“They’re beyond my expectations, Wyatt. I don’t even know which one would be better than the other.”
“This one”—he picked a slate up—“would be my choice.” He glanced at Cora. “Just how many folks do you expect?”
She lifted her shoulders in a sigh. “I wish I knew. Lucy’s census revealed over one thousand illiterates.”
Lucy raised a hand to interrupt. “One thousand one hundred fifty-two, to be exact.”
“I’d love to have everyone come, oh how I would! But there seems to be some growing resistance in town to Moonlight Schools. I fear its trickling into the mountains.”
Wyatt picked up the two slates. “I’ve heard a rumble or two.” He put them in his satchel. “I’ll make one hundred.”
Cora smiled. “I would be . . . over the moon if one hundred people came.”
Wyatt swung his satchel over his shoulder. “Cora, have faith.”
“I have plenty of faith in the Almighty. It’s people . . . that’s where my faith falters.”
“All Mighty means just that. Mighty over all.” Wyatt said it often. He didn’t just say it. He believed it.
ON SATURDAY, all the schoolteachers came to town for a special meeting by Cora’s request. They met in the Disciples of Christ Church, and Lucy was shocked to realize she was older than most every teacher by quite a few years. They all looked to be barely out of school themselves, boys and girls of the mountains. The girls reminded her of Angie Cooper. The boys of Finley James.
Cora knew each one and welcomed them with warm hugs. She started out the meeting by enthusiastically telling them to prepare themselves for the highlight of their life. Then she rolled out her plans to launch the Moonlight Schools campaign. The room, which had been full of chatter a moment ago, was dead quiet. You could have heard a pin drop.
Cora carried on. “The main goal is not to give each adult a complete education but to interest them in reading and writing. Better still, I want them to have an appreciation and love of learning for its own sake. They shouldn’t have to read primers designed for children. Instead, we’re going to create newspapers that will have stories of interest to them. Stories that relate to Rowan County, filled with simple news.”
One teacher, a wisp of a girl barely five feet tall, raised her hand. “Miss Cora, let me get this straight. You think maws and paws are gonna leave their homes at night and go to the schoolhouses, led by the moon?”
“That is the plan, Ellie.”
“How many do you think’ll come?”
Cora took a deep breath. “Perhaps just a few will show up at each schoolhouse. Hopefully many more. With your enthusiasm”—she swept a hand over the room—“with all of you spreading the word to invite the parents, I think we will have a decent turnout.” Only Lucy heard her mutter, “I hope.”
“How old can they be?”
Cora smiled. “No one is ever too old to learn, Ellie.”
A male teacher seated a few rows behind Lucy spoke up, his voice cracking. “But we get paid whether they come or not?”
Cora held her breath for a long moment. “Unfortunately, the Moonlight Schools campaign has no budget.”
Ellie remained standing. “Miss Cora, you mean to say we teachers ain’t getting paid for night school?”
Cora cleared her throat. “No.”
“You mean to say that we got to teach them children all day long, then teach their maws and paws at night?”
“That’s correct, Ellie. And their mamaws and papaws too. From seven o’clock to nine o’clock. For six weeks.”
Lucy watched the shocked looks the teachers exchanged with each other. She couldn’t blame them. Teachers worked long days for little pay, and now Cora was asking them to work in the evening, as well.
A door opened and shut. Someone had left.
Nobody spoke. The silence stretched. The only sound in the room came from a fly, buzzing against the window. The teachers began to shift in their seats. Cora remained unfazed.
However, she did seem to realize she had made a serious mistake. “I know this is a formidable challenge. But I have no doubt, no doubt at all, that we will be changing the course of history for our county. And as I said at the beginning, this experience will be the highlight of your life. I guarantee it will be.”
One by one, the teachers sat up a little straighter.
“You are all professionals. Each one of you have received a calling to teach. A calling from the Almighty! A calling. Imagine what will happen when Rowan County throws off its blight of illiteracy and leads the state in adult literacy. Not just the state, the entire country! Imagine the part you will have in this great moment of history. It’s playing out, right before your eyes.”
It was like watching Cora sprinkle fairy dust over the room. The teachers started to pepper her with questions, excitement grew, and then came the irresistible challenge.
“Young men and women, a mighty tide has begun to rise in our county. Nothing can stop it now.”
A teacher, tall and thin, raised his hand. “Miss Cora, you got the lessons all planned out for us?”
Cora smiled. “Working on it now, Curtis. There will be plenty of things that will need to be planned as we go along, and adjustments made as needed. Flexibility is essential. Always our attitude will be—let’s experiment and find out what works.”
She detailed the curriculum, describing the “whole-word approach” to teach reading, but most of all, she emphasized the attitude she expected from the teachers. “Adults who can’t read have a sense of inferiority. Never use a loud tone of voice, never a frown or rebuke. If a new reader feels timid, your job is to encourage him. If slow, never show impatience. Whatever these adult students do well should be praised.”
She walked down the church’s aisle, making eye contact with each teacher. “Remember how it felt to handle a quill pen when you were new to school? It’s difficult! But the most important thing is to give praise, praise, praise. Every effort deserves a kind word. Shaky letters should be admired, not critiqued.” Back up the aisle she walked, intentionally slow, as all eyes riveted on her. “And above all, dear ones, have patience. I can’t stress enough the need for patience. And when the ink pot spills, as it will, and as it did for you as a new learner, you should respond with patience instead of anger. We want to create an environment that gives your adult students a sense of success.”
Success. Somehow, Cora had swept away all objections to focus on that one powerful word. No, Lucy thought. It was more than a word. She had created a vision.
Up front, Cora held up one of the wooden slates that Brother Wyatt had created. “To teach writing, the students will be able to trace letters until they learn how to make them on their own.” She passed the slates out to the teachers to examine. “These pads contain all the letters of the alphabet. After the students have mastered the grooved pads, I’d like you to encourage them to write a letter to me, telling me something about themselves. For each letter I receive, I’ll send the writer a small Bible as a reward.”
Lucy smiled, wondering who Cora had talked into donating the money to provide the Bibles. She knew it wasn’t going to come from Andrew Spencer. He shut down the conversation each time she brought it up, which was often.
After the meeting came to an end and the teachers drifted out of the church, Lucy waited until only she and Cora remained. “After you said that there would be no salary, someone left. Who was it?”
“Who else?” Cora rolled her eyes. “Norah.”
Nineteen
CORA PLOPPED DOWN IN A PEW. “Before the meeting, she told me that she was quitting. I asked her to at least stay and listen to what I had to say. But it was clear from the start that her mind was made up.”
Lucy slipped into the pew to sit down beside her. “Finley James will be happy.”
Cora rubbed her temples, as if a headache was coming. “That boy needs schooling.”
“What about Angie Cooper? She considers herself to be quite well quali
fied.”
“Indeed she is, but she needs to graduate grade 8. Then I’ve got plans for her.” She let out a sigh and dropped her chin, arms crossed against her cushiony chest. “If only Norah had waited for the end of spring term.” After a long moment of silence, she snapped her head up to look straight at Lucy, like a bird of prey zooming in on an unlucky mouse. “Lucy, you can do it. You can teach at Little Brushy. You can fill Norah’s shoes.”
“No!” Lucy jumped up from the pew like she’d sat on a bee. “No, no. Cora, that’s just not possible!”
Calm as could be, Cora said, “Why not?”
“Well, for one, I’m not good with children. It would be bedlam. Sheer chaos. I can never manage a schoolhouse full of them.” Good heavens . . . she couldn’t even keep track of her little sister. She might lose them all!
“You’re just lacking confidence, dear girl. It’s always been what’s held you back. But I have no doubt you’ll rise to the occasion. There is no failure until you have failed yourself.” That was a favorite phrase of Cora’s.
“Please listen—”
“Besides,” Cora said, not listening at all, “it’s only through the spring term. You must help, Lucy, if for no other reason than to help Angie Cooper pass her grade 8 exams. She’ll take the teaching spot for Little Brushy in the fall. I promise you that. This will just be a short stint. Why, I’d do it myself if I didn’t have so much to do to get ready for the Moonlight Schools.”
“Exactly how long?” Lucy could hear the weakening resolve in her own voice.
“A few weeks.”
“Cora?” This time, Lucy’s voice held a warning tone.
“The term ends in June.” Cora clasped her hands together. “I don’t what else to do, Lucy. I need you. Angie needs you. Finley James needs you. If we don’t get that boy back in that classroom soon, he’ll never learn to read.”
Cora had found Lucy’s Achilles’ heel—the need to be needed. She let out a puff of air in resignation. “Fine.”
Cora jumped out of the pew. “Oh wonderful! Simply wonderful! I’ll go tell Arthur now that you’ll be boarding with him. Hurry and go pack up from Miss Maude’s, and I’ll meet you at the livery.”
“Wait. What did you say?” Boarding? At the Coopers? “Cora! Hold up!”
But Cora was out the door, far away from earshot. Lucy sank back down on the pew, covered her face with her hands, and groaned. How in the world had this happened? The thought of teaching school was terrifying. Boarding at the Coopers’ small cabin, facing Angie’s fierce scowls at her day and night, coping with a roomful of barefoot children who rarely bathed . . . it all sounded awful. Horrifying!
After a long moment of abject self-pity, she heard Wyatt softly say her name. “Lucy?”
She dropped her hands to look up at his kind, serious face.
“I bumped into Cora. She told me about Norah. About you stepping in to teach at Little Brushy.”
Lucy’s shoulders slumped. It really was happening. Cora’s determination couldn’t be stopped.
He sat in the pew in front of Lucy and turned to face her. “One of the things I’ve always liked best about Rowan County is that people come together when they’re needed. It’s been true for me, for Cora, and it’ll be true for you now, as you step into a role you hadn’t expected.”
Hadn’t wanted. Ever.
“You told me once that you didn’t believe God had any purpose for you. I think you’re wrong. I think you’re seeing his purposes for you unfold.”
She blinked back unexpected tears.
He dipped his chin to bid her goodbye and left her alone in the church. To think. To pray.
Lucy sighed and let the rest of her upset go. Wyatt always did that to her. Made her think. Made her think about praying.
ANGIE WAS IN A STATE. The worst nightmare—the very worst—of her life had come true. Paw came home from the livery to tell her to clear out a drawer in her cupboard for Miss Lucy, because she was comin’ to stay with them ’til the school term finished up. The troublesome twins were thrilled and danced a little jig around the cabin. Angie sat at the table, sipping her coffee (mostly cream because Paw didn’t allow her much coffee), steaming with fury.
Angie would not only have to sit in the classroom and observe Finley James gawk at Miss Lucy all the livelong day, but she would have to share her private loft! She’d only had the loft since Maw passed on. Paw said it was too lonely for him, plus it was high time Angie had a mite of privacy, so he moved downstairs with the boys and Angie got the loft.
Angie started to give Paw all the reasons this was a bad idea, a terrible plan, but he silenced her objections with a stern look, and a reminder that if she wanted her grade 8 exam so that she could teach next fall, she’d better jest have another think. “And fast, daughter.” He peered at the grandfather clock, the only ornate piece of furniture in the humble cabin. “Because Miss Lucy’ll be coming tomorrow.”
Angie flew up the loft ladder to throw herself on her bed, too angry to cry.
Her life be ruint.
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Lucy packed the clothes she would need for the week. She had decided she would continue to let her room from Miss Maude and return to town on the weekends. That way, she could maintain a little space to recoup from close quarters in the Coopers’ cabin, and she could see Andy.
She gave one last fond look around her spare little room with the corner windows and sighed. “Goodbye, little room.” Bending down, she hoisted her saddlebags over her shoulder. How strange. It was now a familiar gesture to her. As she walked down the stairs, she found the sheriff and the judge’s wife, deep in conversation in the dining room. They stopped talking as Lucy appeared in the doorway.
“What’s that delicious smell?” Lucy asked.
“Hasenpfeffer,” Mrs. Klopp said, as if everyone should know. “A German delicacy in these parts. Miss Maude makes it, at my request, at least once a month.”
“What is hasenpfeffer?” Lucy was tempted to pop in the kitchen for a sampling from Miss Maude.
“Sour rabbit.”
“Ah.” Lucy’s stomach, always a little dubious of mountain dishes—most of which were fried in lard—turned at the sound of that. She excused herself and stopped, hand on the doorknob, as she heard the sheriff mention Cora’s name.
“Then you might be aware,” she heard the judge’s wife say, “that she’s been working these last weeks to set up a campaign to teach those hillbillies to read.”
By the sheriff’s mumbled response, he knew of the campaign.
Then Miss Maude came into the dining room, talking a mile a minute, and Lucy left to get Jenny to head to the Coopers’. The pony nickered when she saw Lucy, a sign of familiarity. She was holding on to anything that lifted her spirits.
ARTHUR COOPER AND HIS TWO SONS couldn’t have been more welcoming. The boys led Jenny to the barn while Arthur carried her saddlebags inside and up to the loft. Arthur said Angie had gone off visiting, but Lucy had a hunch she had purposefully absented herself. Sulking, no doubt.
Not much later, Lucy knew Angie was standing behind her as she hung a few dresses on the wall peg because she’d heard a deep sigh. She glanced over her shoulder at Angie and forced a sweet smile. “It won’t be for too long,” she said, keeping her voice light and chipper. “I’m here to help you pass grade 8.”
“I could pass right now. Go ahead. Ask me anythin’.”
Lucy hung her last skirt and turned to Angie. “Well, have you been studying grammar?” Wrong question! Wrong question!
Angie looked at her with that look, the one where she narrowed her eyes into the smallest slits possible and scowled at her. The one that said, “My grammar ain’t got no problems.”
Lucy had known she’d get a cool reception from Angie, but she hadn’t expect snow and frost and ice. Angie told her to stay on her side of the bed, with a warning to not cross over the middle line. Adding fiercely that if Lucy dared to snore, to expect a hard kick. “And don’t even think a
bout trying to lady me up!” she snarled as she climbed down the loft ladder.
As if Lucy could “lady-up” Angie! As if anyone could. She was the most disagreeable, ill-mannered, peevish girl Lucy had ever known . . . and that was after ten years at the Townsend School for Girls, plenty of whom were disagreeable and ill-mannered and peevish. None came close to Angie Cooper.
Lucy should’ve been offended by Angie’s snippy behavior. After all, she was the loser here. She was the one whom Cora had coerced into teaching at Little Brushy School, and she was the one who left her adequate but comfortable room at Miss Maude’s to come to the Coopers’ cabin. She’d been given no choice about where to stay.
But for all the girl’s bluster, there was something endearing about her, something that touched Lucy’s heart. She supposed it had to do with the fact that Angie watched her so carefully, tried to imitate her, copying her in numerous ways. As they prepared supper together tonight, she noticed that Angie made efforts to self-correct her own diction. A handkerchief was tucked into her apron pocket so that it peeped out, and her boots were polished until they shone. Why, just the fact that she wore boots seemed remarkable. Her brothers were barefoot.
During supper, Angie kept peering at Lucy’s hairstyle and later that evening, she found her glued to a small mirror, clumsily attempting to pin her curly blonde hair up to mimic Lucy’s hairstyle. And then, as Lucy brushed out her hair that night, she heard Angie softly counting to herself the number of strokes as Lucy made them.
“Why do you do that?”
Lucy stopped, midstroke. “To make it shiny. It’s something my mother taught me. Each night, brush your hair one hundred strokes.”
For a fleeting moment, Angie’s crossness softened, replaced by wistfulness. Then just as quickly it vanished and back came the scowl. “Sounds like twaddle.”
Angie rolled to the far side of the bed, as if Lucy had a dread disease, and warned her again about snoring. She need not have worried. Lucy could barely sleep. She felt so anxious about facing a classroom of students tomorrow. Cora had spent all Saturday afternoon and evening with her, creating lesson plans to give structure to the days—much to Andy’s disappointment. There was no time for a visit to Limestone Knob.
The Moonlight School Page 21