Letters from Stella

By Elizabeth Mathieu

Letters from Stella is several stories: first is the maturing of a brilliant enthusiastic thirteen year old child into a sensitive precocious seventeen year old young adult, more mature by far than her contemporaries. Second is a high school history teacher, veteran of World War II, with "battle fatigue" as it was called then. They become friends during the four years of Stella's high school experience, but more than that, along the way, they fall in love. This situation is unacceptable to Bill, It goes against every bit of Bill's honor and code of conduct. He tries to find other love interests, but to no avail. Stella dates, but finds high school boys irrevocably infantile. After graduation, they do declare themselves, and become engaged. However, everywhere Bill turns, he is reminded that he is too old for her. Deep down, he agrees, and finally he breaks the engagement, much to his and Stella's anguish. They head off to college, he to teach, and she to learn, not knowing the other is there. They write letters of grief and misery home to their parents, who decide to take matters into their own hands. They set up a meeting of the pair, force them to read aloud the letters each has written, and this brings them back together. Thus begins the story of the Bill and Stella Douglas family, which is chronicled in the second of the series, Stella and Bill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483509754

Book preview

9781483509754

LETTERS FROM STELLA

PROLOGUE

Bill Douglas gathered his papers and reached down for his brief case. His head came up as the door banged open and two pre teen girls stampeded into the room. As they were level with his desk, the first girl stopped suddenly and the second one collided with her, spilling them both on the floor.

Before Bill could come around to see what was going on, a beaming face bobbed up in front of him. As she stood farther up, her arms stretched out in the baseball ump’s universal safe sign. Then the other girl appeared beside her.

Mr. Douglas, I wanted to hand in my paper for this week before you left. With the same breathless hurry-up in her voice, she added, This is Stella. She’ll be in your class next year. We’re late for the bus. Goodbye!

The one called Stella waved at him and smiled as they ran out the door. See you next year!

Bill took a long look at the departing girls and grinned. This age was not calm by any means, and mostly mindless. It was fascinating for him to follow the progress of these high school students as they went from pre-teens to pre-adults. Those four years changed them, some for the worse, but mostly for the better. He tried hard to make sure the better outdrew the worse.

CHAPTER ONE

The Tuesday that school began was a nightmare for the freshmen. This was the first time in their school lives when they could choose their subjects, albeit they had very few choices at this small school in a tiny North Texas town in 1949. There was much trepidation in the library that doubled as the study hall that also doubled as the registration for the incoming children from eighth grade.

Stella Anderson sat at a table near the door and chewed her pencil, looking at the sheet that listed her choices. She had to take general math, general science, world history and freshman English. That left two open periods. She looked at the classes offered those two periods and decided to take animal husbandry, one of the agriculture courses. This was perfect because she had decided when she was seven years old she would grow up to be a veterinarian. That left one period open. Stella had, from the beginning of her life, been obsessed with learning. It didn’t matter what. If she didn’t know it, she wanted to, and she asked questions until her parents were frazzled.

Stella’s parents had advised her to leave one period open for study hall. The next year, if she wanted to she could fill everything in, but they wanted her freshman year to be less hectic. With reluctance she passed by that blank, and took the completed form to her advisor, Miss Lovelady, who was the librarian. Stella thought that was appropriate. Lovelady the Librarian. It made her smile to think of it, and she didn’t hear Miss Lovelady say, Well, child, let me see your paper. Miss Lovelady repeated and added, What is so funny? Your face is about to break with that smile!

The smile evaporated when she heard Miss Lovelady say, You can’t take animal husbandry, dear. That’s just for boys. She paused and added, Why don’t you take home economics?

Stella glared at Miss Lovelady and said, What about auto mechanics?

Just for boys.

Stella pursed her lips and stared hard at Miss Lovelady. That brought a grin to the librarian’s face, and she said, I know. It isn’t fair. And it will change. But not now in 1949 and not here in Texas.

Miss Lovelady smiled at the little girl. She was a bundle of energy and it was plain to see that it wasn’t easy for her to be still. Her long dark hair swung out as she took the paper back without a word. She scratched out animal husbandry with dark strong strokes of her pencil, and wrote in home economics, with curlicues and flowers adorning the words. Miss Lovelady took it back and looked at the paper with a smile. I agree, Stella. It stinks.

A grin erased Stella’s glare as she said, Well, let’s spend the next four years changing things. What do you say? Just you and me!

Miss Lovelady’s snapping black eyes gazed at Stella for a moment and nodded decisively. She stood up tall and straight, all four feet eleven inches of her, and nodded again. The bun on the back of her head bobbed along with her head, and she said, Just lead me to it, Stella Anderson!

The next morning school started for real, and Stella’s first class was world history. She perched on her seat in the window aisle, checking out the teacher, Mr. Douglas. He was medium height and his hair was short and wavy, as if it wanted to curl up in crisp brown curls if it could be just an inch longer. There was an aura of anticipation about him, as if he couldn’t wait for the class to start.

Bill had a chance to observe her, too, before the bell rang. She had long shiny dark brown hair brushed up and back from her face, fastened with a clasp at the crown of her head. Her eyes were deep blue, and she had almost heavy dark eyebrows perched just below a widow’s peak. When she smiled she had laugh lines around her mouth and radiating from her eyes. This morning she had on a starched white pique blouse atop a wide calico skirt, with a red scarf tied around her neck. She probably weighed ninety pounds, all energetic muscle.

This is an enchanting child! I wonder if she has a brain.

Mr. Douglas began his world history class the same way each year. He asked the students to introduce themselves. He took notes during these introductions and tried to get to know the children quickly. It had always been a point of pride that he remembered the students’ names after the first day, so he wrote down identifying clues to help him. By Stella’s name, he wrote, May be bright, fresh, blue eyes, long hair, window row.

Mr. Douglas introduced himself. I’ve been teaching history at Crocker High for four years, I live in Fort Worth, and I like baseball, football, basketball, bread pudding and dogs. If you have any questions about what we are studying, please let me know. I want it to be clear to you, and I want you to love history as much as I do.

He asked the children to open their books to chapter one and began the task he loved: teaching what had gone on in the past, and the lessons to be learned from it. He did his best to make the events and the people feel real, and to transport the children back in time.

Bill opened the screen door of the kitchen where he lived with his mother, Adell, and his brother’s daughter, Joanne, who was eleven years old. Joanne’s father, Richard, was in Korea, a medic with the infantry. Richard’s wife died giving birth to Joanne, and she and Richard had lived there with Adell and Bill ever since. Adell was at the stove stirring something that smelled delicious. Bill hugged her from behind and said, When do we eat? I am starved! Every year the first day of school makes me ravenous!

Fifteen minutes, Bill, lad, and you come home ravenous every day! How did it go? She turned her bright blue eyes up at Bill. She was short and trim and wore a dark blue dress that complimented her startling white curls. She kept her hair cropped short so she could cope with them.

I’m not sure, Mom, but I think I might have a jewel this year.

You haven’t had one in a few years. What makes you think this child is going to be a jewel?

She seems bright. She listens. She’s confident with herself. Bill scratched his head and said, I could be wrong, of course. It’s pretty soon to tell.

What’s her name, son?

Stella Anderson. She’s a ninth grader, taking world history. She told me she didn’t know if she liked history yet. Bill chuckled. She also told me that everyone thinks I’m strict!

Adell laughed. Well, set the table for me, Bill, and we’ll ask Joanne when she gets here if she thinks you are too strict.

Where is she?

Roller skating on the sidewalk with Emily. Would you ring the bell for her to come? Adell poured the stew into a tureen and set it on the table. By the time she gets here we’ll be ready to eat.

Stella’s first class in Home Economics was not propitious. Gina Whiteside was in the throes of her first day of teaching on her own. She had assumed it would be like the stint she had done at student teaching but the closer the term had come, the more nervous she felt at plying her trade alone. She studied the thirteen freshman faces looking back at her now that her very first class was a reality. Gads! They all look exactly alike!

Miss Whiteside wrote her name on the blackboard. The girls were silent, taking in her long blond hair arranged to swing over one eye. Her eyebrows were penciled in a permanently surprised arch, and there was suggestion of an equally permanent frown wrinkle between them.

The brand new teacher turned to face the girls again. Her eyes lit on Lauralee, who was peeling the brown paper from a Hershey bar. Gina’s eyes wrinkled together even more, and she spoke to Lauralee.

Young lady, I don’t allow eating in my classroom. Put that candy away right now! She gathered momentum and continued. I would think you girls would try not to have acne instead of gorging on sweets and chocolate! The girls continued to stare at her. Girls your age tend to overeat anyway, and it’s stupid of you to just invite pimples and fat into your lives!

Silence filled the classroom, and the girls stared at the perfect skin and flawless white teeth and slim figure that were the absolute contrast to their pimply faces and baby fat tummies. Judgment hung heavy in the air. The girls felt the weight of it pressing on their shaky emerging egos. Miss Whiteside, after she calmed down, began to feel tendrils of concerted animosity curling around the room and settling on her.

Had she only known, those girls were ripe for a beautiful caring mentor to walk them through this hard time in their teenage lives, and she could have had them eating out of her hand. Her inexperience had trapped her, however, and her fright had blinded her. She was now stuck with a room full of little girls who were sure she hated them, and were equally ready to hate her.

Well! Miss Whiteside smiled broadly. Now, let’s get to the business at hand. She laid out the three six week’s periods in the first semester. "We’ll sew first, and we’ll make a skirt and a blouse. After that we’ll learn first aid and home nursing. The last six weeks we’ll make Christmas presents and learn various crafts.

Take out your notebooks, girls. Miss Whiteside held up a pattern for the girls to see. Write down this number. She gave them the number of the pattern and told them they would have to have the pattern in their size by the next day. Several of the girls looked at each other.

I will bring the fabric tomorrow, and we’ll begin laying out the patterns. Are there any questions?

Beth raised her hand. Where do we get the pattern, Miss Whiteside?

At any dime store. You do have a dime store, don’t you?

Bettina raised her hand. My mother owns the dime store here, and she could have ordered these patterns if she had known you wanted us to have them but she doesn’t have them now. Would you like her to order them?

Well, yes, I guess so. Do you know how long it will take?

It usually takes a week to special order patterns.

Can’t you girls just go into Fort Worth and pick them up?

The girls glanced at each other again. June said, We don’t have a way to get there, Miss Whiteside. Could you buy them for us?

I suppose I could. Gina was beginning to feel thoroughly undone. She frowned and got out a piece of paper. Each of you step up here and I’ll measure you. That way I’ll know what sizes to get. She started with the first row and measured one girl after another while the class continued.

Beth murmured to Stella, Was she going to let us know how to decide what size pattern to buy?

Doesn’t sound like it.

Stella raised her hand. Miss Whiteside frowned again and said, What is it?

How would we know what size to buy, Miss Whiteside, if we could buy it?

Gina realized she had skipped that important fact, and proceeded to explain. Then she said, The fabric I will bring tomorrow will cost each of you three dollars. Be sure to have that amount tomorrow.

Paula raised her hand.

Yes?

I know I can’t have three dollars by tomorrow. Can we still start our skirts?

Miss Whiteside grimaced, and erased whatever vestige of good feeling might have remained between her and the girls. I suppose so, but bring it for sure before the end of the week.

Paula looked down at the table she sat in front of and said nothing. Several others were just as silent. They knew there was no way they could find three dollars to bring by the end of the week.

You will love the fabric I’ve chosen. It is navy Indianhead cotton. We are going to learn how to make darts and flat felled seams and how to put in a zipper. The blouse material is white cotton pique, and we’ll learn how to set in sleeves, make buttonholes and turn the collar. She smiled at the assemblage. Nobody smiled back.

Stella raised her hand again. Will we all have the same color skirt and blouse? Will the styles all be the same?

Yes, of course. Miss Whiteside narrowed her eyes. Do any of you have a problem with that?

Bettina raised her hand again. My mom could order the same fabric, but in different colors, and we could pick what we want. Would you like me to ask her to do that?

No. I have already bought the fabric. That is the end of the subject.

Just then the bell rang, and Miss Whiteside sighed with relief. She held back the few girls who had not been measured, and by the time that was accomplished, they were late to their next class.

Stella was first out the door, and she waited for the rest of the Stalwart Four. They had called themselves that ever since they had gotten together in the fourth grade. Lauralee, tall and thin, was probably the brightest of the other three. Beth was plump and sweet and June was about Stella’s size. June, the only blonde of the group, was hard to keep happy. She perceived slights when none were intended, but the other three girls accepted that about her and soothed her when it happened.

That afternoon the teachers met in the teachers’ lounge to recap the first day, and Miss Whiteside was heard to say, Those freshman girls are all little snots!

CHAPTER TWO

Bill’s hopes for a jewel of a student were still alive after a few weeks. He realized with surprise that he had come to the habit of teaching directly to Stella. He tried to vary that. He turned his head and made eye contact in all corners of the classroom, but invariably he would come back to her, especially when he wanted to say something he felt was important. She followed what he said with an intelligence he hadn’t seen in years. She took voluminous notes and he would have loved to read those notes and find out what she was hearing him say.

He remembered the first day she had hung around after class. It was about four weeks into the semester. She had a faint fragrance about her of something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Mr. Douglas? Could you tell me some more about Hannibal? Are we going to study more about him?

No, not really, Stella. What did you want to know about him?

Well, why did he cross the Alps? And where did he get the elephants? How did he know they would be able to cross the mountains? And what did he feed those elephants? What did he do with them when he got where he was going? She cocked her head, her eyes dancing. There are always so many more questions I have about everything you tell us!

Mr. Douglas grinned at her questions. I have a book that will tell you a little bit more about Hannibal. I’ll bring it tomorrow.

That’ll be terrific! Thanks Mr. Douglas! She ran through the door. Does she ever walk anywhere?

After that there was usually a book in her book bag which belonged to Mr. Douglas.

Stella, he asked one day, do you have any questions about what you are reading? I have a free period when you have study hall. We could meet in the library and talk about the books.

Sure, Mr. Douglas. That’d be great. Off she ran.

Gradually it became a habit for them to head for a small table in the corner of the library several days each week and discuss whatever she had been reading.

One day, Miss Lovelady cornered Bill in the teachers’ lounge. Looks as if you have an exceptional student this year!

Yes, I do, Laurel. Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Most teachers don’t ever get one like this. I’m trying not to blow it by pressing too hard, but she always seems to want more and to want it faster and faster.

If you are ever looking for a particular book for her that you can’t find, let me know. I’d like to help.

I appreciate it, Laurel. My personal library is extensive, but I think she’ll go through it pretty fast.

Bill turned to Stella one day and asked point blank: Stella, what is that perfume you wear?

Stella looked up at Mr. Douglas and said matter of factly, Oh, that’s my grandmother.

I’m smelling your grandmother? Bill smiled and said, That requires a little more explanation, Miss Stella.

My grandmother thinks ladies should do three things: they should smell good, they should wear powder on their noses when they go out, and they should always carry a clean handkerchief. Stella sniffed and went on. My grandmother makes these rose petal sachets for all of us in the family, and we have to put them in our underwear drawers. So that’s why I always smell like roses! She frowned and asked, Do you think it smells too loud? I certainly don’t want to leave vapors behind me like Miss Whiteside does!

Bill chuckled at the apt description of the home economics teacher’s trailing of Tabu throughout the school. No, Stella. It smells very faint, and I like it. This is part of you, and if you didn’t smell a little like roses, you wouldn’t be who you are, which is, may I add, a good thing to be!

As the term continued posters began to show up on the walls. First they were quite small and had only a few words. One of them said, WHY NOT GIRLS? Another said, GIRLS CAN SEW, WHY CAN’T THEY SOW? Two days later someone had written on the bottom, GIRLS SHOULD BE ALLOWED IN AG CLASSES!!

A cartoon appeared a week later taped on the wall showing a stylized sedan with its hood up, and a stick figure with long curls in front of it holding a wrench, a question mark in a balloon coming up from her mouth. The following week a poster replaced that one showing a cartoon Mary with a shepherd’s crook holding back the lamb following her. The balloon from Mary’s mouth said, I CAN’T TAKE CARE OF YOU. I’M JUST A GIRL. None of the teachers admitted knowing where the posters were coming from and George Hamilton, the principal, mentioned that he was thinking of making a rule against any poster that didn’t have his approval.

I should say not, George! Laurel Lovelady’s eyes snapped. We need to have a spark in this school. It’s been deadly so far this year. Besides, the sentiments on the posters are hardly seditious!

Good grief, George! Loretta Beavers, who taught the girls physical education and coached their softball and basketball, spoke up. Are you going to outlaw free speech too? It’s damn bad enough that women are second-class around here! Are you going to take away our right to speak out?

George cringed at Miss Beavers’ language, but he had realized long ago he couldn’t change her, just try to mitigate the worst of it. She was an outstanding teacher and was becoming a legend in the district on both counts.

The issue was closed for the time being, but teachers and students began to wait for the next posters. There were bets on who was putting them up, and bets on who would catch the perpetrator. Miss Lovelady, a truly calm quiet woman, seemed to enjoy them the most.

The term plodded on in most of Bill’s classes, but his world history class seemed to sparkle. He was grateful it was the first period of the day because it put an extra spring in his emotional steps.

The first six weeks of the term drew to a close, and the freshman girls in Miss Whiteside’s class finished their navy skirts and white pique blouses. Quite telling were the various levels of craftsmanship. Stella’s seams were good, but her buttonholes, which were done by hand, looked like carpenters’ ladders and the permanent dinginess surrounding them attested to the hours of work with not so clean hands trying to make them better.

Early in the last week of the six weeks of sewing, Miss Whiteside told the girls she planned to take a group picture with the girls wearing their newly constructed clothes. Her frown lines had deepened, but her determination to overcome that first heavy-laden day with the freshmen made her exuberant. The girls, not expecting cordiality from her, knew this to be false. They thought she was a phony now as well as a judgmental grouch.

When the word was passed that they were to have their picture taken together with their identical skirts and blouses, Stella pursed her lips and frowned. At home that evening she asked her mother for the box of buttons her grandmother Anderson had left when she died. It took hours, but Stella was pleased with her result, and she was quite happy to wear her new clothes the next day.

It was cold and rainy, and Stella wore her raincoat. She didn’t take it off when she got to school. She wore it in Mr. Douglas’s class and then in math class. Finally it was time for home economics and the picture taking session. By that time, the girls were curious about what Stella had on beneath that coat. She just smiled.

Miss Whiteside breezed into the classroom a little late.

You girls look wonderful! She smiled at them, and they smiled back, just as insincerely. They are all little snots! Every one of them!

Miss Whiteside had hung white fabric over the north wall, providing a backdrop for the picture. She arranged the girls until she was satisfied with the pose.

Stella Anderson, aren’t you going to take your coat off for the picture? Miss Whiteside’s smile was beginning to fray.

Yes, Ma’am. Stella unbuttoned her coat, hung it over her chair and stepped into the group. Miss Whiteside gasped, and the girls hummed with surprise. Stella had sewed buttons, all sizes and all colors, on her new navy skirt. Mostly there were small white shirt buttons, but big black coat buttons, small red plastic ones depicting bowling pins, brass navy buttons with anchors, fabric covered buttons, more than the eye could catalogue at one glance, were sewn onto the skirt.

Later that day, in the teachers’ lounge, Miss Whiteside was heard to say, That Stella Anderson is the biggest snot of all! Bill Douglas and Laurel Lovelady exchanged glances that asked, ‘Who is the biggest snot of all?’

The days turned into weeks and it grew close to Christmas. Bill found himself increasingly looking forward to his first period class. He noticed that he tended to beef up his lectures with more interesting tidbits then was usual in his world history classes. Bill also realized that the other students were beginning to ask questions and be more interested. Is she making me a better teacher?

Stella soaked up everything he said and asked for more. It became usual for him to look for a book that would answer a question she had posed. However, Bill was perplexed because she didn’t do well on tests, and the papers she was turning in were well thought out, but sloppy. He knew she was capable of better work, so he decided to shake her up a little, and when the first report cards came out, she found she had a C in his class.

Stella tumbled off the bus, her two brothers behind her. The three ran though clammy drizzle to the front door and burst in.

Hang up your coats, kids!

Stella’s mother, Elizabeth, shook her head. Every school day books and coats trailed from the children’s entrance point to the kitchen. They turned back, grabbed their coats and hung them on hooks in the kitchen, a thick towel on the floor directly underneath soaking up drips.

Stella slammed her books on the kitchen table. Elizabeth’s eyebrows popped up. What’s the matter, hon?

Mr. Douglas gave me a C in world history! I don’t think I deserved a C, Momma. It’s not fair!

Elizabeth ladled steaming hot chocolate into mugs. Do you have the grades from your tests and papers? Did you forget to hand something in?

No. I think I did everything I should have. I do have my grades and they don’t add up to a C!

We’ll see, Stell. Let’s talk to your father when he gets home.

Stella drank her hot chocolate with her heavy eyebrows furrowed and then stalked to her room. She plunked her books on the desk and sat in front of the pile. At this point, something hit the window screen in front of her. Stella started, and then laughed.

Oh Great Gray, you scared me. You aren’t supposed to beg to come in until night time!

Stella opened the door that led to the front porch, and her fluffy gray cat darted in, and then wound herself around Stella’s ankles.

Mr. Douglas had braced himself for Stella’s reaction the next Monday, but what happened was not what he expected. He received a message to come to the principal’s office. When he got there, a tall, blonde haired man with deep blue eyes and a frown was waiting.

What can I do for you? Bill asked.

Mr. Douglas, I have come about my daughter’s grade in your World History class. She got what is the first C in her life and she thinks she has done better than that. I’ve gone over her test grades, and I don’t think they merit a C. Can you tell me what is happening?

Who is your daughter, sir?

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Harry Anderson, and Stella Anderson is my daughter.

Mr. Douglas smiled broadly. Well, Mr. Anderson, I can tell you exactly what is happening. Your daughter is exceptional. She is bright as a brand new penny, and has an insatiable thirst for knowledge. I have been lending her books and tutoring her during some of her study halls. That thirst, though, is a raw inborn trait. I think she needs more discipline. Bill looked straight at Stella’s father. She needs to know how to work harder. I believe she needs to understand that she must perform to the best of her personal ability. The only way I could think of to make her understand that was to give her the C grade. If any other of my students had turned in the grades and the papers that she had, I might have given her an A, but Stella can do better. She just doesn’t know that she hasn’t been doing well. An A would tell her that she was all right, and that the mediocre work she has been doing was enough. That would be a huge disservice to such a brilliant mind, so that’s why I gave her a C. I used it as a wake-up call. I hope you understand my motives.

Larry Anderson nodded thoughtfully. I certainly do. I appreciate more than I can say what you are trying to accomplish for her. I agree with what you are doing, Mr. Douglas. Thank you for the extra thought and time on her behalf. Mr. Anderson held his hand out and shook Bill’s.

We know she is bright. We hoped she would meet a teacher like you when she got to high school, but we never dreamed she would. There aren’t many of your caliber. He began to walk toward the door, but turned and said, Thank you again, so much. If there is anything we can do at home, please let us know.

You are entirely welcome. It means a great deal to me to find a student like your daughter. I’ll do my best for her, and I would appreciate your going over her papers and telling her when you think they need revising. I’d really appreciate that!

That evening, Bill recapped the day for his mother. Stella Anderson’s father came to school today to ask about the C grade I gave her. I thought I’d have a problem with him, but he agreed completely with what I was trying to do! Bill continued, Now that I know Stella has that kind of support at home, I can really push her. That thrills me, Mom! She really is a jewel!

Tell me about her. What does she look like?

She’s got blue eyes, dark brown hair. She’s small, tiny in fact. She runs everywhere she goes. She’s full of vim and always has a smile on her face. She chews her pencils and her fingernails. She smells good.

Adell looked sharply at her son, but he didn’t notice. She smells good?

Yeah. She told me her grandmother makes her put rose sachets in her underwear drawer. She always smells the same, and it smells good.

Adell shook her head and bent over her books

Bill’s father, Ian, had died twelve years earlier while Bill was serving in the Seabees in the South Pacific. Adell had cast about for ideas about how to make a living. She retrieved a winter coat from the dry cleaners on day when a woman dashed in and left a box of circulars the owner had commissioned. That incident was the birth of Douglas Secretarial Service. Adell set up an office/workroom in the basement, and gradually brought in enough business so that she could keep her house and feed her family. She stuffed envelopes, did payrolls and kept books for small businesses.

The next morning, Stella didn’t look at Bill. He wasn’t used to that. She always smiled at him, and made him feel as if they were the only two people in the room. He knew this, and had had to mentally fight to include the whole class every day. This day, though, he didn’t have to fight. Stella was not there emotionally. As she brushed past his desk on the way out after the bell rang, he said, Stella Anderson. She stopped, but looked straight ahead.

What’s the matter, Stella? Where’s your smile?

It went the same way as your friendship.

What does that mean?

My dad told me what you said to him about the C you gave me. He said you needed to give me a wake-up call. Did you ever think about just telling me? I do speak English, you know, and I’m not stupid. I had thought we were friends. I thought we had a relationship that you might feel comfortable with just telling me that I needed to do better. I was wrong.

Bill was mortified. She was right! He had never thought about just telling her she was not performing up to his expectations. He sucked in his breath and was surprised to feel tears forming in his eyes.

Stella, I am truly sorry. You couldn’t be more right, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart!

She finally snuck a look at him and was surprised to see his damp eyes. My goodness! He really means it!

Will you forgive me? I don’t want to ruin our friendship because of my stupidity. I’m sorry, Stella.

Stella found herself swelling with power in the situation, but immediately pricked it away. It didn’t belong here, even if it did feel a little satisfying. "Of course, Mr. Douglas. I forgive you. After all, we don’t want to louse up our relationship.

Bill stuck out his hand, and she shook it with great ceremony. Only then would she allow herself to give him a small smile, sideways. Then she dashed out the door.

Bill was dumbfounded to realize that he even had a relationship with this little girl. She thought so, even if he had never named it as such. A relationship. He was a grown man and she was a little girl, but, indeed, they did have a friendship. It had grown past the ordinary teacher and student abutting lives. He chuckled. She taught him something today. More than one thing, actually. He had learned that he couldn’t take any relationship for granted, no matter how insignificant it might seem. He learned also that Stella Anderson wasn’t afraid to call him on what she thought was right.

Mr. Douglas and Stella sat at their library table discussing results of the various crusades in Europe. Stella thought the overall effects of them were negative after Mr. Douglas had said they were probably positive in the end.

But what about through the centuries, when all people have to do when they are criticizing Christianity is to bring up those crusades? Stella’s eyes flashed, and she said, People who might be turned on to Christianity would then have a roadblock to even thinking about it before they had their own feelings about it and could realize the narrow scope of the crusading entities, and that they didn’t reflect Christianity as a whole. She caught her breath after this ponderous sentence, turned to him and quietly said, Today is my birthday, Mr. Douglas! I’m fourteen today.

Well, Stella, when it’s a person’s birthday, I always allow her to win at least one argument, but that logic would stand on its own without a birthday!

The next morning, when Mr. Douglas handed out the papers he had graded, Stella found a bookmark clipped between the two pages of her essay. It was hand drawn, and depicted a black crusader’s sword in the middle, with a border of what looked like multi-colored stained glass all around it. There was a small logo at the bottom, a stylized WID, and a note attached that said, ‘Happy Birthday.’

Stella approached Mr. Douglas’s desk at the end of class and said from the corner of her mouth, Thanks, Rembrandt!

You are welcome, Lady Stella!

Stella ran out the door with a broad beam on her face. Bill sat at his desk with the same wide smile.

The posters proliferated. They seemed to George Hamilton to be reproducing during the nights. Soon all the spaces in the halls that weren’t taken up with lockers were covered with posters, and then small ones began to appear on the locker doors. One series began with a huge G on the locker at the far end of the hall. An I joined it on the next locker the next day. This continued with a new letter every day until the whole thing said, GIRLS R P-PUL 2! The next week, a new series started, ending up with the phrase, O-S-A-R! Principal Hamilton decided enough was enough and one Friday evening he stayed late and took down every single one of them. The next Tuesday morning he was astonished to see a huge poster back on the wall with the notice, NO POSTERS ALLOWED IN THIS DESPOTIC SCHOOL. The next morning, NOT EVEN ONE. This continued day after day.

Bill decided to look closely at the posters one afternoon as he was walking down the hall on his way home. He was intrigued to see a small monogram on the bottom right side of each. It consisted of a capital L, and then an S under the first one, intertwining. The letters were plain block print, just like the ones in his own monogram. Who in the world can that be?

The next week a clipboard was nailed to the door of the girls’ bathroom. It had a petition fastened to it asking for signatures of girls who wanted to be able to take agriculture courses or auto mechanic or wood shop courses. The wording was this: You don’t have to take the classes, or even want to. This is to tell the world we should be allowed to take them if we do want to. The spaces filled up fast, and eventually there were many pages of them. George Hamilton rifled through them about a week after the petition appeared and discovered that all the women teachers had signed the petition. What was even more surprising was the signature of Ryan Echols, the agriculture teacher. George chuckled and wrote his own name at the bottom of the last page. Why not? I think it’s a good idea too! He sent the petitions along with a short explanatory letter to the school district superintendent, Ronald Macintosh, thinking he probably wouldn’t hear any more about it.

The posters continued, however, and as hard as he tried George couldn’t catch the person who hung them.

Early in the spring Mr. Douglas assigned a term paper and speech to the class. He said the students could use any kind of visual aids and any research they wanted. They had four weeks to complete the papers and give the reports. He assigned subjects he thought each student was interested in. When he asked Stella what she wanted to write about, she answered, The Crusades, Mr. Douglas.

By the way, Mr. Douglas, what is the I for in the ‘WID’ on my bookmark?

My name is William Ian Douglas, named after my father.

Thanks. I’ve wondered for a long time. Stella stared at him and added, That is a good name, Mr. Douglas. For a good person.

Bill was touched beyond reason. He thought about that scene long into the evening.

CHAPTER THREE

One morning Bill was chatting with Barb Penny, the chemistry teacher, outside his room before class started. Barb glanced at her watch.

The bell’s about to ring. I’d better get back to my classroom before the boys blow up the girls.

Just then, they heard a very important sounding voice from the other side of the doorway asking, Do you wear a ‘B,’ Stella? I do!

No, I don’t, not yet, was the wry answer. You can have two good guesses why not! There were some giggles and then the second voice came again. Why? Did you just get one?

Yes, was the proud answer. And I wear a C cup!

Bill and Barb grinned at each other. Barb said, It’s about time, too, I’d say!

Teaching teenagers had its own perquisites sometimes, and snippets of conversation like this were a few of them. Bill walked into the classroom and saw Alicia and Stella standing at the pencil sharpener next to the doorway. He subconsciously checked out the C cup and then the two reasons why Stella said she didn’t wear a B. She was right. Stella was straight up and down from the side. She had a tiny waistline, however, and budding hips that accentuated that waistline. Bill smiled and thought of his eleven-year-old niece, Joanne, who was in the same boat Stella was in, except she was straight up and down no matter how you looked at her. Her hips were yet to come. Little girls are a wonder.

Spring showed up with wild flowers in all the ditches and fields. Blue bonnets vied with Indian paints and verbena to delight the world. Baseball came to Texas also, and that prospect delighted the world as well. Bill had stayed after school to play a hand or two of bridge in the teachers’ lounge and chuckled as he listened to Loretta Beavers, the girls’ PE teacher. She coached girls’ basketball and softball, and this day she was holding forth on the chances her softball team had this spring.

I’ve got prima donnas in the infield, klutzes in the outfield, and my pitchers stink. And I’ve got no catcher at all. None. Nobody will even try out for it. They’re all afraid they’ll get hit in the face! Loretta sat there holding her cards like a catcher’s mitt and said, I tell them, just hold the damn mitt up in front of your face and you won’t be hurt! Better yet, ladies, catch the damn ball and you’ll be a hero!

George Hamilton slanted his eyes at her and said, Now, Loretta, you don’t use that kind of language in front of the girls, do you?

Loretta glared back at him and said, I use the language that’s called for, George! And this year it’s liable to get a bit blue!

Remember the parents, Loretta. And remember this school board is exclusively Southern Baptist. If I get complaints from them, you’ll have to clean up your act.

Well, George, I’ll try. But I learned to win from the United States Marine Corps, and I don’t know how fancied up my mouth can get. I wasn’t a shave tail officer, you know! She scowled at her cards and bid, One no-trump!

George grinned at her, knowing she was the best coach he could have found for the girls. He also knew that she had a background that included being a Lady Marine for five years. He would have to temper that, or issue ear plugs to everybody in the stands.

Just keep it down the best you can, and stop it altogether during games.

I’ll try. I said I would! She glared at him again and said, Bid!

The bridge game progressed, and when it broke up, Loretta took Bill aside and asked, "I understand you umpired baseball when you were