Page 16 of Wind Valley

The room they’d chosen for the school was the common area where summer guests relaxed after their hikes or float trips. It had three couches, four armchairs, a small table with a chessboard painted on it, and stacks of ancient board games. A piano with missing keys sat in the corner. Tattered paperbacks filled the shelves. Or had, before Maura had done a quick survey, then packed most of them away into boxes for the duration of the semester.

Not that she believed in censorship, but she didn’t need parents coming to her asking why their kids were talking about serial killers or threesomes.

Three of Maura’s new students were members of the Chilkoot family. Although their last name was Chilkoot, there was some doubt as to whether they were related by blood to the sprawling clan. The Chilkoots, in their mission to build their own self-sustaining, isolated community, had adopted—and in some cases kidnapped—children who would fit in.

Since the truth had come out, a few of those children had been returned to their families. Molly Evans had been representing them in their complicated custody cases. But for a number of the children, especially the older ones, it had turned out to be impossible to locate their families. Since they’d grown up as Chilkoots, they weren’t eager to leave Firelight Ridge and everything they’d known. Many of the older members of the family had been arrested, leaving Ruth Chilkoot as the legal guardian for the younger ones, even though she was only twenty-seven herself.

The state of Alaska had come to an agreement with Ruth. As long as she provided an adequate education for those kids, they would be allowed to stay in Firelight Ridge. That was why Ruth had initiated the push to recruit Maura to hold classes for the older children, who ranged from twelve to sixteen years of age.

“I barely have an eighth grade education myself,” she’d told Maura at the initial parent meeting. “I never went to school. I was always the one doing the homeschooling for the kids, and by now they know everything I know. Please. The state will make them leave if we can’t come up with something better than Auntie Ruthie with a math textbook from nineteen seventy-three.”

Maura liked Ruth, who was doing the best she could in a truly impossible situation.

Among the other parents was a couple, Ben and Lois Simon, who’d recently moved to Firelight Ridge for the peace and quiet, even though they’d bought a property right next to the airstrip. They had intended to homeschool their two children, ages nine and eleven, and had quickly realized they’d never survive as a family if the kids didn’t have some outside contact. They only wanted part-time classes for their kids.

Charlie Santa Lucia and Nick Perini had come back for Christmas, along with Nick’s daughter Hailey, who had just gone through a soul-crushing heartbreak. She’d begged to be able to stay for the spring semester. They’d agreed, so long as she devoted herself to school and kept up her grades. Charlie had literally gotten on her knees to beg Maura to set up a school.

“No one on God’s green earth wants to see me trying to homeschool. I can tackle some things, like computer coding and interpreting law in the most shady way possible. But that’s where it ends. Please, Maura. I’m begging you.”

The other Firelight Ridge families with children intended to keep homeschooling, but asked if they could bring their kids in for special events such as group art projects or talent shows.

With everyone accounted for, Maura found herself with six full-time students and five once-in-a-while students. Since she was used to teaching classes with at least twenty kids, this felt almost luxurious. On the other hand, she usually taught classes with kids who were all the same age. Here, her youngest student was nine and the oldest sixteen.

And she had limited materials to work with. The parents kicked in some money for a list of books, which Sam offered to pick up on one of his trips to Anchorage. As a pilot, he flew back and forth to civilization several times a week. He invited her to come with him, but she’d told him she was too busy to take the time. In reality, she wasn’t ready to step out of the comforting cocoon of Firelight Ridge yet.

Shockingly enough, Maura loved the school more than she’d thought possible.

“It’s all the things I love about teaching and none of the stuff I hate,” she told Pinky. “I can make up my own curriculum based on what the students seem interested in, and I don’t have to worry about those stupid tests.”

“No tests? I wouldn’t mind a school with no tests. Can I come?”

She laughed, assuming he was joking. “Sure, Pinky, of course you can come. What do you want to learn?”

“Whatcha got?”

“The usual. Writing, math, basic chemistry, social studies, some history. Civics, geography, financial literacy, maybe some Spanish or German. Oh, and local history. Remember how Granny Jeanine is part Anishinaabe and always talks about respecting the people who take care of the land, and who were there before you?”

Pinky’s eyes teared up. “She’s a good woman, my Jeanine.”

“Please don’t cry. Anyway, I have some materials about the Ahtna that I’ve been studying, and we hope to take some field trips once the road opens.”

“How about poetry?” Pinky swiped his tears away. “Got that on the menu?”

“Poetry?” She couldn’t have been more shocked at that choice. “You like poetry?”

“Ain’t you seen my collection? I read it, but I don’t know what it means.”

“All right, we’ll do a poetry discussion module and I’ll make sure to invite you.”

Already, Maura had a notebook filled with such “module” ideas.

One day, she gave all the kids similar notebooks and asked them to write in them at least once a day, even if it was just a sentence about the weather.

“Who cares about the weather?” nine-year-old Gus Simon complained. “That’s boring.”

“I’d say the weather is pretty exciting around here.” The class laughed in agreement. “Paying attention to the weather is important for survival and also for remembering that we’re part of a bigger world.” She pointed out the window at the view of misty clouds clinging to the peaks of the ridge. “Those clouds are coming from somewhere, and they collected the water that becomes rain from somewhere, and now they’re here.”

“Snow, not rain, Miss Vaughn,” said Sarah Chilkoot. “We won’t get rain until sometime in late April.”

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