She especially liked the letters called descenders, and always tried to make sure that their tails were in exact alignment. When she had done a good job with a page of writing, she would hold the paper at arm’s length, so she could see the pen strokes without reading the contents. The slanted lines of the descenders lent a sort of visual rhythm to the page, giving it a form and feeling beyond the meaning of the words.

Hanna finished copying the poem and set the page carefully on the corner of her desk to dry. While not a perfect effort, it more than satisfied her. She wondered why she had never thought to write out that poem before.

During the noon hour, she left the room to use the privy. She lingered outside for a while, watching the older boys play a three-cornered game of catch. By the time she went back inside, several other students were already in the schoolroom.

Her penmanship paper was no longer on the corner of her desk.

9

HANNA IMMEDIATELY searched under and around the desk. Nothing there. She checked the floor nearby. Then she looked at the boys’ half of the room. It wasn’t forbidden for girls to cross the aisle, but they usually did so only if the teacher asked them to.

Sam saw her looking around and must have noticed her distressed expression. “S’matter?” he asked.

“My penmanship paper,” she said. “I left it on my desk.”

Sam stared for a moment. “Is that what they—” He stopped and shook his head. “I think I might know where it is.” He started up the aisle toward the middle of the room.

Hanna followed and watched as he peered around the side of the stove toward the water bucket. He used the dipper to fish out a sodden piece of paper and held it up. She gasped in dismay: It was indeed her penmanship work. Water streamed from the paper—nearly every word had washed away.

Her shock lasted for only a moment.

He knew where to find it. And I would wager he knows who did it, too.

“Sam? What is the trouble here?” Miss Walters was back at her desk.

“Um, there was a piece of paper in the bucket, miss. I’ll go empty it and refill it, because the water’s got ink in it now.” Sam picked up the bucket and quickly left to go to the well in the corner of the schoolyard.

Hanna was still standing beside the stove. “Hanna? Is this any of your concern?” Miss Walters asked.

“The paper was mine, miss.”

“How did it get into the water bucket?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

Hanna took a breath. I could say that I think Sam knows . . . but it’s not my place.

Slowly she closed her mouth.

“You should take more care with your possessions,” Miss Walters said sharply. “Please return to your seat.”