Iggy of Belle Fleur

CHAPTER ONE

Ignatius Michael Victors stared up at the teacher, a ruler gently slapping against the palm of her own hand. The boys behind him were not snickering, not laughing, not saying or doing anything. They were terrified, just like he was.

Their teacher at the orphan’s school for boys was a terrible, horrible human being. Even at nine, Iggy knew that. But what choice did he have? He was left on their doorstep at just three days old and had no clue who his real parents were. He cleared is throat, looking up at the teacher.

“The answer is the Bering Sea,” said Iggy looking directly at the teacher. It was the rule. When you answer, you look her in the eyes respectfully.

The teacher chewed at the inside of her mouth as if she were angry that he got it right.

Her hand rose slowly, the ruler held with a grip so tight her knuckles were turning white.

Just as she was about to deliver the blow, the classroom door flew open.

Principal Marks stood in the doorway, a horrified look on his face.

“Mrs. Crittendon!” he yelled.

“Sir,” she gasped, bringing the rule to her side. “I was just going over a lesson with the boy.”

“A lesson?” he frowned. “Do all your lessons include corporal punishment? Beatings? Humiliation?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean, sir,” she stammered.

“Face the chalkboard, Mrs. Crittendon.”

“What?” she said in shock.

“I said face the damn chalkboard!” The boys all gasped staring at their principal.

Mrs. Crittendon turned, facing the chalkboard.

He tried to calm his anger. Tried to take a few breaths so as not to frighten the boys.

“Boys, she cannot see you. I want you to answer me honestly by raising hands. How many of you have been struck, hit, by Mrs. Crittendon?”

Every boy raised their hands warily at first, then with confidence.

“How many of you have been forced to do something embarrassing? Say, drop your trousers and stand in the corner,” he said clenching his own fists. Half of the boys raised their hands.

“They’re lying!” yelled Mrs. Crittendon.

“And how would you know if they were lying or not? You can’t see their hands raised. You don’t know if anyone raised their hand.”

Her breath was coming rapidly, her face turning gray, her eyes wide with terror. She wasn’t ancient. She wasn’t even old, not even to the nine-year-old boys in the room. She was just forty-seven.

“I-I heard their clothing,” she stammered.

Behind the principal four more people appeared. One was a man she recognized from child protective services. Another was one of the staff nurses. And the other two were easy. They were uniformed police officers.

“Arrest her,” said the principal.

“No! No, you can’t do this! They’re terrible. Terrible, terrible boys!” she yelled.

John Marks wasn’t a man prone to violence or sudden bursts of emotion but he couldn’t control it. He stepped forward and slapped the woman so hard, she fell backward against the chalkboard, sliding down to the floor.

“They are children. Children who act like children. Sometimes their behavior is exceptional, sometimes it’s mischievous, sometimes it’s filled with confusion, and others it’s all energy. But they are children under our protection and responsibility. You will never teach again. Never.”

The adults left the room and the boys sat quietly for a long moment, some with tears threatening to spill. They were too afraid to speak. Even with the teacher gone, they were still worried that if they spoke, they would be struck with the dreaded ruler or something else.

A few moments later, Principal Marks appeared in front of them again. His face was flushed, his hands still shaking. He cleared his throat, taking a seat on the desk to be closer to the boys.

“Boys, Mrs. Crittendon will no longer teach here. I’m so, so sorry that you endured her punishments. It was not okay. May I ask why you didn’t come and tell me?” he said softly.

“Sir,” said Iggy, “she said you would beat us harder.” Marks closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh, Iggy. I’m so sorry she lied to you. My job, all of the teachers’ jobs, is to protect you and help you develop as young men. Striking you is not a part of that. Ever.”

“So, we won’t get hit anymore?” asked another boy.

“No, Will. No one in this school will ever hit you again,” he said calmly.

“What about Tyler? She hit him bad, I mean a lot yesterday. He couldn’t get off the floor. She made us drag him into the hallway.”

“I know,” said Marks nodding at the boys. “It was the end of the day and you all should have been dismissed. She waited until she thought no one would notice the boy. But someone did. The janitor carried him to the infirmary.”

“Is he okay?” asked Iggy. Marks swallowed, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of that poor child.

“I won’t lie to you, Iggy. I won’t lie to any of you. He may never be the same again but he will have a place here forever.”

None of the boys truly understood what that meant. All they knew was that the next day they had another teacher. An old woman in her sixties who smelled like baked cookies and moth balls. She always smiled and she only touched the boys to give them hugs or high-fives.

She changed Iggy’s life forever.

Three years later, when Iggy entered the middle-school division, he spotted a face he recognized. Tyler. He ran toward the boy wanting to hug him, happy to see him again. He was standing next to Principal Marks.

“Tyler!” he yelled. Marks gently held up a hand.

“Iggy, take it slowly,” he smiled. “This is Tyler’s first day back at school in three years. He’s a little disoriented.”

Tyler wasn’t just disoriented, he was different. He didn’t recognize Iggy or any of the other boys. He could barely speak and his steps were always faltering, failing him as he attempted to walk.

It didn’t matter to the boys. They were with him, helping him to classes, helping him with words he could no longer say, and just being there for him.

Tyler eventually left the school, transferring to a school that was better suited for him.

He would get twenty-four-hour care and be with other children that had delayed learning.

It would be years before Iggy understood that it wasn’t delayed learning.

It was because of physical abuse, primarily to the head.

Mrs. Crittendon was charged with child abuse, battery of a child, and other things Iggy didn’t want to mention. She was imprisoned, dying there at the age of fifty-five.

But for Iggy, it didn’t seem justice enough for what poor Tyler had to endure. He vowed to ensure that he would always protect those that could not protect themselves.

When he met a girl in his senior of high school, he was completely awestruck by her beauty and talent. She was in the theater program of her high school and in the community theater. Even though they’d never officially dated, he followed her everywhere just to be near her.

She announced to him one day that she was going to college to study drama and film. Iggy was all in. He was a good-looking young man. Tall, strong, great face, and athletic. But he soon learned that wasn’t enough for his unrequited love interest.

Within three months she was avoiding him, hanging out with a professor instead. Iggy learned enough in his life to know you don’t pursue someone or something that has little interest in you.

What he did discover was that his face and body got him enough jobs to pay for his college tuition. Still majoring in drama, he minored in psychology, getting his degree in just three years. When that three years was up, he knew what he wanted to do.

“Thanks for seeing me Principal Marks,” he said shaking the man’s hand and taking a seat at the coffee shop.

“Iggy, you’re twenty-one years old. I think you can just call me John,” he grinned. “I’m thrilled to see you. Congratulation on your graduation. What now?”

“Well, that’s why I asked to see you. I’ve joined the Marines.”

“The Marines?” he frowned. “Why?” Iggy laughed, shaking his head.

“I want to be challenged. I want to do more. But mostly, I want to protect kids like Tyler who can’t protect themselves.” John nodded at the young man.

“He was a good boy,” he said swallowing. Iggy nodded again with a sad expression.

“I heard he died last year.”

“Brain aneurysm. Not something anyone would have seen unless looking for it. I’m not sure it’s such a bad thing, Iggy. It wasn’t much of a life for him. He couldn’t communicate, couldn’t do things for himself, still wearing adult diapers.” Iggy looked away, fighting back the tears.

“No one should have to live like that. Especially someone with no family,” he said calmly.

“You boys all came to us for different reasons. You were left with no note, no clues as to who your parents were, nothing. But I always thought of you as my son, Iggy. I thought of all you boys as mine.”

“That’s what made you a great teacher, Mr. – John.” He smiled at the man as he chuckled, hearing his first name roll of the other man’s lips.

“When do you leave for basic training?” he asked.

“Friday. I’m hoping to become MARSOC,” he said calmly.

“You never did anything easy,” laughed John. “Write to me, Iggy. Let me know that you’re safe and doing well.”

“John? Can I ask a personal question?” John said nothing, just staring at the man. “Why didn’t you ever marry and have children of your own?”

“I was married to the school. To all my boys,” he said calmly. “Besides, no one would have liked it much.”

Iggy understood. It was something he’d suspected as he got older.

“Times are different, John. No one cares if you love a man or a woman,” he said.

“Oh, Iggy. I wish that were true. But a gay man, married to another man as head of an all-boys school would not have been allowed. People would have suspected all the horrible, nasty things that runs through their heads. I would have been defending myself at every turn. I was happy just letting you boys have a future.”

“And being alone?” said Iggy. “You deserve happiness, John. I hope you find it.”

“I’m retiring next year,” said the older man. “I hope it won’t be too late to do just that. Find happiness. Find yours, Iggy. You deserve it.”

The two men chatted for a while longer and then Iggy stood, hugging his old teacher. He kissed his cheek and thanked him.

“Thank you for believing in me, John.” John laughed, shaking his head at the younger man.

“You made it easy, Iggy.” As he was walking away, Iggy turned toward him again.

“Oh, and thank you for naming me. I had to be tough to live with a name like Ignatius Michael Victors.”

“It suited you. Ignatius founded the Jesuits, helping millions through their own selfless acts. And Michael? He led God’s army of course.”