Chapter 21: School Days

 

Teaching kept Jenny so busy she couldn’t help Clarence and Hatty Tanner plant the winter wheat crop.

“We didn’t git the fields plowed in time last year,” Tanner told her over supper one evening in late October. “But this year I aim to plant more winter wheat than spring. It’ll even out our work next summer. Might try some oats and barley, too.”

Jenny simply nodded, then turned her mind back to her lesson plans. She’d discovered how difficult it was to keep the older children occupied for an entire day. She had few books to give them to read and little paper to dole out on which they could write essays. She gave them arithmetic problems and lectured them each day about geography and horticulture and the science she knew, but she thought her time best spent teaching the younger children to write and do their sums.

 

Wednesday, November 8th—Papa moved a roomful of books from Louisiana to Missouri, and I spent so many happy hours reading with him. I wish I had his books. I wish Papa were still alive.

 

Jenny had read whatever took her fancy from her father’s library. He helped her pronounce and comprehend the words she didn’t know. And every day he taught her mathematics and science and geography—just like she was trying to do now.

Until his illness. Then all her lessons ended. Still, she’d been fortunate to have as much education as she’d had.

And from her mother she’d learned fluent French. But she didn’t think the emigrant children needed to speak French—not until they could read and write English well.

Jenny asked the Tullers to save her the newspapers they purchased in town. She bought the paper when she could go to town, but Doc Tuller went to Oregon City more frequently than she did.

The Oregon Spectator put out an edition every other Thursday. She knew an issue was scheduled for November 9, and she itched to visit the Tullers over the weekend to get their copy. But the skies poured rain until Monday.

Right after Jenny sent the children home Monday afternoon, she saddled Poulette, bundled up William, and set off for the Tullers’ homestead.

“Jenny,” Mrs. Tuller said, coming out of her cabin. “What brings you out so late? Will you stay for supper?”

“Have you and Doc read your Spectator yet?” Jenny asked, handing William down to Mrs. Tuller. “I am desperate for new reading material for my students.”

Mrs. Tuller clucked. “Doc almost burned it last night, but I told him he should keep it for you. There’s news of the Mexican War treaty in this week’s paper.”

Jenny sighed. “The children will find it dry reading, but perhaps we can learn history and government. I have to find lessons where I can.”

“There are some funny stories, too. One about an Irish man and a snake. And an article about temperance. Surely you can make do.” When they were inside, Mrs. Tuller handed the paper to Jenny.

“Oh, an article about a telescope,” Jenny exclaimed. “I’ve never seen one, but Papa told me about them. The lens brings the stars close enough to touch, he said. And another piece about farming—the boys will like that.”

“How are the Abercrombie girls doing?” Mrs. Tuller asked. “Any more trouble?” She turned to William. “Would you like a biscuit and honey, dear?”

The toddler grinned and reached out his arms so the older woman would pick him up.

“Annabelle is a trial,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “She doesn’t mind me and stirs up her sister and the Purcell girls, and even little Ruthie. They all giggle and gossip. Rachel is the only one I can trust. I often ask her to work with the primer children, while I teach the older students.”

“You should talk with her parents,” Mrs. Tuller said with a firm nod.

“Mr. Abercrombie doesn’t like me as it is.”

“Samuel is her grandfather. It’s up to Douglass and Louisa to govern their daughter.”

“You know how timid Douglass is,” Jenny said. “And Louisa is almost as silly as her daughters.” She sighed. “But you’re right.”

On Tuesday morning Jenny gave the newspaper to the older children. She told them to each read a paragraph out loud, then pass it to the next student to read. As she worked with her younger pupils, she heard the older boys and girls droning on and on about the Mexican War treaty.

After about thirty minutes, the Pershing twins snickered.

Jonathan read in a loud voice, “Hu wee! Hu wee! A big copperhead black rattlesnake, eleven feet long, crawled up my trousers, and is tying himself in a double-bow-knot round my body!”

Then David piped up, “Jayzus! Oh, howly Vargin! Oh, Saint Patrick!”

All the children laughed and giggled.

“What is causing the commotion?” Jenny asked.

“It’s the story, Miz Jenny,” Jonathan said, his eyes twinkling despite his attempt to sound innocent. “We was just reading the story in the paper.”

“We were,” Jenny corrected him, as she took the paper and read where the boy pointed.

“David took the Lord’s name in vain,” Annabelle Abercrombie said solemnly, though she’d been one of the loudest gigglers. “Are you going to wash his mouth out with soap or give him a licking?”

Jenny read the story—David had in fact quoted the newspaper. The story was a parody of Irish speech and Catholic practices, including references to the Lord and the Virgin Mary. Prejudice against the Irish was strong most places in the States, though Jenny had known few Irish anywhere she’d lived.

She swallowed hard. How would she explain this to the children? And to their parents? “It’s my fault,” she began. “I should have read the paper thoroughly before I assigned it to you to read. This story makes fun of the Irish, as well as blaspheming. Both are wrong, and you shouldn’t be reading it.”

“But Miz Jenny, David swore,” Annabelle insisted.

“He did. It’s my fault, so I won’t punish him this time,” Jenny said. “But if there are more stories you have questions about, I expect you to bring them to my attention immediately.” She sighed. “For now, skip that story and read about telescopes.”

After supper she wrote:

 

Tuesday, November 14th—The children read an inappropriate article in the paper today. I’m sure I will hear from Mr. Abercrombie as a result. How I wish I had proper books for my students.

As Jenny had anticipated, the next morning Samuel Abercrombie drove his granddaughters to school in his wagon. He strode into her cabin with the girls behind him. “I hear those Pershing boys were cussing with my grandchildren there, and you ain’t done a thing about it.”

“Mr. Abercrombie, the boys were reading a story in the Oregon Spectator. I didn’t read it first, which I should have done. Shall we step outside to discuss this?” Jenny didn’t want her other students to hear Mr. Abercrombie berating her.

“I knew you was too young and flighty to teach. I’ve half a mind to pull the girls out of your school. Have Louisa teach them.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Abercrombie. I’ll go see Douglass and Louisa after class today and apologize to them.”

“Watch your step, girl.” He shook his finger in her face.

When classes were finished, Jenny asked Rachel to stay with William while she rode Poulette to Douglass’s claim. He was away, but she spoke with Louisa Abercrombie. Annabelle and her sister Rose stood smugly beside their mother.

Jenny explained what had happened and apologized again.

“La,” Louisa said. “Father Abercrombie was very upset when Annabelle told him about those rowdy Pershing twins. He wants me to teach the girls, but Lord knows I have enough to do already.”

“I’m sorry, Louisa,” Jenny said.

“Please make sure it don’t happen again. Or Father Abercrombie will make us take them out of school for certain. And I couldn’t abide spending my days teaching, not with all the housework as well.”

“Your girls should focus more on their schooling,” Jenny said. But after her apology, she didn’t think Louisa would take her seriously. “Annabelle in particular likes to talk with the other girls.”

“Well, now, children need to be sociable. You just tell them to talk quietly.” Louisa turned back to her fire. “The girls and I need to fix supper now.”

As she mounted Poulette to leave, Jenny saw Annabelle smirking in the doorway. “She gave us an essay to write tonight, Mama,” the girl complained.

“Help me shell the peas,” Louisa said. “You can do your schoolwork later.”