Emma and Miss Spencer

Paula Sline

Description

Inspiring, heartwarming story of a fourth grader and a young teacher whose lives intersect at the crossroads of love and courage.
Nine-year-old Emma Cavanaugh lives with her parents in the upscale community of Glendale. She is a warm, adventurous child whose love for nature sustains her as she attempts to adjust to another year in school. She has a secret that becomes too difficult to keep. Fourth grade will surprise her in ways she could not imagine.
Miss Spencer is a twenty-seven-year-old former Catholic nun who is struggling to adjust to her new life. When her dream of becoming a college professor is dashed, she reluctantly accepts a fourth-grade teaching position in Glendale. In spite of her personal trauma, she uses her skill and core beliefs to challenge and nurture her students. In return, she receives an unexpected gift that gives her hope.
Emma’s and Miss Spencer’s voices tell a compelling story of courage, endurance, and the power of love. The story is inspired by events that took place in 1972.

Sujets

• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 11 décembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665734745
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

EMMA AND MISS SPENCER
PAULA SLINE


Copyright © 2023 Paula Sline.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3473-8 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3475-2 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3474-5 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022922440
 
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 12/09/2022
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Acknowledgements
I am grateful to my sister, Janet Hood, who gifted me with her own memories to help me round out my story.
I would like to thank Denise Smith for her support throughout this project. Her insights provided me with a fresh way of looking at my writing and her encouragement motivated me to complete this book.
Thanks to Kit Brigham for being the first reader and for offering me invaluable editing suggestions.
It has been an honor to work with the many dedicated teachers I have crossed paths with throughout my career. Teaching is an art form. Competent, caring educators pave the way for a child’s future as a learner and contributor to society. Teachers are among the most powerful change agents in the world. I am in awe at how deftly and with how much care, they nurture, challenge, and open a world of possibilities for their young students.
Finally, I am grateful for having had the privilege of guiding so many endearing children. They have enriched my life in ways they could not imagine.

For those who love
1
EMMA
T he first day of school always brought with it a mix of anticipation and anxiety. So, naturally, I thought my first day in fourth grade would be like all the others. I got up early, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and dressed in the new outfit my mother and I had chosen at Rebecca’s, a fancy clothing store downtown.
First, I put on the T-shirt I had tie-dyed myself, a beautiful pink sweater with little blue butterflies, and finally my new pants, which were the same color blue as the sky on a clear summer day. My sneakers were white with pink shoelaces to match my outfit. I combed my long brown hair to make sure there were no snarls. Then I went downstairs to see how my mother thought I looked in my new clothes.
She was busy at the stove and didn’t even notice me until I snuck up behind her and hugged her. She turned and gasped. “Emma! You look beautiful. All ready for a new adventure?”
“Oh, Mom, it’s just school.”
“I know, but you’re a fourth-grader now. I remember walking you to school on your first day of kindergarten.”
I saw tears in her eyes, so I just smiled and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
My mother was very pretty. Her hair was blonde with a little gray that she said she had earned. She was thin but strong and could ride her bike with me. Mom was there to bandage my knees when I fell, bake my favorite cookies, and read to me. She tucked me in every night. I pretended I was too old, but I really liked it when she kissed me on the forehead and said, “Sweet dreams.”
My father was great too. He was taller than my mother and had the most beautiful blue eyes. I loved his curly gray hair even though some of it on the very top of his head was gone. He joked and sometimes lifted me up to give me a bear hug. The hard thing was that he traveled a lot on business. He was an engineer in a large company and had meetings in other states and even Europe. Mom and I missed him so much when he was away.
I could tell my parents almost anything without worrying that they would get mad and stop loving me. I say almost because there was no way I was ever going to tell them or anyone about my secret place in the woods. That was between me and the little chipmunk I always met there. He seemed to wait for me to unload my pocketful of Cheerios and then stayed long enough for me to draw him before his cheeks were bulging and he raced away.
This was my private place where I could think and pretend that I was the best scientist or soccer player in the world. No one was there to ask me a hard question, to tell me to read better, or to say I would never be good at anything. To tell you the truth, I was the only one who ever said that because I thought I was the only one who really knew I was dumb.
Summers were perfect because my parents always planned a special vacation for us. I had already been to five countries, two islands, and, of course, Disney World. We stayed in a fancy tent when we went to St. John’s in the Caribbean.
My favorite vacation was when we rented a cottage for two weeks on Cape Cod. I could invite a friend to come for the first week. Then my Aunt Kate, Uncle Ben, and cousins, Julie and Corey, would come for the second. We fished, swam, and took boat rides. At night, we had cookouts and played cards. My parents seemed so relaxed during that time that I wished it could last all year.
I also never wanted summer to end because I didn’t want to have to sit at a desk, pay attention all day, and try to be as smart as my parents. But no matter how hard I wished for summer to last, September always came, and I had to face the fact that the fun was over.
*          *          *
After saying goodbye to my mother, I hopped on my black Raleigh bike and rode the quarter mile to my brand-new school. It was a relief to know that everyone would have to learn their way around. I had never been in a school so big, and that was on one floor with long wings built out in four directions.
During the summer, I had peeked in some of the windows and saw all the polished new floors and the blackboard that had never felt dusty chalk scrape its perfect surface. Brookside had a gym! In my old school, I had physical education in the classroom because the school was so crowded that the gym was used for the kindergarten classes.
In June, my third-grade teacher didn’t know who my new teacher would be. The only information she wrote on my report card, besides saying that my reading needed to improve, was “Promoted to Fourth Grade, Room 11, Brookside.”
It hadn’t mattered that much then who my fourth-grade teacher would be, but on that first day of school, I couldn’t wait to find out. I wondered if she would be strict, if she’d smile, and if she would remember my name by the end of the day.
I had seen my third-grade teacher’s seating chart with our names, so I guessed my new teacher would have one and our desks would be in rows and already assigned. I hoped I would be seated close to my friends or at least to kids who looked like they could be new friends. I really didn’t want to be near the boys because some of them just wanted to fool around. I didn’t want to get in trouble because I was unable to hear the teacher’s instructions.
When I got to Brookside, I locked my bike in the new bike rack. Fourth-graders were allowed to ride to school because we were older and more experienced than the younger kids. I walked to the playground, anxiously looking for my friends. I was relieved to see Sarah and Abby walking around. We huddled together until the bell rang, the signal to line up. I figured there would be three classes, just like there had been in third grade. Abby and Sarah seemed really excited to be there, so I pretended to be too.
The bell rang, the school doors suddenly opened, and the teachers walked out holding signs with their grade and room number printed in black magic marker. I anxiously looked until I saw three grade-four signs, each carried by a woman. No man teacher again this year , I thought.
One by one, we got in line, waiting for students new to town to find out which room they were in. I quickly counted twenty-six kids in the Room Eleven line and noticed two more boys than girls. Uh-oh, I thought. I knew some of my classmates, but none were my close friends. We waited until the younger kids walked into the school. Then when it was our turn, we followed our new teacher through the doors.
There was no doubt that summer was over. I felt as though my wings had been clipped and that I was sentenced to another year of trying my best to get a good report card.
*          *          *
My first look at Miss Spencer was when she held up the “Grade Four, Room 11” sign. She was younger than any t