Chapter 3
The heat wave continued throughout the week. Summer seemed to try to stifle the town before giving way to autumn. The sun struck April with the force of a blow each time she left the house for school. There were no classes as yet, only a round of meetings, of schedulings and assignments.
Peg Mason had called them limbering up exercises for a year of trying to crack hard skulls. April had been delighted to discover that Peg was a fellow teacher at the school as well as her landlady.
"An accident of marriage," Peg had explained. "My ex was so glad to be rid of me that he threw in the house as part of the settlement."
"I didn't mean to probe," April had said contritely at breakfast that first morning.
"Quite all right. For some women marriage works and for others it doesn't. If you've made a mistake, pull out and forget it. That's what I did."
As the week had passed, April had learned other things about the town and Peg Mason. She had not at first known what to say to Peg's scornful wonder that she had come here. Finally April had confessed that she had had no choice.
"The other places turned me down-lack of actual experience," she had explained one night as they had lolled in pajamas in the shadows of the deep porch. "The board here just asked about degrees and credentials, nothing more."
"Darling," Peg had drawled, "they didn't dare ask about anything else. Knowing what I'm paid after four years, I can imagine what your salary is."
"What's wrong, Peg? Won't the factory reopen?"
"Last I heard-no. It made components for some kind of thing Uncle Sam decided he could do without."
"But something ought to be done."
"No one knows what. The town fathers just sit around and wait for something to happen."
"Can they?"
"The point is they do-except for Judson Gray and two or three others."
"Judson Gray-he's the young man on the school board?"
"That one. Makes female hearts skip a beat for all the good it does them. He's too deep in trying to save the town-and his own business, by the way. Gray's Department Store down on Main."
"His?"
"Inherited three years ago when his father died. He's like many others here-scion of an old family established in business-until modern economics brought changes."
"Well," April had said, "at least he's awake."
"And may it do him some good." Peg had been silent for a moment before she asked, "Have you been affected by our Mr. Gray?"
"Heavens, no. I've seen him only two or three times-last spring."
Peg had stood up. "Well, sack time if we're to look bright-eyed and intelligent in the auditorium tomorrow."
April had been groping her way to the screen door when Peg's slender, firm fingers had touched her arm to guide her. They were gone in a second but April had had the disturbing sensation that the touch had been a caress. She had thought about it later as she had sought sleep in the moist, dark heat.
But what she had briefly suspected simply could not be true. Peg had at least one steady date April knew of, a burly man April had briefly seen when he had called.
April's next thought had been so startling and frightening that she had sat bolt upright. Perhaps she herself had subconscious strange impulses-and simply read them into Peg. She had shivered, hugged her knees and stared into the darkness as she had probed into her own mind. She liked men, wanted men. True, that first surrender of hers four years ago had led to shock and disgust. She had avoided similar experiences since-but she had never even thought of turning to woman-love.
She sank back to the mattress but sleep was long in coming.
At last came the morning marking the final teachers' assembly. After the weekend the students would flock in, register, check schedules, pick up books for the full class sessions on Tuesday. As April showered and dressed, she heard Peg stirring around downstairs. Bright, cheerful music from the radio drifted upwards.
Breakfast was nearly ready when April came down. She swiftly took over the last touches. Seated at the table with toast and coffee, she looked through the window at the sunny morning. The weather already seemed hot, though with the air conditioning on in the house she could not tell.
Peg broke the little silence. "Well, this is Pep Day."
"What?"
"Teachers get a party. Not very exciting but still a party. We drink tea, nibble cookies. Some of us dance-if the hi-fi works in the gym. All of us are made important. Facing nine months of labor with the hopeful young of this hellhole, we need all the encouraging goof pills the principal and the board can give us."
April laughed. "You make it sound awful."
"Sweety, it is. Mind advice from an old China hand?"
"Not at all."
"Don't get involved with anybody, including yourself. You're just spending time here to get experience for a better job somewhere else next year-or the year after."
"You sound pretty cold and callous."
Peg adjusted her skirt, smiled at April. "Honey, girls with figures like yours can get involved, one way or another, unless they play it cold and callous. That's the only way to fly. Oh, you might except present company if the going gets too lonely."
April looked up swiftly. Peg's smile was warm and friendly-just friendly, April decided. With a little laugh she conceded Peg's point and began to help clear the table.
Peg proved right about Pep Day. The whole staff, including the janitors, assembled in the school gym. A long table sat under one of the suspended net baskets from which the school colors were displayed in streamers. The table bore tea and coffee urns, innumerable plates of cookies and cake. Music came from speakers normally used for official referee decisions and game announcements. Though turned low, the music seemed to boom and echo in the huge structure. No one danced as yet but clustered in little groups.
Peg bent to April and whispered as they entered, "The same old bit, every year. Pep Day always starts out like a morticians' convention until someone works up enough courage to crack a smile."
They walked side by side across the great expanse of gym floor. Peg indicated a large group of people near the refreshment table. April caught the disapproving eyes of an older woman on her, a wrinkled teacher of ancient history whose dark, beaded dress might have come from one of her own textbooks. The thin, bloodless lips quirked slightly and the woman turned her attention back to the principal, the center of the group.
But she also caught veiled, appreciative glances from male eyes and felt better. Approaching the group, she saw a few strange faces. She was introduced to one-a Mr. Collins. Bill Collins' father. He looked like Bill.
He smiled. "I didn't realize how much our faculty needed brightening until just now. You're not only a new face, but a pretty one."
April flushed, pleased. "I met your son, Mr. Collins. In fact, he was the first person I saw when I walked into the school a week ago."
"Bill? At school a week early? Now, that's a switch. Bill stays as far away from school as he can-and for as long as possible."
"He seems an intelligent boy."
Collins sighed, "Oh, Bill's got brains, give him that. But he won't use 'em. Drifts through lessons and classes when he could top the list. Quit once. Thank God, he came back."
"Why doesn't he like school?"
"I wish I knew. But half of the kids here are that way." He indicated the table. "How about cake? Or coffee?"
She nodded and accepted a cup of coffee from Collins. The principal joined them and a moment later, with a word of apology, Collins moved off.
By then other faculty members had moved to the table. April found herself pulled into another group and listened to the talk, nodding now and then.
This was the first glimpse April had into the personal lives and attitudes of her fellow teachers. In the past week, there had been brief, formal contact in meetings, small seminars and department conferences. She had been able to do no more than place faces with names and the subjects taught. Now, as she listened to talk, she discovered there was little enthusiasm among those present for the task ahead. The few younger ones, like herself, were here to mark time. The older ones gave the impression that they had been caught in a stagnant educational eddy and would never escape.
They were right, April thought, as she listened to a beak-nosed, embittered woman complain about the small pension she would start drawing next year when she retired. Some, April discovered, had spent their whole teaching lives locally and even had children enrolled here. They alone showed some faint spark of enthusiasm.
Within an hour, April felt her spirits steadily lower and she began to understand Peg Mason's harsh advice. But she did not like it and wondered desperately if she had entered some sort of educational jail, sentenced to a year or two of service as dull and drab as washing dishes.
"Care to dance, Miss Williams?"
She turned. Judson Gray smiled down at her and she felt the impact of his dark, deep-set eyes. She nodded and he took her hand, led her to the floor. In a moment, she felt herself swung out and into the dance. For a few steps she was too aware of the row of faces watching them-she and Judson Gray were the first couple on the floor.
He spoke in a low voice. "Don't mind the people. I can't be fired and I'll see that you're not." She laughed. "Is it that bad?"
"Not really. A dozen of the braver ones will be with us in a moment."
Her embarrassment left her and, with it, her stiffness. She blended her movements with his and they seemed to flow along the floor with the music. She almost put her head on his shoulder, checked the instinctive impulse. She felt a moment of fright at this near surrender to informality with a man she hardly knew.
He sensed a slight, renewed stiffness on her part and his dark, intense face glowed with a fresh smile. "Miss Williams, if you teach as well as you dance, we'll keep you here forever. That's a promise."
The strong arms, the flowing muscles, the male aura of the man who held her, filled her mind and emotions. The thought that a near stranger could so easily storm her emotional defenses alarmed her. No one had ever affected her so before.
She became aware that Judson Gray had spoken to her.
"I said our little party will soon be over. How about lunch, after I show you the town?"
She heard, with amazement, her own voice answering, "I'd love it."