They continued, walking down the second row. Mauve found a pair of earrings for Reese and another for her sister and a beautifully illustrated book about Vermont birds for her brother-in-law.
“He’s crazy about birds,” Mauve said. “He’ll love this one.”
They traveled further, stopping at the Hayes Maple Syrup display. Uncle Walter and Aunt Grace were manning the booth, both wearing Santa hats and green aprons over heavy sweaters.
Aunt Grace beamed at the sight of them. “Hello, you two. Out for a shopping day?”
“I’m finding gifts for my family,” Mauve said. “This is wonderful.”
“Max did good,” Grace said. “He’s dedicated to our local craftsmen and artists. I’m glad you’re finding gifts here instead of ordering from one of the big stores.”
“I’m a proud Vermont resident now,” Mauve said. “Even if I sound like a southerner.”
“It’s your heart that determines where your home is,” Grace said. “And you belong here.”
Here and not with him.
They raninto Sarah Chambers at a booth displaying locally made quilts. She was bent over, looking at one with a heart pattern.
“Sarah, hi,” Mauve said.
Sarah straightened, smiling. “Hey there.”
“Is Ollie with you?” Mauve asked.
“No, I left both the kids home with my husband so I could shop in peace. I needed a break.”
“Is everything okay?” Mauve asked. “Ollie seemed a little off today.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes clouding over. “He had a bad day at school. The music teacher’s putting on a concert with the first through third graders at the community church. Some kind of fundraiser. She told Ollie he had to stand with the others and to either pretend like he was singing or just stand there.”
Beside him, Mauve stiffened. “Why would she do that to him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been debating all afternoon about what to do about it,” Sarah said. “He’s a stoic little guy most of the time, but this one hurt.”
“I understand,” Mauve said. “I knew something was wrong today. He seemed defeated.”
Poor little guy, Jason thought, remembering moments of humiliation from his own childhood. No one wanted a stutterer in the school choir.
“I’m so angry at Mrs. Jones,” Sarah said. “For a music teacher, it’s insensitive and callous. We’ve had such a good experience at the school, but this makes me wonder if I should home school him. Maybe that would be better for him. I’m at a loss as to what to do.”
“I’m sorry,” Mauve said. “I would feel the same way.”
“I had a teacher do something similar,” Jason said. “She told me a stutterer would be too distracting for the school play and gave me a part of a tree. I was the only kid without lines.”
“And look at you now,” Sarah said.
“Right. I know it’s hard, but try not to lose hope,” Jason said.
“Ben said it’s making him tough, but I don’t know if a six-year-old boy should be tough,” Sarah said, tearing up. “He’s my baby, you know. To me, he’s perfect, but the rest of the world doesn’t see him that way.”
Mauve had been looking down at the frosty ground under their feet, but now she lifted her gaze toward Jason and then to Sarah. “I have an idea. What if we taught Ollie to do the song in sign language? He could perform it that way.”
“Will Mrs. Jones allow that?” Sarah asked.
“If I’m involved, she will,” Mauve said, thinking she would need to have a word with her about her treatment of Ollie.
“He signs with us at home quite a bit,” Sarah said. “Functional stuff. More, done, help, please, bathroom. Thanks to your work with him.”
