As Cora mapped out the school day with chunks of time given for each subject, it had seemed manageable to Lucy. Now, she could barely remember what to do first.
She lay stiffly in bed, counting the gongs of the grandfather clock below as it chimed the hours. How long would it take before the children realized Lucy had no experience teaching school? Five minutes? Ten?
How she dreaded the morning.
ANGIE ALWAYS FELT that special things happened in the schoolhouse, but the most special thing she could’ve ever imagined was happening right before her eyes. She could not have been more pleased to see Miss Lucy stammer and stumble and make a downright fool of herself, pretending she could teach. What a ninny! Miss Lucy was shaking like a tree limb in a storm. Her voice quivered like Miss Mollie’s underdone custard. The children kept their worried expressions all morning long.
Perfect.
Lucy Wilson didn’t understand mountain people, not their ways, not their talk. She had to ask Johnny what he was trying to say three times over, till finally Finley James stood up and interpreted for her. Fool boy. He stared at Lucy like he’d never seen a female before.
Angie let out a sigh. Finley James should be sitting next to her, but instead he sat up front with them littles, seeing as how he scarcely had nothin’ but a grade 2 education. His seatmate was a seven-year-old named Belle, missing her front teeth, who hugged a dirty rag doll all the livelong day. The room was full of girls, jest a sprinkling of boys. Their help was needed at home. When Angie became the teacher at Little Brushy, she was going to figure out how to git them boys in the schoolhouse.
She’d hoped the luster of Miss Lucy’s shine might be tarnished for Finley James after seeing her mess up so bad today, but the opposite happened. At the worst of the day, when a fight broke out between two boys and bedlam followed—girls screamed, boys cheered—Miss Lucy looked like she wanted to cry. Finley James grabbed the two boys who started the fight and tossed them outside like they was nothin’ more than a sack of potatoes. Then he stood by the door and shouted, so loud it cracked a mite in the middle of his speech, “Who else wants to git on home? Who else wants a lickin’ from your paw when he hears what you done to the new teacher? Better still, it’ll save time if I jest give ya a lickin’ right here and now.”
Silence covered the classroom like a heavy fog had rolled in straight off Limestone Knob. One by one, children slipped back into their seats, facing forward, hands folded on their desks like model citizens. Miss Lucy gave Finley James a look of appreciation, and he gazed back at her with such fondness, and Angie felt so sickly she thought she might retch.
Not five minutes later, Miss Cora came visiting the Little Brushy School. All Miss Cora did was sweep the room with that piercing gaze o’ hers, and Finley James cleared his throat, and all them children jerked to attention like puppets on a string. You woulda thought Miss Lucy was the finest teacher in the whole wide world. Miss Cora stayed a long while, gave a ’rithmatic lesson, talked about how to grow fruit trees in the county cuz that’s what our county done best, had a spelling bee—which Angie won, naturally—and then off she went to visit another school, pleased as punch.
Angie wanted to bang her head against the wall. Cain’t no one but me see that Miss Lucy got no business teaching Little Brushy School?
As soon as the school day ended, Angie dashed out the door. She didn’t want nothin’ to do with walking Miss Lucy home. Happily, Paw’s horse was gone from the yard, so she hurried inside the cabin and went straight up to the loft. In front of Maw’s little mirror, she ran a comb through her tangled hair, stroking it one hundred times, fussing and fretting and tutting to herself as she tried to pin it into place.
“You tryin’ to look jest like Miss Lucy?”
Angie spun around to see Mikey and Gabe staring at her from the top of the loft ladder, eyes wide. Unbelievable. She had no privacy at all. “Shush yor mouth. I am not.”
“Yor hair’s the same,” Gabe said, climbing over the top of the ladder. “And ya musta worshed it.” He came close to sniff her. “I can smell the soap.”
She swatted him away. “Never you mind what I do with my hair. Besides, every grown woman wears her hair pinned up like this.”
“Mebbe so,” Mikey said, “but ya ain’t grown. Ya still wear pinnyfores.”
Angie pointed at him. “Don’t say ain’t.” Angry and exasperated, she glanced down at her pinafore. “Git to the barn and milk that sorrowful cow before Paw gits home. I can hear her wailing all the way up here.”
She turned back to the mirror to see half her hair had fallen from the pins. She threw the comb against the wall in disgust and yanked off her pinafore, bunching it into a ball and tossing it on the floor.
Bleak, bleak. Life was so bleak.
AS LUCY CAME THROUGH the trees to the Coopers’ cabin, she saw Angie taking laundry off the clothesline that hung from the porch to a tree. She slowed Jenny down, bracing herself for Angie’s prickliness. Today held many surprises for Lucy, especially the discovery that Angie was sweet, tender even, to the other children in the schoolhouse. Someday, she would be a fine teacher for Cora. But . . . not if Finley James were still a student.
Sliding off Jenny, Lucy tied the reins around the hitching post and crossed the yard. “Can I help?”
“Worsh is done. Don’t need no holp.”
Lucy’s perky smile began to waver. “There’s a lot of clothes to take down. I’d like to help you with the house chores. It’s a lot of work to take care of your father and brothers.” When Angie didn’t respond, she added, “I’d like to be friends.”
“Don’t need no friends.”
“Everybody needs friends.”
“Don’t need no friends like you.” Squinting her eyes, she hissed, “Ain’t there a law about old maids chasing after boys? If not, there should be.”
Lucy’s smile vanished completely. She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping a harsh retort. She pivoted on her heels and returned to take care of Jenny, a much friendlier face.
LIFE SURE COULD BRING a man some interesting twists and turns. Fin had dipped in and out of school over his long life, mostly out, but no teacher had ever bothered to teach him how to write his front and back and middle names until Miss Lucy came along. Finley James Randolph Cunningham. “Such a dignified name,” she had said in her singsongy voice, and that was all it took for Fin. He practiced writing his dignified name all the livelong day. And to his awe and wonderment, it did give a man his dignity to write his own name for hisself.
A spark lit Fin’s imagination—he saw himself signing property deeds, buying back land that his maw had sold off. He saw himself voting in an election. Heck! Even better. He saw himself sitting in that big ol’ White House, signing bills and laws and letters and whatever else a president signed. Something about writing his own name gave Fin a sense of power, of personhood. No more of them wobbly X’s, which made a man seem like a mouse, shaking in his boots.
All the way home from school, whenever Fin saw a particularly toothsome spot on a tree, or a particularly inviting fence post, he stopped and carved his name. His full, complete, dignified name.
BY THE TIME FRIDAY AFTERNOON rolled around, Lucy felt as if she’d climbed a mountain. She had survived an entire week of teaching school! Not just survived, but she actually enjoyed herself. She had even decided not to return to town this weekend, as she had so much work to do to prepare for next week. Her spirits lifted with a sense of quiet accomplishment, and she wondered if this was what Wyatt meant when he spoke of the purposeful life.
But the week was hard all the same. There were so many things she’d felt anxious about, so many fears she’d anticipated. And every single fear came true! There was nothing glamorous about a room filled with children who needed bathing so badly that Lucy felt she was suffocating. Nothing admirable about standing at a distance from the Boling boys who scratched their heads endlessly, or yanking her hand out of the grasp of a cute little girl who was covered with si
gns of ringworm. Lucy knew she was no hero. She lacked courage. Despite everything, in spite of herself, she finished Friday afternoon forming a tender connection with the children.
Even Cora had noticed. She stopped in the classroom this afternoon and whispered to Lucy, “Those children care about you.”
And she for them. These dear little ones had quickly found a place in her heart.
Now she understood why Cora championed these mountain children, convinced that only geographical boundaries kept the children from getting the educational opportunities that were due them. These children . . . they were different from any Lucy had known, or any she’d grown up with in Lexington. The best way to describe it was that they were thoroughly unspoiled. Hungry to learn, quick and bright, naturally imbued with poetry and an oratorical prowess that astounded Lucy.
The little girls—so many of them!—won her over on day one. Bright eyed, with round cherub cheeks and lisps from missing front teeth. Out on the play area, one or two would come and slip their chubby little hands into Lucy’s and her heart would melt.
The boys, they were more of a challenge. Lucy wondered if the handful of boys that arrived each day were only sent to school because they were so much trouble to their parents. Were it not for Finley James’s bold authority over them, Lucy would’ve ended each day in a puddle of tears.
And then there was Angie Cooper. She sat in the back row with a bored look on her face. The only time she seemed interested in school was when she had an opportunity to shine by showing off. And shine she did. Angie was smart, quicker than Lucy in nearly every subject. She would make a fine teacher for the school if she could just drop her arrogance. Much of it, Lucy knew, had to do with that big crush Finley James had on Lucy, and how threatened it made Angie feel.
Finley James was the biggest surprise of the week. As it turned out, that boy had quite an aptitude for learning. His reading ability grew at an astonishing rate. On Monday, Lucy had tested him to see if he knew the alphabet and the sound of each letter. He knew most, but not all. Tuesday, he had them down pat. By Wednesday, he was sounding out words in the speller. She would never forget the look on his face as letters and sounds passed from nonsense into sense. By Friday, he read through the grade 2 primer with a decent proficiency, and copied down a list of words he’d learned in an exact and careful penmanship—a vocabulary that seemed to grow exponentially with each passing day. It seemed like a miracle was occurring before Lucy’s very eyes. Like the flowers on the rhododendron bushes she passed every day, unfolding from tight buds to big blossoms.
Every other day, late in the afternoon, Wyatt would stop by the schoolhouse. In recounting the day’s events to him, she realized how much she wanted his approval. “I’m starting to see how Norah’s frequent absences slowed down the children’s learning.”
When she described Fin’s lightning streak progress, he listened with a knowing smile. “Goes to show you’re just the right teacher for him, Lucy.”
“Me?” She pressed her palm against her chest. “Quite honestly, Wyatt, it has nothing to do with me. I know copious amounts of Latin and can conjugate verbs, but I’ve never taught anyone to read before. I have no illusion about my teaching ability. Credit goes all to Fin. I think he’s even inspiring the other students to pay attention. It’s like . . . magic.”
“When motivation meets opportunity, miracles can happen.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
He looked up, surprised. “Indeed it did. Though I wouldn’t give credit to magic, only to the All Mighty.” Before she could ask another question, he turned the subject back to Fin. “Cora’s instincts were spot on with Fin. He needs to catch up in his schooling before long. I hope you can take him as far as he can go in the next few weeks. I doubt he’ll be back in the fall.”
“Why not?”
“With Angie Cooper as his teacher?” He coughed a laugh. “There’s a limit to Fin’s humility.”
“She’ll do fine as a teacher. She knows just about everything there is to know.”
A laugh burst out of Wyatt, and Lucy laughed too.
“Speaking of Angie,” Lucy said, “this morning I noticed that in the Cooper family Bible there isn’t a birth date for her. Why do you suppose that’s so?”
“Most folks don’t pay much attention to celebrating birthdays.”
“How do you keep track of someone’s age?”
“We round up.” He grinned. “Or down.”
“It just seems parents would’ve noted their own baby’s birth date.”
“Arthur can’t read. And Aria . . . she was a mite different.”
“How so?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “She had some troubles of her own.”
Lucy jerked her head up. This week, she’d noticed that Aria was a shadowy presence in the Coopers’ household. “What do you know about her?”
“Aria Cooper? Not much. Each holler tends to keep to themselves. Miss Mollie might be the one to ask.” He picked up his hat, preparing to leave. “Lucy, have you considered teaching Angie some of your Latin?”
Hmm. Latin. Angie.
They exchanged a small smile. Wyatt lifted a hand and brushed a lock of Lucy’s hair from her forehead. It was an intimate gesture, another surprise in this week of wonders, and Lucy felt her cheeks coloring.
“I quit!”
At the sound of Fin’s voice, Wyatt and Lucy sprang apart. He stood in the open doorway, glaring at them.
“I’m quittin’ school.” He turned and ran.
Twenty
FIN WAS DONE. Done with schooling. Done with women.
He shoulda never gone back to the school this afternoon, but he’d been struck by an idea to whittle a piece of wood he’d found for Miss Lucy to use as a chalkboard pointer. Or mebbe it could be a tool for her to smack some of them unruly boys.
Unruly. U-N-R-U-L-Y. That was a new word he’d added to his growing list. He liked to try out his immense vocabulary, especially if it meant he could stump Angie Cooper. Today, he’d beat her in the spelling bee on the word “cell.” Angie spelled it like it sounded: sell. Fin knew better, but only because Miss Lucy had explained homophones to him jest yesterday morning. “If you sell moonshine,” she told him as an example, “you might end up in a prison cell.”
He’d said it over and over to hisself so he didn’t forget it. Funny thing, the sheriff did most of the selling of moonshine in Rowan County. He didn’t tell that to Miss Lucy.
There were jest a few weeks left of school, so Fin cooked up a plan. He was going to pass one grade level each week, mebbe two. It was a nigh on unscalable goal—unscalable was another word he’d learned this week—especially for a fella who’d never thought much past one day at a time. But Fin was determined, and whilst it didn’t happen often, when he did feel that burden of determination, he would see it through. Besides, he knew he needed to buckle down and get serious ’bout getting book red. No way was he ever gonna step foot in any school taught by Angie Cooper, and this was his last chance to make sure Angie didn’t have the upper hand on him for the rest of his livelong life. He had a few weeks left to go, and heck if’n he wasn’t gonna give it his all. If nothing else but for the look of sheer delight on Miss Lucy’s angelic face whenever he mastered a new grade.
But all that changed this afternoon when he saw the way Brother Wyatt and Miss Lucy were gazing at each other, inches apart, in the schoolhouse. All this time he’d thought Andrew Spencer was his competition. And all along, Brother Wyatt was sneaking around behind his back, winning her heart.
All day Saturday, in between feeding horses and cleaning out stalls at the livery, Fin worked out his plan to live a good long life and die an old bachelor, unfettered by the misery caused by women. Not his maw, but most other women. Such a plan cheered him, and he was almost back to himself as he pushed the last barrow out to the manure pile when he heard hoofbeats. He glanced around, hoping it might be Lucy Wilson, coming back to her senses, coming back to him .
. . but heck if it was only Angie Cooper.
“Finley James?”
“I’m busy,” Fin replied in as gruff a tone as he had ever used with her.
“What’s got ya so riled up?”
If’n he would confide anything in Angie Cooper. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his forehead.
She had a smile wider than a watermelon slice. It worried him, so he pointed at her and gave her a stern look. “Don’t go thinking you’ve got me pinned down. You don’t. No female does. Besides . . . I’m off to Mexico, soon as I turn sixteen.”
“Mexico?! Do you even know where it is?”
“Shorely do. It’s . . . near Texas.” At least, he thought it was. “I’m gonna join the U-nited States Army’s fight in the Border War.”
“Whatever for?”
“Cuz they need vital young men.”
“Who ya been talking to?”
“No one.”
“Judge Klopp’s wife, I’ll bet. She’s biggerty. Thinks she knows everything.”
How’d she figure that out so fast? Judge Klopp’s wife came by the livery earlier today and read aloud to him again from the “Join the Army!” brochure. She thought Fin needed some ambition.
“Did the judge’s wife tell you that you’d have to pass a test to join the army?”
“What kind of test?”
“Reading and writing and numbers and such.”
Heck. The judge’s wife never said nothing ’bout no test. “Well, I’m still going to Mexico.”
“But why would you go and do a fool thing like that? The border with Mexico ain’t your fight.”
“Because . . . because I’m going”—he rubbed his unwhiskered chin and tried to remember how the phrasing went in the brochure—“where the need is greatest. Where the ranks are thinnest and the battle hottest.”
The Moonlight School Page 22