He Thought I Couldn’t Hear His Lies, I Heard Every Word Chapter 05

He Thought I Couldn’t Hear His Lies, I Heard Every Word Chapter 05

After I arrived on the remote reservation in Montana, I was hospitalized almost immediately because I

couldn’t adjust to the conditions there.

It took me a full five days to recover.

During that time, the principal at the reservation school looked after me the whole time.

He always wore a kind smile, and his voice was gentle no matter when he spoke. Only when he talked about

the children did his expression turn serious.

“This place is too remote,” he said. “The moment most people hear about it, they don’t want to come.”

“So right now, most of the teaching is being done by local elders who had some schooling when they were

young.”

“But they’re getting old. They can’t keep doing this for many more years.”

“And some days, it’s not even a matter of teaching. Some of them can’t always remember what they were going to teach.”

According to the principal, most people turned the opportunity down the second they heard where it was. Even the few who came at all usually gave up after only a couple of days because of the conditions.

To leave, you needed money. To earn money, you needed an education. To get an education, you had to go elsewhere to learn. But the conditions here were too harsh, and no one was willing to come.

Over time, this place had become a prison.

The principal told me I was the only person in seven years who had chosen to come here of my own accord.

A flicker of guilt rose in me when I heard that.

Because I hadn’t come here solely to teach. I had come because I needed a place far enough away from

Gavin and my daughter.

When I followed the principal to the school, I realized the reality here was even harder than I had imagined.

The blackboard was a huge slab of stone propped up with wooden posts.

Off to the side sat a pile of charcoal chunks they used to write on it.

The classroom itself was nothing more than a small wooden shack that let the wind in from every side.

Several children in ragged clothes sat inside, while at the front, an elderly man stood swaying in place. Even

after putting all his strength into it, he could barely leave more than the faintest mark on the stone.

“The parents are busy all day,” the principal explained. “So during the day, they leave the children here to

learn.”

“At night, they come back and take them home.”

“I know people usually choose volunteer teaching assignments like this because they want to add something

to their résumé.”

“But here, just staying is hard enough.”

Rather than a school, this place felt more like a daycare center.

For a moment, I even thought about giving up. But that feeling lasted only a second before I made up my

mind to stay.

Under the children’s timid gazes, I slowly walked to the front, picked up a piece of charcoal, and wrote my

name on the stone.

“My name is Autumn Young–Autumn, like the season.”

“From today on, I’m your teacher. Now, which one of you can tell me what my name is?”

I looked at them with encouragement.

Because I knew learning itself wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was the fear in their eyes, the inferiority that came from being turned away again and again.

No one answered at first, and I didn’t rush them. I just kept smiling at them.

Sure enough, before long, a grimy little boy raised his hand and said softly, “Your name is Autumn Young. Autumn, like the season.”

“That’s right,” I said. “What about the rest of you? Do you remember it now?”

Once one child spoke up, the others quickly followed.

“Your name is Autumn Young. Autumn, like the season.”

Watching the children scramble to answer, I smiled and nodded. What I didn’t notice was the boy standing

outside the door.

There was a glimmer in his eyes as he murmured under his breath, “Autumn Young. Autumn, like the

season.”