‘I know I wish too much,’ she continued. ‘Should be glad she not worse. Grandpa say she can’t be worse, say she better dead from operation. But I don’t know. It nice, kind of, you know – to have somebody like me.’
My heart ached and angered all at the same time, even more than when I’d read the reports. No wonder this good, uneducated woman was close to giving up. Under the weariness and despair had once been mere laughter and other dreams? It was too late now to recover those dreams; too late for Grandpa and maybe for Mrs Rosnic. But not for Hannah. Maybe I couldn’t do anything about the poverty or the loneliness, or Carl or baby Helen, but I could help Hannah. And so could Mrs Rosnic.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’re not expecting too much at all. You’re exactly right. Hannah should be learning to help you around the house. She can learn to do all those things. And more. Much more.’
Mrs Rosnic looked at me and then fished in her large black pocketbook for a handkerchief. I got up and brought back a box of Kleenex from the counter and set it down hard on the table.
‘Hannah can learn to wash and dress herself and help you with the housework. And she can learn to read and write.’
This was too much. I had gone too far. Mrs Rosnic shook her head at me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You don’t know. Grandpa say she moron.’
‘I do know and Grandpa’s wrong,’ I insisted. ‘I have known other children as troubled as Hannah. I have read her records and I have watched her here in the classroom. I don’t believe she’s retarded. I believe she’s able to learn and grow and do a great deal more than she ever has.’
Mrs Rosnic looked at me directly, challenging. ‘Why you care? Why you want to do this?’
It was a fair, honest question and I wished that I could answer. But I had never been able to find words for the way I felt. I could talk easily about the children, or to the children, but when it came to describing my own feelings, I was inarticulate. Perhaps the words imprisoned in the children spoke to something locked inside me. I tried to soften my silence with a smile so that it wouldn’t seem a rebuff. ‘I don’t know,’ I answered as honestly as I could. ‘I wish I could put it into words. I can’t explain, but I hope you’ll trust me.’
I went to the coat closet and got Mrs Rosnic’s coat and my sweater from Hannah’s hook and then held the coat for her. Mrs Rosnic stood facing me, still looking at me. Finally she turned and put one arm into a sleeve. ‘Ah, well, never mind. Words come hard. I know. And anyway, the ones that say them so easy – well, I hear plenty words before.’ She put the second arm in.
‘It’s not going to be easy with Hannah,’ I said. ‘That’s one thing for sure. It’s going to mean a lot of work for both of us, and it will be harder for you because you’re with her more. Sometimes you’re going to have to be very strong. Hannah’s been used to having her own way, and she’s not going to be able to all the time now. She won’t like it, and sometimes she’s going to get very angry with both of us.’
I shrugged on my sweater and then was caught by surprise as Mrs Rosnic reached out and smoothed it across my shoulders. Her fingers were rough and they snagged on the soft wool, but her hand itself was strong and warm. ‘Listen. It okay. I tell Grandpa. It okay. Hannah, she lucky this year.’
The next morning after Circle I went and sat on the floor in the closet next to Hannah. The period of research was over. I had learned all I could from outside sources. Now it was up to me. I set my goals for Hannah. They might change, but I had to have something to aim for.
The first thing I had to do was get Hannah out of the coat closet. Observation has its values, but it was time for her to move closer, become part of us. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I want you to come and sit with us during Best and Worst today. You don’t have to talk, but I want you at the table. You’re part of our class and I want you with us.’
Hannah pulled her long dress over her head.
I pulled the dress down and spoke directly into her face. ‘If you can come by yourself, fine. If not, I’ll help you.’
I wanted her to understand that this was not a question of choice. She didn’t have to decide anything. I had made the decision. She had sat in the closet for two weeks. That was long enough.
I hesitated for a minute. The trick was to know when to ask for more and when to stop. Each step like this was a risk, the line between success and failure is so small. I had thought carefully about when and where to begin with Hannah, and now I decided to go ahead. This was the time, right after Circle. She was fascinated by Best and Worst. I had seen her looking, listening, from the closet. And contradictory though it seems, I knew that the first move is sometimes easier if someone else insists on it. I insisted now. I stood up. ‘Okay, Hannah, let’s go.’
She pulled the dress back over her head.
I reached under the dress, found her hand, and pulled her to her feet. Caught by surprise, she came up easily but let out a howl of rage.
‘This morning you’re going to sit with us. This morning and every other morning from now on. You’re part of our class.’
Standing beside me, Hannah braced her feet like a baulky mule and pulled hard to get away.
The classroom was large, over forty feet long. The boys had set up the table in the middle of the room and they sat there now, watching us. We had about twenty feet to go to reach the table. I was sure I could manage that. Hannah was husky, but I had a lot of inches, pounds, and years in my favour and my will was as strong as her own.
‘If you can control yourself, Hannah, great. If not, I’ll help you control yourself.’
I started walking towards the table, holding her hand tightly in my own and propelling her along with me.
Her howling ceased. She planted both feet close together again and braked us to a stop and smashed her foot – crack! – into my ankle. I yelped in surprise, but I caught her foot in time and pulled off first one shoe and then the other. She could kick all she wanted now.
I had been through this many times before. Other children in other years had kicked and bitten, but they had become more gentle. We had all survived, and eventually they had made it back to mainstream school.
The howling began again, but there was little she could do, and more in sorrow than in anger Hannah allowed herself to be pulled to the table.
‘Get another chair, please, Bri.’
I sat Hannah down next to me and said to the boys, ‘Whose turn is it to begin Best and Worst today?’
My eyes, my attention, were focused on the boys. I kept a steady grip on Hannah’s hand, but that was all. Except for this hold on her hand, we ignored her. She alternately cried and yelled for the half hour. She was loud, but we were louder and managed to hear each other.
At the end of the half hour, the boys went to get their work folders from their cupboards. I looked down at Hannah’s tear-stained face, ‘Thank you, babe, for being with us.’ Then I released her hand.
For one brief moment she looked at me and then raced back to her closet seat. Her scuffed brown shoes still lay on the floor. I took them to her and then went back to help the boys with their reading. All the rest of the morning she sat merely watching us, not saying anything, not yelling, just sitting there holding her shoes in her lap.
At the end of the morning I sent the boys out for recess with another class. The tension in the room had been hard on them, though none of them had mentioned it and they had worked well all morning. Still, they needed to get outside to run, to throw, to yell a little. At the same time I didn’t want to leave Hannah. It was important that she knew that I wanted to be with her. There is a great difference between someone arbitrarily imposing demands on you and