He nodded. "I admired her tremendously for having the courage to change it." Switching his gaze to Peggy Listrom, he added with a grin, "Now when you learn how to read maps, will you let me know the trick of it? I get lost the minute someone unfolds a map."
Someone giggled, and he added, "Who brought the punch?"
A hand went up. "I did."
"Did you read the recipe?"
She shook her head with so much pride that Zack was mystified until she added, "It's from a can. I read the label. In the grocery store. It cost one dollar and sixty-nine cents. I read that, too."
"May I have some?"
She nodded, and Zack felt that same funny clutch as he poured some of the red liquid into a small paper cup. He was so preoccupied that he spilled some of it on his shirt cuff, and Rosalie Silmet shot to her feet. "I'll show you where the bathroom is, so you can put cold water on it."
"Thanks," he said, afraid to hurt any tender feelings by declining. "I must be nervous tonight about meeting Julie's students," he joked. "I'm afraid she'll call the wedding off if you don't like me," he added as he started out of the room on Rosalie Silmet's heels, and he felt like he'd accomplished something wonderful when the room exploded with laughter.
When he returned, the party was winding down, and everyone was worried that Julie would be late for their wedding rehearsal. "There's still enough time," she told them as Zack stood on the sidelines, sipping his punch. He noticed Rosalie Silmet lean over and whisper urgently to Debby Sue Cassidy, who shook her head. So far, Julie's protégé—a young woman with straight brown hair tucked behind her ears and held in place at the crown with a barette—hadn't spoken much, Zack realized, and he wondered what could possibly impress Julie so much about her. The others were so completely appealing.
"Julie," Rosalie said, "Debby Sue wrote a good-bye poem for you, but now she won't read it to you."
Realizing immediately that he was the reason, Zack started to appeal to her, but Julie's voice interjected, soothing and encouraging. "Please read it for me, Debby."
"It's not very good," Debby said desperately.
"Please."
Her hands shook as she reluctantly picked up a piece of paper on her desk. "It doesn't rhyme."
"Poems don't have to rhyme. Some of the most wonderful poetry on earth doesn't rhyme. No one has ever written a poem just for me," Julie added. "I'm honored."
Debby seemed to gain courage from that, and her shoulders squared. Casting a last apprehensive glance at Zack, she said, "I called it 'Thanks to Julie."' When she began to read, her voice gained more strength and emotion with each word:
I used to be ashamed.
And now I am proud.
The world once was black
And now it is bright.
I used to walk head bent
And now I stand up tall.
I used to have dreams.
But now I have hope.
Thanks to Julie.
Zack stared at her, the simple, expressive words reeling through his mind, the punch forgotten halfway to his mouth.
He watched Julie smile and ask to keep the poem and he saw her hold it to her chest much as she'd held his wedding ring in Mexico City. The party broke up, and he said all the appropriate things and watched them troop out of the classroom.
While Julie cleared out her desk, he sauntered over to the bulletin board on the side wail, but his mind wasn't on the children's drawings of spring flowers in front of his eyes. He kept remembering that poem he'd just heard, the one that said exactly what he felt about Julie, and he kept thinking of her in Colorado, holding out her hand to him, her face filled with wonder and awe as she tried to make him understand:
"Oh, Zack … watching them discover they can read is like holding a miracle in your own hand."
A rubber band missed his ear by a fraction of an inch and bounced softly off the bulletin board, and he glanced up thinking something had fallen from above his head. The second one whizzed by his temple, even closer than the first one had been, and he turned around, smiling and trying to shake off the poignant feelings he had. Julie was leaning against her desk, a rubber band cocked on her fingers as she drew a bead on him. "Nice shooting, Wyatt," he tried to joke.
"I've been taught by experts," Julie returned with a slight smile, but she wasn't the least bit deceived by his attempt at humor. "What's on your mind, Mr. Benedict?" she enquired softly as she dropped her arm and effortlessly switched her target to a book on the back desk. And hit it.
Her briefcase was packed and closed and Zack walked toward her, uncertain how to answer her question.
She obviously knew what was on his mind, because she tipped her head to the side, crossed her arms over her chest, and asked innocently, "How did you like my ladies?"
"I—your Debby Sue Cassidy is something else. They're all—not what I expected, is the best I can say."
"A few months ago, you couldn't have made any of them say a word if you were here."
"They seem pretty confident now."
"You think so?" she asked with a funny, dubious sound in her voice. "If they'd known you were coming tonight, I wouldn't have been able to drag them here. The butcher's wife is coming to our wedding reception, the parents of all my students are coming to our reception, the church janitor's wife is coming to our reception. But I could not make one of those women believe that I wanted them to be my guests, and I've spent more time with them than most of the others. That's how much self-esteem they have. After I came back from Colorado with the money I'd raised in Amarillo, I ordered specialized tests designed to gauge their abilities."
"How do you test someone who can't read?"
"One on one. Verbally. With the right materials it's simple. And you don't call it 'testing' because they're so insecure they fall apart at the mention of the word. Do you know what I found out?"
He shook his head, mesmerized by her zeal and humbled by her caring. "I found out that Debby could already read at the third-grade level and two of the others have moderate learning disabilities, and that's why they can't read. And do you know what they need as much as they need to be taught that?" When he shook his head again, she said achingly, "They need me. One person who cares. God, they—they bloom when another woman believes in them and spends a little time with them. It doesn't have to be a teacher—just another woman. The future of that baby of Rosalie's depends completely on whether or not Katherine, who's taking over from me, can keep Rosalie believing in herself and learning. If she can't, that child will grow up on welfare and the fringes of poverty, just as her mother has done. There are a few groups starting up around the country, some of them funded by corporations, and one of them called "Literacy. Pass It On." has a national program that is devoted exclusively to women. I didn't know about it until a couple of days ago."