The Soul of Reddert Township
It was Monday morning and the fumes of the school bus clouded as it came to an abrupt stop outside the Saint Kingsley Junior High. The few students who had ridden the route this morning filed off the bus quietly and watched after the children as they departed without a word. The bus driver, new to town and on the route for the first day thought to herself “Surely this isn’t normal…”
As the bus driver sat in her seat confused, she looked to the back of the bus, and gestured to the last passenger that she saw sitting, numbly and immobile, in one of the dingy old seats. The bus driver wondered about her young company. What was going on with this poor girl? The whole bus, which had been notably empty this morning had silenced, and remained silenced, when it had stopped to pick up this child today. Surely that wasn’t something that occurred on this bus every morning.
As she observed the girl of about 12, she felt sad for the kid. There was no hope in those eyes, there was nothing there but a sort of loneliness. As she gazed at the young one’s sad expression in the mirror above the windshield she felt the girl’s reluctance to join the others on the school grounds. “Last stop honey, all ashore that’s going ashore!” she said pleasantly, trying to be cheerful enough to bring a smile to the saddened face that stared out the bus window. Instead, the girl simply slid off her seat and clung her books to her chest, face to the floor as she stepped down the steps and in hardly a whisper thanked the driver for the ride.
The driver, saddened and concerned with the girl’s demeanor, observed as the child sloughed down the steps and onto the pavement of the school’s drive. The girl let out a heavy sigh as she looked around the yard, and then clutching her books ever so tightly, made her way, with her head hanging, towards the school building.
The children watched as Mary Reddert walked to the front steps. Some gaped in shock that she was there at all, others simply tried to distract themselves in a manner similar to which we all try not to look at the highway accidents we drive by, but they were failing, as we all do, to tear their eyes from the scene. Mary felt their eyes heavily pushing into her, and so she avoided their gazes as she tried to ignore that terrible sense in your stomach that only hits when the world seems to stare into your soul.
No one expected her to be her this week, let alone today. And there was no one that quite knew what they were supposed to do around her. None of the children had ever been so close to such a situation before.
Mary was not by any means an unpopular child. In fact, she had many friends among the whispers that followed her path to the stone staircase. She included friends from various cliques and was admired by those that could not approach her on the grounds in the Monday morning sun. No one knew what to do, and Mary didn’t blame them, she understood how hard it must have been for them to have heard the news.
Her family stood proudly in the shadow of her grandfather, and her great grandfather. They had built this town into what it had become, and done so honestly and through the kind of work that many always dream they could do if they just had the devotion. It was no shock to young Mary that the death of her father last Friday morning had hit the community so hard. Still a young man with many years left to build on the legacy on his fathers, Fred Reddert had brought vitality to this place and everyone had known him as a figure that they loved; he was to them more an idea, an angel and a miracle than a man. The strength of the Reddert township and the character of it’s perseverance had been embodied by the man found lifeless on last Friday’s rainy afternoon.
Now before them stood Mary. Only twelve, and yet tearless and strong herself, something she had surely inherited from her father, and his father, and her great grandfather. Suddenly, as Mary reached the steps, she turned. She was now face to face with the crowd of children around her, and the supervising teachers that were simply breathless at the sight of her and distraught at the thought of the suffering she must be cloaking. As she had turned, she had raised her head, her chin and her gaze as she unclenched her fingers and begun to take in what she saw around her.
As she had made her way to the school, she had not seen what was there. The statue that had stood in front of her school as a tribute to the Reddert family for their contribution and practical foundation of the local community had been covered in tribute to her late father. As she looked closer she saw the flowers, and a few beautifully glowing candles among the cards, and photos that had been arranged in fond memory by the school’s principal and staff.
As she approached the monument, Mary’s knees weakened and a tear touched her cheek as her glance landed on a picture of her father and herself. Mary felt a hand graze her shoulder. Twelve year old Julia Delores, Mary’s best friend, handed her a card as she looked nervously past her. Mary looked at her friend who could not look at her, and threw her into an embrace. As she stood holding onto Julia, another hand grazed her and another card was presented, and another, and another.
Mary was only twelve herself, but she saw the love of the town that day and she saw her father in their hearts. He had loved this place, and had given his all, every moment and every breath, to making it better and making it beautiful. Mary found the soul of Reddert that day, and as she let her books clatter to the ground, she clung to, and held forever, the spirit of Reddert instead.
first day of classes tomorrow <3 finally home.
daydreamingactress
