gave you records on all the kids.”
“She did.” Kate unlocked a bottom desk drawer and walked her fingers along the hanging files she’d set up. “I’ll be happy to show you Clover’s record.” Extracting a thin folder, she removed a sheet and slid it across the desk.
He didn’t take it, or even examine it. Instead, he acted wary, or perhaps impatient, and sort of growled, “Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what you want Clover to do? Or what I should do?”
Again reaching into the hanging file, Kate brought out Clover’s work. She waved the sheaf of papers at Trueblood until he gingerly accepted it. A tiny smile flickered as he leafed through the pages. “These, uh, look pretty good to me,” he finally said. He took a longer look at a drawing of Kate. “She missed those little half-glasses you’ve got perched on your nose. Outside of that it’s the spitting image, I’d say.”
“Mr. Trueblood.” Exasperated, Kate snatched back the artwork. “Clover draws in great detail. The problem is that she did these and not her daily assignments.” Pointing toward the window, Kate described the bird incident.
“My buckaroos will tell you that Clover’s good with animals. For instance, if she says call the vet, my trail boss calls him. Sure enough, something’s always wrong.”
“I’d hoped you could shed light on the issue of her schoolwork. As you see, her previous teacher wrote next to nothing on her file. Mr. Sikes made progress notes on all of the other students. Did he ever talk to you about Clover’s performance in class?”
Ben got up and paced to the door and back, all the while rubbing at the back of his neck. “We had a talk after Sikes got called up by his army unit. He…said… Clover needs… She’s…not like other kids.”
Kate removed her reading glasses and watched the struggle going on within the man. “I can tell this isn’t easy for you to discuss. Does Clover’s problem stem from your separation, or is it a divorce? Problems in a marriage do affect the children.”
Ben’s head jerked up.
“I’m not prying,” Kate said softly. “I noticed Clover’s mother isn’t listed on her permanent record. Clover also told my son you’re at court in Boise a lot. And well, I’ve seen other students unable to handle a family split without counseling.”
His sudden scowl had Kate stuttering. “I…ah…realize you’d probably rather not discuss the failure of your marriage with a virtual stranger, but, teachers are like doctors, or lawyers. We need to be privy to family secrets in order to help your child.”
Feeling at a distinct disadvantage with Ben looming over her, larger than life, Kate snugged her wheelchair closer to the desk and sat up straight to give the appearance of being in control.
“I didn’t fail,” he said curtly. “At least not at marriage. I’m not married and never have been. I’ve been Clover’s only parent since she was maybe six hours old. She was left on my doorstep, or rather, on a pile of hay in my barn, by her parents—a couple of kids I saw running out of my barn. But if you’re looking to blame somebody for whatever the hell she’s doing or not doing, lay it on me.” Making a fist, Ben thumped his chest.
“There’s no need to swear.” Kate sounded heated, too. “This meeting isn’t about affixing blame, Mr. Trueblood.”
“Funny, it sounds like that to me, Ms. Steele. Why don’t you just spit out what it is you want Clover to do?”
“All right.” She tightened her laced fingers. “She’s having great difficulty with reading. At first I thought she might have dyslexia.” When he seemed shocked to silence, Kate added, “Dyslexia is where a person has problems with left versus right, or sees certain words backward. But information I located on dyslexia indicates a child would also have trouble doing math. Clover is a whiz at addition and subtraction. And her drawings aren’t indicative of a directionally challenged child. It’s hard to imagine that no one worried about this earlier.”
“A teacher, you mean?”
Kate shrugged. “Last year she should have started reading chapter books. In fact, she recognizes only a few simple words and doesn’t try to sound out others.”
“After Del Sikes left, the district sent materials for homeschooling. I was pretty tied up, so mostly my trail cook looked after Clover. He knows cattle and cooking. Well, he knows a lot more than that when it comes to nature and land and what makes people tick. You could say Lou saved me and my friend Percy Lightfoot from running wild or worse.” He’d begun to pace again.
“I see, I think. Well, I’ll need to evaluate her to find out where she went off track. It’s odd she missed learning to read, since she is proficient in math. If her problem turns out to be a more serious one, I assume the district has a psychologist who can administer those tests. It’ll help, Mr. Trueblood, if you begin preparing her for my evaluation.”
“Preparing her how?”
“Sit down with her every evening. Make Clover read to you. Make her sound out difficult words. As a parent you’ll be tempted to blurt out the words, but don’t do that. She has to figure them out herself.”
“I’m no teacher,” he said as he walked his hands around and around the brim of his hat. “Shouldn’t you be the one working with her?”
“If reading’s too difficult for Clover, she’s probably too embarrassed to raise her hand in class and ask me for help. I’ll give you three basic storybooks to take home. When she’s mastered these, here are the names of three more books I consider easy second-grade level. A library ought to have them.” Kate tore out a sheet of notebook paper and jotted three titles, then stuck the page in one of the storybooks and offered them to her visitor.
Ben reluctantly took the books. “I’m already spread too thin,” he said.
“Reading is vital. Surely we can agree on that.”
If he responded before he spun away and strode to the door, Kate missed his words.
A strange man, she thought. But, damn fine to look at.
Upset at the flutter of interest that tripped through her, she stuffed the papers in a drawer. That same lazy way of moving Ben had was what had first attracted her to Colton. Never again. No cowboy or buckaroo—or whatever the term in the area—was going to turn her head.
Kate noted that the basketball had quit thumping the wall behind her. Through the side window she heard Trueblood’s deep baritone mingled with the children’s higher pitched voices.
It wasn’t until she started her wheelchair motor, backed up and angled toward the window that it dawned on her—a streak of vanity had kept her from escorting Clover’s father to the door.
You didn’t want him to see you stuck in a wheelchair.
Kate grimaced. She would have hated seeing pity in his eyes.
As Danny’s voice reached her through the open window, Kate realized he hadn’t sounded this excited since they left Texas.
Handwheeling her chair to where she could see and not be seen, she discovered two things—the source of Danny’s pleasure and the reason she hadn’t heard the crunch of Trueblood’s tires on the pumice drive. A black
