Schoolhouse in Winter

            Unshapely patches of green mold covered the yellowing history books at the rear of the classroom.  The figure slumped in the front had fared no better.  Age had destroyed all signs of vitality from the man, leaving a shell of thought.  He was alone; school was not in session.  Winter break had commenced some days ago and snow was piled high against the windowpanes. 

The old man sat quietly by a crackling fire, the only source of heat.  His dark eyes reflected glassily into the night.  The man’s features were drawn in thought, his lips pursed in concentration.  Every once and awhile, he would glance abruptly at the desk and jot down a note with his fountain pen.  Boughs screeched against the windows, but his concentration was never broken.

The elderly figure did not so much as stir when the door banged open, allowing the howling winds to force drifts of snow inside.  Out of the swirling mass emerged a dainty figure, quite the opposite of the room’s current occupant.  Panting slightly, the newcomer, a youthful girl, forced the door into its frame.  With a worried expression and dancing hands, she approached the desk.  “I apologize for the breeze, Sir.  I was hoping to come across a Mr. Elliot.”

“You have found him.”

Mr. Elliot did not glance up.  The girl bit her lip, taken aback by his gruff voice and unwelcome demeanor.  Squaring her shoulders, she stared directly at his worn face.  “I was wondering if I might be given the opportunity to enroll in the school, Mr. Elliot.”

Finally, he shifted.  “What reason do I have for letting a girl into this fine institution, Miss?  I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place to find an education.  Finishing school might suit you better.”

She let her eyes sweep over the dusty books and rotten wood.  “I should hardly think this a ‘fine institution’, Mr. Elliot.  You don’t even have proper materials.”

Mr. Elliot sighed, a short wheezing sound.  The young girl’s haughty tone and incomprehensible request would do nothing to change his manner.  He had dealt with plenty of insubordinate pupils in the past and she was not even that.  “Miss, I must ask you to leave.  I have work yet to be finished.”

Her light eyes flashed defiantly.  Quickly the spark disappeared and she turned on him despairingly.  “But there are feet of snow outside and it’s still coming.  I couldn’t possibly make it home!  Coming here was taxing enough.”

“I sincerely doubt you are in such bad health.”  Glancing down at his paper, he let a waif of a smile pass over his lips.  “But you can stay until the morning, no later.  I will not, however, be reconsidering your request, Miss…”

“Burkhardt, Helen Burkhardt,” she replied bitterly.

“Ah.  Well, sit down and do be quiet, Miss Burkhardt.”  The weathered face turned once again to the fire while the skeleton hand picked up the fountain pen.