Mrs. Murphy watched Harry. “Guess they will have to, because what if students bring lunches full of sugar. Parents can’t feed their children now because the government figures they’re too stupid to do it.”
“Feed them mouse tartar.” Pewter laughed. “Think of the protein. When we were little it made us healthy.”
“Maybe in your case a little too healthy,” Tucker teased the gray cat.
“At least I have a tail and, I remind you, claws.” Pewter huffed up, dancing sideways toward the dog.
Harry, dropping to her hands and knees on the wooden floor, warned, “If you two get in a fight you’ll be grounded for the weekend.”
Pewter unpuffed, said, “Where are we going this weekend?”
“It will be spur-of-the-moment,” Tucker replied. “Those are the most fun, but probably she’ll check the barn, the outbuildings, all that stuff before winter really socks us.”
“Then why listen to her?” Pewter smacked the dog just enough to hear a little growl.
Peering at the few gaps between the worn floorboards, Harry grumbled, “Behave.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The gray cat sauntered over to give the human the benefit of her sharp eyes.
Tucker glanced up in the rafters. “You’d think birds would have gotten in here. A good place for a nest.”
As if on cue, Pewter unleashed one claw to slide it in a slight gap between two boards. “Hey, come here.”
Mrs. Murphy walked over, Tucker came closer but not too close. The tiger cat also used one claw. The two cats found nothing.
The rumble of a truck caught Harry’s attention. She zipped up her worn Carhart Detroit jacket. Once the weather turned colder, she did her chores in this jacket, wearing layers underneath depending on the day. Wet days she wore her Barbour. Farming fashion centers on what holds up, what keeps one dry, warm, and allows the wearer to still move efficiently.
Parking in front of the high school building, Tazio, BoomBoom, MaryJo, and Liz began to unload old school desks. The Reverend Jones had backed the truck up close to the door, cut the motor, and now he was lifting desks out of the truck bed.
Harry walked out. “Hey, let me help.”
“What are you doing here?” MaryJo asked, noticing Harry’s old Ford F-150 was parked behind the storage building.
“Nosing around.” Harry, now at the truck bed, helped lift down one of the wooden desks with wrought iron on the side to hold up the desktop.
Tazio unlocked the building, came back down the stairs. Within twenty minutes the six desks sat in two rows in the building. Everyone kept their coats on as the temperature hung at about fifty-two degrees. Wouldn’t have made sense to fire up the woodburning stove as they wouldn’t be there that long.
BoomBoom, hands on hips, said, “Makes me want to get out my notebook and pencil.”
“Where’d you find these?” Harry asked.
The teacher’s desk sat on a raised platform at the front of the room. Three student desks remained but with six added, the room began to look like a real classroom.
“Easton’s,” Liz replied.
“I thought they went out of business.” Harry had read that in the paper.
“Did, but the family’s still around and on the outside chance that a few odd pieces were left in storage I called.” Tazio filled her in. “Sure enough, six old desks from about 1918. These things really are indestructible.”
“They’d have to be.” Herb smiled. “Farm kids were strong.”
“There is that.” BoomBoom nodded.
Mrs. Murphy sat in the seat on the left front-row desk, while Pewter reposed on the desktop. Tucker, on the floor, thought the desks breathed life into the place.
“The more we can make this building look like it did back around the time of World War One, maybe the easier it will be to get cooperation from the county and the city regarding renewed classes.”
“I hope you’re right,” MaryJo added.
“Reverend, how’d you get roped into this?” Harry smiled.
“Just happened to be at Tazio’s shop when BoomBoom walked in,” he replied.
“The good reverend needs more modern insulation for his attic. Will save on the heating bill,” Tazio mentioned. “I know you’re in charge of buildings and grounds so don’t worry, I’m not taking over your job. There are such good products on the market now. They can reduce running costs. If the church decides to do this I think it can be done inexpensively. First, we need to remove the old stuff. Anyway, that’s another subject.”
“I’ve got one for here. We’ve got heat pumps as a backup. If we run them it won’t be an authentic experience.” Liz sat down at an old desk.
“Let the kids keep the stove going. That way they’ll learn what it was like,” Harry said with conviction.
“I agree but we have the heat pumps for nights. If kids go home during their one- or two-week living history classes and complain that they’re cold, you know how that will turn out.” Tazio put her hands in her coat pocket, a warm fleece-lined leather short coat.
“Electric is safer and warm.” MaryJo also sat down.
“An old oil furnace from the period, well, we won’t be able to find that, but a true oil furnace, not propane, might work and be easier to install. We’d need vents but we can run stuff through the attic, keep the oil down in the basement.” BoomBoom wanted to save money. “The point is, you know the electrical service is not always reliable out here.”
“Pretty much I think we’ll have to go to a gas generator backup for when the electricity goes out, which it will. Those heat pumps we installed can’t work without electricity. You can depend on that with winter in central Virginia as you said. Maybe we can get some of the materials and labor donated. And given that we have the woodburning stove we should still be able to keep the electrical costs down.” Harry, like BoomBoom, wanted to keep maintenance costs low.
Buying cars, furnaces, air conditioners, was one thing. Maintaining them was another.
“We can’t do anything until Ned maneuvers this through the city and the county. Who knows, maybe he can get some money from the House of Delegates.” Liz thought out loud.
“If it’s not in a delegate’s district, a delegate isn’t going to vote for a penny.”
They all sat down or leaned on the desks, batting around ideas.
Another car pulled up. Panto Noyes bounded into the building. “Inkwells. Got old inkwells.”
“I called him. Told him about the desks.” MaryJo smiled as Panto placed a shopping bag on her desk, and pulled out some simple, old brass inkwells with a lid. “You all are brave. Kids aren’t taught penmanship anymore. Do you know what a mess real ink will be?”
“Think of it as primitive art.” Harry laughed.
“Speaking of primitive,” Panto spoke. “When I go to powwows, visit reservations, especially out west, one of the first things I hear is how tribal children were not allowed to speak their native languages.”
MaryJo chimed in, “They are now, but so few elders are left who can speak or teach the language. This wiping out of language, religion, even clothing went on for decades.”
Reverend Jones said, “Of course, it was worse for defeated peoples, but immigrants were encouraged to shed the old ways. Their children, born here, didn’t want to speak, say, Italian.”
“The terrible thing is, people thought this was the right thing to do to fit in,” MaryJo responded.
“Give the tribal people credit. They didn’t want to fit in. They were forced,” Panto declared.
Later, Cooper drove down Harry’s driveway with another piece of evidence. The bullet from Harry’s Volvo station wagon was from the same gun that killed Pierre Rice.