The Moonlight School

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Brother Wyatt took in a deep breath and swept in the valley with a fond gaze. “I have found it vital to acknowledge the glory of creation aloud, each time I encounter it. Whether it’s a sunset or a dogwood in bloom.”

  “Why?”

  He turned and smiled in that patient way. “Lest I become immune to it.”

  Eighteen

  THAT FRIGHTENED LOOK ON SALLY ANN’S FACE, almost as if Lucy had threatened her newborn baby, continued to niggle her. The next day was so rainy that Cora insisted the census be on hold until the skies cleared and the ground had time to dry out. That suited Lucy just fine. It gave her a chance to catch up on paperwork in the office. And it also provided an opportunity to ask Cora about Sally Ann when they took their tea break.

  “Cora, help me understand something. Sally Ann Duncan seemed happy to let me hold her baby. I noticed that the baby’s fingernails were long, so I offered to trim them. Sally Ann gave me the strangest look, and then she practically snatched the baby out of my arms. She made it clear I had overstayed my welcome.” That, too, seemed so odd to Lucy. The mountain people loved for visitors to linger. Normally, it was a challenge to depart.

  Cora took a long sip of tea. “Sally Ann believes it would bring bad luck to her baby if nails are cut before she turns one year old.” Her face grew soft as she beheld the shock on Lucy’s face. “They hold tightly to their superstitions up there.” She set her teacup down. “If someone speaks of illness, knock on wood.” She rapped twice on her desk. “My granny wouldn’t throw water outside after sunset.” She chuckled. “I still have no idea what fear that was based on.”

  Tracing the top of the teacup with her finger, Lucy considered such things. Her father, for all his love of logic and reason, held a few odd superstitions. The night before she was to leave for Morehead, he and Hazel had given Lucy a new pair of boots—the very ones she was wearing now. She had opened the box and set the boots on the tabletop. Father bolted from his seat to grab them. “Never ever put new shoes on a table! It’s a death warning.” He was wholly serious. Hazel and Lucy had looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Embarrassed, he’d quickly changed the subject.

  “I don’t even try to untangle superstitions.” Cora finished the last swallow of tea. “They’re too deeply embedded in the culture. Omens and signs and sayings—they all have something to do with how uncertain life can be, how much the mountain people feel they’re victims of fate. I suppose they consider superstitions to be precautions.”

  Lucy refilled Cora’s teacup. “I told Sally Ann that my father might be willing to give Roy a job in Lexington.”

  Cora paused. “And is your father willing?” She sounded doubtful.

  “He said that if I sent him hardworking young men who could read and write, then he would give them jobs.”

  “Roy Duncan is a hard worker. And he’s literate.” She smiled. “Good for you, Lucy. I know that it’s not easy to get your father to see a situation from your point of view.” She tapped the desk with her fingertips. “But it’s not impossible. As hard a shell as your father has, he has a soft interior.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy to convince him to sponsor Wyatt’s education.”

  Cora snorted. “Not easy, but once your father gives his promise, he does not renege.”

  “I would think that Father would have been gravely disappointed when he learned that Wyatt returned to the mountains.”

  Suddenly, Cora stilled, and her expression became unreadable. “Has Wyatt told you much of his life?”

  “Yesterday, I learned more than I ever had. I had to ask, but he did tell me about his upbringing. About how his grandfather broke a pattern of vengeance.”

  “It’s quite a story.”

  And that opened the way for Lucy to ask what she had been longing to ask. “Cora, what kind of a career is a singing school master? It seems a man like Wyatt could have a real future.”

  “Out of the mountains?”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.”

  “Perhaps . . . from the world’s point of view. God, I believe, has a different view of a man’s future.” She handed Lucy her empty teacup. “And thereby what constitutes a worthy ambition, as well.”

  BREAKFAST AT MISS MAUDE’S had a distinct pattern. Judge Klopp’s wife would summarize her list of physical ailments as if anyone had asked. Her back gave her trouble, her right toe throbbed in the rain, and she couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time.

  Miss Viola, who had a touch of vinegar in her veins, enjoyed provoking her. “Sounds like cancer to me, Beulah.” Or cholera. Or bubonic plague. Each morning, Miss Viola came up with a new diagnosis, spoken with authority, in hopes of flustering Mrs. Klopp. And it always worked.

  “Do you really think so?” Mrs. Klopp would say, her expression worried. “Could it be cancer?”

  Miss Viola and Miss Lettie would exchange amused looks behind their teacups.

  Lucy felt the judge’s wife just needed more on her mind. So on this morning, before Mrs. Klopp could launch into her list of ailments, she brought up Cora’s Moonlight Schools campaign. Miss Viola and Miss Lettie listened with rapt attention, as did Miss Maude, whenever she bustled in and out of the dining room. Miss Viola peppered Lucy with questions, fascinated by Cora’s bold concept. Mrs. Klopp listened, but without any questions.

  “Everyone has to admit,” Miss Viola said, “that our county would be better off if there were more women like Miss Cora.”

  “Not everyone,” Mrs. Klopp sniffed. She neatly folded her napkin, rose from her seat and said, “No one should get above their raising. The judge was always firm about that.”

  After she left the room, Lucy looked at Miss Viola. “What does that mean?”

  Miss Viola waved a thin, blue-veined hand in the air, shooing the fly. “Beulah Klopp, as did her judge husband, believes everyone has a fixed place in this world, decided at the moment of birth. There are those who are high borns and those who are low borns.”

  “And Beulah Klopp,” Miss Lettie said, “is a high born.”

  They heard a click of the front door closing. Miss Lettie exclaimed softly under her breath. “Oh dear.”

  Miss Viola raised a hand softly to her cheek. “Oh dear.”

  AFTER ANOTHER FULL DAY of canvasing hollows and glens and hills and coves, this time with Finley James’s help, Lucy plopped down on her chair in Cora’s office. “Census completed. Over eleven hundred.”

  Cora watched her with a curious look on her face. “Twelve hundred people?”

  “No. Twelve hundred illiterates.”

  She’d been inking a quill and paused, midair, a shocked look on her face as ink dripped onto her paper. “You must be mistaken.”

  “One thousand one hundred and fifty-two, to be exact. Illiterates and semi-illiterates.” Lucy had counted and recounted, until she recognized each and every name.

  “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?”

  “As sure as a person can be. Brother Wyatt helped a great deal. Miss Mollie too.”

  Stunned, Cora dropped her pen and leaned back. “It’s a third of our county.” Slowly, thoughtfully, she rose from her chair. She had her face turned to the window. “I do hope some will come. All I need is six weeks of evenings. I’m absolutely convinced the results will be astonishing.”

  “Cora, are you sure you’re not setting your sights on, well, a nearly impossible goal? After all, how can adults learn more quickly than a child?”

  With that, Cora pivoted to face Lucy. “A man of forty can learn more quickly than a child because he has a larger speaking vocabulary and he’s learned how to reason. He doesn’t have to rely on memory alone, like a child does.” She pointed to a stack of papers on her desk. “As long as they can relate to what they’re learning. That’s why I’ve started a plan to create Country Readers, as well as newspapers.”

  “Country what?”

  “Country Readers. Curriculum. Disguised as stories. We’ll use them instead of pri
mers. They’ll be filled with short, informational articles about things adults are interested in. Using common, everyday words.” She sat back in her chair and let out a sigh. “And that raises the question—who will write these stories and articles?” She looked straight at Lucy.

  “Me?” It came out like a squeak. Not me. That’s what she should have said.

  Too late. Cora misunderstood her squeak as volunteering for the job.

  Gratitude filled Cora’s eyes. “Oh dear girl, sometimes I think you are an angel, sent to me straight from heaven.” She lifted the pile with both hands and pushed it to Lucy’s side of the desk. “You’re such a fine writer too. A legacy from your sweet mother. These won’t take you any time at all.”

  Lucy looked at the pile, papers thick with notes. Lucy, keep vocabulary minimum. Simple one- or two-syllable words. . . . Lucy, add in some mountain jargon. . . . Lucy, use this one to expand on the previous story.

  She let out a longsuffering sigh. Her name was written all over this project from the beginning.

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Lucy took a break from writing for Cora and saddled Jenny to head up the hill on a now familiar trail. She wanted to see Sally Ann Duncan. She brought along a tin of shortbread, flowers from Miss Maude’s garden, and a little pink hat knitted by Miss Viola. Sally Ann must have seen her coming through the trees, for she was already on the porch, waving a dishcloth overhead to welcome her in, and Lucy released a deep breath. Their last visit had ended in such an awkward, unpleasant way, and it still nettled her. Cora’s advice was not to mention it again. Just move on, as if it never happened. “You can’t change superstition by explaining it away,” she told Lucy. “Doing so would only muddy the waters.”

  As Lucy approached the Duncan cabin, her eyes swept over the lovely farm. So different from most of the homes in this holler. The carefully tended garden patch, the potted flowers, the meadow grass trimmed. There was something about this tidy setting, some kind of connection Lucy felt to it, that she couldn’t quite put into words. It just spoke to her, whispering deep to her heart.

  Sally Ann met her at the gate with a big smile. Relief! It seemed Lucy was forgiven for her gaffe. She slid off Jenny in one smooth move and tied her reins to the gate post. “I brought you a letter from Roy. Some treats from Miss Maude. And something for the baby.”

  Sally Ann beamed, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. “The baby’s sleeping in her cradle. Mebbe we can read Roy’s letter, out here, afore we go in.”

  Smiling, Lucy reached into her saddlebag and riffled through it to pull out Roy’s letter, plus the other items. She followed the young woman, struck again by how young she was—hardly more than a girl!—to the porch, where they sat on rockers with soft rush seats. Sally Ann had a look on her face like a cat that swallowed the canary. As Lucy opened the envelope, she reached out and took the letter from her. “Lemme try. I might need a mite holp here and there.” She cleared her throat. Brows furrowed, she began. “Dear wife. I met . . . with . . .” She stole a look at Lucy, a silent plea.

  Lucy peered at the letter. “I met with Mr. Wilson at Valley View Lumber.”

  Sally Ann nodded earnestly. “Mister Wilson at Valley View Lumber . . . and the . . . job is mine.” She let out an audible shaky sigh and stared at the words on the paper. “Miss Lucy! Roy got the job!”

  Lucy grinned. Her father had sent word to tell her the news, and of course she was thrilled. But even more exciting was listening to Sally Ann read. Slowly, haltingly, the young mother made out the last sentence, about joining him in Lexington. He included train fare and told her to send word. “I’ll be the one . . .” She held the letter to Lucy to finish.

  “I’ll be the one standing on the platform with the big smile and wide-open arms. Love, Roy.”

  Sally Ann took the letter back and repeated the words, a shy smile covering her pretty face.

  Lucy reached out to cover her hand. “Tell me. How did you teach yourself to read?”

  “After I heard about Miss Mollie learning to read, I thought to myself, ‘Why, if an ol’ lady can learn to read, so can I.’ So I talked to Angie and she’s been comin’ over in the nights to holp. I been working hard at it.”

  “So I see.” Lucy squeezed her hand and released it. “I’m so proud of you, Sally Ann.”

  “I always wanted to be book red, but Paw wouldn’t let me go to school. Didn’t believe in book learning, no matter how much Maw begged. Then I married Roy . . . and figured it got too late for me.” Her eyes flickered to the letter. “I cain’t thank you enough, Miss Lucy, for Roy’s new job. I knowed you had a big part in it.”

  “No thanks are needed, Sally Ann. Roy will earn his keep, and Valley View is fortunate to have him.” She gazed around the farm, her eyes resting on two fat red hens and their baby chicks, all pecking at the ground. One of the hens lifted a wing, protective of her chicks. “I’ll miss you, though. Do you think you’ll ever come back?”

  Sally Ann turned to see what she was looking at. “O’course. Shore we will.”

  But they both knew they wouldn’t be back for good, only for visits. Once the young people left for the cities, they didn’t return to the hollows. Through the open door, they heard the baby start to stir, and Sally Ann went in to check on her. She came back out with the baby in her arms and sat down in a rocking chair to nurse her. Lucy looked away; she still wasn’t accustomed to women unbuttoning their shirts and pulling out a naked breast for a baby to nurse.

  “What will happen to your farm?” She cast a sideways glance at Sally Ann. “Until you come back, I mean?”

  Sally Ann shrugged. “Arthur Cooper sez he’ll look after it. Angie’ll take good care of my hens.” She sighed. “Life is all howdies and goodbyes, ain’t it?”

  Lucy looked down at the baby’s little round downy head, nuzzled against her mother. “Yes, it certainly is.”

  “My mamaw always said, ‘Sometimes you have to give something up to make room for something new.”

  Lucy sat silent for a long time, pondering the startling truth in that simple adage. By giving up her ever-present sorrow for Charlotte, her hope that her sister would one day be found, she had made room for a new life. It was like she’d opened doors and windows and released all the stale air, allowing fresh air in. “Your mamaw is quite wise.”

  “Would you like to hold the baby?”

  “No! Um . . . thank you, but no.” Not again. Lucy didn’t trust herself not to say or do the wrong thing. There was still so much she didn’t know about these people. But she was learning. She was learning.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Andy was outside of Miss Maude’s, waiting to walk Lucy to work. She hadn’t seen him all week and, pent up, the first words out of her mouth were about the abandoned holding pens she’d seen in the hills with Wyatt. “Why hasn’t the water been released?”

  He flinched slightly, as if she’d struck him a physical blow. “Because . . . my crews aren’t finished yet.”

  “I didn’t see any lumber crews working at all. Not one.”

  “My crews are up north, near Waltz. We still need those ponds.”

  Oh. She and Wyatt had gone west toward Elliottville.

  He took her hand in his, entwining their fingers, and started down the road. “Everything will get fixed, Lucy, don’t you worry.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I don’t have to, Lucy. It’s standard procedure for Valley View Lumber.”

  “But—”

  He pulled her behind a large shade tree and silenced her with a kiss. “Leave the lumber business with me, Lucy,” he said, touching his finger to her lips, “and I’ll leave the education business with you.”

  One more tender, lingering kiss and she felt a little dazed, nearly forgetting about those pens. Not quite, but almost.

  “I’ve been missing you something fierce.” He wanted to take her up to Limestone Knob on Saturday. “It’s where all lovers go.” His eyebrows wiggled in a way that made her laugh. “And,” he said,
his voice dropping low to a whisper, “maybe we can talk about what comes next. After our hardship duty in Rowan County is over.”

  She froze. She’d told him once that she had planned to stay in Morehead only for six months, and he had told her he had the same plan.

  The church bells chimed the hour and she slipped out of his arms with a breezy, “I’m late!” She hurried down the road to Cora’s office, turning to wave at Andy as she reached the door. He blew her a kiss and she pretended to catch it, but her smile quickly faded as she walked down the hallway to Cora’s door. Andy was always ahead of her, rushing her.

  She wondered what was wrong with her. Why wasn’t she more eager? He was everything a girl could hope for in a man. Father and Hazel would be thrilled if she ended up as Mrs. Andrew Spencer. Ecstatic. She could imagine how they would congratulate themselves on their matchmaking. Maybe Hazel would stop pitying her. Maybe everyone would.

  Something kept Lucy’s feelings reserved about Andy, but then, she could hear Hazel’s voice say, tinged with exasperation, “Oh, Lucy, something keeps you reserved about everything.”

  As she opened the office door, she was surprised to discover Wyatt and Cora, heads together, studying something on the desktop.

  Cora looked up, beaming. “Lucy, come! Come see what this brilliant man has done.”

  Lucy set her things down on her desk and crossed the room. On Cora’s desk were two wooden slates with carefully chiseled letters, polished until they gleamed. “Wyatt, you made these? They’re perfect! Exactly what Cora had imagined.” She glanced up at him and he looked away quickly, as if he didn’t want to be caught watching her reaction.

  “Nearly forgot the stylus.” He patted his pockets and pulled out a wooden stick, chiseled down to a point. “Pick which slate you like best, and I’ll get working on them.”