New Girl in Little Cove by Damhnait Monaghan (book club suggestions TXT) 📗

“I wasn’t really thinking about Calvin,” Judy said. “Calvin needs a trade so his mother is satisfied he’ll earn a good living. She needs that guarantee.”

“Judy, you’re a genius!”

“I know,” she said. “But can you remind Bill?”

“So, I can look into this trades college?” I asked.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “you have my blessing. But that’s not the one you’ll need.”

I phoned the trades college in St. John’s and had a long conversation with its director. A few weeks later, a large package arrived in the mail for me, and I asked Calvin to see me after school.

He knocked on my classroom door, his face wary.

I beckoned him in, and when he sat down at my desk, I filled him in on the trades college.

“I think it would be good for you. You don’t need a high school certificate to apply.”

Calvin didn’t answer. I waited until he had finished cracking every knuckle, then I passed him the big envelope.

“Take a look,” I said. “And I talked to the director. The main focus is carpentry, but they have some courses in furniture making, wood carving and . . .” My voice dwindled away. Calvin was sitting on the chair beside my desk, holding the unopened manila envelope away from his body. Then he slid it back across the desk to me. “T’anks, miss, but Mudder wouldn’t like it. She wants me to get my certificate.”

“You would get a certificate,” I said. “A really useful one.”

He scuffed his shoe back and forth against my desk. I fought the urge to tell him to knock it off.

Then he said, “It’s no use, miss.”

“What if I talked to your mother?”

The scuffing stopped. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Especially for you.”

He ducked his head, but I thought I saw a smile. “T’anks, miss.”

“C’mon,” I said. “I’ll drive you home. And you know what else, Calvin?”

He shrugged.

“They have a basketball team.”

Calvin directed me to a small house, in a row of three, about halfway to Mardy. Mrs. Piercey was outside, brushing dirty clumps of snow from her path. She approached my side of the car and I wound down the window. “Is Calvin in trouble?” she asked. “What’s he done?”

“He’s not in trouble,” I said. “I was hoping to speak to you about his future.”

She beamed. “Aren’t you grand?”

When I got out of the car, Ruthie nudged my leg. I gave her a good pat, then she raced around the car and jumped on Calvin. The pair of them headed towards a faded grey shed at the bottom of the yard.

“That’s Calvin’s workshop,” Mrs. Piercey said. “He spends all his free time in there making things.”

She invited me inside her home, removing a sewing basket from the table. I thought about those neat stitches on Calvin’s shirt. Her handiwork, like her son’s, was flawless. She moved quietly about the kitchen, putting on the kettle and fetching tea bags, mugs and tinned milk.

When she sat down beside me and poured the tea, I took a glossy brochure out of the envelope and laid it on the table. “The trades college in St. John’s has been in touch with the school,” I said. “They’re looking for students for their carpentry program.”

I slid the brochure towards her. She tapped her fingers on it, but didn’t pick it up.

“You don’t need a high school diploma. So even if Calvin doesn’t pass”—I bit my tongue to keep from saying again—“this year, it wouldn’t matter. He could leave St. Jude’s and start at the trades college in September.”

Mrs. Piercey was looking out the window, so I kept talking to the teapot.

“They do some wood carving courses and there are grants for exceptional candidates. I told the director about Calvin’s nature pieces and he’s so eager to meet him.”

Mrs. Piercey’s gaze slipped to her mug. It was time to try a different approach. “Then again, maybe this is all just a passing fancy for Calvin.”

She looked up, her face animated. “Passing fancy? More like his passion. His grandfadder taught him when he was still a child. He just took to it, you know?”

I tried not to react when she picked up the brochure, but crossed my fingers under the table.

“Did you say the director was in touch with the school?”

I nodded. The director had been in touch with the school. On a phone call that I had initiated, but she didn’t need to know that.

Mrs. Piercey wore a pair of reading glasses on a gold chain around her neck. She lifted them now and balanced them on her nose. She read the brochure cover to cover. Then I took out the various application forms and laid them on the table. Our heads were bent together over the paperwork when Calvin came in, with Ruthie right behind him. His mother got up, twisting a tea towel in her hands.

“Miss O’Brine’s been telling me all about this carpentry course in town. I was wondering if you—”

But she got no further as Calvin lifted her in his arms and twirled her around the kitchen to her delighted protestations.

27

At the next parent-teacher get-together, a steady stream of people gathered to speak to me. Most of their children weren’t studying French; they wanted to talk about the dog rescue. Cynthia’s mother beamed as she finally managed to squeeze through the crowd.

“You’re popular tonight.” She wrapped her sweater protectively around her narrow frame and said, “We’re some proud of Cynthia. Imagine her going off to university next year.”

“Is that still the plan?” I asked.

“Yis. Most definitely.”

I brushed non-existent lint from my dress to buy some time, then said, “It’s just that Cynthia’s work has been . . . a little up and down lately.” In truth, there was no up, it was all down.

Mrs. O’Leary frowned. “Is she not keeping up with her French either? I’m after telling the other teachers I’ll have her by the scruff when I gets her home. She’s been out beating the paths too much.”

I said I thought Cynthia could still achieve