Alias Mrs Jones by Kate McLachlan

Author:Kate McLachlan [McLachlan, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FF, Fiction, GLBT, Historical, Lesbian, Mystery & Detective, Romance
ISBN: 9781619292826
Google: LbBLvgAACAAJ
Amazon: 1619292823
Publisher: Quest by Rce
Published: 2016-09-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“MANDY, HOW MANY kegs, of nine gallons each, can be filled from a hogshead containing sixty-three gallons of vinegar?”

“Seven.”

“That is correct. John, if a man travels four miles an hour, how long will it take him to travel forty-eight miles?”

“Uh, five?”

“That is incorrect. Please sit down.”

I wasn’t the martinet sending John to his seat. I’d borrowed Ethel, an eighth grader with a desire to teach, from upstairs. In addition to administering the practice of oral arithmetic, Ethel had also led the morning prayer, orchestrated the reading aloud of an ode to a skylark, and directed a spelling bee. She had sent two students to the corner and one to the principal’s office, and she’d coerced the remaining students into good behavior with the promise of letting them use real ink instead of pencils when it was time to practice their handwriting.

I sat in the back of the room, rested my poor arm and head, and learned a few lessons about teaching. I had been doing it all wrong. Within minutes of entering the classroom, Ethel had the students rising to answer questions, arms at their sides, with no fidgeting whatsoever. It was something in the tone of her voice, I decided, and her firm discipline. Whatever it was, I was grateful to her. I’d slept poorly the night before, the pain in my arm and the questions in my head both keeping me awake. I could have asked Mrs. Dunn to teach my classes that day. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she could hardly have refused, not with my banged up appearance. But I had only taught for three days. I didn’t want anyone to think I was looking for an excuse to stay home already. Besides, I was eager to confront two young miscreants in the seventh grade.

Out of consideration for the third graders, I had taped a small piece of gauze over my stitches that morning. Before entering the seventh grade classroom at the end of the day, I removed the gauze, fluffed the black threads, and wrapped a wide strip of cotton cloth around my forehead, tucking the end in to keep it secure. I carried a small mirror in my purse. I pulled it out and examined myself. I looked like I’d been in a war. Perfect.

I pushed up the sleeve of my right arm, the better to show off the cast, and entered the classroom.

“Miss Chumley, what happened to you?”

“You look terrible, miss.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have class today. You don’t look up to it.”

“You should go to the hospital!”

I had not wasted my time in the back of the third grade classroom that day.

“Silence,” I pronounced with the firmness of Ethel. “Everyone sit down. Hands clasped on your desks. Eyes forward.”

They looked shocked but complied with a quickness that proved they had known proper classroom behavior all along. Within half a minute the classroom was silent and still, and all eyes were straight ahead. Or nearly all.

The only two students who had remained

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