by Ginny Dye
Frances frowned. “I don’t get to go to school too much.”
“Then you find ways to learn,” Carrie replied, wondering if Frances had ever attended school at all. “My best friend wasn’t allowed to go to school. She found every book she could and read it. She borrowed books from people so she could learn.” She decided not to mention that Rose had borrowed the books from her father’s library on the plantation when she had been a slave. “She knew she would get in big trouble if she got caught, but she did it anyway because she wanted a better life.”
Frances was watching her with wide eyes. “What is your best friend doing now?”
“She’s a teacher, and she is also in college,” Carrie said proudly.
“Really?” Frances breathed. “My mama says girls don’t need to go to school.”
Carrie hesitated, not sure she should dispute the little girl’s mother, but she opted for the truth. “That’s not true, Frances. I went to school, and now I’m finishing up medical school. Rose, my best friend, is going to school and she is a teacher. I have many female friends who are in college and who are doing things that most women don’t believe they can do.”
Frances was drinking in everything she was saying. “Do you think I’m smart, Miss Carrie?”
“I do,” Carrie said. “Haven’t you been helping me take care of your little sisters?”
“I just been doing what you told me,” Frances protested. “That’s not a big thing.”
“You’re wrong,” Carrie replied. “It’s a very big thing because you are only ten. But being smart is only part of what it takes to do something with your life. It also takes courage.” She held Frances’ face and looked deeply into her eyes. “You are one of the bravest little girls I have ever known.” Frances’ eyes glowed in response. “The last thing it takes is hope,” Carrie reminded her. “You have to hope things can be better. And the hope has to turn into belief,” she added.
“Belief?”
“Hope is important, but it’s when hope becomes your belief that it makes you able to handle all the challenges that come your way. Things might be hard for your family for a while, but you can believe it will get better.”
It was obvious Frances was struggling to believe what Carrie was saying. “Isn’t it important for me to do what my mama says? Daddy told me it is.”
Carrie considered her response and again opted for honesty. “I did things my mama didn’t like,” she confessed. “My mother wanted me to be a proper Southern lady, but that was not what I wanted, so I managed to do things my way.”
“Didn’t it make your mama mad?” Frances’ eyes were alive with curiosity.
“All the time,” Carrie admitted, “but I could only be what I believed I should be. It was not always easy, but I’m glad I made the decisions I did.”
“Did your mama ever quit being mad at you?”
“She did,” Carrie assured her, deciding not to reveal it was right before her mother died. There was only so much a ten-year-old could handle. She took Frances’ face in her hands again, already dreading the moment when she would tell the girl good-bye. “I’m telling you all these things because you are very special. Life may be hard at times, but you can make it what you want it to be if you want it badly enough…and work hard for it,” she added. “It’s not enough just to believe something. The belief is good, but the belief is only a good thing if it makes you work hard to make things happen.”
Carrie pressed a piece of paper into Frances’ hand. “This is my mailing address. You can write me any time you want to.” She could only hope there would be enough money to mail the letters.
“Will you write me back?” Frances breathed.
“Every time,” Carrie promised.
Frances grinned, but she wasn’t done with her questions. “Do you know of any other little girls that have done what you are telling me to do?”
Carrie smiled. Just like she had been as a child, Frances was not content to simply believe what she was being told. “That’s a very good question.”
Frances sucked in her breath. “You’re not mad because I’m asking?” she asked anxiously.
“I’ll never be mad at you for asking a question,” Carrie assured her. “I think most people don’t ask nearly enough questions. If you just go along with what other people tell you, then you’ll never know what you truly believe for yourself.” She remembered Abby telling her the same thing the summer they had met.
Frances let her breath out. “So, do you know any other little girls like me?”
Carrie smiled. “I do. Her name is Felicia. She just turned thirteen, but she was only ten when she watched her parents be murdered.”
Frances gaped at her. “Murdered? Both of them?”
“Yes,” Carrie said solemnly. “Remember my best friend who is a teacher? Rose and her husband adopted Felicia. At first she was very frightened of everything, but then she decided to believe things could be better, and she decided to learn everything she could so she could make her life better. She is quite wonderful.” She paused before adding, “You are so much like her, Frances. You are very special.”
“Frances, get on over here, girl. We’ve got to get going now.”
Frances melted closer to Carrie when her father’s voice reached them. “You promise you’ll write me back?”
“I promise. I won’t be at that address until the end of summer, but I promise I’ll write you as soon as I get home. You can write me as many letters as you want, and then just mail them all at one time.” Carrie thought of all the letters she had written Abby during the war. “Sometimes writing things down helps.”
“I don’t spell so good,” Frances said. “I don’t write so good, either.”
“Then you’ll work on it,” Carrie said confidently. “If you want your life to be better, you have to know how to write and spell. And read.”
Determination crept into Frances’ eyes. “I’ll learn. I promise. I won’t disappoint you.”
Carrie remembered Old Sarah’s words. “It’s not me you need to worry about disappointing, honey. You need to decide to not disappoint yourself.”
“Frances!”
Carrie took a deep breath and held Frances away from her, already feeling the loss. “You’ve got to go now,” she said softly. “I love you, Frances. Don’t ever forget that.”
Tears swam in Frances’ eyes, but she tried to blink them away. “I love you, too, Miss Carrie. I always will.” She tore herself away and ran over to her father. Moments later she was in the back of the wagon, waving at Carrie until she was too far away to be seen. Carrie returned the wave as long as she could make out Frances’ form, and then dashed away her own tears.
It was time to go to Santa Fe.
*****
Lillian Richardson was more than a little nervous as she rode up to the imposing house that formed the heart of Cromwell Plantation. She had heard about the elegant Southern plantations, but her upbringing in the Michigan woods had not exposed her to anything so grand. She stared at it admiringly, not sure if she appreciated the gleaming white three stories, or the inspiring porch columns the most. When she heard a nicker, and glanced to the right, all thought of the house fled her mind. She pulled her bay mare to a stop and simply gawked at the fields full of the finest horses she had ever seen. “Oh, my,” she whispered, not able to tear her eyes away.
Lillian didn’t know how long she sat there before she detected movement out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze shifted to the massive barn bordering an edge of the pasture. She caught her breath as she watched a small black girl emerge leading a towering bay Thoroughbred stallion. Her first thought was to call out a warning to be careful, but she snapped her lips shut when she watched the horse dip his head and gently nudge the girl, who just laughed and patted his muzzle. Obviously, she was in no danger.
“Can I help you?”
Lillian tore her eyes away from the stallion as she forced herself to remember why she was here. She recalled Abby’s
description of the woman running Cromwell Stables. “You must be Susan Jones.”
“I am,” Susan agreed. “And you seem to have me at a distinct disadvantage because I have absolutely no idea who you are. Should I?”
Lillian liked the humor she saw lurking in the woman’s brown eyes. She pulled out the letter she had secured in her pocket. “My name is Lillian Richardson. Rose Samuels sent this letter along with me. I’m the new schoolteacher.”
Susan took the letter but looked at her curiously. “I thought the new teacher was Bertha Ogden? We’ve been wondering why we haven’t heard anything.”
“Bertha fell seriously ill,” Lillian explained. “She was my housemate in Cleveland. When we realized she wasn’t going to be able to take the position, the American Missionary Association asked me if I would fill it.”
“So you have met Rose?” Susan asked eagerly.
“I have. When I realized she and her family were in Oberlin, I took the train out to meet her. We had quite a wonderful time.”
“I’m sure you did,” Susan said warmly. “We miss all of them so much.”
“They feel the same way,” Lillian assured her, “but they are doing well in Oberlin.”
The curious expression returned to Susan’s face. “You rode your horse out here? I’m surprised Rose didn’t send you to meet Thomas and Abby Cromwell.”
“Oh, she did. I stayed with them last night after I arrived on the train yesterday morning.”
“And they didn’t insist on sending you in a carriage with a driver?”
Lillian laughed at Susan’s expression. “Oh, they insisted. I turned them down.”
Susan looked at her more closely. “You do realize that was probably not your safest option?”
“So I’m told,” Lillian agreed. “I decided that if I was too afraid to ride out to the plantation on my own, then I had no business taking this job.”
Susan continued to stare at her. “You do realize the Ku Klux Klan does not take lightly to white teachers coming down to teach black students?”
Lillian nodded again. “I’ve been told. I also know your school has been burned before, and I know the vigilantes keep a regular eye on it.” She reached into the waistband of her breeches and pulled out a pistol. “I’ve also been told most of the teachers sent down to the South don’t believe self-protection is an option. I happen to feel differently about it.”
Susan threw back her head and laughed loudly. “I think I’m going to like you, Miss Lillian Richardson. Welcome to Cromwell Plantation.”
Lillian smiled, certain she had made a wonderful decision when she had decided to take the position Bertha had been offered. “Thank you, Miss Jones.”
“Susan. We don’t stand on formality around here.”
Lillian nodded. “Thank you, Susan.”
Susan looked toward the barn. “Let’s get your horse some food and water. Surely you didn’t bring your own mare all the way from Oberlin.”
“No,” Lillian agreed. “I purchased her yesterday from a trader Thomas recommended. Misty is a jewel, but…” She turned and let her eyes roam the pasture again. “She can’t compare to the fine horses you are raising here.”
“You know horses?”
“Enough to recognize Eclipse the minute I laid eyes on him. I saw him race in Chicago at Hawthorne Track.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “You did? That’s amazing. Are you from Chicago?”
“No. I’m from outside Detroit, Michigan. My family moved out there when the Erie Canal made the area more accessible, and started a farm. I was born there. I’ve had a love affair with horses ever since I was a child. My father took me to the tracks any time he had business in Chicago. My mother was appalled, but Daddy knew how much I loved it."
“Yet you chose to become a teacher. Why?”
Lillian shrugged. “I wish I could run a stables like you do, but I never managed to find a way to do that. Luckily, I love children and teaching as much as I do horses. I’m excited to be here.”
“You’ll have the best of both worlds here,” Susan promised. “We’ll go riding together often.”
Lillian’s grin almost split her face. “I was so hoping you would say that,” she murmured. “Did I see a small girl leading Eclipse from the barn?”
“That would be Amber,” Susan said. “She and her brother, Clint, train all the foals and yearlings, but she and Eclipse have a special love affair going on. He would do anything for her.”
“How old is she?”
“She just turned eleven.”
Lillian stared at her. “Eleven?”
“Amber is rather extraordinary,” Susan agreed. “I couldn’t believe what she was capable of before I saw it with my own eyes. She is truly a prodigy. You should see her ride Eclipse.”
Lillian’s mouth dropped open. “She rides him?”
Susan grinned. “As well as I can,” she assured her. “Probably better, because Eclipse seems to adapt his every move to her. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Lillian continued to watch as Amber walked Eclipse closer to the fenced pasture. Suddenly, a dark bay yearling shot across the pasture and raced up to the pair, prancing to a stop before snorting loudly. “Oh, my…”
“That is All My Heart,” Susan said. “She is Amber’s filly.”
Lillian felt her heart swell. “The one Robert gave her before he was killed.”
Susan eyed her. “Rose told you?”
“She thought I should know everything before I came down.” Lillian looked back at the horses. “Although she didn’t tell me I was coming to horse paradise.”
Susan laughed. “Rose rides well, but horses are quite low on her priority list.” She looked back at the letter in her hand. “You’re going to stay with us in the house.”
Lillian shifted uncomfortably. “Just long enough for me to get settled. I’ll look for my own housing.”
“Good luck with that,” Susan replied wryly. “You’re welcome here, Lillian. It will be wonderful to have another horsewoman around. Don’t feel you have to find another place. We have plenty of room, and you have just become a very valued part of our world by taking the teaching position.” She looked up as a clanging bell split the warm spring air. “And we have the best food in the South here. Thank goodness it’s time to eat. I’m starving!”
Lillian relaxed even more. Abby had told her to expect a warm welcome, but she had been afraid to have any expectations at all. Evidently, Susan didn’t mind that she was dressed casually in breeches and a man’s shirt, and she didn’t seem put off that her short hair hung freely to her shoulders, instead of being long, and pulled back into a bun like her own. Lillian had been warned about Southern traditions and societal norms. People had sometimes looked at her askance in the North, but yesterday’s gawking in Richmond had made her feel like a carnival exhibit. “Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”
Twenty minutes later, her mare stabled with a bucket of grain, Lillian sat down in front of a plate piled high with fried chicken, pickled okra, tender baby carrots and fluffy biscuits. She stared at it in disbelief. “You eat like this every day?”
Annie walked into the dining room as she asked her question. “Didn’t they feed you where you come from, Miss Lillian?”
“Not like this,” Lillian assured her. “I’m afraid this one meal has convinced me I will never leave this house until you throw me out.”
*****
Three days later, Lillian saddled Misty and rode to the schoolhouse. Word had been passed around that the new teacher had arrived. Classes would start that day. She had spent the last three days preparing the school room and going over the information Rose had written about all the students, including the adults. It was quite a thick packet of paper, but it had provided invaluable information that would make the transition from their beloved teacher easier.
She took deep breaths of the spring air while she rode, reveling in the fresh smells filling her senses. Warnings of the hot, humid summers h
ad been passed along, but there was no sign of that now. The air was soft and embracing, a welcome change after the long, brutal Ohio winter. Dogwoods filled the woods with their ethereal white blooms, while wildflowers she had no hope of identifying shot color through the greenery. She was in love already.
She had just turned her attention back to the road when two men on horseback, their faces covered with hoods, emerged onto the road in front of her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lillian stiffened with surprise, and then lifted her hand casually to her waistband. She was determined not to show any fear. “Well, hello boys,” she called cheerfully. “Seems like an awfully nice day to have your faces covered. What can I do for you?” She focused on their eyes because it was the only part of their faces she could see, noticing when they widened with surprise, and then narrowed with anger.
“You can go back to where you came from,” one of the men growled in a menacing tone.
“Oh, come on,” Lillian retorted. “If your aim is to scare me, that is a poor excuse for intimidation.” She was glad the quiver in her stomach was not betrayed by her voice. She had been dealing with bullies all her life. These men were nothing but masked bullies, too cowardly to reveal who they really were. “You know, I heard about you boys.” She used the term boys deliberately, knowing it would infuriate them because they referred to all black males as boys. “I couldn’t believe that grown men would be too scared to reveal their true identity when they go out to threaten someone, but I see now it is true. That’s too bad. I thought Southern men had more courage than that.” She took a deep breath and decided to go for broke. “I guess I can see why you lost the war.”
The man who had spoken to her cursed loudly and reached for his pistol.
Lillian lifted hers faster and fired a round that went through the crown of his hat. She smiled when both the men froze, their eyes filled with stunned hatred. “I hope you realize I could have put that bullet through your heart just as easily. One for each of you,” she added as she kept the gun pointed at them, with her finger on the trigger. “I suppose I’ll have to write home and tell my friends and family that Southern hospitality is not what they have heard it is.”