Welcome to the People of a Pretty How Town: Their Victories, Mysteries, Curiosities, and Habits

By S. Annie Queller

Add “Welcome to the People of a Pretty How Town” to your collection. The characters are interesting, realistic, and fully developed. The plots will carry you along from page-to-page. Each story in the book illustrates one or more life lessons. Readers are rewarded with memorable stories that they will want to re-read several times as the years pass. Illustrating Christian ideals, readers rarely encounter profanity and there are no explicit sexual scenes or violence. Readers are uplifted by Annie’s stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781489738943

S. Annie Queller

Annie was born and raised in a small valley town surrounded by mountains, where her parents owned a herd of milk cows, farmed several acres of fields, and tended a large family garden. The family were practicing Christians. She has an MA Degree in English and has taught school for many years. She draws on all of these experiences in her “Eureka” stories.

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Copyright © 2021 S. Annie Queller.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-3893-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3894-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021921717

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 10/26/2021

Contents

The Retread

The Incident

The Wizard of Go-Between

Fool Me Once . . .

So, What’s a "Good

Life" Anyway?

The Retread

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M argaret Thomas, running as fast as her plump legs would allow, pulled her sweater tightly around her rotund tummy against the late August wind. Her teeth began to chatter. Her hairdo was whipping out of shape. She’d have to go to the girls’ room and fix it before joining the meeting.

She should have worn a jacket or coat, but her high-rise apartment was sheltered from the wind by large berms designed to create a warm, pleasant entrance in spite of windy conditions, and it was too late to go back by the time she realized how cold her run to the school would be. There was no time to go back; she’d be late as it was. Her teeth were chattering; she was glad to run into the school grounds.

Hi, Ms. Thomas! children on the playground called out to her.

She was a popular teacher. Student evaluations were always rosy, which said a lot about her 6th graders. Supervisor evaluations, however, were always just so-so, rather robotic, but never completely negative. The faculty evaluators, ensuring their job security, had to find something that needed improvement; she’d always been cited just for little digressions from school policy, like accepting late work. Nothing too serious. She loved her job and planned to retire teaching.

Having fixed her hair, she knocked on the principal’s door and entered the school board meeting. Six men and women were already crowded into the small office. Their chatting stopped as Margaret entered.

Good evening, Margaret; thanks for coming; please be seated, Principal Rodgers invited congenially. By the tone of his voice and his smile, Margaret again hoped this meeting wasn’t going to be what she feared it might be, termination. The school board members were a mixed lot; a few didn’t particularly like Margaret. A vote on her tenure wasn’t a shoe-in; it could go either way.

She sat in the lone empty chair, more-or-less facing the principal and the five board members; now, suddenly, everyone looked solemn. Principal Rodgers cleared his throat and had opened his mouth to begin the meeting when he was interrupted.

Let’s get right to the point, Octavia Holliman took charge. We’ve got a long agenda tonight and no time for pleasantries. Margaret Thomas, we’re voting tonight to determine whether to impose penalties on you. Do you want the charges to be read?

. . . No, Margaret stammered. Of course she was curious to know! But she didn’t trust herself to hold it in; she felt very vulnerable, and tears might evade her best efforts to remain calm.

Well, good, then, Holliman smiled. Thank you, Margaret. That saves us some time. Of course you’ll get a copy of the charges as you leave tonight. Holliman shot a judgmental look at Margaret. Okay, folks; this will be a blind vote. So, let’s do it. On the pad in front of you write ‘Yes’ for penalties or ‘No.’ Then fold up your vote and pass it along to Principal Rodgers.

Holliman’s middle name might as well have been Take Over! As president of the PTA and the longest member of the school board, she did have a certain seniority over Principal Rodgers, but not by the school handbook nor by Roberts Rules of Order. Holliman simply thirsted for power, and harboring a dislike of Margaret for years, she relished in this chance to finally do damage.

Yes and No were short words; Margaret watched each writer, but could not tell which word they had written. Two board members dawdled, flipping their pencils and furrowing their brows. Margaret hoped that was a good sign; she tightly gripped the arms of her chair.

Not hiding it, Holliman’s intense impatience could almost be felt, a thick sense of doom and gloom. To hasten the voting, she drummed her fingers loudly on the table, causing everyone else some vexation.

Hers had been the first vote to pass over. Principal Rodgers finally received all of the votes, opened them, one-by-one, reading aloud the word printed on each. There were six Yes. A unanimous vote guaranteed no appeals. Margaret’s heart sank; the results would be irrevocable. This was the worst night of her life.

Holliman beamed. Getting rid of Ms. Thomas had been a major goal for years.

Shocked, Margaret could not believe her ears. She knew she had a few enemies on the board, but surely not everyone, and she had been sure she had at least one friend in Principal Rodgers.

Well, then, she gasped. What is the penalty? Her voice was shaky.

Margaret, no one doubts you’ve given your full efforts, nay 110%, to our school over the last 15 years, Principal Rodgers began softening the bad news. Your performance record is remarkable. No one else comes close to matching it.

Keep going, Rodgers, Holliman hissed. Get to the point, man!

Rodgers had been smiling; now he looked down and cleared his throat. However, now, Margaret, it is my unwelcomed duty to have to inform you that due to an accumulation of small infractions of the rules over those 15 years, you have come under penalty.

Margaret winced. What a betrayal, from both the evaluators over the years who knew full well that she was a master teacher, but also now from her long-time friend and colleague, the principal. At least Rodgers could have voted No, and then she could have appealed.

So what happens now? Margaret stammered; she just needed this meeting to come to as abrupt an end as possible.

Your contract is solid, Rodgers continued. You have tenure; you cannot be fired; however, you will be demoted back to beginning teacher status, and transferred to Opal County up north, where they are desperately looking at this late date for a new 6th grade teacher.

Rodgers paused, swallowed hard, and then added, You should be there for the start of school in a week. Your situation will be private; no one but the principal will know why you’ve joined the staff.

Margaret said nothing. Thank you simply would not, could not pass her lips.

Rodgers paused again, and then added the last detail: Oh, yes, Margaret; we will pay to pack up and move your furniture. You should go immediately, so you can get acquainted and prepared before the new school year begins.

I understand, Margaret said, almost to tears.

Yet again Rodgers added a detail: Your new principal will be a young man named Raymond Coates. I met him last year at the principals’ training convention. He’s a personable fellow. I can guarantee you’ll enjoy working with him.

Margaret saw no reason to respond.

Do you have any questions? Rodgers asked.

Margaret struggled to her feet. In a state of shock, she just wanted to get out of the room. No questions, she managed. Rodgers tried to say something, but she just grabbed the Penalty List out of his hands and rushed out, as tears and sobs would now overwhelm what little poise she had remaining. In those few dark moments, her pride and self-confidence in her 15 years of devotion and workmanship had just been completely destroyed.

It was dark now, the children on the playground had gone home, and blessedly the wind had died down. Margaret dabbed at her eyes with the handful of tissues she had grabbed from the girl’s rest room while fixing her hair (just in case she would need them) and ran or more precisely loped the entire way home.

Thankfully the doorman was chatting with other residents and absent-mindedly opened the door for her without really looking at her. She had befriended George, a widower, inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner, always stopping to talk with him, giving him a reasonable tip at Christmas, remembering his birthday, passing along movie tickets, and keeping abreast of his grandchildren. She was relieved he now didn’t notice her tears.

She fumbled the key to her apartment door but finally got in. She stopped trying to hold back her emotions.

After an hour of crying and moaning, wandering from room-to-room, staring blankly out of the windows, banging on her chest and the furniture, and generally mourning, she finally calmed down enough begin making lists of things to do and belongings to remember to take with her. She was an expert at making detailed lists; in this moment, it was therapeutic.

After an hour, satisfied that the lists were complete, she remembered she hadn’t looked at the Penalty List yet, which had been dropped just inside the apartment door.

Let’s just see what a bad girl I’ve been, she mumbled to the empty room, fully knowing she’d been an outstanding teacher. The list was printed front-and-back of the page, single-spaced, with numbered items, 45 in all.

Holliman must have been keeping meticulous records for 15 years! Margaret was stunned. Having been an avid reader all her life, she recognized Holliman’s writing style. She’s got every little infringement of the rules on here from my yearly evaluations, and a couple of the admittedly big ones!

Right there, if she wanted to prove it, Margaret could have sunk Holliman’s boat. The evaluations were supposed to be private. In no legal way could Holliman have gotten hold of Margaret’s results.

Margaret had never gotten along well with Octavia Holliman; from the beginning, tension forced their relationship to be artificially nice. It mystified Margaret, who had no personal opinion of Holliman one way or the other; the tension was a one-sided personality conflict which Margaret never understood. She actually admired Holliman’s record as PTA president; impressive actions had occurred.

Could it have been something so simple as Margaret’s weight? Holliman was slender; perhaps overweight people bothered her. Maybe it was Margaret’s independence, never asking Octavia’s advice, actually trying to avoid her as much as possible. Somehow tonight Holliman had managed to persuade five other people to turn against Margaret.

The phone rang. Principal Rodgers left voice mail. Margaret, you know I’ve always been your staunch supporter, and I’m sorry to lose your friendship. He sighed audibly. But I had no choice. If I’d voted ‘Yes,’ Holliman would have had my head on a platter.

Again a loud sigh was heard. I wish I could have told you all this in person, but, well, good bye and good luck where you’re going, Margaret.

After a pause, Rodgers remembered yet another detail he’d forgotten during the meeting. You’ll retain your retirement fund. And again, I’m sure it’ll help you to know you’ll be anonymous; no one there except for the principal will know why you’re joining the faculty.

Rodgers paused and gulped. Well, that’s it, Margaret. Please forgive me someday, if you can. I’ll miss you! Take care! God bless!

Already Margaret started to feel sorry for Rodgers. He was just another of Holliman’s victims. She added an item to her lists: Send Rodgers a card. Let him know everything is okay.

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Margaret held a modest yard sale, and donated the rest of the stuff she didn’t want to take with her to Goodwill. Now, her luggage packed up and ready to go, she spent an hour walking around the neighborhood that had been her home for 15 years.

Margaret didn’t drive. Instead, she took the Greyhound bus, a 10-hour trip through spectacular forests and mountains, to her new designation. She arrived in town just as the moving van pulled in. She got directions to her apartment, and walked over. To her delight, she found a pleasant little wood-framed house. The moving crew were setting her stuff out on the lawn.

Please carry things in for me, she directed; I can tell you where to put everything. There’s not much; you’ll be done in no time.

No, Ma’am, the foreman explained. Sorry. They didn’t pay us to help you arrange your stuff. Kind of chintzy, if you ask me, but it takes all kinds. The crew were ready to depart.

"Well, wait. I’ll