The Moonlight School

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “Miss Cora’s in charge of every school in Rowan County. She could make a new rule.”

  “The law is the law. Time to stop yammerin’ on ’bout it.”

  “Then who’s she gonna git?”

  He closed the barn door. “If needed to, she sez her cousin could fill in.”

  Angie’s eyes went wide. “Miss Lucy? She won’t do, Paw. She jest won’t do.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “For one thing, you cain’t hardly understand a word she sez. Sounds like a foreigner. All clipped and proper and fussy.”

  “She might holp fix yor grammar.”

  “Don’t need no fixin’.” Angie frowned. “Miss Lucy’s nigh on scared to death o’ most everything. Like that little bit of thunder today. You shoulda seen on her on top of Jenny, clutching the horn like that ol’ pony was a bucking bronco.”

  Paw’s eyes danced with amusement. “My oh my, she does sound dreadful.” He cocked his head. “What was she doin’ all the way up here?”

  “Fin’s been taking her into the hollers to do letter writing for folks. But see, Paw, I can do that too. I understand our people. She don’t.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “She’s a highfalutin fancy pants. Everybody who meets her will agree t’ that.” Angie looked down at the tops of her two bare feet. At her dirty toes. The grandly lady’s boots were so shiny you could use them as a mirror.

  “Seems like a green-eyed monster is shapin’ your opinion of Miss Lucy. Any chance Fin be smitten by Miss Cora’s cousin?”

  Angie snapped her head up with a scowl. She didn’t take kindly to any teasing about her feelings for Finley James, even from her paw. Those feelings ran deep to her bones.

  “We’re hoping Miss Norah will stay put, but if not, then Miss Cora’s hoping to have her cousin stay with us.”

  Angie snapped her jaw shut and marched toward the house. She knew what that meant. She would have to not jest share her special loft—her only private place in this whole world—but she would have to share her bed with the city lady. No, no, no. She was fond of Miss Cora, and grateful for all she’d done for her, but there were some things a girl had to put her foot down on.

  “Angie!”

  She stopped and turned toward her father.

  “If Miss Lucy does come to teach at Little Brushy, she will stay here. That school needs a good steady teacher. You do too. I know you think yor smarter than anybody else, but you still got plenty to learn ’bout life.”

  She started to stride toward the house.

  “Angel Eleanor Cooper!”

  She stopped abruptly, but this time she didn’t turn back.

  “Yor to keep this conversation jest between us. Is that understood?”

  She gave a brief nod, then made her way to the house. There was a tone in Paw’s voice that even Angie, his favorite and only daughter, knew not to cross.

  Twelve

  YESTERDAY’S RIDE TO MISS MOLLIE’S left Lucy distressed. Or maybe it was seeing that exhausted land that made her feel worn out, unsettled. Or maybe it was knowing she had to head to Lexington for her sister’s grave marker service on Saturday. Or maybe it the way Judge Klopp’s wife wrinkled her nose when she arrived back at Miss Maude’s—asking if she’d been rolling in the mud with hogs.

  Then again, it might have been the sheriff’s dismissive remarks at breakfast this morning. The sheriff of Rowan County was a jowly cheeked man, triple-chinned, round-bellied, short and stout. Every once in a while, he’d drop by Miss Maude’s for coffee and stay for breakfast. Today, the judge’s wife pointed out that Lucy was kin to Cora.

  The sheriff gave Lucy a frowning, narrow-eyed look. “I know Cora Wilson Stewart all right.” He held out a cup for Miss Maude to fill with coffee. “So long as Mrs. Stewart minds her place, doesn’t stir things up, we get along jest fine.”

  “Stir things up?” Lucy said. “How so?”

  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word to sound like whale. “That Mrs. Stewart, she’s always wanting things to change.”

  “The judge had a saying about the Orient,” Mrs. Klopp said. “You can’t hurry the East.”

  The sheriff laughed and his belly jiggled like a bowl of gelatin. “Ain’t that the truth? And you cain’t hurry Rowan County, neither.”

  Mrs. Klopp and the sheriff smiled and nodded at each other, as if they had a much better understanding of the county than anyone else. Especially Cora.

  Their condescending attitude unnerved Lucy. It shook her a little and she didn’t know what to make of it. By the time she reached Cora’s office, she felt even more out of sorts. Flustered and anxious.

  And then came Cora’s odd reaction when Lucy told her that Andrew Spencer had invited her to the dance on Saturday night. Cora’s left eyebrow had lifted halfway to the heavens. What was that? “Well, I can’t go, anyway.” She told her about the graveside ceremony that Hazel had planned. It was the first chance she’d had to tell her.

  Cora was genuinely sorry to not be going with her. “Oh Lucy, dear girl. I should be with you. If only I could. I’m giving a talk on Saturday to the Daughters of the American Revolution. That’s what I’m putting my finishing touches on now.”

  “It’s fine,” Lucy said. “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Not really. She was thoroughly dreading Saturday. They each went back to their tasks at hand, though Lucy had trouble concentrating. Finally, she looked up. “Cora, why the look of warning when I told you about Saturday’s dance?”

  “Men are complicated creatures. Often spurious.”

  “All men? Or Andrew Spencer, in particular?”

  “All men. But . . . a man like Andrew Spencer has the looks and charisma that can hide flaws. Like soft spots on a seemingly perfect apple. You don’t realize they’re there until you bite into them.” She set down her quill to rub her forehead. “Don’t mind me. I’ve a nagging headache today. I can sound a bit bitter when it comes to the toll that love and romance gone awry can take on a woman. I’ve come to accept that the roles of wife and mother were not to be my lot. Instead, I’ve come to believe that God has called me for service to others. I’m a public servant. It replaces any personal need.” She lifted one finger in the air. “That’s not entirely true. My work has become my only true love. It’s faithful, too, something I can count on, unlike most men.”

  “But don’t you get lonely?”

  “There’s a difference between loneliness and aloneness. I’ve grown accustomed to aloneness and find I rather like it.” Cora leaned forward and pressed her palms against the top of her desk. “As I’ve told you before, Lucy, and as I hope you’ll remember at the graveside service, you’re stronger than you think.”

  Was she? She wasn’t so sure. She wished she had Cora’s confidence. Just being around her made Lucy feel sturdier, stronger. As Cora’s chin tucked down to return to her speech, Lucy went to make some tea for the two of them. When she returned, she handed Cora a cup.

  “She’s not coming back, you know.” Cora lifted her teacup with two hands, sipping thoughtfully. “Charlotte, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “Lucy, I hope you won’t mind if I speak frankly about your father. Even as a boy, he dished out blame rather freely . . . except when it came to himself. The truth of the matter is that he had no business leaving two little girls alone at a railroad station for hours on end while he carried on with his business. He shouldn’t have let you shoulder this loss alone.”

  Lucy looked down, swirling the tea in her cup, watching it whirlpool. “Cora, I know Father can be . . . somewhat cold. You might not believe it, but he’s never once said that he’s blamed me for losing Charlotte.”

  “Dear girl, he didn’t have to. You blamed yourself enough for the both of you. Nor did he stop you,” she added with enough force that Lucy looked up, “from accepting full blame.”

  DURING HER LUNCH BREAK, Lucy went to find Andrew at the lumber office to tell him she couldn’t go to the dance on Saturday night. “I need to return to Lexi
ngton for a family matter.”

  He seemed hugely disappointed. “Just when I find the girl of my dreams, she up and leaves me.”

  She smiled at his flair for the dramatic. “I’ll just be gone for the day.”

  “Just for the day? Well then . . . why don’t I go along with you?”

  She blinked. “Would you?” She would love to have someone by her side at the graveside ceremony. And Andrew would distract Hazel, which would be an added bonus.

  “As long as I wouldn’t be interfering with a private family matter, it would be my pleasure.”

  She told him then about Charlotte, gone missing, and for the reason for the day’s journey. It was easier the second time, she discovered, and Andrew offered just the right amount of sympathy. Different from Wyatt, who brought God into the story, and that only reminded Lucy of how God had refused to answer her prayers for Charlotte.

  On the way back to Cora’s office, she couldn’t help herself from contrasting Andrew’s lightheartedness with Brother Wyatt’s solemnness. The two men were different in every way.

  Unlike Andrew, Lucy had often observed Wyatt’s restraint to speak up or tell jolly stories about his childhood. Instead, he always wanted to hear her story, her news, her concerns. He held his cards close to his vest, which, of course, made him intriguing. But his eyes were not filled with merriment and caprice, not like Andrew’s. Though . . . they were kind eyes. Possibly the kindest eyes she’d ever known.

  Saturday morning started out gray and drizzly, with a steady mist that caused Lucy’s hair to go unruly and frizzy. Her spirits lifted when she arrived at the train and there was Andrew, holding a big bouquet of flowers. Just the sight of him made her hold her breath like a crush-stricken schoolgirl. And then her spirits took a nosedive when he told her that something had come up with work and he wasn’t able to go with her to Lexington, after all. “I brought the flowers for your sister’s grave.”

  She assured him that she understood, though she didn’t, not really, and thanked him for the flowers. And then the train arrived and she hurried to board. Her eyes were stinging with tears and she didn’t want him to see how disappointed she felt.

  There was no reason to feel let down by Andrew, and yet she did. And later she forgot the bouquet of flowers on the train.

  HAZEL MET LUCY AT THE LEXINGTON STATION, engulfing her in an enormous hug, with effusive apologies for Father’s absence. “He had some important matters to attend to. You understand, don’t you?”

  “All too well.” Hazel had just described Lucy’s entire childhood.

  “I told him you’d wouldn’t mind,” Hazel said. “And it’s wonderful that you’ve come, that we’re all together. It feels like an embarrassment of riches, doesn’t it, Lucy? All of us together during this important time.” She stopped suddenly. “Where’s Andrew? Your father insisted that he accompany you.”

  Lucy tensed. So it was Father’s idea, not Andrew’s. “Something came up at the last moment.”

  Hazel frowned. “Oh, I am sorry. You shouldn’t have to be alone during a time like this.” She linked her arm through Lucy’s. “Well, you certainly know all about a man and his ambition, don’t you? It won’t be a surprise to you.”

  Lucy wanted to ask Hazel why she assumed Andrew Spencer was her destiny, but what was the point? Hazel thought the ultimate goal for every woman was to find a husband, and then her life would have substance and meaning. There’s a lid for every pot, she was fond of saying.

  Lucy followed her to what she thought would be the horse and carriage, the very one in which Father had taken her to the station in March. In its place was a sleek automobile.

  “Look! Isn’t it divine? It’s a Halladay Touring Car. Your father went on a business trip to Streator, Illinois, and brought this home . . . just to surprise me! Isn’t he the sweetest? He’d had it all planned out. I’m just now learning how to drive it. I’m not terribly good at it yet, and you know how bumpy our roads are, so say a prayer and hold on tight!”

  The shiny black automobile had a fabric roof, a deep and wide windshield, and leather interior—front seats and back. No windows, so Hazel wrapped her perfectly coiffed hair in a scarf. “It’s a four-cylinder,” she called out happily over the roar of the engine. “Whatever that means.”

  Hazel kept up a steady chatter on the entire bone-jarring, teeth-rattling ride home, honking as she went to warn people and children and dogs to move out of her path. Lucy gripped the sides of the seat, a terrified passenger. Whenever there was an empty stretch on the road so Lucy could catch her breath and relax, slightly, she studied Hazel, and to her surprise, she felt the stirring of admiration. Hazel floated along through life on the top of a river, safely on the surface, blissfully unaware of the murky waters below. It wasn’t such a bad way to approach life.

  Lucy had trailed two years behind Hazel at the Townsend School for Girls, a highly regarded finishing school in Louisville known for churning out young women prepared to take their role in society, with all the required social graces. The ultimate goal was to find suitable husbands.

  Throughout their years together at boarding school, up until the last two years, Hazel never took notice of Lucy. She was everything Lucy was not: popular and pretty, extroverted and enthusiastic. During Hazel’s final year, she was in danger of not graduating because she was failing a class in English Composition, and Lucy, who was passionately devoted to proper English, was asked by the headmistress to tutor Hazel. For the first time, Hazel noticed Lucy. And during a subsequent Parents’ Weekend, she noticed Lucy’s father . . . who noticed Hazel right back.

  Hazel graduated from the Townsend School for Girls, prepared to return to her parents’ home in Lexington and make her grand entrance into upper-class society. By the time Lucy had graduated and returned home to live, her father and Hazel were engaged to marry.

  Their winter-spring romance thoroughly baffled Lucy. Father, while not unattractive, was forty, staid, and stoic. It seemed he was born old. Hazel, beautiful and lively, flitted about like a hummingbird. At first, Lucy thought Hazel was attracted to Father’s bank account, which struck her as ironic because he could be a tightfisted spendthrift. But time proved her wrong. Hazel seemed truly head over heels in love with Father, and he acted like a smitten schoolboy. Their romance was genuine, charming . . . and a bit stomach turning for Lucy to be around for too long.

  The car swerved sharply to avoid hitting a dog, jolting Lucy back to the present.

  “Oh dear. Sorry!” Hazel glanced at her. “Everything all right?”

  “Hmm?” She tried to remember what Hazel was talking about.

  “Your new life. The new and improved Lucille Wilson. Is everything all right?”

  “Fine, just fine.”

  Hazel let out a deep breath of relief. “Wonderful! Just wonderful. Your father and I had so hoped you’d find happiness.”

  Suddenly they pulled up at the house, and a wave of nostalgia washed over her.

  She was home.

  Thirteen

  LUCY HAD BEEN GONE only a little over a month, yet it felt like years. Already, she no longer belonged in the life she’d left behind.

  She took a moment when she was alone to go into Charlotte’s room. It was the last time it would ever look this way. Already, change was afoot. Swatches of wallpaper were tacked to the wall and fabric bolts were on the bed, as if Hazel had been interrupted in the middle of making decisions. She noticed the stuffed bear Charlotte had loved to play with, Mr. Buttons, the one she had left behind on Father’s coat when she wandered off. A memory of her sister, in this very room, floated through Lucy’s mind like a motion picture. Charlotte was sitting on the floor with this bear in her lap, the sun streaming through the window and onto her curly blonde hair. She seemed nearly . . . angelic. No wonder Father didn’t want anything changed. It was a way to keep the memories alive.

  As Lucy bent down to pick up Mr. Buttons from the shelf, the door opened.

  “We should go to the cemet
ery,” Father said in a tight voice. “Hazel is waiting.” He looked strange, as if he was trying to hold back tears.

  Lucy hugged the bear tightly against her chest. “Father, I’m so . . . terribly, terribly sorry . . . I lost Charlotte.”

  There was a moment of such profound silence that Lucy felt like the world had stopped. Father was probably deciding how to respond. Then, finally, he opened his arms, and she entered them.

  AT THE CEMETERY, a small gathering huddled around Charlotte’s tiny grave. The Reverend William Blythe officiated. He read Psalm 23, then said a few words. More than a few words. He went on so long, in his wheezing, wandering way, that Lucy’s thoughts drifted off. She wondered what her father was thinking but couldn’t tell by looking at him. Then again, his expressions had always been inscrutable. Hazel stood beside him, tears flowing down her cheeks in great sympathy.

  Lucy knew this was a symbolic gesture of closure, but it still felt strange to stand in front of a gravestone that marked an empty grave. More than strange. She hated being here, hated admitting that Charlotte was dead. Because, from this moment forward, she would be dead to them. All hope was gone.

  It was so hard to accept such finality.

  Lifting her head, Lucy took in a deep breath. A man had arrived, standing under a tree at a polite distance. Lucy squinted, aware that he seemed familiar. Mercy be blessed. Brother Wyatt! Wyatt, with his chiseled features and his quiet strength. She couldn’t believe the feeling that overcame her. When he saw she had spotted him, he gave her the eyebrows. Lifted them a few times, a wordless hello.

  She ducked her head so no one could see she was smiling.

  LATER, AS THEY WAITED at the station for the afternoon train returning to Morehead, Lucy looked at Wyatt, in his neatly pressed suit coat. “But you never said anything about coming.”

  “It came up rather suddenly.” He cleared his throat, shifting his stance. “I hope you don’t mind that I showed up unannounced.”