here?”
“About twelve years ago.”
“Mrs. Stearns has been teaching here twenty-two years. Third grade. Room sixteen. That’s on this floor just around the corner.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt a class.”
“Any minute now they’ll all be going home. Then you could ask her. I wouldn’t know anything like that. I wouldn’t know where to look or anything.”
I waited outside room sixteen. There was a lull and then somebody started a record player. Sousa filled the halls with brass, at peak volume. There was a great scurrying in all the rooms. The doors opened. All the small denizens marched into the hall and stood in impatient ragged double lines, stomping their feet in time to the music. The floor shook. Weary teachers kept a cautious eye on the lines. The upstairs rooms marched down the stairs and out the double doors. Then the main floor marched out, yelling as soon as they hit the sunlight. The school was emptied. Sousa blared on for a few moments and died in the middle of a bar.
“Mrs. Stearns?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Stearns.” She was a round, pale woman with hair like steel wool and small, sharp, bright dark eyes.
“My name is Howard, Talbert Howard. Did you know a Miss Major who used to teach here?”
“Of course. I knew Katherine very well. That reminds me, I should stop by and see how she’s getting along these days.”
“She’s in town?”
“Oh, yes, the poor thing.”
“Is she ill?”
“Oh, I thought you knew. Katherine went blind quite suddenly about ten years ago. It was a shock to all of us. I feel guilty that I don’t call on her more often. But after a full day of the children, I don’t feel like calling on anyone. I don’t seem to have the energy any more.”
“Could you tell me where she lives?”
“Not off hand, but it’s in the phone book. She’s on Finch Avenue, in an apartment. I know the house but I can’t remember the number. She lives alone. She’s very proud, you know. And she really gets along remarkably well, considering.”
It was a small ground-floor apartment in the rear of an old house. Music was playing loudly in the apartment. It was a symphony I didn’t recognize. The music stopped moments after I knocked at the door.
Miss Major opened the door. She wore a blue dress. Her hair was white and worn in a long page boy. Her features were strong. She could have once been a beautiful woman. She was still handsome. When I spoke to her, she seemed to focus on my face. It was hard to believe those eyes were sightless.
I told her my name and said I wanted to ask her about a student she had had in the eighth grade.
“Please come in, Mr. Howard. Sit there in the red chair. I was having tea. Would you care for some?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then one of these cookies. A friend of mine bakes them. They’re very good.”
She held the plate in precisely the right spot. I took one and thanked her. She put the plate back on the table and sat facing me. She found her teacup and lifted it to her lips.
“Now what student was it?”
“Do you remember Timmy Warden?”
“Of course I remember him! He was a charmer. I was told how he died. I was dreadfully sorry to hear it. A man came to see me six or seven months ago. He said he’d been in that prison camp with Timmy. I never could quite understand why he came to see me. His name was Fitzmartin and he asked all sorts of odd questions. I couldn’t feel at ease with him. He didn’t seem—quite right if you know what I mean. When you lose one sense you seem to become more aware of nuances.”
“I was in that camp too, Miss Major.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Probably Mr. Fitzmartin is a friend of yours.”
“No, he’s not.”
“That’s a relief. Now don’t tell me you came here to ask odd questions too, Mr. Howard.”
“Fairly odd, I guess. In camp Timmy spoke about a girl named Cindy. I’ve been trying to track her downfor—personal reasons. One of your other students, Cindy Kirschner, told
“About twelve years ago.”
“Mrs. Stearns has been teaching here twenty-two years. Third grade. Room sixteen. That’s on this floor just around the corner.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt a class.”
“Any minute now they’ll all be going home. Then you could ask her. I wouldn’t know anything like that. I wouldn’t know where to look or anything.”
I waited outside room sixteen. There was a lull and then somebody started a record player. Sousa filled the halls with brass, at peak volume. There was a great scurrying in all the rooms. The doors opened. All the small denizens marched into the hall and stood in impatient ragged double lines, stomping their feet in time to the music. The floor shook. Weary teachers kept a cautious eye on the lines. The upstairs rooms marched down the stairs and out the double doors. Then the main floor marched out, yelling as soon as they hit the sunlight. The school was emptied. Sousa blared on for a few moments and died in the middle of a bar.
“Mrs. Stearns?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Stearns.” She was a round, pale woman with hair like steel wool and small, sharp, bright dark eyes.
“My name is Howard, Talbert Howard. Did you know a Miss Major who used to teach here?”
“Of course. I knew Katherine very well. That reminds me, I should stop by and see how she’s getting along these days.”
“She’s in town?”
“Oh, yes, the poor thing.”
“Is she ill?”
“Oh, I thought you knew. Katherine went blind quite suddenly about ten years ago. It was a shock to all of us. I feel guilty that I don’t call on her more often. But after a full day of the children, I don’t feel like calling on anyone. I don’t seem to have the energy any more.”
“Could you tell me where she lives?”
“Not off hand, but it’s in the phone book. She’s on Finch Avenue, in an apartment. I know the house but I can’t remember the number. She lives alone. She’s very proud, you know. And she really gets along remarkably well, considering.”
It was a small ground-floor apartment in the rear of an old house. Music was playing loudly in the apartment. It was a symphony I didn’t recognize. The music stopped moments after I knocked at the door.
Miss Major opened the door. She wore a blue dress. Her hair was white and worn in a long page boy. Her features were strong. She could have once been a beautiful woman. She was still handsome. When I spoke to her, she seemed to focus on my face. It was hard to believe those eyes were sightless.
I told her my name and said I wanted to ask her about a student she had had in the eighth grade.
“Please come in, Mr. Howard. Sit there in the red chair. I was having tea. Would you care for some?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then one of these cookies. A friend of mine bakes them. They’re very good.”
She held the plate in precisely the right spot. I took one and thanked her. She put the plate back on the table and sat facing me. She found her teacup and lifted it to her lips.
“Now what student was it?”
“Do you remember Timmy Warden?”
“Of course I remember him! He was a charmer. I was told how he died. I was dreadfully sorry to hear it. A man came to see me six or seven months ago. He said he’d been in that prison camp with Timmy. I never could quite understand why he came to see me. His name was Fitzmartin and he asked all sorts of odd questions. I couldn’t feel at ease with him. He didn’t seem—quite right if you know what I mean. When you lose one sense you seem to become more aware of nuances.”
“I was in that camp too, Miss Major.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Probably Mr. Fitzmartin is a friend of yours.”
“No, he’s not.”
“That’s a relief. Now don’t tell me you came here to ask odd questions too, Mr. Howard.”
“Fairly odd, I guess. In camp Timmy spoke about a girl named Cindy. I’ve been trying to track her downfor—personal reasons. One of your other students, Cindy Kirschner, told
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