Pearl (38 page)
‘‘That’s right!’’ Pearl smiled at the boy who had just recited the ABCs correctly.
The rest of the schoolroom clapped as Robert Brady beamed.
‘‘I studied on them at home.’’ He rubbed one bare foot on his other leg. ‘‘Atticus, he helped me.’’
How could he help you?
Pearl had not seen the older brother since the first day of school, after which he didn’t return.
‘‘He made me keep tryin’.’’
‘‘You tell Atticus that I have a present for him when he can recite his ABCs also. You teach them to him. All right?’’
Robert, dark hair falling over his eyes, nodded so hard the hair flopped. ‘‘I will. Ma says we got to learn to read and write and do sums.’’
And perhaps take a bath once in a while
. Pearl looked to the next child. ‘‘Are you ready, Franny?’’
Franny stood, took in a deep breath, and shotgunned the letters so fast she only had to gulp once in the middle. ‘‘U, V-V. . .’’ she scrunched her eyes closed tight—‘‘W, XYZ!’’
Two more finished, one requiring some prompting from the teacher.
‘‘Very good. We’re going to work on our numbers now. Everyone begin counting together, using your fingers if you must. One.’’ She pointed at the numeral one on the board. ‘‘Hold up one finger.’’ She held one finger in the air. ‘‘Now two.’’ They repeated until they were holding up ten fingers. ‘‘Good. Now one finger on each hand. How many do we have?’’
‘‘Two.’’
‘‘Good. Now two fingers on one hand, one on the other.’’ She drilled them on simple addition, then handed out the slates that had come in the box of school supplies. ‘‘Now, make a one. Now a two.’’ She wrote on the blackboard so all could see her hand motion. ‘‘Edith, Opal, please come help the beginners. Everyone in the first three rows, draw a number two. The rest of you take out your readers and turn to page ten. Read as far as you can until I tell you to stop.’’
She had the beginners make rows of numbers one, two, and three on their slates, left them with the two older girls, and gathered her four middle readers together.
‘‘Now I want you to read aloud, and we’ll sound out the words you don’t know.’’
As usual, the middle Robertson girl, Emily, read without faltering. And while Ada Mae stumbled over some words and sounded others out, for a five-year-old, she more than held her own. Pearl prompted the Jones boy several times, but once he got a word, it was his. He closed his book and gave a big sigh.
‘‘Reading is hard work.’’
The others giggled, and Pearl chuckled with them. ‘‘But it’s good work, and someday you’ll be able to read anything—a newspaper, a book, a magazine—anything you want.’’
‘‘My ma wants me to read the Bible for her. She says she can’t read all of it because some words is too big.’’
‘‘Some of the words are hard, that’s right.’’
‘‘That’s why she likes to come here to church where someone reads the Bible out loud. She follows along, and she says now she can read better too.’’
I have to remember to tell Ruby that. Maybe if Charlie read more
slowly or waited for people to find the place, those who do have Bibles, that
is. What if we had a reading class on Sunday afternoons after church?
That night she asked Ruby the same question. ‘‘What do you think?’’
‘‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. If you are sure you want to do it.’’
‘‘I’d do anything to help people learn to read and write. Too many have never had a chance, growing up where there’s no school like they do.’’
The two rocked in companionable silence, other than the purring of the cats on their laps.
‘‘A year ago I never would have dreamed I’d be out here teaching a school like this. I thought I was going to be an old-maid schoolmarm in Chicago for the rest of my life.’’
‘‘There’s not much chance of being an old maid out here. Too many men wanting wives.’’
‘‘Not that I’ve noticed. I mean, I know there are a lot of men, but they seem pretty content the way they are.’’
‘‘Care if I join you?’’ Cimarron stopped near them.
‘‘Not at all. Pull up a chair.’’
‘‘You’ve sure kept that machine humming.’’ Pearl stroked the cat in her lap, loving the silky fur and the vibrations of the purr.
‘‘I have all the mending done and finished that skirt for Opal.’’
‘‘You picked it up so quickly.’’
‘‘Well, we had to wash the blood out of one sheet I was mending. That thing can sew right into a finger if you don’t watch out.’’ She held up her bandaged finger to prove it.
‘‘So how’s the school going?’’ Ruby asked Pearl.
‘‘I’ve read about some teachers who have twenty or so children in a one-room school. I don’t know how they do it. Why, I only have twelve, and not everyone gets a chance to read aloud every day. It is easy to let Opal and Edith help, but then they don’t get enough lesson time.’’
‘‘Teaching others always teaches the teacher.’’
‘‘True.’’ Pearl raised her face to the evening breeze. ‘‘I’m thinking fall is in the air. The air smells different.’’
‘‘I know. First frost can be anytime, then we’ll have a few weeks of the most wonderful weather—they call it Indian summer. Why, I have no idea.’’ Cimarron stared out at the garden where the final planting of corn was ready to pick. ‘‘I told Charlie when he planted that the last time, he was gambling with the weather. This year he won. And the pumpkins will make the best pies.’’
‘‘And cakes and cookies and canned, dried, and stored. We’ll have squash and pumpkin all winter.’’ Ruby stretched her arms above her head and yawned. ‘‘Makes me tired just thinking about it.’’
‘‘My ma used to cut up pumpkin chunks and cook it in the stew. Rabbit and pumpkin are a good combination.’’
‘‘Never thought of that. How come you never mentioned that before?’’
‘‘Never thought about it. Things coming back to me I never gave a thought to for years. Some of the things we did for Christmas. I think we need to have a real Christmas celebration this year. A Christmas tree and a program, presents . . . Got to get to making some things.’’ Her voice wore a dreamy quality, gauzy like silk, soft and fluttery on the dying breeze.
‘‘You didn’t have Christmas here last year?’’ Pearl asked.
‘‘Not much.’’
Pearl thought back to the tree with white candles that touched the ceiling in their parlor at home. The parties, the gifts. She wouldn’t be there for Christmas this year to help hang the swags of cedar and the wreaths of pine with red bows, get down the boxes of ornaments, plan the school party.
‘‘Then this year we start all new traditions.’’ Pearl leaned forward, making her lap mate leap to the floor. ‘‘This will be the best Christmas Dove House ever saw.’’
Cimarron grinned. ‘‘It will be the only real Christmas Dove House ever saw.’’
‘‘Letter for you.’’ Ruby whisked by on her way to serve another table.
Pearl left her place and retrieved the envelope from the counter to read while she finished eating. These few moments alone were a precious treat. Her father’s handwriting gave her both a start and a thrill of joy.
Perhaps he sees and understands why
I had to do what I did
. Her mind played with that delightful idea while her fingernail broke the wax seal, stamped with her father’s company emblem.
Hope springing eternal, as the poet said, made her heart beat faster.
Pearl,
I order you to return to Chicago and carry out the marriage that I contracted for you. I know you understand the value and commitment of a bond, a bond which I agreed to in your stead. Mr. Longstreet was devastated by your unholy departure. As he assured me, he loves you with all his heart. Send us your arrival information by telegraph immediately.
Your father,
Jorge Hossfuss.
With shaking hands, Pearl refolded the paper and inserted it back in the envelope. Leaving the remainder of her meal, she strode into the kitchen, lifted the lid on the stove, and dropped the letter into the flames. It burned with a rush, blackening around the edges, catching fire in the middle, and turning into a breath of ashes.
Just like her dreams.
‘‘You all right?’’ Daisy asked, concern wrinkling her brow.
‘‘Yes. Thank you. I must get back to the schoolroom.’’ Like a puppet on sticks, Pearl turned and marched out of the kitchen, hastily apologizing to Milly, who almost got slammed in the face by the swinging door.
That night she began a letter.
Dear Father,
I am sorry you feel like you do, but there is no chance . . .
—she crossed that out—
no reason . . .
She crossed that out too, crunched the paper, and tossed it over her shoulder. Three tries later, she tossed the final ball over her shoulder, corked her inkwell, put away her pen and paper, and went to stand in front of the window. She knew she was fortunate to have a window in her tiny room. Some of the others up here in the cramped third floor didn’t have one. Right now she wished she had taken the room below that Ruby offered her. But she hated to deprive her friend of the revenue. She thought of her room at home with the thick mattress instead of ropes and corn shuckings, space enough to hold a dance, a bathroom with running water, maids taking care of her clothes, her room, the house and garden.
What a luxurious life she had led—and had taken for granted. She rubbed her elbows with chilled hands. Yesterday felt almost like summer, tonight Daisy was predicting frost. With a full moon throwing shadows black as night and the air so nippy as to preclude their evening social on the back porch, she could well be right. Just in case, Charlie had picked the last of the corn and tomatoes. Ruby had said they’d have fried green tomatoes for dinner the next day.
That was another thing she had taken so for granted. Food for the winter. She’d never had any concern over what was in the larder or where the next meal would come from. Why, Inga would fix whatever the family ordered.
Lord, I have been so lacking in gratitude for the untold blessings you
gave us. Please forgive me
. She stared at the kerosene lamp flickering in a draft she didn’t feel. Gaslights, a furnace, fireplaces. Newspapers to read, magazines, books, everything needed for whatever she wanted to do—paints, art paper, threads of all colors.
Lord, I know I have grieved your heart. Did I never say thank you
and mean it? Thank you, Marlene. Thank you, Mother
. But for what? Serving and loving. The rosebud on her tray if she asked for breakfast in bed, something she did rarely, but still, someone fixed it, made the tray lovely, carried it up the stairs, served her, and then returned to take the tray down later. And sometimes she’d hardly touched the food!
Pearl, you wastrel, and you thought
you were doing such a good work by teaching at the settlement house. The
lady of the manor dispensing charity
.
She sat down, opened her Bible, and read whatever page came up. Esther. Whyever Esther? But she read the story of a young woman who became the wife of a king because of her beauty.
‘‘For such a time as this. . . .’’
The phrase stopped her cold. Yes, she believed God ordered her footsteps to bring her west. But, for such a time as this? What could it mean?
She opened her Bible again and let the pages fall where they may.
‘‘The Lord looketh on the heart.’’
My father doesn’t love me
. The thought made her catch her breath.
Mother says he loves me but just has a hard time showing it.
Well, I think she is wrong. Jorge Hossfuss doesn’t care about me a whit,
other than as a member of his family who should do what he says
. She nodded. That was right. A hard fact but correct. He was angry right now because she caused him discomfort. Either he would forget it, or he wouldn’t, but she was too far away for that to make much difference.
But my heavenly Father loves me. He says it over and over. He does
. Her heart quickened.
My heavenly Father loves me just the way I am
.
Pearl fingered the scar on her neck. Something she always thought made her ugly. Would a kind and loving spirit make her beautiful? According to the Bible it did. God looks on the inner heart.
Lord, let my heart be beautiful in thy sight
. She put her Bible on the stand beside the bed, undressed, and crawled under the covers.
‘‘For such a time as this.’’ I wonder what is coming that I’ve been
given that verse? What will we do for Christmas? What will I do for my
family here?
