A Child's Wish

At least, unlike Larry Barnett, he wasn’t lashing out.

Yet.

He reached for the Bartlesville morning paper and tossed it in her direction.

“Read it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

REPUBLIC EDITORIAL

FAMILIES AT RISK

Local Teacher Sticks Her Nose Where It Doesn’t Belong

Washington County district attorney Larry Barnett got the shock of his life Thursday evening when his ex-wife called to say she had to speak with him on a matter of urgent business regarding their eight-year-old son, Thomas. This “urgent business” was a message from Tommy’s teacher saying that recently elected, highly respected Barnett was abusing his son—and all on the basis of some kind of hunch!! In a society that is becoming obsessed with its own shadows, why would we put in our classrooms, in charge of our impressionable young children, women who send out alarms without a trace of proof? And to make matters worse, according to Barnett, the teacher in question had made the damaging statement after referring the boy to his school counselor, who sent him back with a clean report. Lincoln Elementary School principal Mark Shepherd assured Barnett that he had the situation in hand, after which an apology was forthcoming. An apology? For scaring a single mother half to death? For falsely accusing a father of hurting his own son? I say fire the woman immediately!

HOPING THE TREMBLING in her lower lip wasn’t visible, Meredith glanced up. “He didn’t waste any time, did he?”

It was only an editorial.

“That’s all you have to say?” His words were soft, far too controlled. She’d never seen Mark so angry.

“Bo Reynolds is always trying to scare up trouble about something.” Even Meredith, who rarely saw the paper, had heard of him. “Everyone knows you have to take him with a grain of salt.”

“I’ve had more than forty calls already this morning,” Mark said, still by the window and facing her now, arms behind his back.

She had a feeling they were being forcibly held there for her protection. He’d sooner have his hands around her throat. She stood up.

“From whom?” she asked, pretending a calm she couldn’t even remember how to feel.

“Parents who wanted to make sure their third-grader was not in the same class as Tommy Barnett.”

Sweat oozed out her pores. “How many of them were?”

“One.”

Out of four third-grade classes, roughly 120 students, with forty calls, only one had been from her group?

“My parents know me and trust me.” Other than the obvious exception.

Mark dropped his arms, sighed. “I suspect you’re right,” he said with some hesitation. He leaned on his desk with his palms down, bringing his face closer to hers, his eyes deadly serious.

“It has to stop, Meredith.”

She said nothing.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Not one more time,” he warned. “Please.”

Meredith withstood his scrutiny even when that hard glint returned to his eyes. He stood up and said, “I don’t want to have to fire you.”

“I know.” But he would if he had to. Still, the threat wasn’t going to stop her feelings, wasn’t going to stop the knowing. And she wasn’t going to stand by and silently watch children suffer, if she thought she could help them.

Of course, if she wasn’t around, she’d be useless to them.

She was just going to have to get a whole lot better at figuring out how to act on those situations that “occurred” to her without her being told about them.

“Can I go back to my class now?” she asked. “Mrs. Brewer is here for music this morning and we’re second on her list.”

“Yes.” Mark waved a hand at her. “Go.”

She didn’t wait for any niceties, didn’t intend to say another word. But at the door she turned.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the one?”

She wasn’t surprised when all she received in reply was a frustrated stare.

TOMMY BARNETT DIDN’T show up late for school on Monday. He didn’t show up at all. But his mother did, late in the afternoon, avoiding Mark’s gaze as she withdrew her son from Lincoln Elementary School.

“I’m sorry,” she told Mark, sitting in his office, filling out papers on a clipboard she rested on her lap. The obviously expensive gray pantsuit she was wearing, the jewelry, makeup and well-tended hair didn’t seem to give her any confidence at all.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark told her. “I completely understand.” He sat behind his desk, an authority figure who lacked the power to change a situation that had arisen under his care. Or even to explain it. “We’re the ones who are sorry,” he continued. “We let Tommy down—and we let you and his father down, as well.”

Ruth Barnett glanced up then, her eyes wide and luminous. “You didn’t let Tommy down,” she said softly. “He loved it here and he particularly loved Ms. Foster. His second-grade teacher told us she suspected he was dyslexic. This year, after just six months with Ms. Foster, he’s reading up to his grade level and beyond. Something had been holding him back, but it wasn’t dyslexia. I hope you know what a gem you have in her.”

Such a passionate speech from this woman startled Mark. But then, women had a tendency to do that more often than not.

His relief was less easy to accept. He was Meredith Foster’s boss, nothing more. If he had to fire her, he would.

“She’s very consistent with her classroom results,” he said now, choosing his words carefully.

Pen held poised above the plastic clipboard, Ruth studied him. “My ex-husband insisted that Tommy change schools,” she said, naming a private institution across town. “Larry Barnett is a powerful man.”

Mark nodded.

“He won’t let this drop.”

It was confirmation he’d rather not have had.

“With your support, Ms. Foster might be able to keep her job.” Mark didn’t miss the plea in her voice or in her eyes.