The Moonlight School

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  But something about it made Angie madder than a hornet.

  EARLY ONE MORNING, a particularly cold and gray day, Lucy was alone at the breakfast table. Two weeks had passed since she had first stepped off the train in Morehead. Miss Maude bustled in and out, bringing her a cup of coffee. Just as she reached out to pick up her coffee, the front door opened and in came Cora.

  “Good morning, dear girl. It’s all over town that you sewed Finley James up after he nearly lopped his hand off. Well done.”

  “It wasn’t quite so serious as that.” Still, Lucy was quite proud of having the confidence to stitch his cut after he’d fainted. When Angie had thrust the needle at her and disappeared, Lucy wasn’t sure if she was coming back. With Fin out cold, she took matters into her own hands. It seemed the right thing to do, to stitch his cut before he came to, and Lucy was pleased that all those years of embroidery work at the Townsend School for Girls had not been for naught. But stitching Fin up sent Angie Cooper into a snit. She had come back with a piece of paper, bent down to whisper in Fin’s ear, looked at his hand, and started to yell. Glaring at Lucy, she’d torn up the paper she’d been holding and left the scene without another word.

  Cora pulled out the chair next to Lucy, then eyed the cup of coffee held in her hands. Smiling, Lucy handed the cup to her. She knew Cora loved coffee even better than tea and honey. “Take it. I’ll get another.”

  “I’m glad to know you’re an early riser. I thought as much.” She raised the coffee cup to her lips, closing her eyes as she sipped, as if sampling a taste of heaven. “I’m catching the train to lead a teacher training institute, and I wanted to be sure you knew where you’re going today.”

  Going? Lucy froze. “Cora, you don’t mean to send me back up that mountain on that horrid pony?”

  “Horrid pony? Why, Jenny’s a sweetheart.” Cora took her time to swallow down the last of Lucy’s coffee. “I’m sorry Finley James isn’t available as a guide. He’s in school, where he belongs. Miss Norah promised no more absences this term.” She patted Lucy’s hand. “Each time you go out, I guarantee you’ll learn more about peoples’ ways.”

  Each time? Lucy’s jaw dropped, then she snapped it shut. “Without Finley James as a guide, I can guarantee I will get lost and never return.”

  “Dear girl, you must stop underestimating yourself.”

  That might be true about most things, but when it came to riding a horse into those hollows alone, she was certain she had predicted the situation accurately. She would never be seen again.

  The kitchen door swung open and in walked Brother Wyatt, a look of quiet pleasure on his face when he saw Cora.

  Cora returned his warm smile. “Good morning, Wyatt. I didn’t realize you were in town.”

  Lucy hadn’t either. She hadn’t seen him since that first breakfast, two weeks ago.

  “Came in on the train last night. Heading up to the hills today.” He set a basket of warm hoe cakes near them and sat at the far end of the table, the same place as before. “Miss Maude was just telling me how Miss Lucy saved Fin’s life.”

  This story was growing bigger with each telling. Lucy opened her mouth to object, but he gave her a wink, and she realized he was teasing.

  “Two tiny stitches,” she said, and he grinned.

  Cora reached out for a hoe cake, lathering it thickly with butter, then topped it off with a huge spoonful of peach jam. She did everything with gusto. Talking, walking, eating. She noticed Lucy watching her chew and, between bites, said, “Eat up, dear girl. You’ll need your energy today.”

  Now that was just the kind of comment that made Lucy’s stomach swirl into a tight knot.

  Cora finished the hoe cake in three bites, then turned to Brother Wyatt. “Lucy’s heading up to Blacklog to Barbara Jean Boling’s. She sent word there’s an important letter she needs written.”

  “I’m going near there myself,” he said. “I’ll see Miss Lucy gets to Barbara Jean’s in one piece. Then I’ll have to keep on going, but Jenny’ll see her home.”

  Lucy gasped. “Not again! What if she takes a wrong turn?”

  Brother Wyatt’s eyes lit with amusement. “No need to worry. God gave horses the know-how to get back to their own barn.”

  The entire scenario was unacceptable to Lucy. Father would disapprove of her being in the company of a young man without a chaperone, and she was not at all willing to put her life in the hands of that long-toothed pony, trusting the beast to return home. Not that Miss Maude’s boarding house in Morehead was home. In fact, at this moment, she was seriously considering hopping the train to return to Lexington.

  Into the dining room walked Mrs. Klopp, just as Miss Maude bustled into the room with a bowl of scrambled eggs. She set the bowl in front of Mrs. Klopp, who scooped a large spoonful unto her plate. Two scoops, then three.

  By now the elderly Hicks sister had come down the stairs to join them at the table, delighted to see Cora. Mrs. Klopp passed the bowl of scrambled eggs to Miss Lettie, then Miss Viola, to Cora, to Brother Wyatt, to Cora, and by the time the bowl reached Lucy, there was just one teaspoonful left. Lucy scooped it up with her fork and straight into her mouth. Father would frown, but it was clear to see that if you didn’t look out for yourself in this boarding house, you’d go hungry.

  Brother Wyatt wiped his mouth with a corner of the cloth napkin. “Let’s be off, then, in five minutes.” He left the dining room without waiting for Lucy’s response.

  Did no one wait for an answer in this town? They just swept along on their agenda, assuming Lucy was on board. And she wasn’t! “Cora,” Lucy whispered, dropping her voice lower still as she noticed that Mrs. Klopp and the Hicks sisters stopped eating to lean forward and eavesdrop. “It just isn’t proper for me to travel alone with Brother Wyatt.”

  “Oh Lucy,” Cora said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That sounds like something your father would say.”

  “For good reason! It’s poor form.”

  “I heartily agree with the girl,” Mrs. Klopp said, as if she’d been asked.

  “Brother Wyatt is a preacher!” Miss Viola said. “You’ve no need to worry. We’ve known him since he was a boy. We’d travel with him anywhere, wouldn’t we, Lettie?”

  Lettie smiled, chin jutting out, lips drawn tight like a wrinkled apple doll. Lucy had to grin. Where in the world would those two elderly sisters travel? They were so thin and frail that a gust of wind could blow them away.

  “Maybe sometime soon, Brother Wyatt will treat us to a song or two,” Miss Viola said. “And we could dance, couldn’t we, Lettie?”

  “Dancing is the devil’s tool,” Mrs. Klopp added. “The judge never approved of it.”

  Miss Viola rolled her eyes. “The judge never did approve of anyone having a good time.”

  Mrs. Klopp’s eyebrows furrowed together as she opened her mouth to object, but at just that moment, Brother Wyatt popped his head into the open door. “Miss Lucy, are you ready to go?”

  “But . . . I haven’t eaten.”

  Cora grabbed a hoe cake right off Mrs. Klopp’s plate and handed it to Lucy. “Here you go, dear girl. That should hold you for a while. All that butter and jam.” She turned to Brother Wyatt. “Take good care of her. She’s still making friends with Jenny.”

  Lucy cringed. She hated riding. She hated Jenny.

  Six

  JENNY DIDN’T SEEM ANY HAPPIER about getting saddled up than Lucy did about riding her. The pony let out a mournful sigh as Brother Wyatt tightened the girth. My feelings exactly, Lucy mused, as she dragged a mounting block over to Jenny to climb onto the saddle. Her arms and legs trembled so badly she could barely pull herself onto the pony’s back.

  Brother Wyatt untied the reins and handed them to her with that amused look in his eyes. “Haven’t ridden much?”

  Lucy huffed. “Not until I arrived in Morehead.”

  He swung a leg over a large black horse with a black mane and headed toward the creek. Lyric, he called his horse, and s
he danced on her hooves as if walking on hot coals. Jenny the pony plodded behind, so slowly that he kept circling Lyric back so they could ride side by side.

  “Beautiful day,” Brother Wyatt said, gazing up at the sky as a flock of small birds passed overhead. “A bluebird carries the sky on its back.”

  “That’s a lovely phrase.”

  “Wish it were mine. It’s a quote from Henry David Thoreau.”

  Lucy shot him a curious look. “You’ve read Thoreau?”

  “A few books. I’d planned to read them all until Judge Klopp’s library burned down.”

  “I wish Mrs. Klopp would consider my offer to help start a new library.” After just a few days at the boarding house, she wished Mrs. Klopp had more on her mind than her late husband. The judge was all she spoke of, and he sounded every bit as pedantic and fault-finding as his wife. Lucy hoped Brother Wyatt might volunteer more about the Klopps, but like Fin, he was closemouthed.

  As the trail narrowed, they moved into single file. Brother Wyatt kept his face forward, so Lucy struggled to hear his low voice. At a ford in the creek, Brother Wyatt motioned toward a different direction than Fin had taken her the other day.

  “Excuse me, but I believe we’re to go in the other direction.”

  Leading the way, he called back to her, “We’re heading up toward Blacklog Holler.”

  “I thought the creek went that way.”

  He stopped and waited for Jenny to catch up. “There are streams and creeks all over these mountains.”

  “But . . . Fin said that I could never get lost if I followed the creek.”

  “He’s right. All creeks flow downstream, and all the routes follow the creeks. So eventually, you’ll end up down in the valley.”

  “Yes, but which valley?”

  He laughed, a low rumble. He had a good laugh, like church bells.

  “Tell you what. I promise that you’ll make it back to Miss Maude’s. Safe and sound.” His eyes began to smile; his mouth was soon to follow. “Today.”

  Lucy relaxed slightly at that promise. Perhaps she was influenced by Miss Viola’s swooning each time Brother Wyatt left the room, but she sensed she could trust this man. She rode silently behind him for a while. “What exactly is a singing school master?”

  Over his shoulder, he said, “I suppose you might call me a music teacher. I teach folks how to sing.”

  “Seems like nearly everyone here can sing, dance, or play an instrument.”

  “Yes. We’ve a rich culture I’m trying to preserve.”

  “In spite of the isolation?”

  “Because of it, I think. Not only do we have to rely on each other for survival, but also for entertainment.”

  “Brother Wyatt, could you tell me a little about the schools here?”

  “What about them?”

  “According to Fin, Cora is on a mission to chase down every school-aged child she can find and march them like prisoners into school. He didn’t seem at all happy about it.”

  Brother Wyatt pulled Lyric to a stop and turned in his saddle, grinning. “Fin’s assessment isn’t too far from the truth. Miss Cora is a mighty force to reckon with, especially when it comes to her beliefs in the power of education. I’m living proof of that. She talked a sponsor into providing funds to send me off to Louisville for proper schooling.”

  “But you came back. Why?”

  “Why? This is my home. These are my people.” He gave up a slight grin. “But ever since I came back, they’ve tagged me a halfback. Some are leery of my city schooling.”

  “Yes, but . . . why didn’t you stay in the city?” It seemed like a lonely life that Brother Wyatt led. As far as Lucy could tell, he had no real home or family, and she wondered if he was entirely dependent for meals and lodging on the kindness of others.

  He didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure if it was just his style to be slow to speak or if he felt reluctance to answer her nosy question and wished she would stop. Of course she was being nosy. She wanted to know more about him, and if she didn’t ask questions, she would never find anything out.

  Finally, he said, “Aren’t there plenty of other music teachers in the cities?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If there are others to fill the roles, then I’m not needed. But out here in these hollers, there isn’t anyone else to preserve the tradition of mountain music.” He clucked his tongue and Lyric started again. “So what is your calling, Miss Lucy?”

  “Me? I don’t suppose I have one.”

  “Happy are those whose purpose has found them.”

  “Is that in the Bible?”

  “No,” he said, laughing. “Not word for word, anyway. But everyone has a purpose in this world, if they only ask the Lord for it. What did you want to do as a wee lass, before the world wrung the dreams out of your grasp?”

  She hesitated. Why had he phrased that question the way he did? “I fancied myself a writer. A novelist.” She smiled. “Of fairy tales.”

  They came to a level spot and he stopped Lyric until Jenny came up by his side. “Whatever happened to that fancy?”

  How to explain losing Charlotte to this man? Lucy could barely understand it herself. “My father didn’t believe in fairy tales for children. Or any other kind of stories. Too fanciful. He wanted me to spend my time in other pursuits.”

  Again, his eyes remained on her. But he must have noticed her discomfort because he changed the subject. “If you look through those trees,” he said, pointing straight ahead, “you’ll see a shiny object. That’s a still. Best to stay clear of those. Give them a wide berth. You might be mistaken for a trespasser and get yourself shot.”

  “A still? You mean . . . moonshine? Surely you jest.” She thought her father had been exaggerating about the whiskey stills scattered throughout the hills, until she had seen Miss Mollie’s jars under that rickety porch. Could Miss Mollie, that tiny toothless old lady, have a still? It seemed ludicrous to think so, yet so many things seemed incredulous in these hills.

  Again, Brother Wyatt grinned, and she found she rather liked his rugged face with its squared-off jaw, especially when he smiled. “Most everyone in these mountains either drinks whiskey, makes it, sells it, or runs it. But the higher up you go, the more ornery the moonshiner. They’re up there for a reason. They want to be left alone, and don’t want anyone telling them what to do or how to do it.”

  “Why is Kentucky known for its whiskey?”

  “Ideal conditions. And, of course, it’s in our blood. They say that when the English emigrated to the New World, first thing they did was to build a church. The Germans came and built barns. The Scotch-Irish came and built whiskey stills.” He glanced at her. “All jesting aside, the highlanders do get tetchy about their stills. I’m dead serious about staying clear of them. They’ve been known to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Duly noted,” she said, though she didn’t expect to come up in these mountains again. She was going to have a long talk with cousin Cora about her job description. Clarify things. Agree on parameters.

  They followed the creek upstream for nearly half an hour, and Lucy was wishing she had eaten more breakfast. And wishing she’d worn warmer clothing too. Though the morning fog had burned off, whenever the sun was blotted out by the thick trees, the temperature would markedly drop. And it was dark, gloomy. What must it be like in these hills at night when the moon was but a sliver? She shivered at the thought.

  Brother Wyatt stopped to point out a dry creek bed, and a gigantic stump of a tree. “There’s the landmark to turn off to Barbara Jean’s house.”

  “That tree stump. It’s . . . enormous!”

  “Aye. Virgin timber. All gone now. When I was a lad, those giant, ancient trees covered the hills.”

  He said it without accusation, but Lucy felt it, all the same. In the 1890s, lumber companies had poured into Rowan County to harvest an abundance of virgin timber. Her father’s company was one of them. The boom lasted less tha
n a decade.

  Brother Wyatt led her down a narrow trail and into a clearing. The moment he rode into the open yard, a swarm of children—all boys, towheaded and tan—poured out of a cabin, surging toward him like wasps from a hive, greeting him with joyful shouts. Then they stopped abruptly when they saw Lucy. Stopped and stared.

  “Why are they staring at me?”

  “Not many strangers venture into the hollers. You’re a bit of a curiosity.”

  Brother Wyatt slid off Lyric and held Jenny’s reins while Lucy dismounted. She heard the children chuckling and snickering at the ungainly way she lifted her leg up over Jenny’s head, slid to the ground, then tripped over her own feet and landed on her aching backside. It felt like her first day all over again.

  As Brother Wyatt helped her up, Lucy kept her eyes on the ground. Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment as she brushed herself off and followed behind him. He exchanged howdies with each boy before introducing Lucy to their mother, Barbara Jean, who remained on the porch. This woman might have been attractive in another place, another setting, but her face was too thin, her cheeks too hollow, her high forehead exaggerated by hair parted severely in the middle and pulled back into a bun. Everything about her projected a weariness, all but her eyes. Those eyes, they were strangely compelling. There was a fierceness in those dark eyes. A determination.

  “How ya makin’ out, Barbara Jean?” Brother Wyatt’s tone was tender, caring. And Lucy noticed his careful enunciation fell away in an instant.

  “Fine, jest fine. Now, children, you hush. Let Brother Wyatt hear hisself think.”

  “Oh, they mean no harm. Barbara Jean, this is Miss Cora’s kin. She goes by Miss Lucy. Cora sent her to help write that letter.”

  Barbara Jean scratched the back of her head, looking Lucy up and down. “Yep. Mollie tol’ me t’ expect ya. Can I git ya somethin’ to drink? Some coffee, mebbe?”

  That sounded heavenly to Lucy, but Fin’s warning to not accept anything circled in her head. Yet she was thirsty after the ride. “Just water, please.”