases, but they’re copying what they see in their minds, not a piece of paper in front of them. And some of the pictures are both abstract and structured at the same time, if you can understand that.”

“I think so, but it might be easier if I see what you’re talking about. Did you . . . connect with any of the kids?”

“Maybe. I was so wired, and I was trying to watch so many things at once, that it was hard to tell. But there was this one boy in the art group . . .” Abby shut her eyes to better recall what she thought had happened. “He was working on an unfinished painting, very focused, you know, and I was watching and trying to decide what color it was, like gray or silver. I guess I got closer to him than I meant to, and I brushed his shoulder, and I heard the word ‘blue.’ And I think it came from him. He didn’t turn around to look at me, or even flinch, and he didn’t say anything out loud. It was like he was answering the question in my head. I know, that’s not enough to build on, but it’s a start. Maybe.”

“Will you be going back?” Ned asked cautiously.

“Of course I will. I’ve barely gotten started, and I need to digest what I’ve seen and learned. And I have to let the children recognize me and get to know me before I even think about snooping around in their heads. And I don’t even know which ones might connect with me, so I kind of have to get to know everybody. Or at least the younger ones. I think that might be a good group to work with, and it would reduce the numbers—I can’t deal with everybody, at least not at first. Unless you have any better suggestions?”

“I can probably do a summary for you about how a child’s brain develops over the first few years,” he said. “I mean the physiological changes, not whatever they’re receiving or storing in there. And then correlate that with what little we know about which parts do what, and how these psychic phenomena fit, which is even murkier.”

“Oh, good, I’ve found something to keep you busy. We should have some really interesting dinner conversations. Speaking of which, what’s for dinner?”

“Take-out.”

“Works for me,” Abby told him.

Ned placed a phone order for Chinese food and then said, “You’re watching Ellie on Friday, right?”

“Yes, and you’re talking to Japanese investors. Maybe I can bounce some ideas about the kids off of Ellie. We’re still on with your mother for Turkey Day?”

“Of course. She calls it honoring our ancestors, and she wouldn’t miss it unless there was a plague or maybe an earthquake.”

“Are we bringing anything? I’d say Ellie and I could make something tomorrow afternoon, but it seems kind of cruel to expect Ellie to bake something that she won’t get a chance to eat. Think we’ll ever be able to let her get to know Sarah? She is her grandmother, after all.”

“I know, but Leslie would skin me alive if I opened that can of worms. We agreed to let her call the shots.”

“Nicely mangled metaphor,” Abby said, smiling.

“Thank you—I try. What I think Leslie doesn’t realize, or doesn’t want to realize, is that Ellie sees and understands far more than an ordinary kid her age. And there are so many mixed couples these days, I don’t think anything would surprise her.”

“You’re probably right, but I’ll let you navigate all that. Unless or until Ellie asks flat out what the real story is. Has her class visited Plymouth, or the Plantation, do you know?”

“Uh, not that I recall, and the school budget for field trips, even educational ones, keeps getting cut. I’m sure she knows what it is, though. I know I went as a kid, but I dragged you through it at top speed, when we were hunting for ancestors, so I don’t suppose you saw much.”

“We didn’t see the Plantation anyway, just the town. And before you and I got together, it was clear that living history parks were not Brad’s thing.”

“Then we should plan an excursion. Although I think the place closes after their big Thanksgiving feast, and won’t open again until spring.”

“It’s been there this long—I think I can wait.”

The doorbell rang, and Ned went to collect their food, and its aromas wafted into the kitchen before he reappeared. “Can we eat now?” Abby said plaintively.

 

• • •

 

They went to bed shortly after they finished eating, and Ned fell asleep quickly. Abby was tired, but her mind kept spinning with what she’d seen and what she’d like to be able to do. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she hadn’t fully understood how “different” autistic children were. Her experience lay with dealing with small children. Not that they weren’t all different too, but they were all marching along the same path toward growing up and learning. They might not all be at the same point of development, but it was close enough that a teacher could handle a group without too much conflict. With autistic children, it was almost a three-dimensional problem. The were moving in different directions, at different rates, and it was almost as though they were speaking different languages—if they spoke at all. There was no simple way to classify and sort them into groups. No wonder this kind of school had so many teachers! A teacher there had to know her, or his, students and work out the best strategies to benefit the largest number.

Abby wondered why she thought she could integrate the psychic component into the whole scene? There was no systematic way to do it. She almost laughed when she tried to picture lining up all the children in a row, then walking along it and touching each one to see if there was a spark. She’d need an assistant to accompany her and record who responded and how. The teachers would think she was crazy, if they even let her do it. And assuming the students would even put up with it. She knew she couldn’t push too hard, and she couldn’t explain what she was trying to do. And it was hard to be patient.

 

• • •

 

It was still dark when Abby awoke the next morning, but Ned was already downstairs. She would be at the school for only half the day, but there were a couple of classes she wanted to observe, and she wanted to learn as much as possible so she could mull it all over through the weekend. And Ellie would be around in the afternoon. Spending time with Ellie was always a treat, even if having the chance to see her meant she had to handle Leslie with kid gloves. Abby, have you ever even seen a pair of kid gloves?

Leslie had known about Ellie’s ability for a while now, ever since Abby had outed Ellie’s ancestral playmate in the cemetery near her home, an ancestor from several generations back. Leslie blamed Abby for connecting Ellie to a ghost, which really wasn’t fair because Ellie had found Hannah all by herself, but somehow Abby had been the one to figure out where Ellie disappeared to regularly. Not that that had been the only connection she and Ellie had made, but they had by mutual agreement decided not to add any more details for Leslie.

That Leslie allowed Ellie to see Abby at all was a step in the right direction, but as Ellie grew older she was going to need more help with this unusual skill—help that Leslie couldn’t give. And, as Abby and Ned had agreed, Ellie was a very perceptive child who was probably more aware of what was going on than her official parents were—and had the good sense not to mention it. It was a complicated situation, made even more so by the appearance of Danny in the midst of it all. Did Leslie know anything about Danny, beyond that he was a new kid in Ellie’s class? Abby wasn’t sure. She was proud of Ellie for standing up for him, but that could make things even more difficult in the future.

Still, she wasn’t going to worry about that today. She was going to go to the school and listen and observe and come up with a plan. Funny—she realized now that she hadn’t even questioned whether she wanted to return to the school. Maybe she’d stay at least until the first semester ended. Then she could decide.

Having made one small decision, she jumped out of bed, gathered up her clothes, and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Downstairs Ned once again had breakfast on the table waiting for her. “You’re spoiling me,” Abby told him as she sat down. “You could have slept in this morning. When is Ellie supposed to arrive?”

“Whenever Leslie drops her off, which should be soon.”

“Have you told Leslie or Ellie that I may have a job now? Not that I plan to give up picking up Ellie as usual, but if Leslie knows where I’m working, she might wonder, why there? Why not pick any other school, public or private, that doesn’t have kids with challenges?”

“Is ‘challenges’ a term of art at your place?”

“No, not as far as I know, but I’m not sure how the public perceives it. Although there’s a lot more public attention on the problem now, but that comes with a lot of bad information too. Like the ‘working mothers are negligent and it’s all their fault’ theory. Thank goodness we’ve moved past that.”

“I think any parent with a less-than-perfect child wants someone to blame, even if it isn’t realistic.”

“Such a shame,” Abby muttered and dug into her pancakes.

She was out the door before eight, and it took only a few minutes to get to the school. As she approached she watched the children arriving, dropped off by one or another parent. Some didn’t even glance at their driver when they climbed out of the car. Nor did they rush to greet friends. It was a curiously silent arrival, compared to other schools she had known. But she couldn’t say they looked unhappy, just very focused, even before the school day started.

Nobody paid her any attention, which was a relief in a way, and she didn’t try to start conversations with any of them, so she wouldn’t spook them. Take it slow, Abby. Being super-friendly is not the way to go.

Abby’s good intentions went out the window when, as she approached the steps to the first floor, she saw one girl trying to avoid walking into a cluster of others. The girl somehow miscalculated her distances, or maybe she was just clumsy, but she tripped, falling forward onto her knees, and the result was some bloody scrapes. Abby couldn’t see any other adult in the area, so without thinking she hurried forward through the small group of children, most of whom seemed frozen in place, while others looked frightened or looked away entirely. Abby knelt by the fallen girl as she scanned for injuries—all she could see was some badly skinned knees with trickling blood.

She reached out to touch the girl without thinking. “Are you all right? Do you hurt somewhere?”

The girl looked at her and shook her head silently.

“Do you think you can get up?” Abby asked. The girl looked bewildered. “Don’t worry, there’s no rush. I’m Abby. I’m new here.”

Then something shifted in Abby’s mind. She heard a voice, and looking down, she realized she still had her hand on the girl’s arm, ready to either keep her in place if the injuries required it, or to help her up if the girl felt ready. What she heard was a faint “Alice.” Which was followed almost immediately by the girl’s vocal response. “Alice.”

Abby looked up to see Carolyn hurrying down the stairs. To Abby she said, “One of the kids told me someone had fallen.” Carolyn knelt down beside the girl—Alice—and said, “Do you think you can stand up? We should put some bandages on those knees of yours.”

Alice’s eyes shifted between the principal and Abby. After a few seconds, she nodded toward Abby. “Her.”

Abby couldn’t understand why Carolyn froze, her gaze shifting between Abby and Alice. Finally she turned to Abby. “Would you mind helping her up?”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Abby held out her hand again. “Let’s get you up, Alice.”

The girl took her hand and rose easily, so apparently there was no damage beyond the skinned knees. But now Abby was staring at her, because what she’d heard, in her head, was a faint “Thank you.” Alice was communicating with her.