We sat at our desks, nervous as any first day of school.  Second grade, third school.  I was the "new girl."  I'd be the new girl most of my life but it always felt like it started here even though it technically started in kindergarten when we moved from Fillmore to the Estes Ranch in Moorpark.

The door opened.  We waited expectantly as a long thin shadow crossed the threshold.  It was an illusion.  Though thin, the woman who entered was not tall at all.  She was tiny.  White hair.  She walked down the aisle nearest the door, up the next aisle, down the third, and then up the last row finishing behind the desk.  She was dwarfed by it from my vantage point.  The appearance of frailty was deceptive. 

She looked each one of us in the eye.  I know it because when it was my turn I realized that she was seeing all of us.  Not just our faces but who we were behind those faces.  She had an uncanny way of knowing by our faces what we were thinking.  After she scanned each face as though she could read our  minds, she slowly opened the bottom left drawer of her desk.  (it was to our right if that matters!)  She reached in and pulled something from it.  We waited eagerly.

WHAM!  She slammed a belt down on the desk with force no one would have guessed that she could possibly possess.  It was fascinating and momentarily terrifying.  The feeling left a few minutes later but not before she said clearly and in a strong voice with an even stronger accent, "And I'm noht afhrraid (afraid)  ta juse (use) it."

Then, as though she hadn't just ensured the complete compliance and respect of every student in that class with a smidge of the fear of God and Mrs. Elkins on the side, she replaced the belt from whence it came and we never saw it again.  Other classes didn't have a strong woman like Mrs. Elkins.  When their students got restless or stepped out of line, they were sent to the office where a large paddle hung on the wall. 

Every student at the school knew that to attend, you had to give permission for the teachers and principal to administer corporal punishment.  If you went to the office, the principal drilled a new hole in the paddle and gave you a firm whack reminding you as you blinked back tears never to cause him to put two in there with your name on it.  I never had to go.  None of our class did and Mrs. Elkins never used her belt.  She didn't need to.  We knew she meant business and she inspired a love and loyalty that would have hurt us to betray.  We simply didnt' do it.

We read from McGuffey's First, Second, and Third Readers in that class.  I learned

"Now the day is over

Night is drawing nigh.

Shadows of the evening

Steal across the sky.

Now the darkness gathers.

Stars begin to peep.

Birds and beasts and flowers,

Soon will be asleep.    ~  Baring-Gould

We read Harcourt Brace readers too.  I loved the story of Hot and Cold from One Mouth.

An old children's story tells of a traveler lost in a vast forest one winter's night. He stumbles into a widow's hut and begs for a bowl of soup by her fire. The woman says, "Yes."

He stands blowing on his hand while she ladles the soup. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Why, my hands are cold. I'm warming them with my breath." She eyes him suspiciously as she hands him his soup. He sits down with the bowl, and blows across the spoon before he puts it in his mouth.

"Now what are you doing," she cries. He glances up, surprised, and says, politely, "The soup is so wonderfully hot. I simply mean to cool it before I try to swallow it." The woman seizes a fire-iron and shouts, "Get out! Get out of my house! I'll have no sorcerer who can blow both hot and cold under my roof!"

We did fractions in Mrs. Elkin's room.  I learned that 1/8 is smaller than 1/4.  I learned that 1/4 is really 2/8 so if I have 1/4 and 1/8 I really have 3/8.  I didn't know my multiplication tables (well I didn't know above the fives) but I knew the basics of fractions.  Then again, it was easy.  That's how dad taught me to tell time. 

I learned how to spell possessive (I thought it was the most beautiful word in the world), arithmetic (a rat in the house might eat the ice cream.), and Mississippi.  I learned to call a public restroom a "lavatory" and how to write in cursive.

She introduced us to Narnia.  Oh nothing sounds as absolutely wonderful as The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe read by a little old woman with a slovak accent.  We trembled for Lucy, cheered for Mr. Tumnus, and wept for Mr. Tumnus.  We laughed at the Beavers, and shuddered at the wolves.  Turkish Delight was like the deadly fruit of Eden.  We didn't want a thing to do with it when she brought some to class for us.  We laughed at St. Nicholas and trembled with awe at Aslan.  Mrs. Elkins choked a bit when she read about the white witch plunging the knife into the majestic king of Narnia.  I saw her wipe a tear.  I now realize it was more than just the death of a beloved character.

She taught us to count in Estonian.

However, I think my fondest memory is that of the story of her family's flight from Estonia.  As a child, I assumed that she was fleeing Nazi occupation.  Now I realize that it was more likely Soviet communism.  There was a border near a river close by where her family lived.  She told of being a young girl (I never knew if she meant little girl like under ten or teenager) and how her family determined to escape.  They had a plan and though the plan was simple, it was deadly.  Near twilight one night, the family would meet at a certain grove of trees.  From there they'd move along the border to where they knew the shallowest part of the river was, hoping that there would be a way for the men to walk across in places holding children over their heads. 

They had orders.  Once they started across the barbed wire, they were to run.  They must run and no matter what happens around them, never stop until they're on the other side of the river.  Don't let anything slow them down.  I remember the trembling in her voice as she told about the escape.  The family cut the barbed wire.  They raced across "no man's land" to the shore of the river.  The guards shouted.  The dogs were let loose.  Gunfire was everywhere.  A spotlight waved across the short field to the shore of the river.  People around her dropped.  Aunts, uncles, and a little cousin. 

Most who made it across were young.  Mid thirties or younger.  One elderly grandmother made it as well as a few middle aged men.  I didn't understand as she told the story what she was tryign to convey without putting too heavy a burden on our little hearts.  The elderly sacrificed themselves for the younger stronger members of the family.  They allowed the dogs to grab their legs and threw themselves in to the path of gunfire to give the rest of the family a chance at a new life.  This is such a beautiful thing to me that it hurts to type it.  I never loved her more than when she told about greeting the rest of her family on the other side of that river.  One third of their extensive family was absent.  They waited for twelve hours but no more came.

We all dreaded the last day of school.  We were eager learners, looking forward to her lessons and her stories.  Three months of no school seemed endless.  What we didn't know was that it wasn't a three month parting.  We'd never see her again.  The next year we entered the classroom eager for a continuation and found a round pleasant German hausfrau looking woman.  Mrs. Rothlesburger.  She was a dear soul but we were sad and confused.

At home, my parents told me what happened.  Apparently, some of the parents were appalled at her display of authority in the beginning of the year.  They couldn't fire her, she hadn't broken her contract.  The school didn't want to anyway.  However, in a private school, those who pay for the education determine much of the policy and several of the parents insisted she not return.  They didn't renew her contract.

She went to teach at a nearby Catholic school and I know my parents deliberated as to whether or not I should attend.  Eventually, they decided against it.  At eight, I was at too impressionable to understand the difference between what I was taught at home and school.  My loyalties would have been divided.  The beauty of the ceremonies and symbolism of the Catholic church would have appealed to my sense of romance.  I was a little too much like Anne Shirley for my own good.  They made the right decision but I still wish I could have had another year with her.

Mrs. Elkins... if I could only see her once more.  Hear her voice... count to ten...  uks... kaks...