The Moonlight School

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  She hadn’t realized he had made the connection to her father and Valley View Lumber. Father rarely traveled to Morehead because a foreman managed the timber crews. More significantly, there was a sales agent, Andrew Spencer, who handled the contracts to harvest lumber from privately held properties. Her father spoke highly of Andrew Spencer; Hazel was, Lucy thought, overly eager for her to meet him. Just a year or so ago, Valley View was going to abandon Rowan County. Its lumber heyday in the 1890s was long gone, its virgin timber harvested. According to Father, Andrew Spencer had foreseen the demand for pitch from loblolly pines, a natural resource for Rowan County, and talked Father into the concept of selective harvesting. It had been a tremendous success for Valley View, and Father felt beholden to Andrew Spencer’s farsightedness. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Jest ask yor paw ’bout it, then.”

  There was an edge to his voice that startled Lucy, making him sound older than his years.

  “Where else is Miss Cora sendin’ you today?”

  Lucy pulled out the next envelope and held it up to him.

  Fin peered at it, scowling. “Cain’t read that chicken scrawl.”

  “It’s not chicken scrawl. It’s an elegant cursive, as clear as can be—” and then she had a startling revelation. Oh my stars and garters. Fin couldn’t do Cora’s reading and writing errands because he couldn’t read or write. Lucy tried to hide the shock she felt. This boy—a bright, clever, funny boy edging up to manhood, a boy full of potential—couldn’t read. It must be humiliating for him to be stuck with a primary grade in a one-room classroom. No wonder he didn’t want to go to school.

  “Sally Ann Duncan.”

  Fin smiled and jumped to his feet. “Duncan place be right over yonder. Let’s go.”

  “Oh good,” Lucy said, laughing weakly with relief. Over yonder was about all her aching legs and bottom could handle.

  OVER YONDER, Lucy was quickly discovering, meant anything from a few feet to a dozen miles. She rode silently behind Fin for another half hour or so of plodding through vines and branches, crossing creeks, twisting around shrubs, before they reached a clearing in the woods.

  This property was vastly different from Miss Mollie’s. The log cabin with stone chimney sat not on stilts but on the highest point, sheltered by a strand of tall pines. The yard and garden were tidy and cared for; even the henhouse had a cheerful coat of red paint. Firewood was neatly stacked on the porch. A cow and two sheep grazed in the pasture behind a whitewashed rail fence. Long ago, someone with experience had chosen this site with care.

  The empty hillside in front of the cabin had been plowed sometime in the past, though the field looked fallow as if waiting for spring. The remnants of last autumn’s cornstalks littered the field like broken arrows.

  “Shouldn’t the corn be plowed under by now?” Lucy asked, but Fin only frowned at her. She didn’t know much about farming, but on the train ride here, she’d seen farmers plowing and planting their fields. She waited for him to answer her, but he only shrugged.

  “Lots of things should be different, but that don’t make it so.”

  What did that mean? Lucy couldn’t figure out half of what Fin was talking about, or not talking about.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hallo! It’s me, Fin! And I brung someone!”

  Almost immediately, a young girl came out of the cabin. Shielding her eyes to peer at the visitors, she waved and shouted to come on up.

  As the horses walked toward the cabin, Lucy noticed two baskets of flowers hanging from the porch. The girl looked as neat and tidy as her house and yard, with thick coils of brunette hair wreathing the back of her head. Drawing near, Lucy was shocked to discover this girl had a very round belly. Why, she couldn’t have been much older than Fin!

  He swung a leg behind him and slipped to the ground next to Sheila. “Sally Ann, I brung along Miss Cora’s new letter writer. This here’s Miss Lucy. She’s kin to Miss Cora.” This time, he came to the left of Jenny and helped Lucy down.

  The look on Sally Ann’s face was like Christmas had come. “Have you got a letter for me from Roy?”

  “I do believe so,” Lucy said. Seeing the pure delight in the young woman’s eyes made the long ride almost worth it. “You’re Sally Ann Duncan?”

  Her face lit with joy. “That’d be me.”

  Lucy opened the saddle bag and took out the letter from Cora’s big envelope. “Roy Duncan. Is he your husband?”

  “Shore is. He’s real good about sending word to me.”

  “He’s got fine penmanship.”

  Sally Ann gave a shy smile. “He shorely does.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s looking for work in Lexington, seeing as how we gotta move.” She pointed to the open door. “Would ya have time to come in? Sit a spell?”

  “Naw,” Fin said, his tone a bit doleful. “We can’t stay, Sally Ann. Jest the letter reading and writing and then we gots to be on our way.”

  Happily, Fin’s dolefulness did not have any impact on her. “Come on, Fin,” Sally Ann said. “You can spare a few minutes. Besides, I jest made some fresh bread.”

  Fin brightened. “Oh, well, that changes things.”

  Suddenly famished, Lucy’s stomach rumbled at the sweet aroma as it wafted through the door. Following Sally Ann into the cabin, Lucy was transfixed by the feeling of welcome she received. The cabin was bright and cheery, the light streaming through the windows and open door, shining rays onto the oak floor. A wooden floor! Not dirt.

  She took a few steps inside and saw a corner hutch was filled with china. A small lantern sat in the middle of the tabletop, surrounded by pieces of bright cloth. When Lucy looked closer, she saw that Sally Ann had been working on a quilting project when they interrupted her. Spread over the table were small cut pieces of fabric, shades of pink and blue, arranged like puzzle pieces. “What are you making?”

  Sally Ann reached out to gently caress a triangle cut of pink cloth. “A crib blanket. Jest a little somethin’ for the baby.”

  When Lucy spotted the needle and thread Sally Ann had been working with, she felt an urge to sit down at the worktable, to pick up where Sally Ann had left off and complete the seam. Such a thought astonished her. Never, in Lucy’s entire life, had she wanted to do needlework. It was always a dreaded chore, something she considered to be a tiresome social pastime. Her gaze swept in the tidy little cabin, filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread. “How could you bear to leave this home? Why, it’s charming!”

  Gently, Sally Ann closed the door, and turned to exchange a look with Fin. Lucy sensed she’d said something wrong, though she wasn’t sure what. Cautiously, Sally Ann said, “If you’re kin to Miss Cora, don’t that make you kin to Valley View Lumber?”

  “I, um, well . . .” Lucy stumbled on what to say next. She’d never felt anything but pride to be connected to her father and his business.

  “Yeah,” Fin said, “but try not to hold that against her.”

  The door swung open. Sally Ann looked over Lucy’s shoulder and smiled broadly. “Angie!” she said, as Fin let out a loud groan. “You snuck up on us as quiet as a bobcat.”

  Angie Cooper stood at the open door with narrowed eyes fixed on Lucy. “I can read that letter t’ my friend. And I’ll write one in return for her and post it m’self.”

  “Good,” Fin said in a cross voice. “We’ll be off, then.”

  Lucy felt pinpricks of disappointment. She would have liked more time at Sally Ann’s. Despite how radically different their lives were, she sensed they could be friends. She hadn’t had many true friends in her life. Most girls considered Lucy far too serious, too quiet, too dull. She didn’t add much to their circle and was included in gatherings only out of necessity, only because of her father’s social status.

  “Finley James,” Angie said in a sweet voice, very different than the one she used for Lucy. “You be goin’ to the singing school on Sunday next? I’ll be makin’ my fried
chicken.”

  He was on his way out the door and barely responded. “Too busy.”

  Angie’s appearance brought back Fin’s earlier prickliness. He seemed in a hurry to go and had already gathered the animals’ reins. “Miss Lucy, I cain’t take you on any more of Miss Cora’s errands this afternoon. It’s gettin’ late and I gotta git home. Got chores of m’ own to do.”

  Lucy wasn’t a bit sorry that more afternoon errands were cut short. Her backside burned red hot, sorely chaffed from the saddle. “I couldn’t have managed the day without you, Fin.”

  Fin held Jenny steady while Lucy struggled to mount the pony. And struggled. Finally, Fin heaved her up from behind. Thoroughly unladylike. She thought she heard Angie snickering from the porch.

  “Jest follow the creek to get back to town.” He grabbed Sheila’s rope reins and hoisted a leg over the horse’s back. “Pleased to meetcha, Miss Lucy.”

  “I’m starting to realize that you’re quite the tease. I know you wouldn’t leave me here.”

  He circled back. “Jenny’ll see you home. In half the time too. Every horse knows their way home.” He didn’t wait for Lucy to respond. He gave Sheila a kick and Lucy a wave, and soon the woods swallowed him up.

  Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, grabbed her blouse over her heart, and gasped long and loud. Oh my stars and garters. He was gone. She would have to find her way back to town all alone.

  Jenny wiggled her sizable ears as if trying to decide whether to follow Sheila or head home. She must have decided to go home because, with no prompting from Lucy, she turned and headed toward the creek. Lucy clutched the saddle horn, her breath tight in her throat, her heart pounding, trusting the pony’s sure feet as she picked up its pace and began to trot. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, praying the first desperate prayer she’d prayed since losing Charlotte: Please God, please God, please God. But he hadn’t answered her then, and she wasn’t at all sure he would answer her now.

  Four

  EVERY INCH OF LUCY’S BODY ACHED, from her toes to her fingertips, from yesterday’s horseback excursion up and down a mountain. Even lifting her arm to comb her hair hurt. Her hip joints ached like she was ninety, not nineteen. She felt sore muscles she never knew existed! She smelled coffee brewing, ran the brush through her hair one last time, and looked in the mirror. She should do more with her hair, but the best she could manage this morning was to tie it back with a ribbon. It looked all right. Maybe not for Lexington, but good enough for Morehead.

  She tossed her brush on her bed in the small room in Miss Maude’s boarding house, a corner room with two windows so, she discovered today, the morning light streamed in from two angles. Those corner windows reminded her of her mother’s writing room, but nothing else. This room was bare: a small desk with a lone chair, a braided rug, and a shiny brass framed bed, covered by a cheery quilt. Bare but clean, and more than adequate, considering Lucy didn’t expect to be here for long.

  She had slept like a bear in hibernation, exhausted, and woke famished. Gingerly, she bent down to put on her shoes and groaned. Never again would she get on a pony, nor a horse. Father was so right. There was nothing ladylike about riding on a beast of burden.

  She checked her hair one more time in the mirror, smoothed her skirt, and went downstairs for breakfast. Miss Maude, the keeper of the boarding house, bustled between the kitchen and the dining room with a ceramic pitcher, filled with what Lucy hoped was hot coffee. Widowed in midlife, Miss Maude had a cushiony bosom, a merry face with soft downy cheeks. And she was amply blessed with the gift of conversation. Lucy discovered just how blessed last night, when she arrived at the boarding house bone-tired, reeking of horses and trail dust, longing for a hot bath, and Miss Maude cornered her on the stairs. An hour later, she finally managed to wedge a word into the conversation to excuse herself and hurry up the rest of the stairs.

  This morning, Miss Maude spotted Lucy coming down the stairs and pointed to an empty chair. “Come in, come in, Lucy, and sit there. From now on, that’ll be your chair for every meal. When you’re done with breakfast, fold your napkin and leave it at your place setting. I have a girl who comes to do washing but only once a week.” She strode to the door. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  Lucy stopped abruptly at the doorjamb, surprised to discover a nearly full table of boarders peering back at her. It had seemed so quiet last evening. Miss Maude had volunteered much about herself, her entire life history, but nothing about other boarders.

  Eyes followed her as she made her way to a chair at the opposite end of the table. Gingerly, she eased herself into the chair, trying not to moan from sore muscles. She took her time spreading the napkin over her lap. When she looked up, she found four people staring at her: two older ladies, one middle-aged woman, and then a man whom she recognized. Brother Wyatt.

  “Good morning,” he said in that low, deep voice of his.

  The kitchen door swung open and in burst Miss Maude, still talking as if she’d never left the room. “Have you all met Lucy Wilson?” Miss Maude paused for formal introductions. “Lucy’s kin to our Cora.”

  She poured coffee first into Brother Wyatt’s cup, then she turned to fill the two elderly ladies’ cups, talking a swift stream like the dark liquid she poured. Lucy picked up her cup, hopeful that it would be filled soon.

  “Her father is Charles Wilson, Cora’s first cousin. He left Rowan County to go make something of himself in the big city, and he did right for himself, didn’t he, Lucy?” She didn’t give Lucy a chance to answer but shook the pitcher and realized it was empty. “Goodness, I’ll have to get a larger coffeepot if my boarding house stays full.” Pleased, she spun around and disappeared into the kitchen again.

  Brother Wyatt must have noticed the disappointed look on Lucy’s face as the coffeepot disappeared. He rose and brought his coffee cup to her, eyes softening in sympathy. “Please take mine. I haven’t touched it. Hope you don’t mind, but I added sweet milk.”

  She gave him an appreciative smile as she accepted his offer and took his cup. There was a natural dignity about the man, almost courtly. She took a sip of coffee, thinking sweet milk meant sugar or honey had been added, but it tasted like just cream.

  Brother Wyatt turned to the other women. “Allow me to introduce you. These two are the Hicks sisters. Miss Lettie on the left, Miss Viola on the right. They’re longtime boarders for Miss Maude.”

  “Miss Hicks,” Lucy said, nodding to both.

  “Do call us by our first names,” Miss Viola said. “Otherwise we feel like two old ladies.”

  Lucy swallowed a smile at that, because they were old ladies.

  He pointed across the table to the middle-aged woman whom, Lucy noted, did not return her smile but only a cautious appraisal. In an odd way, the wary look reminded her of the way Angie Cooper had gazed at her. As if Lucy had committed a crime. “And this is the late Judge Klopp’s wife.”

  “You may call me Mrs. Klopp.” One of her sharp eyebrows arched. “How exactly are you related to Mrs. Stewart?”

  “Cousins,” Lucy said, and by the look on Mrs. Klopp’s face, she could tell that wasn’t a good thing. “Second cousins, to be exact.” That was as much information as she wanted to provide.

  “Don’t mind Mrs. Klopp,” Miss Viola said. “She eyes the world with suspicion.”

  Mrs. Klopp sniffed. “A result of being the town’s only librarian, married to the town’s only judge.” She shuddered. “You discover everyone’s secrets.”

  “A library?” Lucy hadn’t seen a library yet, though she hadn’t had a spare moment to wander. Perhaps today, she thought. “Where is the library, Mrs. Klopp?”

  “Nowhere,” she said with a sorrowful sigh.

  “She means,” Brother Wyatt said, “that the library burned down recently.”

  “One year,” Mrs. Klopp said, coffee cup held in midair, “two months, and three days ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lucy said.

  Mrs. Kl
opp nodded. “My house went up in flames along with it.”

  “Her residence housed the library,” Brother Wyatt explained. “Mrs. Klopp’s late husband, the honorable Judge Klopp, bequeathed his home and library to the town when he passed.”

  “And a fine home it was.” Mrs. Klopp exhaled mournfully, and took a sip of coffee.

  “Will you rebuild?” Lucy asked. “Start a new library? Every town should have one.”

  “The judge,” Mrs. Klopp said, “was the only one in this town with a love for books. He had hundreds of them.”

  That wasn’t true. Lucy knew that much about Morehead. Cora loved to read, and her office had two full bookshelves, brimming with books. “Perhaps I could ask for donations from my . . . from friends in Lexington.” She was going to say her father, but she didn’t want to be known in Morehead as the daughter of a well-to-do man. She’d lived long enough under that shadow.

  Mrs. Klopp stiffened her spine. “We don’t need charity.”

  “Yes, we do,” Miss Viola said.

  From the far end of the table, Brother Wyatt had been listening. “Mrs. Klopp, most libraries begin with accepting book donations. Not the judge’s, of course, but most. And Rowan County has a great lack of reading material. Perhaps you should reconsider Miss Lucy’s offer. Might be just what this town needs. Losing your husband’s library was a great blow. I know I have sorely felt its absence.”

  Mrs. Klopp sweetened at his words.

  Brother Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and tucked it back at its place. He struck Lucy as a man who took care with manners, as if they were newly taught to him and required conscious effort. “Please excuse me. I must be off.” He rose and nodded to everyone, his eyes resting on Lucy. “Have a good day, ladies.”

  Miss Viola watched him go, then patted her heart with both wrinkled, liver-spotted hands. “If I were only thirty years younger.”