Yesternight Read Online Free PDF Page A

Talk to her about anything you want.”
    Janie closed her mouth and nodded.
    A young woman with curls even redder than Janie’s locks sauntered our way, her eyes switching between Mr. O’Daire and me.
    â€œYou must be Miss Lind,” she said.
    â€œYes. Are you Miss Simpkin?”
    â€œI am.” She offered her right hand and spread a powdery layer of chalk against my palm. “I’m so sorry about our weather. I worried the wind might cause our windows to implode, so I’m sure it was quite a shock for you.”
    â€œI survived,” I said, “thanks to Mr. O’Daire.”
    â€œYes, Mr. O’Daire was keen on being the first to meet you.” She dropped her hand to her side.
    Beside me, Mr. O’Daire helped Janie into her coat. “I’m going to gather up some of Janie’s friends,” he said. “I’ll drive them home in case the weather acts up again.”
    â€œTake Janie straight to her mother after you deliver the others,” said Miss Simpkin.
    â€œOf course.” His gaze shifted to me. “Do you want to chat with Miss Simpkin for a while? I could come back and fetch you after I get them delivered.”
    â€œWould that be all right?” I asked the schoolteacher. “I brought the test materials to show you, if you’d care to take a look before I start administering the evaluations tomorrow.”
    â€œYes, a chat would be lovely.” She reached out and patted Janie on the head. “Tell your mother I hope she weathered the storm safely. Look after her, all right?”
    â€œI will.” Janie rose to her toes and kissed her aunt on the cheek.
    Mr. O’Daire escorted the child out of the schoolhouse, but not without a quick glance back at me. I turned away, having nothing yet to offer him about Janie. He closed the door, and I heard their footsteps, as well as those of three other students, galumphing down the stairs outside. The sudden silence of the emptied-out schoolhouse made my ears hum.
    â€œPlease, come in.” Miss Simpkin swiveled on her heel and led me down the aisle between rows of desks with seats attached to the fronts of the desks behind them. The words A RMISTICE D AY dominated the blackboard, and I remembered for the first time that day that I’d arrived on November 11. No rain-drenched Gordon Bay parade appeared to be celebrating the seventh anniversary of the Great War’s end, however. I thought again of poor veteran Sam, teetering on the edge of the sidewalk.
    Miss Simpkin scooted a spare chair in front of her desk, near a wood-burning stove. “Please, have a seat.”
    â€œThank you.” I sat down with the briefcase on my lap.
    The schoolteacher circled around to the other side of the desk, her movements brisk yet stiff. From the look of her, I’d say her age was close to mine, mid to late twenties, but her face and figure possessed a roundness and softness that made her seem more womanly, more maternal, than me and all of my sharp angles. The halo of red curls framing her face resembled those of the film star Greta Nissen, whom I had recently seen with my sister Bea in the tolerable comedy Lost: A Wife .
    She plopped down in her chair with a sigh, and all those curls rustled, as if taking a breath themselves. “Do you mind if I have a smoke?”
    I shook my head. “Not at all.”
    â€œI truly thought we were all going to die today.” She slid open a desk drawer and fetched a red and white box of cigarettes and a silver lighter. “Storms plow through this area all the time, but from the way the wind wailed through this old schoolhouse and rocked us about, I thought for certain the roof would blow off and suck us all out.”
    â€œI don’t blame you. The wind literally knocked me to the ground as soon as I stepped off the train this afternoon. You should have seen—” I burst out laughing at the memory of my body splayed across the