Chapter 9
Moira pasted a smile on her face, willing her lips to stop quivering, as she turned to face the door. “Good morning. Please, come in.”
A timid face peeked around the edge of the open door, eyeing her inquisitively. “Marnin’,” the child murmured.
“Please, come in, dear. There’s no need to be shy. I’m Moi—eh—Miss Doherty. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Although she hoped to present an air of confidence and authority, Moira was just as nervous and scared as the wee face peering back at her. With marked steps, the child made her way into the room.
“I’m Aoife.”
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Aoife. How old are you, dear?”
The child stared at her feet as she traced the line of a crack in the floor with the edge of her shoe. Moira watched the way the girl’s auburn ringlets fell softly over her shoulders, refusing to stay in the plaited bun at the nape of her neck. Slowly Aoife’s hand raised, and she held up five fingers, a rosy blush filling her cheeks.
“Five, is it? Well, that’s a very important age. Tell me, Aoife, where are your classmates?”
Blue eyes, clear as Dunlewey Lake on a bright summer day, met Moira’s, and a mischievous smile played on the girl’s lips. She turned and nodded at the door, then motioned ever so slightly with her finger.
Craning her neck to look out the window without being seen, Moira could just see the feet, skirts, and pant legs of a group of children.
“They’re all outside, are they?”
Aoife nodded.
“Let me see if I can guess. They sent you in to check things out and see what kind of a monster I am. Is that about right?”
The girl’s stance immediately relaxed, and she broke out in a grin and fervent nod.
“Well, I say we let them in and satisfy their curiosity, shall we?”
Aoife skipped lightly to the door and called out to her schoolmates, “Tá sé ceart go leor, gach duine! Tá sí go álainn!”
“Lovely, eh?” A voice drifted in from behind Aoife. “We’ll see ’bout that.”
One by one the children filed into the schoolroom. With girls curtsying and the boys tipping their hats, they each shuffled past the new teacher and made their way to their seats.
“Good morning, children. My name is Miss Doherty, and I’m sure you all know I’ve only arrived in town a few days ago,” she began. “I am very excited to get to know each of you and see all the wonderful things we can learn together this year. Make no mistake, boys and girls, I don’t expect to be the only one doing the teaching.”
Pausing for effect and clasping her hands comfortably in front of her, she looked from pupil to pupil. Where fear and anxiety had sunk an anchor deep in the pit of her stomach just a few minutes earlier, inexplicable peace now reigned.
Moira clapped her hands together. “There is a whole textbook worth of things I can learn from you too.”
The children shared furtive glances. Some eyes were wide in excitement. Other eyes were like windows open in the springtime. They seemed to be airing out mischievous thoughts of just how much they could teach this Yank—and how much they could humiliate her in the process. Moira dismissed the idea that any of her students might have it out for her, moved her mind to the task at hand, and asked the children to go around the room and tell her their name and age.
A young man stood up, shuffling his feet. He twisted his hat nervously between his hands and cleared his throat. “I’m Martin Ó Ghallchobhair, Miss. I’m seventeen and this is my final year in the school.”
“I’m Eoghan Ó Baoighill, t’irteen years of age.”
“Marnin’, marm. I’m Caoimhe Ní Ghallchobhair, and I’m thirteen.”
“Gallagher? So are you Martin’s sister?” Moira probed.
The classroom erupted in laughter.
“Are ya really so daft? Do ya not know our history ’tall? There’s many in our parish that have the same surname, but that don’t mean we’s all close relations. We’re a nation made of clans. Sure you’ve heard o’ dat before?”
The disrespectful remark dripping in sarcasm hit Moira like a punch in the gut. “Excuse me, young man, but that sort of talk will not be tolerated in my classroom. Tell me your name.”
“Sure, if ye’re so fit to be teachin’ us, you should already know a bit o’ the Irish now, yeah? Sure ye can find my name on the list and read it out. I don’t hafta tell you an’ting.”
A sickening burning rose to the back of Moira’s throat. She swallowed it down, along with her hopes for a flawless first day. So torrential were her swirling thoughts, it was impossible to allow any specific one to float to the front of her mind. Her eyes roamed over the class list, neither seeing nor comprehending anything. Finally, her eyes fell on a name with a black dot next to it. Áedach MacSuibhne.
Before she could scramble together a scolding, a voice sliced through the silence of the room. “Áedach, you shut yer gob an’ give Miss Doherty the respect she desairves.”
Although mortified that she needed a student’s help, Moira was secretly grateful for Martin coming to her rescue, and she made a mental note of how he’d pronounced the impossible name: AY-joc. Offering Martin a smile and slight nod of thanks, her cheeks warmed as Áedach’s gaze rested on hers longer than was comfortable.
“Well now, Áedach,” Moira began. “It would seem we have gotten ourselves off to a bit of a rough start. I propose we try this again from the beginning.” She firmly straightened her apron, making sure she looked every bit the part of teacher.
She smiled and extended her hand, but rather than accepting her gesture of goodwill, the boy merely laughed caustically and slunk down into his seat. Although she knew this behavior needed to be dealt with, Moira decided it best to approach the lad privately later.
The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully with a few activities designed to help Moira become better acquainted with her pupils, as well as the typical daily tasks of arithmetic, writing, and recitation.