Hannah (2 page)

In church I waited for the choir to come down the aisle singing, “Holy, holy, holy.” That always half-thrilled and half-scared me. Since I couldn’t see anything, I was never sure but what God wasn’t right in the church looking at me. Pastor Olsen’s sermons were long, and my back got tired from sitting up straight. Sometimes Pastor Olsen would read a Psalm from the Bible. I would try to say the words over in my head so that I could keep some of them. Especially the Psalm where the mountains skip like rams and the
little hills like lambs. Or the one where the precious ointment runs all the way down Aaron’s beard to the hem of his garment.

After church everyone clustered around us to meet the new teacher. People don’t often come to settle around here, so a new face causes a stir. After they were introduced to Miss Robbin, they said a few words of greeting to Mama and Papa and asked me, “And how is poor Hannah today?” I was always “poor Hannah,” like it was one word.

When we were back in the wagon, Miss Robbin asked me, “Why do they call you ‘poor Hannah’?”

“Because I can’t see,” I said.

“If it comes to that,” Miss Robbin told me, “all of us have things we don’t see. I would guess, Hannah, that you see some things people with perfectly good eyes don’t.”

“We’ve never pretended to Hannah that she was like other children,” Mama said. “We believe in facing up to facts.”

“Oh, but surely, Mrs. Thomas, Hannah is like other children.”

“No, she’s not. I don’t say there’s anything bad about her, mind you. She’s good company for me when the other children are away at school and Mr. Thomas is out in the fields. I couldn’t ask for better. She can make up a story right out of her head that you wouldn’t believe.”

“I suppose you would miss her if she went to school?” Miss Robbin asked. For a moment I got so excited by the thought of being able to go to school, my breath stopped.

“Well, she’s not going to go,” Mama said. And for the first time I wondered if Mama was keeping me home from school because I wouldn’t do well there or because she just wanted me for herself.

I got to sit next to Miss Robbin at Sunday dinner. She smelled of something nice. It wasn’t strong like the perfume Mama kept in a little bottle on her dresser and never
used. It was more like fresh lemonade. Mama went to a lot of trouble to make a good dinner for Miss Robbin. “I don’t want the teacher telling other families she doesn’t get a decent meal here,” Mama said. We had all my favorite things: roast chicken and mashed potatoes with lots of gravy, and biscuits. For dessert there was apple pie sweetened with maple sugar from our own sugarbush. Mama cut my meat for me. When I heard the milk jug being passed around, I held my mug out so Mama could pour for me.

“I’ll show you how to pour your own milk, Hannah,” Miss Robbin said.

“She’ll only make a mess of it,” said Mama.

But Miss Robbin told me to put my finger inside my mug. “Here is the pitcher, Hannah. Just pour very slowly until you feel the milk with your finger. Then stop right away.”

Everyone was quiet. I knew they were watching me, and I worried about spilling the milk. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of making Mama angry with me but that I didn’t want her to be angry with Miss Robbin. I poured as carefully as I could, and as soon as I felt the cold milk on my finger, I stopped and held out the pitcher for someone to take.

“Very good,” said Miss Robbin. Her words sounded a little strange. In our house no one praised you for doing something right. It was just expected of you. Miss Robbin had nice things to say about Mama’s cooking too. “Mrs. Thomas, this chicken is so tender, I can cut it with my fork. And I’ve never tasted lighter biscuits. If I didn’t keep my hand on them, I think they would float right up to the ceiling.”

Johnny giggled. I could tell by the way Mama insisted that the chicken was stringy and the potatoes lumpy and the biscuits too well done—none of which was true—that she was pleased. The more you said nice things to Mama, the more she fought them off.

After dinner Miss Robin said, “I ate so much, I can hardly take a breath. I’ll have to walk some of that delicious dinner off. Hannah, will you come with me?”

I jumped up eagerly. It wasn’t often that someone asked me to walk with them. They usually got tired of holding my hand and telling me to look out for things.

“I don’t know that it’s healthy to take a walk after a big meal,” Mama said. I began to feel Mama and Miss Robin were each pulling at me from different sides. I wasn’t sure I liked being in the middle.

“Nonsense,” Papa said. “I go out and plow a field after a big dinner six days a week.” I could have hugged him.

I knew the sun was shining, because I could feel its warmth like a wool shawl all along my arms and shoulders. There were no leaves under my feet, so I guessed they were still on the oak trees. Soon they would fall. Already I could hear the acorns dropping on our roof. “Why don’t you show me around the farm, Hannah,” Miss Robbin said.

“I wouldn’t know how to,” I told her. “Nobody ever showed me.” I could get from the house to the privy, and sometimes Verna and I would go for a walk, but I didn’t know where anything was or even what was there. I knew we had horses and cows and pigs, because Papa talked about them and I could hear them, but I didn’t know where they were or exactly what they were like.

“Well, in that case, Hannah,” Miss Robbin said, “I guess I’ll have to show
you.
We’ll start with the barn. Run your hand along the fence and count your steps, and you’ll know how to get there yourself next time. This is the barn. Don’t step off the walk or you’ll get your feet dirty. Here’s the first cow. Just feel her, Hannah. Feel how smooth and warm she is. Now run your hand over her face. Feel how long her eyelashes are, and now feel under her belly. This is where the milk comes from. I’m sure your father could teach you how to milk a cow.”

We went to the stable and I felt our horses, Billy and Maggie. Then we went to the pen where the pigs were. It didn’t smell very good there, but I got to feel some little piglets and even held one in my arms until it wriggled away. We went into the chicken coop, and I felt a rush of air as the chickens flew out of our way. Miss Robbin put my hand on the warm, smooth eggs in the nests. The eggs were traded for sugar and salt at the general store. The farm grew larger and larger in my mind. I felt almost dizzy. “What else is there?” I kept asking. “What else is there?”

Finally Miss Robbin said, “I think you’re getting too excited, Hannah. We’ll save the rest for another day. Let’s just walk out to your father’s woods and find a nice cool spot.” As we went, Miss Robbin told me what she saw. “The wild asters are blooming, Hannah. Here, feel what they are like. Smell them.”

The flowers were small in my hand. Each one had tiny petals and a center like a little covered button. Their smell was dry and sharp. “The milkweed pods are open,” Miss
Robbin said. She put something in my hand that was as soft as anything I had ever felt. “There are thousands of soft things like that,” she said, “each one with a seed. They’ll float in the air, and wherever they come down there will be more milkweed plants. Here is a nice mossy place where we can sit.” I settled down beside her, feeling spongy, thick moss under my hand. “Your mother tells me you make up stories, Hannah. Would you tell me one?”

Suddenly, I was shy. It was one thing to tell my mama a story while she was dusting or kneading bread and only half-listening. It was something else to tell Miss Robbin. She would hear every word I said and might think my story foolish. Still, she had been so nice to me, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“Once there was a horse named Billy, just like our horse,” I began. “By day he pulled a plow, but at night whenever the moon shone on him he became Nebuchadnezzar. You could fly through the sky on him. You could go anywhere in the world and see anything you wanted to see. You could fly over Jerusalem and Solomon’s Temple, covered with gold and garnished with precious stones. You could see Queen Victoria drinking tea in Buckingham Palace. You could see whales swimming in the ocean. On the way home you could fly over old Mr. Peterson’s house and see his dog that gets around on three legs.…”

“You know, Hannah,” said Miss Robbin, “books are like your horse, Nebuchadnezzar. When you read them, you can see wonderful things.”

“But I’ll never be able to read.”

“Perhaps you will. First, we must ask your parents to let you go to school.”

Monday came and Johnny and Verna went off to school. Miss Robbin had left early to get the schoolroom swept out and tidied for class. Verna knew I was sorry to be left behind. She promised she would tell me all about the first day of school.

When she got home, I was waiting for her. “Carl Kleino was throwing spitballs at the little kids,” Verna said. “Miss Robbin said if he was going to act like a baby he would have to sit with the kindergarten and first grade. Carl’s face was red as a beet. And you know what? Miss Robbin told the class that before long there might be a new pupil in school. I think she meant you.”

After dinner that night while Miss Robbin was helping Mama with the dishes, she said real nicely, “I’ve only got twelve students, Mrs. Thomas. I’d have plenty of time to give Hannah some lessons if you’d let her come to school.”

I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

“No point to it,” Mama said.

Papa was sitting at the kitchen table. I smelled the kerosene lamp and heard his pencil scratch. I guessed he was adding up the bills and figuring out the ones he could pay. There had been almost no rain during the summer. Half of our crops had dried up. He said to Miss Robbin, “You won’t get the missis to let Hannah go to school. She likes having a young one around the house. It looks as if Hannah’s going to stay her baby no matter how old Hannah gets to be. You
see a cow like that sometimes, won’t let go of her calf.”

Mama flew out at Papa, “Pa, that isn’t so.”

Miss Robbin said, “I’m sure Mrs. Thomas wouldn’t stand in the way of giving Hannah an education.”

“Well, you all seem to know more than I do,” Mama said. “I guess Hannah can do what she wants to. But she’s not going to like school when she finds out it’ll be way over her head.”

“And I can’t pay for any books,” Papa said.

The next morning I was the first one up. I climbed out of bed without waking Verna and put on my clothes. I crept down the stairs to the kitchen and pumped some water to wash my face and hands. To please Mama I set the table for breakfast. I made sure I had the forks on the left and the knives and spoons on the right. When Mama came down, she didn’t say anything. But she didn’t say I couldn’t go to school. Miss Robbin didn’t say anything either. I guess she thought now that she had her way it was best to keep quiet. She just thanked Mama for the breakfast and started off for school. As she went out the door she put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

When it was time for Verna and Johnny and me to go, I went over to hug Mama. She pushed me away and handed the three of us our jugs of water. There was no well at the school, so we had to bring our own water to drink and to wash our slates.

On the way to school Verna held my hand. I thought we would never get there. Finally I heard the voices of the other children. Miss Robbin came out to meet me. “Hannah,” she said, “we’re so happy to have you in school.” But she didn’t let me sit with Verna. She made me go up in front and sit with Johnny and the other little children. I remembered
how Verna said it was a punishment when Carl had to sit there.

I listened to all the voices and tried to make out who they belonged to. There was an arithmetic lesson that didn’t make any sense to me. Then there was some reading that I couldn’t do. I began to wonder why I was there.

When it was time for recess, I started to walk out of school, feeling my way by holding on to the desks. As I got to the back of the room, I heard Carl say, “You sure can tell Hannah Thomas can’t see in the mirror or she wouldn’t look like a ragbag with a haystack for her hair.” I was so mad I picked up a book from one of the desks and threw it in the direction of Carl’s voice. I heard him cry out. Then someone stuck something out in front of my foot, and I tripped and fell on my face in the aisle.