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Valley of the Squinting Windows

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[Pg 91] <h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> Rebecca Kerr had been ill for a few days and did not attend school until the Monday following her arrival in the valley. There she made the acquaintance of Mrs. Wyse, the principal of Tullahanogue Girls' School, and Monica McKeon, the assistant of Tullahanogue Boys' School. Mrs. Wyse was a woman who divided her energies between the education of other women's children and the production of children of her own. Year by year, and with her growing family, had her life narrowed down to the painful confines of its present condition. She had the reputation of being a hard mistress to the children and a harsh superior to her assistants. From the very first she seemed anxious to show her authority over Rebecca Kerr. In the forenoon of this day she was standing by her blackboard at the east end of the school, imparting some history to her most advanced class. Rebecca was at the opposite end teaching elementary arithmetic to the younger children when something in the would-be impressive seriousness of her principal's tone caused her to smile openly. Mrs. Wyse saw the smile, and it lit her anger. She called loudly: "Miss Kerr, are you quite sure that that exercise in simple addition is correct?" "Yes, perfectly certain, Mrs. Wyse." [Pg 92] The chalk had slipped upon the greasy blackboard, making a certain 5 to appear as a 6 from the distance at which she stood, and it was into this accidental trap that Mrs. Wyse had fallen. Previous assistants had studied her ways and had given up the mistake of contradicting her even when she was obviously in the wrong. But this was such a straight issue, and Rebecca Kerr had had no opportunity of knowing her. She came down in a flaming temper from the rostrum. Rebecca awaited her near approach with a smiling and assured complacency which must have been maddening. But Mrs. Wyse was not one to admit a mistake. Quick as lightning she struck upon the complaint that the exercise was beyond the course of instruction scheduled for this particular standard.... And here were the foundations of an enmity laid between these two women. They would not be friends in any fine way through the length of all the long days they might teach together. Thus for Rebecca the first day in the valley school dragged out its slow length and was dreary and dreadful until noon. Then Monica McKeon came in from the Boys' School and they took their luncheon together.... They went on chattering away until the door of the schoolroom was suddenly darkened by the shadows of two men. The three women arose in confusion as Master Donnellan called them to the door. There was a young man standing outside who presented a strong contrast to the venerable figure of the master. The latter, in his roundabout, pedagogic way, went on to tell how the stranger had strayed into the school playground and made himself known. He wished to show him the whole of the building, and introduced him as "Mr. Ulick[Pg 93] Shannon, Mr. Myles Shannon's nephew, you know." The three female teachers took an immediate mental note of the young man. They saw him as neat and well-dressed, with a half-thoughtful, half-reckless expression upon his fine face, with its deep-set, romantic eyes. The few words he spoke during the general introduction appeared to Rebecca to be in such a gentle voice. There were some moments of awkward silence. Then, between the five of them, they managed to say a few conventional things. All the while those great, deep eyes seemed to be set upon Rebecca, and she was experiencing the disquieting feeling that she had met him at some previous time in some other place in this wide world. The eyes of Monica McKeon were upon both of them in a way that seemed an attempt to search their minds for their thoughts of the moment. Immediately he was gone Mrs. Wyse and Miss McKeon fell to talking of him: "He's the hateful-looking thing; I'd hate him like poison," said Monica. "Indeed what could he be and the kind of a father he had? Sure I remember him well, a quare character," said Mrs. Wyse. "I wonder what could have brought him around here to-day of all days since he came to Scarden?" This with her eyes set firmly upon Rebecca. Mrs. Wyse was not slow to pick up the insinuation. "Oh, looking after fresh girls always, the same as his father." "He's not bad-looking." "No; but wouldn't you know well he has himself destroyed with the kind of life he lives up in Dublin?[Pg 94] They say he's gone to the bad and that he'll never pass his exams." Every word of the conversation seemed to be spoken with the direct intention of attacking certain feelings which had already begun to rise in the breast of Rebecca Kerr.... Her mind was being held fast by the well-remembered spell of his eyes. The afternoon passed swiftly for Mrs. Wyse. She was so engrossed by thought of this small thing that had happened that she gave wrong dates in another history lesson, false notes in the music lesson, and more than one incorrect answer to simple sums in the arithmetic lesson. Rebecca was glad when three o'clock and her freedom at last came. Out in the sunlight she would be able to indulge in certain realizations which were impossible of enjoyment here in this crowded schoolroom. The day was still enthroned beneath the azure dome. This was the period of its languorous yawn when it seemed to dream for a space and gather strength before it came down from its high place and went into the long, winding ways of evening. There were men engaged in raising sand from a pit by the roadside as she passed along. A pause in the ringing of their shovels made her conscious that they had stopped in their labor to gaze after her as she went.... Her neck was warm and blushing beneath the shadow of her hair. Her confusion extended to every portion of her body when she came upon Ulick Shannon around a bend of the road, book in hand, sauntering along. He saluted as she overtook him, and spoke of the [Pg 95]pleasant afternoon.... She hoped he was enjoying his holidays here in the valley. He seemed to be spending the time very quietly. Reading? Poetry? Just fancy! The Daffodil Fields, by John Masefield. What a pretty name! Was he devoted to poetry, and was this particular poem a good one? "It is a great tale of love and passion that happened in one of the quiet places of the world," he told her with a kind of enthusiasm coming into his words for the first time. "One of the quiet places?" she murmured, evidently at a loss for something else to say. "Yes, a quiet place which must have been like this place and yet, at the same time, most wonderfully different, for no poet at all could imagine any tale of love and passion springing from the life about us here. The people of the valley seem to have died before they were born. I will lend you this poem, if you'd care to have it." "Oh, thank you, Mr. Shannon!" she said. They had wandered down a lane which led from the high road towards the peaceful fields beyond the little lake. This lane, he told her, was called "The Road of the Dead," and would afford her a short cut to her lodging at Sergeant McGoldrick's. For lack of anything else to say, she remarked upon the strangeness of this name—The Road of the Dead. He said it seemed a title particularly suitable. He went on to elaborate the idea he had just expressed: "Around and about here they are all dead—dead. No passion of any kind comes to light their existence. Their life is a thing done meanly, shudderingly within[Pg 96] the shadow of the grave. That is how I have been seeing it for the past few weeks. They hate the occurrence of new people in their midst. They hate me already, and now they will hate you. The sight of us walking together like this must surely cause them to hate us still more." She was wondering that his words should hold a sense of consideration for her, seeing that they had been acquainted only such a short while. "This way leads from a graveyard to a graveyard, and they have a silly superstition that dead couples are sometimes seen walking here. Particularly dismal also do I consider this picture of their imagination. The idea of any one thinking us a dead couple!" As he said this her blushing cheek showed certainly that life was strong in her.... Upon the wings of his words grand thoughts had gone flying through her mind. All day she had been looking forward with dread to the yellow, sickly, sunlit time after school. And now to think that the miracle of this romantic young man had happened.... Both grew silent. Rebecca's eyes were filling with visions and wandering over a field of young green corn. They were dancing upon the waves of sunlight which shimmered over all the clean, feathery surface of the field. The eyes of Ulick were straying from the landscape and dwelling upon her deeply, upon the curves of her throat and bosom, and upon the gentle billows of her hair. Over all his face was clouding that mysterious, murky expression which had come as he gazed upon the little barmaid of the "North Leinster Arms" a few days previously. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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