Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,30
was too raw, his loss too fresh.
But if he was meant to thrive in this new country of his, where better for that to happen than in a town whose first name was hope?
This was going to be a challenge.
Jeannette studied her three pupils seated around the kitchen table in the Shabos’ apartment.
Mariam was leaning forward, face animated, hands clasped on the polished oak in front of her.
Thomma was slouched in his chair, eyes hooded, shoulders hunched forward.
Elisa was biting her lower lip and holding tight to a Raggedy Ann doll.
The age difference among her students was significant—as was their interest level.
In hindsight, she should have asked Susan to linger at this first lesson instead of assuring the translator she’d be fine. With just forty-eight hours of preparation, she felt as uncertain as she had during her early days of student teaching.
What if Father Murphy was wrong?
What if this wasn’t like riding a bicycle?
But she was here, and she had to give it her best shot.
Propping up the corners of her mouth, she began with the little girl. “Elisa.” She touched the child’s arm, then pointed to herself. “Jeannette.” She repeated her name and motioned for Elisa to say it.
The girl dipped her chin.
Mariam spoke in Arabic. Elisa peeked at her grandmother as the woman repeated Jeannette’s name before reverting to their native language.
Gaze downcast, Elisa played with the ruffle on Raggedy Ann’s white apron. “Jeannette.”
“Good.” Jeannette touched the girl’s hand and clapped. “Thomma?”
He sighed and said her name.
Not the most promising start—but even if she only managed to teach them some basic language skills, they’d be better off than they were now.
She pulled out her old laptop. Thank heaven the apartment had Wi-Fi.
After booting it up, she opened the document she’d prepared for them containing links to photos and audio clips with the pronunciation of some common words and phrases that would help them cope with their new life.
Their first session ran for an hour. Elisa lasted longer than she’d expected, but halfway through the youngster’s eyes began to glaze. Mariam remained fully engaged until the end, and Thomma appeared to be paying attention despite his reserve.
As she began to wrap up, Jeannette was as exhausted as if she’d spent an entire day on her feet teaching a roomful of rambunctious ten-year-olds.
To signal the end of the session, she closed the lid of the laptop halfway.
Mariam smiled and touched her arm. “Thank you. Good Thursday.”
So the woman had retained part of today’s lesson from the calendar she’d gone over with them.
Jeannette nodded her approval and motioned for Mariam and Thomma to observe how to shut down the laptop. She repeated the start-up and shutdown, and signaled for Thomma to try.
For the first time, he appeared to be completely engaged.
It didn’t take him long to master the procedure—suggesting he’d had some exposure to computers.
Jeannette showed him how to open the document she’d prepared with the links to photos and pronunciation clips. “Ealayk mumarasa.”
Surprise registered on their faces—as if they hadn’t expected her to make the effort to learn a phrase in their language.
Truth be told, she wasn’t certain she’d mastered the pronunciation, but they seemed to understand her request that they practice.
“Okay.” Mariam rested her fingers on the computer. “Monday? English?”
“Yes.”
She would, indeed, be back on Monday. The three one-hour sessions a week she’d committed to was the bare minimum for a family who could benefit from much more intensive language training.
Digging deeper in her satchel, she pulled out the information she’d gotten from the license bureau. Thankfully, an Arabic version of the written test for a driver’s license was available in Oregon, along with some basic study aids. The sooner Thomma could get a license, the sooner the family could stop relying on others for transport.
She handed them to Elisa’s father.
He skimmed the heading, flipped through the pages, and gave her a small smile. His first since she’d arrived. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She rose, tucked her purse under her arm, and walked toward the door.
Mariam followed her and pulled it open. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” She gave the woman’s arm a quick, encouraging squeeze and exited.
Clouds had rolled in during their session, and she picked up her pace as she walked toward her car. The smell of rain was in the air, and she’d rather be safely tucked back in at the farm than inching home through a downpour.
But as she drove past Charley’s and the smell of his tacos drifted into the car, she eased back on the gas pedal.