Lucy looked at the sketch. “It’s quite an interesting idea. But . . . how many of these wooden pads would you need?”
“At least a few per schoolhouse.”
“Who could make them?”
Cora winked, smiling. “Brother Wyatt. His carpentry skills are exemplar.”
“But they’re intricate. It will cost him to make these wooden pads. Time and money. He should be paid for his efforts.” After all, he was so terribly poor.
She scoffed. “I have no budget. Not for this or anything else.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “But it did dawn on me that Andrew Spencer has been receiving quite a bit from our community. I thought he might be willing to give back. Donate to the Moonlight Schools campaign.” Her eyes were fastened on the daffodils in Lucy’s hand.
“Oh no. You can’t mean . . . you can’t expect me to ask . . .”
“He won’t turn you down, Lucy. He seems rather smitten with you.”
Lucy sighed.
“Is that a sigh of ardor? Are you equally smitten with Mr. Spencer?”
Smitten? Lucy picked at a piece of thread on her skirt. “I’m not entirely sure what I feel for him.”
“No? Well, time will tell.” Cora lifted a finger in the air. “Let’s get back to Moonlight Schools. That’s much more fun than talking about men. First things first. Your job is to get a complete count of illiterates and semi-illiterates in the mountains of Rowan County.”
Dread filled Lucy. She wanted to help Cora’s project . . . but this? “You can’t expect me to ride up to these mountain peoples’ cabins, knock on the door, introduce myself, and say, ‘By the way, can you read and write?’ The mountain people are leery of strangers.”
“Just remind them we are kin.” Cora smiled. “That should take care of any general suspicion when they find a pretty young woman at their door. Oh, and don’t be surprised how many people don’t know how to read but won’t admit it. You’ll have to find out without offending them.”
“Oh, that should be easy,” Lucy said. “Trying to not offend a moonshiner toting a loaded shotgun.”
Cora ignored her sarcasm. “You have a lovely way with people, Lucy. I’m not at all worried about your personal safety.”
No, she never was! Lucy worried plenty about her personal safety. “I suppose I could start with the families I’ve already met. Sally Ann and Barbara Jean.” Just thinking of Barbara made an itchy feeling creep up her scalp.
“That’s the spirit! Start with what you know and go from there.”
“Just how many hollers are there?”
“Plenty. Brother Wyatt will help. I’ll ask him to reach out to those living in the back country. They know him.” She glanced up. “You shouldn’t be wandering alone way up there.”
Lucy couldn’t agree more. “How do I know where to stop?” The last thing she wanted was to encounter a wild beast. Or a wild moonshiner.
“Just keep going until you hit a county line.”
Of course. As if Lucy would happen across a big white fence that encircled a county of thick wilderness.
“And don’t forget to tell them to come to the Moonlight Schools in September. Don’t ask. Tell them to come. Monday through Thursday nights, seven o’clock to nine o’clock, for say . . . let’s start with four weeks. No, scratch that. Six weeks.”
September? “But, Cora . . . it’s nearly May!”
“And a good thing, too, because you’ll have lengthening days of sunlight to help you through those mountain trails. We have a very large county to cover. While you do that, I’ll get the schoolteachers on board.”
“Isn’t that the most important thing to do first? I feel as if you’re getting the cart in front of the horse.”
Cora waved that worry away with a flick of the wrist. “I’ve learned enough in my life to move forward with the snowball approach.”
“How’s that?”
“Just start rolling the ball.” Cora cupped her hands together, as if packing a snowball. “It’ll all come together in the end.” She started scribbling something down, a thought captured before she lost it. Her mind moved so fast! Lucy could barely keep up.
Cora finished writing, then looked up. “Dear girl, why are you still here?”
“Why? Because . . . I am overwhelmed.”
Cora smiled. “Oh . . . my sentiments exactly! It’s such a thrill! Lucy . . . I do believe this venture is going to be the highlight of our lives.”
Lucy went to the door, reached for the knob, and turned back, thinking of more objections. Reasons as to why this crazy notion couldn’t possibly work. But Cora’s head was tucked down, and she was feverishly writing, and she seemed so . . . happy. Full of joy, all because of the light she hoped to bring to others. How could Lucy say no? How could anyone?
SLOWLY, LUCY WALKED out of Cora’s office and toward the livery, wondering how in the world she was going to be able to accomplish what Cora asked of her. She heard hoofbeats and looked up to see Wyatt ride down the road. She watched him dismount at the livery and hurried to meet him. He had started to unbuckle Lyric’s girth when he heard her call his name. He stopped and turned, smiling as she approached, and she found herself smiling in return. “Do you have a minute to spare?”
“Always.” He finished unbuckling the girth. “Something on your mind? Let me guess. Cora’s handed you an impossible task for her moonlit school campaign.”
“Yes! Yes, exactly that. And to be perfectly honest, Wyatt, I need a little help. And you’re just the person.”
He lifted the saddle and set it on the ground. “How can I help?”
“How will I ever be able to get an account of the illiterates in Rowan County? That’s what Cora wants me to do.”
“Ah, but you don’t need to talk to everyone. Just find the right person who knows everybody else.”
“But who?”
He grinned. “Miss Mollie, for one. Me, for another. Arthur Cooper. And then there’s his daughter Angie. She seems to know just about everybody’s business.”
Lucy was feeling great relief . . . until Wyatt offered up Angie’s name.
ANGIE WAS FURIOUS WITH HERSELF. She kept thinking about Finley James, which was precisely the wrong thing for her to do. Well, she was done with that boy. “I hope I never see Finley James again,” she decided, even though he was due to arrive at her cabin any minute to help her paw finish up the planting.
It was only midmorning and the day was already hot. Angie made up a big jug of cool spring water to take to her paw out in the cornfield. To her paw . . . and to Finley James.
She whipped off her apron and hurried up the ladder to her loft. She grabbed her hairbrush, then twisted her hair into a bun and stuck some pins in it. She stood back and looked at the small mirror that Paw had hung by her washstand. Strands of her hair straggled on each side of her cheeks, down her neck. Pins stuck out of her bun, so she jammed them down again, but they kept popping out again. She sighed.
These were the moments she wished her maw were still here, and even more so, that she coulda been like other mothers. She loved her dearly, but her maw seemed more like a child than a grown woman.
Once Angie asked her paw about it and he grew silent. He wouldn’t speak a word against Maw. So she went to Miss Mollie.
“Your maw,” she said, “she’s always been the sweetest gal on earth.”
“I know, but . . .”
Miss Mollie held up a hand to stop her. “There’s jest some things in life that shouldn’t be looked at too close. You might not like what you find.”
Out the window, Angie heard Fin’s voice calling to her paw, so she smoothed out her dress, pinched her cheeks once more, added a dap of sheep’s lanolin to her lips to make them shiny, and hurried to take the jug of cool water out to Paw and Fin. When she reached the field where Paw said they’d be, she didn’t see any sign of her father. But there was that boyfriend thief Miss Lucy on poor ol’ Jenny, and there was Fin, holding the reins to the pony, laughing and sm
iling and having a grand old time. Her happy mood frizzled like a damp squib.
Angie watched them for a while. Whenever Finley James was around Miss Lucy, he turned into a different boy. He stood tall and stiff, talked slow and careful. This was the same Finley James who taught Angie to ride a horse and skip a stone over a creek and hunt for mushrooms. The same one who’d once given her half a penny and kept the other half for hisself. Two halves of one soul, that was her thinking. But mebbe he was jest being nice to share a found hay penny with her.
She should turn tail and leave. She should. But Angie, unable to stand being left out, had drifted in to listen. She might have watched them longer, but Jenny noticed her and snorted a howdy. They turned. Miss Lucy smiled, but Finley James jest stared at her.
She held up the jug. “I brought some water.” When there was an entire second of silence, she asked, “Cat got yor tongue, Finley James?” trying to conceal her pleasure at his gawking.
Too soon, he was back to his ol’ mean self. “Wonderin’ if somethin’ might be the matter with your hair.” He grinned, and scratched his head dramatically with both hands. “Got cooties, mebbe?”
“I do not!” Angie said. “It’s hot. I jest . . . pinned it up.”
“You look very grown-up, Angie,” the boyfriend thief said, and Angie scowled at her.
“Is that for me?” Fin didn’t wait for an answer but took the jug from her hands.
Angie pulled two tin cups from her apron pocket. “There’s an extra cup,” she said in a mumble. It took every ounce of kindness she had to offer water to Miss Lucy, but she knew she had to. She was her paw’s daughter. Still, she was disappointed that her time alone with Fin was ruined by Miss Lucy, and sore vexed that he didn’t like her hair after she’d worked so hard to pin it up. Cooties. Rude!
Also in her apron pocket was a chunk of carrot. She held it out to Jenny, who nickered her pleasure. She shielded her eyes from the sun to look at Miss Lucy. Even on silly-looking Jenny, she looked as pretty as could be. It was a warm day, but her cheeks were barely rosy. Angie could sense her own face was bright red from the heat.
Miss Lucy’s eyes darted to the house. “Angie, you read so well that I’m guessing your parents like to read.”
What business of that was hers? “My maw could read. Not Paw. But he’s the trustee for Little Brushy.”
“Yeah,” Finley James said, wiping water from his mouth, “but that don’t mean much. Most of the trustees of the schools cain’t read.”
Miss Lucy looked and sounded a mite nervous. “Angie, I wonder if you might know of any in this area”—she swept her arm toward the hilly woods—“who can’t read or write?”
Angie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Cora’s come up with the idea of providing schools at night on moonlit nights. To teach the adults to read.”
Angie shook her head. “They won’t come.”
Fin rolled his eyes. “They might.”
“They won’t,” she repeated.
“Don’t listen to Angie. She thinks she knowed everything there is to know.” Finley James put the cup on top of the now empty jug. “Miss Lucy, you gots to go to Miss Mollie. She’s the eyes and ears of the hollow.” He wiped his forehead. “I better git back to work.”
Now Angie was steamed. Really furious. “And I gots to go meet up with Bobby McLean.” Why did that pop out of her mouth? It was a bold-faced lie. For all she knew, Bobby hadn’t gotten back from his mamaw’s funeral. “He wants to teach me how to fish.”
“Bobby McLean?” Finley James said with a scoff. “He don’t know squat about fishing.”
At least she finally got a rise out of Fin. He couldn’t tolerate Bobby McLean. “Sez he knows more than you.”
“He said such a thing?” Fin roared. “Then jest go on and see what ya can learn from a fella who’s a-scared of putting a worm on a hook.” He thrust the jug at her, picked up his hoe, and stomped back to the field. Suddenly, he stopped, pivoted, waved, and tipped his hat like a proper gentleman. “Nice talkin’ with you, Miss Lucy.”
Not a goodbye to Angie, not even a thank-you for the jug of water. And now she had to leave the farm for a few hours to pretend she was fishing with Bobby McLean so she weren’t caught in a lie. She’d made a mess of things, all because of that stupid Finley James, whom she hated. And loved.
“To tell you the truth,” said the boyfriend thief, “I always get a bit lost after I pass your cabin. Is Miss Mollie’s far from here? And please don’t say it’s just over yonder.”
“But it is jest over yonder,” Angie said. Oh, bother. “Hold up. I’ll git my bonnet and take you there myself.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. Especially if you’re meeting someone to go fishing.”
Angie swallowed a scowl, not wanting to give away her fib. “I got me some time. And no doubts you’ll get hopelessly lost.” She ran up to the cabin with the jug, set it on the kitchen table, grabbed her calico bonnet from the wall peg, hurried down the porch steps, then stopped suddenly as she caught sight of Fin, watching her from the field. She spun around and went back up the porch steps, taking them two at a time, to grab one of her brother’s fishing poles off the rack, then rushed off to join Miss Lucy. She had to bite her lower lip to keep from smiling at the sight of Fin’s frown.
FOR ALL ANGIE’S PRICKLINESS, there was something about her that Lucy found endearing. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on . . . perhaps it was Angie’s quick mind, or the way she darted around, or her defiant stance of claiming her territory—Finley James. So bold! So charming. Maybe she felt drawn to her because everything about Angie was the very opposite of Lucy.
They found Miss Mollie out on her porch in a rocking chair, a bowl of spring long beans on her lap, and in her hands were needle and thread. “Come,” she said, delighted to have company. “Sit a spell. Angel girl, go git that tarred pony out of the sun and git her some water.”
While Angie led the tired pony to the lean-to for some shade and water, Lucy sat on the porch step, facing Miss Mollie. “What are you doing with those?” She couldn’t fathom why anyone would sew a bean.
“These leather breeches?” Miss Mollie said, holding up a row of beans. “That’s what we call ’em. Jest string beans together and hang them soz they dry out. They won’t be near so long. Then next winter I’ll put them back in water and they’ll plump up agen real nice.” She smacked her gums. “Cut ’em up, add onions, pour some lard over ’em. That’s some fine eating with fried corn bread.”
It sounded dreadful. “What was it like for you, Miss Mollie? Growing up on this mountain?”
“Been a wonderful life.”
“It seems so isolated. So far from . . . others.” Lucy was going to say “civilization.”
“Do ya know the history of our people?”
“A little,” Lucy said. Not as much as she should know.
“Most folks can trace back more than two hundred years. Mebbe more. My own granddaddy came over on a cattle boat, right into Phillydelphee. They came to the New World lookin’ for land to call them’s own.”
“But why here? Why such a remote place as the hills of Appalachia?”
Miss Mollie rested the string of beans in her lap. “Bein’ far away from the cities, mostly from the gubbermint, holped us keep our own traditions.”
“Miss Mollie, have you ever thought about moving to town?”
“Goodness, no. I cain’t leave ’em.” She pointed a finger off toward a hill.
Lucy turned and tented her eyes, but she couldn’t see anyone.
Angie walked toward them and plopped down by Miss Mollie’s feet. “She means the graveyard,” and then Lucy realized the hill was a little family cemetery plot.
“It’s a lovely site,” Lucy said.
“Planted east to face the sun,” Miss Mollie said. “Asides, I don’t like town life. Too crowded. Makes me feel squirrely each time I go visit Cora. I jest feel better in the mountains. When you live in the country, you ca
n do about anything you like. No one’s puttin’ their nose in your business, tellin’ you how to live.” She waved a hand in the air like she was shooing a fly. “If’n you don’t like your neighbor . . . jest don’t speak to ’em.” Her eyes crinkled with humor. “I like most o’ mine.”
Lucy brushed some dirt off her skirt. “Cora says most young people talk of moving to the cities for better jobs. Have you ever thought of joining your daughter in Chicago?”
“Well, you got a point there. It can git lonely without the young. They take care o’ us ol’ folks.” She smiled at Angie. “But I gots my girl here. She takes real good care o’ me.”
Angie beamed from the praise, and Lucy realized what a beautiful woman the girl would be one day. Then Angie changed the subject to explain why they’d come to visit, for which Lucy was grateful. Even when told she was kin to Cora, Lucy knew others viewed her as an outsider, and was well aware of how the mountain people opened up, acted more like themselves, whenever she had a local with her—Finley James or Angie or Wyatt or Cora—than when she was alone.
Once Miss Mollie started on her rambling about the locals, Lucy pulled paper and pencil from her pocket to take notes. It felt like trying to capture water in your hands from a gushing waterfall. That woman seemed to know just about everyone in Rowan County, and everything about them too.
Angie was a help in keeping Miss Mollie on subject, for her thoughts had a tendency to wander. Out of the blue, Miss Mollie would turn the tables and ask Lucy about growing up in Lexington. Lucy would answer . . . and Angie would clear her throat, and then she would veer the conversation back to Miss Mollie and her vast knowledge of the mountain people.
It felt like minutes, but an hour or two, or more, must have passed, and Lucy realized they’d stayed too long. Miss Mollie was slowing down in her storytelling, and then nodded off.
Lucy and Angie tiptoed away, leaving the dear woman sound asleep in her rocking chair. Holding Jenny’s reins in one hand, her fishing pole in the other, Angie led Lucy to the creek and pointed the way toward town, then disappeared into the woods before Lucy could even thank her. Angie had stayed for the entire visit with Miss Mollie. Lucy wondered about the boy who was waiting to go fishing with Angie, until it dawned on her there was no boy waiting.
The Moonlight School Page 17
