Chapter 19

The next morning Fran showed up at the door with an old box under her arm.

"Bonjour, mes enfants."

"Bonjour, Mlle. Dupuis," the class said.

"I hear that you are waiting to read a special book," Fran said, "A book that is about the people who lived in this town before it was a town."

"Dad's book!" Tom's eyes lit up.

"Yes, your father is reading this book. It was written by mon Pere." She opened the box and put stacks of books on the desk. "I'm afraid that there isn't enough for everyone, so you'll have to take turns." She handed a book to Leigh, "Mrs. Dalrymple gets one so she can read it and answer your questions. Now line up and I'll hand out the rest."

The children lined up quickly and the books were handed out. They grouped around the children with books and looked at pictures and oohed and awed over the moose and bear.

"What was it like, growing up with someone smart enough to write a book?" Georgia asked.

"The whole world was a classroom for mon Pere. He taught me lessons every day. He taught me to read books and to catch fish."

"Could we meet him?"

"Sadly, mon Pere died some years back." Fran blinked a rapidly. "But he would have loved to come and meet you. He would be so happy that you are reading his book."

"Is there a picture of you in the book?" Steve asked.

"If you turn to page twenty, there is a picture of a little girl. That little girl is me."

"Wow, you were lucky." Jamie peered at the book in his hand. "Look at all those furs."

"You look like a picture of my grandmother." Steve said.

"Really?" Fran said. "That's interesting."

They talked about the book a little while longer before Miss Dupuis had to go back to her class.

"We should do a thank you card for Miss Dupuis," Georgia said. The paper and crayons came out and the class went to work thanking Miss Dupuis for sharing her father with them.

Trapper's Memoire became a combined history and reading project. Georgia came in early to help her reading group through the book. She'd started it for the students who struggled the most with reading and didn't mind another student helping them.

"It's the only way I'm going to get to read it before Christmas," Georgia said. "Everybody's talking about it. I was going to be a super star singer, but I think being a teacher wouldn't be bad either. It's fun helping people read."

"I think you would make a terrific teacher," Leigh said.

"Really? Wait ‘til you hear me sing." She went back to her group and they huddled around the book again. At recess, Leigh had yard duty. Georgia huddled against the wall with the book while her reading group played. Leigh smiled, any good teacher wants to be ahead of her students.

"Mrs. Dalrymple, what's a hörgr?

"A what?" Leigh looked down at Georgia. The girl pointed to a word on the page of the book.

"It says Marc guided some archeologists into the far north of Manitoba to look at a possible hörgr, but he never says what a hörgr is."

"I don't know off hand, Georgia." Leigh said, "You'll have to do what any good teacher does."

"What's that?"

"Research. Excuse me. Break it up!" Leigh called and walked over to stop the fight that looked like developing. She sent the two boys in opposite directions to cool off and looked for Georgia. The girl had gone back to the book. Leigh made a mental note to look up hörgr as soon as she got home.

Walking back into the classroom, she almost needed to hold her breath. If the Trapper's Memoire had taken over the reading and social studies part of the day, the oceans had captured the rest. Art was spent cutting up and painting life size fish. Math was about measuring and comparing the extremes. Blue paper hung everywhere there weren't fish. The map was covered with magnets and strings that led to pictures on the wall. Every once in a while, Leigh was sure she heard whale song or the sound of waves, even though she only put the CDs on during art. The fish seemed to swim too and she was certain a shark ate a smaller fish.

She was continuing with the tea Kohkom gave her and being extra careful with her meds. Leigh decided it was a product of being extra tired.

Joe had become a voracious reader. He returned the Trapper's Memoire to the library and borrowed other books. He had many conversations with Fran, but it was always Leigh he came to for help with his reading. She spent at least an hour each school day helping either him, or one of his friends who had heard that she would help them.

"We need an adult literacy program," Leigh said at one of the general staff meetings. "It seems a pity to have this enthusiasm to learn and not have a way of directing and helping it better."

"We don't have any money for adult literacy." Mr. Paulie rubbed his temples. "We're pushed to the max already. I'm borrowing against next year's budget to buy wood for the sheds you wanted."

"It isn't like I buy that much wood, Gary," Dave said.

"It isn't about how much wood you buy, Dave. It's about what is left on the budget line for your department."

"I'm not complaining." Dave put his hands up. "I'm happy with what I'm getting."

"Good." Gary turned back to Leigh. "So you see things are tight and a new program that will cost money is not in the cards."

"What if I can get it going without any money?"

"Everything costs money, but if you have any ideas, I'd like to see them. There might be something we can work out. If there ever was a time to strike while the iron is hot, it is this."

Leigh sat and thought after the meeting about how she was going to manage an adult reading program on no budget.

"Hey." One of the high school English teachers came over. "You look deep in thought."

"Any ideas?" Leigh asked, "Susan, right?"

"Yes, and yes," Susan said. "I did a project at school when I was at teacher's college running a literacy program for street people. We used newspapers for reading material. The papers let us use yesterday's papers for free since all they wanted back was the masthead. We might be able to do something similar here. Ask people to bring their old papers and drop them in a box at the mall. I have some students who would probably enjoy coaching."

"It's worth a try," Leigh said, "I'll talk to Gary tomorrow."

"As soon as you get his go-ahead let me know and I'll start arm twisting."

In the morning, Leigh was still thinking about how to get the literacy program started. Gary had given his approval for students to be involved. He even said he would suggest that it count toward their points for their school letter. Now she needed to sell the idea to the men and women who were casually dropping in to get help and encouragement.

"It's a pile of rocks," Georgia said.

"Sorry, Georgia," Leigh said and shoved the program to the back of her mind. Her students were arriving and they needed her full attention. "What is a pile of rocks?"

"A hörgr is a pile of rocks. It's a Norwegian word. The rocks were an altar for pagan worship."

"That's very interesting," Leigh said, "So what was a hörgr doing in Manitoba?"

"At one time people thought the Vikings made it here by sailing into Hudson Bay and then up the Churchill river. The archeologists had heard about this strange pile of rocks and wondered if it was a hörgr."

"Was it?"

"I don't know." Georgia sounded frustrated. "The book didn't say, and I can't find any information about a Manitoba hörgr on the internet."

"So what does that suggest?"

"That it was just a pile of rocks."

"Probably," Leigh said, "though it would have been fascinating if the Vikings had been here."

"Dad says that we spent way too much time trying to impose European history on top of the history that is already in the land."

"I think your dad is right. She sounds very interesting."

Georgia laughed. "Most people don't get Dad, but you aren't freaked out or anything."

"I've had some practice. There was a girl at my university who became a guy over the winter break. There were some people who got upset, but I figured he should be whatever he wanted to be."

"Why don't you come over for supper?" Georgia's eyes lit up. "Dad would love to talk to you."

"If you check it out with your mom and dad, I would be delighted to."

Anna came in and waved at Leigh. She waited for Georgia to finish.

"Hi, Anna."

"Hi, Georgia."

Georgia went back to her desk.

"Kohkom would like to invite you for tea."

"I would love to, Anna, but there are a lot of people who are depending on me to show up at the mall. I would hate to disappoint them."

"I think Kohkom likes what you are doing," Anna said, "She suggested Saturday, she asked that you only drink water and not eat anything once you get up. Your medicine isn't a problem. Wear a skirt, please."

"If I'm going to be hungry, I don't want to wait too long, I'll meet you at my house at noon, will that be good?"

"I'm sure it will be," Anna said, "Kohkom says that all things find their time. There are some days I don't understand anything she says." Anna went to her seat and pulled out the Memoire.

The rest of the class filtered in and they spent some time talking about hörgrs and history.

"What is the difference between story and history?" Tom asked, "My dad has shown me pictures on the rocks that are older than any pile of rocks, but nobody studies them."

"Maybe you should someday." Leigh leaned against her desk.

"Why talk about a bunch of old stuff anyway?" Steve said, "Pictures on the rocks aren't going to give your dad, or mine any work."

"But we need to know where we come from, right Mrs. Dalrymple?" Tom glared at Steve.

"My dad says it's more important to know where we are going to." Steve glared back, clenching his hands.

"OK," Leigh said, "Let's stop for a moment and take a breath." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Maybe another one."

"Now, how many of you remember what you had for breakfast this morning." All the hands went up. A few kids call out ‘toast' or 'cereal'. She was sure she heard at least one 'nothing'.

"How many remember what you had for breakfast, on Friday last week?" A lot of the hands went down.

"How about a month ago?" More hands went down.

"Last year?" All but a few hands went down.

"We have the same thing for breakfast every morning, Mrs. Dalrymple," Enji said.

"Doesn't that get boring?" Georgia's hand had gone down after one week.

Enji shrugged, "Mom says boring is better than being hungry."

Leigh saw some heads nodding in agreement.

"Now, who can tell me about a breakfast that they will never forget?" Hands shot up.

"My dad didn't check the milk before he put it on his cereal." Macky laughed and almost couldn't talk. "It was sour and came out all in one lump."

"Ewww," the class said.

"So, what did you learn from that?" Leigh raised her eyebrow.

"Sniff the milk before you use it," Macky said and the other children laughed. There were other stories, some of horrible breakfasts and a few of wonderful ones.

"So, we all have stories about breakfast," Leigh said, "What would a historical breakfast be?"

"What the Prime Minister ate for breakfast!"

"But what if he always ate the same thing?"

"Maybe if someone poisoned him?"

"So, if something changes because of an event, it might be historical," Leigh said, "but maybe also if it teaches us something about ourselves too."

"But that would mean everything," Anna said.

"Not everything!" Georgia rolled her eyes.

"Kohkom says that everything we do teaches us about ourselves."

"But we can't remember all that stuff!" Georgia protested.

"We can remember the lessons," Anna insisted.

"Maybe." Georgia looked thoughtful. "I don't always remember everything about a book, but I know if I liked it or not."

"Speaking of books," Leigh said, "I think it is time to do some reading. But keep thinking about stories and histories."

The rest of the day flew past and Leigh went to the coffee shop in the mall.

"Hi Joe," she said when he came by, "I have some ideas of how to help you and some of the other people who are working on their reading."

"You want to put us all in a class," Joe said, "Line us up so it is easier for you."

"I don't think a class would work, Joe," Leigh said, "You are all at different places."

He nodded and put the book he was reading on the table and opened it.

"What I was thinking was that we could have mentors for each of you," Leigh said as she leaned over to see what Joe was reading.

"Mentors?"

"Kind of like teachers. There are some young people in the high school who want to find out what it would be like to be a teacher."

"I don't want to be taught by some kid."

"So, you're willing to learn from the rabbit or the moose, but not your own children?"

"No." Joe closed his book and left.

She didn't have much luck with any of the others who dropped by. They were willing to be coached by her, but not by any of the students from the high school.

Leigh went home feeling frustrated and angry at herself. She had thought it a good solution. She should have known better. These folks were probably pushing the limits of their pride asking her for help. Having some teenager helping was just too much.

Jim was working nights, so she didn't have him to bounce ideas off. She worried about what she should have done. Clearly she'd ruined any chance of an adult literacy program. Joe and the others didn't trust her. Why should they? She was part of the culture that had destroyed their community less than a generation before.

Her head hurt and she pushed on her forehead. There was a faint buzzing that wouldn't stop. Leigh thought about going to bed, but she needed to take her medication. It was too early yet. Instead she made a pot of Kohkom's tea and sat drinking it and trying to stop the cycle of defeat. Her mind ran like a gerbil on a wheel.

The tea and the conscious focus away from her failure worked to help her relax. She started to plan her class and where to go with their learning next week.

At first she thought the thumping was in her head. It was irregular. There would be a period of almost silence then it would get louder. At one point, she could feel the thumping in her chest. That's when she realized that it was music from nearby.

Leigh put on her boots and coat. She went outside and immediately heard the music poring from the trailer next door. She walked over and knocked on the door. Then she banged her fist on the door. Then she kicked the door. It finally opened and the music swelled out around her like an animal, sniffing at the edges of her sanity.

"Please turn the music down," she said, "I'm having a rough night."

"It isn't that loud," the young man said, and closed the door. The music got louder, so Leigh kicked the door again.

"Fuck off, lady," the young man said when he opened the door again, "Just because your husband's a cop doesn't mean you can come by and try to kick my door in." He slammed the door again, and seconds later the music was even louder. Leigh walked back to her home and called the detachment.

"Sorry, Jim's out on a call," Rob said.

"But the music's so loud I can barely think."

"I'll send another member out as soon as I can," Rob said, "It's probably better it isn't Jim anyway. It makes it clear that they are breaking the law, not just annoying Jim's wife."

"Thanks," Leigh tried to recapture the bit of calm she'd achieved before the music started, but it had vanished. She had visions of beating their door down with an ax and smashing the stereo.

Finally, she saw the lights pull up next door and heard the banging on the door. She could hear shouting, but finally the music was silenced. Leigh wondered if she'd gone deaf, but the knock on the door startled her. She opened the door to see an officer she hadn't met before standing there.

"Evening," the officer said, "they said that they would keep the music down. If you have any more problems, just call us."

"Thank you," Leigh said.

She made another pot of tea after the officer left and took her medications. She went to bed and tried to remember breathing exercises that she had learned once years ago when a friend had dragged her to yoga lessons.

She was almost asleep when the music started up at full volume for about thirty seconds before stopping. Leigh felt like crying, but she didn't have the energy.