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6.27 The Witchling Shama

I left that first box open, figuring that the boys would enjoy its contents, and moved on to a second one. It held coats of all sizes and a heap of shoes, some looking almost new. Hopefully some of the things in that box would fit the boys. Wouldn’t that be great if they could wear what was in the box!

The third and fourth boxes held items that Mrs. Smith had used for teaching. I figured that those items would be great for working with the boys. Carlo was too young, probably, but not Frances. He should already know how to read, and I could, at least, start that process. I’d tutored several of the villager’s children who’d been having trouble. Although their parents would never admit that my efforts had done much to help the boys, I’d seen their growth.

Another package wrapped in oil cloth was probably books Mrs. Smith used to read to her students. I hoped so. That would be as useful as the clothing I’d found. I firmly believed that reading to children was one way to get them enthused about books, and I’d observed how it gave the village children the impetus to read on their own. Even the very little preschoolers tried to follow along when I was reading out loud, matching words to what they were hearing as I repeated a story over and over. Then when I’d played a game with them, missing a word or saying something wrong in a story they were familiar with, they’d laughed, but they started pointing to the word and saying, that’s not right, Shama.

“Shama,” a voice suddenly called out. A woman’s head was staring up at us from the bottom of the ladder. Mrs. Penn had come back from her shopping trip.

“I found some boxes up here that might have shoes and coats for the boys. We’ll have to check the sizes, of course,” I told her.

“Wonderful,” the woman said. “Is Frank up there with you?”

Frank. I’d heard her call the officer by his name once or twice, but to be that familiar with him seemed something I didn’t dare try.

“Officer Krugle is here. He accompanied me up the ladder,” I informed her.

“Come on,” the man said, rather sharply, as if embarrassed to have been caught accompanying me on my attic exploration. “We can explore more later. It’s probably time for the boys to be waking up anyway, or they won’t sleep through the night.”

As tired as the two had been and after going through the stress of this day, I doubted that was true, but I nodded and started down the stairs, carrying the teddy bears from the box. I knew that Frances would consider himself too old for one, but it would be good for him to have one at night. Even seven-year-olds, as Frances claimed to be, needed something to hold on to so they felt secure in dark times.

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