Jeannie Watt - The Rancher and the Girl Next Door

They discussed the year’s fund-raisers—a Christmas craft show, a chili feed and a quilt auction. Claire knew of the quilt auction via Regan, who now owned two heirloom-quality hand-pieced quilts.

Almost twenty minutes were spent debating whether the PTO’s Santa suit would last another season, or if they’d need to buy another before the Christmas pageant. And then they went on to folding chairs. Were there enough? Should the broken ones be fixed or replaced? And when had the piano last been tuned?

The meeting was almost over when Deirdre focused on Bertie and Claire, who were seated at the back of the room. “Have we covered everything?”

“I, um, have a request,” Claire said.

Everyone half turned in their chairs to look at her. Claire decided it was a good thing that she enjoyed public speaking, because all eyes—some of them not that friendly—were on her.

“First of all, I’m enjoying working with your kids. We have some ground to make up because of teacher turnover during the past few years, and I was wondering if the PTO would purchase math manipulatives and four novel sets, one for each quarter.”

Claire could tell by the way expressions shifted and glances were exchanged that she’d accidentally hit on a sore spot. She wondered what it could be. It certainly wasn’t finances, from the sound of the treasurer’s report. She tried again.

“The novels in the storeroom are not only old and not entirely grade appropriate, they’re in really bad shape,” she explained. “I don’t know if they’ll survive another reading. And as far as math manipulatives go, there aren’t any.”

“There’s a reason for that,” one of the parents said. “We’ve bought several programs in the past that other teachers packed up and took with them when they left.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Not at all. And I think our new novel sets and some reference books ended up in Wesley at the elementary school when a teacher transferred there. We also bought a pricey math program that left with another teacher, and she didn’t even stay with our district. She moved out of state.”

Another parent smiled condescendingly at Claire. “How long are you planning on being here?”

“I’m going to graduate school next fall. I made that clear when I interviewed here.” And I was hired because no one else would take the job. Under normal circumstances Claire wouldn’t have held her tongue, but she had enough of a fight on her hands bringing her students under control. She needed parental support, or her battle was going to be twice as hard.

“Couldn’t you borrow what you need from one of the schools in Wesley?”

“I’ll ask.”

“It’s nothing personal, Miss Flynn.” Claire was getting very tired of hearing how nothing was personal in Barlow Ridge. “It’s just that we’ve been burned in the past.”

“And I don’t think our kids need fancy programs and gimmicks.” An older woman near the front spoke up. “They need a good teacher.”

Claire was beginning to see that isolation might not be the only problem with teaching in Barlow Ridge. She composed herself before going on the offensive.

“Your children also need discipline and development of a work ethic, if they are going to achieve grade level.”

Her statement caused a ripple. “What do you mean by ‘achieve grade level’?” Deirdre demanded in a shocked tone.

Claire frowned. “I mean, that many of my seventh and eighth grade students are behind in at least one subject area—primarily math. They need to catch up. Didn’t you get standardized test scores last year?”

There was another ripple as the parents exchanged puzzled looks.

“No.”

“None of you received scores?” Bertie asked. The group shook their heads in unison. “I gave them to Mr. Nelson. He was supposed to staple them to the year-end report cards.”

“And when did Mr. Nelson do anything he was supposed to do?” Trini muttered.

“Didn’t you wonder why the younger kids had scores and the older ones didn’t?” Bertie asked the group.

“I just assumed that the upper grades weren’t tested. You know how they’ve messed with the tests lately, changing dates and grade levels…” Deirdre said.

“We have copies in your children’s files,” Bertie said, with a frustrated sigh. “We’ll need some time to locate and duplicate them, but you’ll get the scores before Friday.”

The meeting was adjourned shortly thereafter, and Claire went into her room to collect her jacket and purse. She had no new novel sets, no math manipulatives—just parents who didn’t think she was up to the job of teaching their children. Parents who hadn’t been aware of how far behind their kids were.

And even though she didn’t need the point hammered home that the parents weren’t supporting her, it had been hammered home.

“What really fries me,” one parent said as she passed by Clare’s open door on the way to the exit, “is that the school district must know we have low scores, but they send out the most inexperienced teacher they can find.”

“Well, she certainly isn’t engaging Lexi,” her companion responded. “It looks like all she’s doing is drawing lines in the sand and daring the kids to step across. That’s not teaching.”

Claire swallowed hard and turned off the lights. She and Bertie stepped out of their rooms and into the hall at the same moment. Bertie signaled for her to wait a minute as the two parents made their way to the exit.

As soon as the door swung shut, Bertie said, “Try not to—”

“Take it personally?” Claire shook her head. “It’s kind of hard not to.”

“These kids haven’t had a real teacher since Regan left, and the parents are getting frustrated.”

“Well, I can’t blame them, but I hate being prejudged.”

“That’s a tendency here,” Bertie said. “You’re newly graduated, which is a strike against you. And the kids are complaining, which is another strike. Plus…” She hesitated, then said, “You dress kind of…fancy. Which might put some parents off.”

“They don’t like the way I dress?” Claire was wearing a knee-length chiffon skirt in a bright floral pattern, a silky peach T-shirt and a chunky necklace. Normal fare for her. But she remembered Elena saying they’d never had a teacher that looked like her.

“Well…” Bertie looked down at her own clothing, which consisted of brown corduroy pants, a white cotton T-shirt and well-worn athletic shoes. “I think it’s been awhile since they’ve seen anyone wear hosiery to school.”

“I’m not buying a new wardrobe to fit in,” Claire muttered. “I like my clothes.” She and Bertie walked down the hall together, exiting the school into the inky darkness of a cloudy night.

“I like your clothes, too. I wish I had the energy to dress better, but I don’t.” Bertie stuck her key in the lock and abruptly changed the subject as she twisted her hand. “This test thing really annoys me. It’s good that Nelson got out of teaching, because I think the parents have cause for legal action.”

“Would they do that?”

“Barlow Ridge parents are not passive parents.” She smiled grimly before asking Claire, “Where’s your car?”

“I walked.”

“It’s going to storm. Do you want a ride home?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Coming to quilting club on Wednesday?”

“Will it be friendlier than the PTO?”

Bertie smiled ruefully. “There’s some crossover—Deirdre, Willa, Mary Ann. I think they’re already betting you won’t show.”

Claire smiled humorlessly. “In that case, I’ll show.” She couldn’t sew a stitch, but she figured she could either be there, trying to do her part for the quilt auction, or sitting home alone with her ears ringing as the other women discussed her.