“She’s been hanging around cowpokes again,” Goodness whispered out of the side of her mouth. “She’s starting to talk just like one of ’em. The next thing we know she’ll be wearing a buckle as big as a chastity belt and bragging about her rat-chasing dog.”
“Not me,” Mercy contradicted. “I’ve been too busy arranging Trey’s trip east. I found he isn’t as susceptible to suggestion as some humans are, especially schoolteachers and young Jewish women—if you catch my drift. I had my work cut out just getting him to New York. Must’ve taken three or four people suggesting he visit Jenny for him to take the hint.”
Goodness frowned and apparently didn’t take Mercy’s words kindly.
“But look what happened to Jenny while you were away,” Shirley commented glumly. “She’s sick. My goodness, the poor girl looks wretched.”
“That couldn’t be helped.” There was only so much one angel could do, and no one seemed to appreciate Mercy’s efforts on this assignment. Least of all her two best friends.
“Has Jenny told him the truth yet?” Goodness asked, making herself comfortable. She usually preferred to dangle from light fixtures, but not in these tight quarters. “She isn’t going to be able to keep it from him, is she?”
“Not now,” Mercy agreed. It wouldn’t do any good to remind her companions that she could lead a horse to water, but she couldn’t make him saddle himself. She paused. Was that how the saying went? She’d heard some smart-talkin’ fellow in Montana say something along those lines, and at the time it had made perfect sense.
“What’s this I heard about Jenny’s brother?” Shirley asked impatiently. “Is he really getting engaged?”
“That’s another thing.” Mercy flung herself across the back of a living room chair and supported her head with the palm of her hand. “Does anyone here understand what I had to go through to arrange this last-minute romance between Charles Lancaster and Mary Lou Perkins?”
“You did that?” Shirley asked, amazed.
“Well, not entirely,” Mercy admitted with some reluctance, although she’d be willing to accept a certain amount of credit. “All Charlie really needed was a little encouragement.”
“And you supplied that?”
Mercy shrugged. “Some.”
Goodness beamed her approval. “Good thinking.”
“What about poor Jenny?” Shirley asked, studying the down-and-out actress.
“I don’t know,” Mercy admitted. “What she does and doesn’t tell Trey is up to her.”
“How long will Trey be in town?”
Mercy didn’t have the answer to that, either. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“He’ll be here for the party, won’t he?” Goodness wanted to know.
It took Mercy a moment to remember the Christmas potluck Jenny and Michelle were holding. She hadn’t a clue where the two young actresses intended on putting everyone, but they seemed to think they could manage.
“I don’t know what Trey’s plans are,” she muttered. It seemed her friends insisted upon asking her questions she couldn’t answer. “All I know is that however long he stays, it’ll be long enough.”
Her words were followed by a short silence. “Are you saying you know something we don’t?” Shirley inquired.
Mercy’s smug smile was all the answer she intended to give them.
* * *
Brynn stood in front of her class, and her gaze rested on Suzie Chang’s empty desk in the middle of the room. It seemed as if the space were magnified until it appeared to crowd everyone against the walls.
The lessons that day involved the history of the Second World War, and although Brynn was prepared to discuss the Battle of the Bulge, her mind was elsewhere.
All she could think about was Suzie.
“This afternoon,” Brynn said, forcing her attention back to the history lesson, “we are going to be talking about . . . sex.” The word raced out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
Modesto cheered and sat up straighter on his desk chair. “Hey, Miss Cassidy, I bet I could teach you more than you could teach me.” He laughed, thinking himself downright comical.
“Not if my brother hears about it,” Emilio warned, his eyes narrowing. “Miss Cassidy is his woman.”
“I’m no one’s woman,” Brynn corrected evenly.
“No one owns another person,” Pearl Washington insisted righteously. To the best of Brynn’s knowledge, this was the first time the young black girl had freely contributed to any class discussion. “A woman’s body is her own, just the way a boy’s body is his own.”
“You’re right, sister.”
“I didn’t plan this talk,” Brynn admitted, wondering if she was treading over a minefield. “But this is a subject that’s been on my mind lately, and I’d like us to have an open discussion. I’ll share my thoughts with you, and you can share your feelings with me.”
“Ask me anything you want,” Emilio said proudly.
“In other words, you’ve got all the answers?”
“Sure.” Emilio glanced over his shoulder to be sure he had his friends’ support. “Most of us in class do. Come on, Miss Cassidy, we been around, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know. But making love isn’t like sampling chocolates. It’s much more involved than that. There are responsibilities and consequences.”
“Yeah. I’m raising one of those consequences right now,” Yolanda volunteered, “and it ain’t easy.”
“Hey, sister, don’t look at me. I wasn’t the one who got you knocked up.” Denzil raised both hands in a gesture of innocence.
“Shut up, Denzil.”
“I want to talk about accountability,” Brynn said, ignoring the two. “About being mature enough to accept the responsibility for our actions.”
“Are you going to lecture us, Teach?”
“No. I’m going to share with you at least fifteen different ways of making love without doing it.”
Several of the boys glanced back and forth at each other as if she’d suddenly turned into someone they didn’t know.
“I have the feeling I’m not going to like any of those ways,” Malcolm muttered.
Pearl stood at her desk and pointed a finger at her chest. “Why is it a guy thinks that because he spends a little money on me, it entitles him to a piece of my soul?”
“Some girls expect it,” Malcolm argued just as heatedly. “Half the time the girls are all over me asking for it.”
“Yeah,” Emilio agreed. “There are plenty of times I’d prefer not to . . . you know, and if I don’t ask, then the girl’s feelings are all hurt. It ain’t just us men, you know.”
“Men?” Yolanda challenged. “I notice you call us girls, but you’re men. Why doesn’t the man who fathered Jason kindly step forward?” With her fists braced against her sides, Yolanda looked around slowly, then released a sigh of disgust. “That’s what I thought.”
“Enough,” Brynn said, putting an end to the argument before it escalated into a shouting match. She could talk until she was ready to faint, and she doubted it would do any good, but she had to try. One thing was clear: her students were as opinionated over the topic as she was herself.
While she had their attention, she spoke from the heart, listing the reasons she felt it was important to wait to experiment with lovemaking until after marriage. The intensity of her feelings must have reached her class because there was a respectful silence when she finished.
“Miss Cassidy,” Emilio said when she’d concluded, “I don’t mean to be discourteous or anything, but you’re living in a dream world if you believe a man’s going to wait to make love to his woman.”
“Don’t be so sure, Emilio. Teenagers across the world are making pledges to keep themselves pure.”
“There ain’t nothing pure in this neighborhood,” someone else told her. “Not even the water.”
“But it has to start somewhere,” Brynn said, and walked over to the chipped blackboard. In large bold-faced
letters, she wrote i will abstain from premarital sex. “I say let it start with me.” She signed her name below.
Holding up the piece of chalk, she asked, “Anyone else?”
A tense moment passed before Yolanda slid from her seat. With her head held high, the teenager walked up and took the chalk out of Brynn’s hand. She wrote her name in huge letters below Brynn’s.
Turning around to face the class, she said, “A boy will tell you anything you want to hear until you give him what he wants. Then he’ll forget he ever knew you. A man will make you his wife first.”
Pearl Washington walked up and wrote her name down next. She turned around and glared at Denzil. Then, one hand braced against her hip, Pearl returned to her desk. On the walk back to the end of the row, she continued to glare at Denzil.
“I think you just got cut off, man,” Malcolm whispered loudly enough for everyone in the class to hear.
“You keep saying how much you love me,” Pearl mocked him. “If you love me so much, prove it.”
“I ain’t adding my name to that list,” Denzil shouted angrily.
Pearl blinked several times but said nothing.
“Don’t you worry, Pearl, Denzil is nothing but a boy,” Yolanda said to comfort the other girl.
When she least expected it, Mike rose from his seat and walked forward. With a bit of flare he added his name to the list, the first boy in class to do so.
“Oh sure, Mike,” Malcolm called sarcastically. “You should be so lucky to get laid.”
Why the others chose to taunt Mike, Brynn didn’t understand. She liked Mike and appreciated the courage it had taken for him to step forward. The desire to defend him was strong, but she realized that would only make matters worse for the youth.
“Mike’s more of a man than you are,” Pearl insisted. “A hell of a lot more than Denzil will ever be.”
Emilio sat on his seat, frowning. After a couple of moments he stood and trekked the short distance to the blackboard.
“Emilio, are you nuts, man?” Modesto asked.
Emilio turned around and faced his friends. “You know what? Miss Cassidy is right. My brother’s always talking about what it means to be responsible, and really that’s all Miss Cassidy is saying, too. I ain’t no priest, but the way I figure it, women will respect me if they know I ain’t after nothing.”
After Emilio listed his name, three other male students added their promise.
When they’d finished, Brynn took the chalk, stepped to the blackboard, and wrote i will practice safe sex. Then she drew a line beneath the words and waited.
“Next we’re going to discuss protection,” she said.
Later that afternoon, after her class had been dismissed for the day, Brynn felt good about the spontaneous way in which they’d discussed the subject of sex. It might have gone differently had she planned it. Instead the students themselves had contributed their feelings and insights, and because she’d listened to them, they had been willing to hear her out as well.
She studied each name on the two lists and prayed that their talk would make a difference in how they chose to live their lives.
“Miss Cassidy.”
Brynn looked up to find Suzie standing in the doorway. “Am I disturbing you?”
“No, of course not.” Brynn stood. “How did your session go with Mrs. Christian?”
“All right, I guess. She made an appointment for me at the health clinic.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“My baby’s healthy,” Suzie said with a shy smile. “I feel him kick and move all the time now.” The teenager’s gaze moved to the blackboard. “I . . . I heard about what you did. It’s all over the school. You talked about birth control and responsible sex because of me, didn’t you?”
Brynn couldn’t very well deny it. “I didn’t break your confidence, Suzie. No one knows what you told me.” She felt it was important to assure Suzie of that.
“I knew you wouldn’t say anything.” Suzie studied the list. “Emilio signed his name.” Although it was a statement, the surprise in her voice made it a question.
“Several of the young men in class did.”
“Do you think I could add my name?” she asked, diverting her eyes from Brynn’s. “Or is it too late?”
“I’d be proud if you did,” Brynn told her.
Suzie walked up and added her name to the first list. “I’m going to talk to my mother this afternoon. She’ll be angry with me and she’ll want me to tell her who the father is, but I won’t.”
“You can’t protect him forever,” Brynn said gently.
“I know. Mom will be angry, but not nearly as much as my father.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Brynn asked.
Suzie considered the offer, then shook her head. “No, but thank you for volunteering.”
No sooner had Suzie left than Brynn was asked to come down to the office. It was the first time she’d received such a request. She wasn’t left to wonder at the reason.
She knew.
If what Suzie said was true, then Mr. Whalen, the principal, had heard what she’d done.
Allen Whalen invited her into his office, and after she’d stepped inside, he closed the door firmly. The sound of it clicking alerted her to the fact that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.
Brynn respected Allen Whalen. He was a big, no-nonsense man and a fair disciplinarian. He had zero tolerance for drugs and alcohol and didn’t shy away from confrontations, often suspending students for fighting or other disruptions. Emilio could testify to that.
“Sit down, Brynn,” Allen said, and motioned for her to take a seat on the other side of his desk. More than likely this was the identical chair in which Emilio had sat the first day of the quarter following his fight with Grover.
“First off,” Allen said, leaning forward, “I want you to know I’ve heard good things about you. The kids seem to feel kindly toward you, and that’s a plus. I understand you’ve made a point to visit the families of your students.”
“Yes, I—”
“While your efforts are commendable,” Allen interrupted, “I don’t feel it’s a good idea for you to become emotionally involved with your students.”
Brynn opened her mouth to explain her purpose, but once again she wasn’t allowed to continue.
“You’re young, and idealistic. Perhaps a little too young to deal with the reality of our situation here.”
“Mr. Whalen, if you’d allow me to explain . . .”
He gestured with his hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished. “I had my doubts about this government project. As far as I’m concerned, the less the federal government has to do with the school system, the better. I would never have agreed to this program had I realized . . .” He paused and leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the top of his cluttered desk. “I don’t want to get sidetracked here. The reason I asked you to my office has nothing to do with the government or why you’re at Manhattan High.”
“Yes?” She sat straight, her back as stiff as a steel pipe.
“I received a phone call from two mothers this afternoon,” he prefaced, his face growing tight with displeasure. “Don’t tell me, Miss Cassidy, that you actually discussed birth control methods with your history class.”
Rather than hedge, Brynn answered him in a straightforward manner. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Allen Whalen’s eyes drifted closed momentarily. “In your history class, Miss Cassidy?”
“It needed to be said.”
“And you felt you were the most qualified to advise a classroom full of young adults? I take it you’ve attended the course the district requires before teaching sex education?”
“No. The discussion was spontaneous. I certainly didn’t plan to spend the afternoon discussing the benefits of condoms.”
“In other words, you just decided this needed to be said and you were the one to do it?”
“If you put it like t
hat, then I have no option but to say yes.” She had no defense and didn’t think it would help her case if she had.
Mr. Whalen mulled over her answers. “In case you weren’t aware of it, this community is largely Catholic.”
Brynn folded her hands on her lap. “I’m Catholic myself.”
“That is no excuse,” he said, then stopped abruptly. “You’re Catholic?”
“My name is Cassidy and my hair is red.” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but it should have been obvious.
“Then you must be aware of the church’s standing on the subject of birth control.”
“I am indeed.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t doubt for an instant that he was furious with her.
“I’m afraid, Miss Cassidy, that in light of this admission, I have no choice but to place a letter of reprimand in your file.”
Brynn swallowed tightly. “I’ve always known you to be a fair man. If you feel I deserve to be formally reprimanded for my actions, then I can only assume that you’re right.”
“You’re a history and English teacher. In the future please remember that.” He reached for a piece of paper and started writing.
Brynn sat where she was for several awkward moments.
After a while, he glanced up. “You may leave.”
When Brynn walked out of the office, she found three secretaries staring at her. Their looks were sympathetic as she whisked past. The whispers started the moment she was around the corner.
“Hello, Hannah.”
Hannah looked up from the novel she was reading. “Carl,” she said, unable to hide her surprise and her guilt. No one had told her he planned to stop by that evening. “How are you feeling?” She hadn’t spoken to him since his bout with the flu.
Her fiancé claimed the recliner across from her. “Much better, thank you.”
Hannah noted that her heart didn’t leap with excitement the way it did whenever she saw Joshua. Nor did she experience a twinge of pleasure just because they were together. Carl was Carl. Dedicated, devout, determined. But soon, if everything went as their mothers had planned, he would be more than an unexpected guest. He would be her husband.
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