Kindergarten Baby: A Novel Page 17

  “Looks can be deceiving,” was all the woman said.

  In contrast, all Lindsey could think was What you see is what you get.

  A young man in his late teens ran out from the small, old house and helped Lindsey with her bags. He led her into the barn, then stood back, obviously enjoying her expression of relief. Inside, the barn had a north woods motif that included a mixture of hidden high tech and luscious comfort, nothing like a typical convention center meeting area. Instead of rows of tables and chairs, an assortment of comfortable leather chairs, loveseats, and sofas arranged in semi-circles took up about two thirds of the room. Western-styled lamps lit the room, which was a welcome change from the normal fluorescent ceiling lights in many meeting areas. Several dozen laptop computers were set out on a long, narrow pine table by the west wall of the barn, and a slightly raised and carpeted presentation area was located at the northern end. The front third of the barn, just inside the massive barn door entryway, contained six large, round wooden tables. The area was separated from the rest of the room by potted pine trees. The young man who had carried her bags informed her that all meals and snacks would be served in this area, family-style.

  “I know this must sound like a silly question,” asked Lindsey, “but where do we sleep?”

  “Sleep? There’s no time for sleeping here,” the young man said with a straight face. He winked. “Just kidding. Follow me. Every barn needs a place to store the hay.”

  He led her upstairs and showed her four bunk rooms, each large enough to hold a dozen sleepers. “This room is yours,” he said. “Enjoy your night.”

  About half of the bunks appeared already taken, and their absent occupants had unpacked and organized their belongings. Lindsey did the same. A few minutes later, another woman was escorted up and assigned a bunk. She and Lindsey quickly became acquainted and went to explore the rest of the second floor. They were pleased to discover a very nice bathroom, complete with five stalls, five sinks, five showers, five private dressing areas, and one large hot tub. It was almost like being at camp‌—‌all modern, yet artistically rustic. Lindsey had never seen an interior with so much wood. A great deal of creative and unusual thought had gone into the design and décor of this facility.

  When they were done exploring, they sat by the upstairs fireplace, sharing school stories and a few misadventures with men when the announcement came, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Welcome, everyone. Please begin making your way to the dining area and look for your name cards. Dinner will be served in about ten minutes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jake knocked on the door and got no response. He rang the doorbell several times and still heard nothing. Good. That’s what he’d hoped for. But he’d also hoped the front door would be unlocked or at least that the usual hiding place for the key would still be holding a key. He walked around to the side kitchen door, looking guiltily over his shoulder every step of the way.

  This door was unlocked. Anthony would have locked it, but Shawna? Well, she might have forgotten. Her mind rarely dwelt on mundane, domestic things. Jake stepped inside.

  “I wish you were with me, Wendell,” he said out loud, but the dog wasn’t up to sleuthing yet. He still moved very slowly and with a limp. He’d picked him up as Lindsey had requested; the poor dog was sleeping in his apartment once again.

  Jake had brought his camera this time. He’d decided to take photos of anything and everything that he thought might shed some light on Shawna. It wasn’t just for his thesis, though he told himself that was the prime reason for his being there. He figured that in the long run, more knowledge of this woman‌—‌this couple—might be helpful to Lindsey.

  Today his curiosity overpowered his common sense. He began his snooping at the far end of the house, in the master bedroom, making a mental note to meticulously set everything he touched back to its exact location so no suspicions would be raised. He came up empty in the master bedroom, finding nothing out of the ordinary except for an abundance of dark-colored satin bras and panties. No thongs, though. That surprised him a little. He assumed she’d be the thong type.

  Just across the hall he saw a door to another bedroom. Probably a guest room, he thought, though somehow he couldn’t imagine this couple ever having guests. He peeked in, saw nothing at first, but he stopped before skipping the room entirely. Something made him hesitate, and his hand still rested on the door knob. He entered the room to take a closer look around and noticed that the only furniture was a queen-size bed draped with a shiny purple coverlet. There were no drawers to open, no shelves to peruse, just one small door. He presumed that led to an equally small closet.

  The closet door was locked, which made Jake more curious than ever. Fortunately for Jake, it was an old, outdated key lock, and he opened it easily with a credit card and the pick on his all-purpose utility knife. He pulled a chord he hoped would illuminate the space, and voila! Light…‌and lots of relatively new men’s clothing. Not Anthony’s style, though. Perhaps it belonged to a previous boyfriend or a relative. That might make sense. Jake snapped a few photos then carefully relocked the door.

  Jake conducted a mental inventory of his findings as he moved through the house. He had seen a lot of photos of an older man‌—‌presumably her father‌—‌and of a young boy that he assumed was her brother. He only found recent photos of Shawna, none of her as a child. A variety of lawyers’ business cards were stacked in one of the desk drawers, and several paid receipts from a clinic in Trinidad, Colorado were in the bottom drawer, but they were too vague to decipher much more than the amount paid. The oddest papers were some letters held together with a purple ribbon, addressed to a guy named Sean. Uncomfortable about reading private notes, he quickly snapped a photo of two of the envelopes before leaving the house.

  Now, as he drove away from the scene of his crime, he regretted not having read at least a few of the letters. His investigative work had raised more questions than answers.

  ***

  “Did you enjoy your Rock Cornish game hen?” asked the woman at the podium. Participants responded enthusiastically with cheers and applause. “Excellent,” she said. “My name is Elisabeth Meriwether. To my right is Frank Bartlett, and to my left is Cheryl Thompson. The three of us organize and oversee this conference every year. This is the fourth annual gathering of The Innovative Teacher of the Year Award recipients. We select one winner from each state, and I am delighted to inform you that this year, every winner was able to attend. That is a first!”

  Everyone applauded politely, and the participants smiled at each other.

  When they were quiet, Elisabeth continued. “We gather here in Rugby every year, right here in this barn. Some of you asked, why Rugby? That’s Frank’s story, so we’ll let him tell it before the conference is over. Between now and then, think about your own answer for the question, ‘why Rugby?’”

  Excitement and anticipation grew as Cheryl explained the general schedule and specific events that would take place over the next two days. “Each morning you will awaken to a recorded medley sung by cheerful, local birds‌—‌eastern wooded pee wees, horned larks, black-capped chickadees, and house wrens‌—‌at approximately 6:30, followed by breakfast at 7:30, then introductions and announcements at 8:30. Four oral presentations will commence right after that. Everyone will share, ask questions, build upon the presented information, and be able to apply the new learning to their own teaching situations. After lunch there will be a group excursion lasting two to three hours, followed by ninety minutes of free time before dinner at 6:00 p.m. Immediately after dinner, we will continue our learning, featuring some of the written presentations.”

  “Shelley Brown, Ronda Mitchell, Frances Garcia, and Lindsey Sommerfield will be our morning presentation speakers tomorrow. I would like you four ladies to come and see me as soon as we finish here tonight. There is a list of those sharing tomorrow evening’s written reports over by the computers. Do take a packet‌—‌they are
on the table by the stairs‌—‌and read through it before breakfast. It should answer most of your questions about the presentations as well as about the follow-up opportunities available throughout the year.

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening. Oh, just one more, quick item: because of our dormitory-style sleeping arrangements, lights out is at 10:30. We have clip-on book lights available if you care to continue your reading after lights out.”

  No one wanted or needed a book light that first night. Almost everyone had been traveling since the wee hours of the morning, so many were asleep long before lights out. Lindsey wasn’t one of them. Not that she wasn’t exhausted‌—‌she was‌—‌but the reality of speaking in front of this group of educators in the morning had begun to set in. She had to admit, she was nervous. What if she couldn’t remember what to say? What if the pages of her presentation fell onto the floor and ended up out of order? What if her power point malfunctioned? What if? What if? What if?

  After breakfast, Shelley Brown, the Ohio winner, spoke first. She had developed a Supplemental Saturday Program for 4th and 5th grade students who struggled academically due to their inability to succeed in a typical classroom environment. Through her program, the town she and her students lived in‌—‌the parks, the museums, the businesses, the post office, everything‌—‌had become their Saturday classroom.

  Next up was Ronda Mitchell from California. Ronda worked at a school where all classrooms were multi-age. She shared several thematic units that she created and currently used with her 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade students. With these specially crafted units, she could teach the whole group similar concepts and information, but with enough differentiation that all students could participate at their instructional level.

  After a quick break, the third presenter of the day, Frances Garcia, from Texas, was up. Because most of the mandated teaching materials didn’t meet the needs of all her students, she wrote adaptations. For example, Frances wrote an adaptation of the social studies textbook so that it contained the same information but at a lower reading level, and she translated the most important facts to Spanish to ensure all her English Language Learners were successful, too.

  As Lindsey watched these imaginative and noteworthy presenters, she became increasingly nervous. The other women were so polished and well rehearsed‌—‌so professional. The more she thought about her presentation, the more she worried.

  “Our next presenter is Lindsey Sommerfield. Come on up, Ms. Sommerfield,” announced Elisabeth.

  Lindsey stood slowly and approached the presentation platform, trying to disguise her terror. She felt wobbly both in her stomach and in her knees, her palms were slick with sweat, and the inside of her mouth felt as if it was packed with cotton balls. How would she be able to talk? What have I gotten myself into? Please, please don’t let me make a total fool of myself, she prayed.

  Elisabeth was waiting for her at the microphone. Lindsey pressed her notes against her body, trying to make them stop shaking.

  Elisabeth smiled warmly, then addressed the audience. “Teachers, I’d like to tell you a little inside information about Lindsey. You all had over three months to prepare for your participation in this program, including arranging your travel and guest teachers.” Her smile grew. “Poor Lindsey knew nothing of this award or conference‌—‌let alone the prospect of making a presentation‌—‌until just three days ago.”

  There was an appreciative gasp from the audience, and Lindsey managed to give them a weak smile.

  Elisabeth went on. “Not only that, but due to the last minute travel arrangements, Lindsey had to fly in directly to Rugby. Some of you know what that means.” She turned to Lindsey, a twinkle in her eye. “How was your flight, Lindsey?”

  With no idea of how to answer, Lindsey decided to stick with the truth. “It was a lot like a nightmare,” she tried to say, certain her words came out sounding like she was holding her own tongue as she spoke. To her delighted surprise, her brief response roused smiles and laughter from the audience.

  “Today Lindsey will tell us all about teaching kindergarten children to write through the use of her own innovation which she calls Art Journals. Let’s get her started. You know what to do,” encouraged Elisabeth.

  As the audience applauded, Lindsey centered herself in front of the microphone and began to speak. The first few minutes seemed to last forever, as she struggled to regain normal levels of moisture in her mouth and recover her full voice. Her knees still shook, and she wondered how she would make it through her presentation without falling down. She’d barely begun when a hand went up from the audience. It was her new friend, Shelley, wearing a questioning frown.

  “I always thought an art journal was simply a book where an individual drew, painted, or whatever. Anything they felt like making, without any rules,” stated Shelley. “Am I wrong?”

  After a brief second of worry—are they turning on me already?—the teacher in Lindsey jumped into action. After all, she knew her topic inside and out.

  “Absolutely not, Shelley. You are not wrong. You have described a common type of art journal. My art journal is slightly different. It’s a vehicle that produces enjoyable writing practice for very young students. In a nutshell, my art journal is an individual student’s collection of art‌—‌that is often created during a guided drawing lesson‌—‌and a specific type of writing to accompany that art. The writing often reflects recent learning. This will all become clear by the end of my forty-five minutes. And thanks, Shelley, for your comment, because it has brought to my attention that my art journal, my innovation, is unique and needs a more descriptive or definitive name. Perhaps you all can help me with that.”

  The ice was broken, or at least cracked a little, and Lindsey forgot all about the nervous state of her mouth and knees. She was on her way, discussing her innovation and sharing specific lessons and student work resulting from those lessons. The time flew by.

  A hand went up, and Lindsey smiled, encouraging the other teacher. “Like you, Lindsey, I teach kinder, and after seeing your student samples I have to say that I really doubt my kids could do what your kids have done.” Her statement was backed by numerous nodding heads.

  Lindsey disagreed. “I guarantee your students will be successful at some level. Here. Look at these three drawings of a pig. The first little pig looks just like a pig; the second little pig looks like a pig that an average five-year-old might draw; the third little pig, well, he cried wee-wee-wee all the way home.” The group laughed, and Lindsey paused enjoying the moment. “Each student took part in the same lesson and participated at their current ability level. All the pigs had two ears, two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and they were all pink. Each child was successful in his or her own way. I also guarantee they will be so proud of their work they will want to do more. And, come parent conference time, or portfolio conference time, each student’s art journal will be a treasured piece of work in the eyes of both students and parents. Each child’s growth and maturity will be obvious as the year progresses.”

  Questions and comments kept coming. “I can’t draw,” one teacher said. “I could never lead students in a guided art lesson.”

  Lindsey thought for a moment, then asked, “Elisabeth, can I take fifteen minutes more?” She got the nod and proceeded to lead the entire group, step-by-step, through one of the lessons she had already completed with her students called, The Frog’s Story.

  At the end of the fifteen minutes, Elisabeth returned to the microphone. “It seems you’ve captured everyone’s interest, but we need to move on now.”

  The room echoed with applause, and Lindsey smiled at everyone, drinking in the first positive energy she’d felt in a long, long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The group excursion after lunch was to the Prairie Village Museum. The bus pulled up outside the barn and, since the ground was still a bit icy, the driver gave each woman a hand up.

  “Hi, there,” the bus driver said to Lindsey as he
took her hand. “I thought you might be in Rugby for this conference.

  She stared at him, startled. Then she smiled. “Hey, bathroom guy!”

  She settled into her seat beside her new friend. “You know him?” Shelley asked.

  “Not really.” Lindsey shrugged lightly. “We kind of met by the bathroom at the Rugby airport. I guess he’s my bathroom/bus driver buddy.”

  Shelley raised one dark eyebrow. “He’s a tall, good-looking, friendly, cowboy kind of guy, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “And? You’re single, aren’t you? I’m married, so I don’t—”

  Lindsey laughed out loud. “No way! I’ve had it with men, at least for now. Besides, he drives a bus in Rugby. That’s a heck of a long way from Tucson.”

  They both looked up as the bus pulled into the museum parking area. The main building of the complex housed wildlife displays, antique guns, items that pioneers used to make their homes, and many Native American and Eskimo artifacts. Lindsey thought the bus driver might also guide them through the various buildings at the Prairie Village Museum, but he was nowhere to be seen. Lindsey and Shelley, who were becoming great friends, stuck together, visiting the old-time dress shop, the Old Norwegian house, every building and display, the jail, the livery, and the blacksmith shop. By four o’clock everyone was back on the bus. The temperature had dropped from the midday forty-seven degrees down to thirty-five, according to their driver.

  “Be sure to dress even warmer tomorrow,” he suggested to the ladies. “We’ll be outside for much of the time, and the weather will be cold.”

  The next day the bus took them to a place called the Northern Lights Tower, but they had no idea what that was about. As they exited the bus, the driver instructed them to gather around the tall steel structure that stood before them.