by Ginny Dye
Thomas scowled and threw his hat into the nearest chair. “I want you here in Richmond, Carrie.”
Carrie stuffed down her alarm and tried to be casual. “I am in Richmond,” she said with a smile. Her father’s scowl did not diminish.
“It’s simply not safe for you on the plantation.”
Carrie was confused. “What are you talking about?” She tried to keep her voice calm.
“I’m talking about the confirmed intelligence we received today. We have heard rumors that McClellan had plans to take Richmond but there has been no action on his part. I had begun to believe the Union was going to focus its efforts elsewhere and leave us alone.”
“You no longer believe that?”
Thomas shook his head. “Lincoln is getting impatient for action. There has begun to be a great deal of criticism leveled at his administration, as well as at McClellan, for doing nothing with the huge army sitting just outside of Washington. Our sources tell us something will have to happen soon.”
“What does McClellan plan to do?” Carrie asked carefully. If she could keep him talking, she knew it would diffuse some of the stress exploding within him.
Thomas sighed and leaned back in his chair for the first time. “No one knows for sure, but reports say he is planning an offensive on the coast and then overland to Richmond.” Then he frowned again. “That would take him right past the plantation, Carrie. I simply cannot allow you to return there.”
Carrie struggled to control herself. She had to give her father time to calm down. As much as part of her yearned to be in Richmond, she also knew she had to return to Cromwell Plantation. It wasn’t time yet. “No one knows for sure what he is going to do, do they?”
“No,” Thomas admitted. “But I’m sure President Davis is going to order Johnston back to the vicinity of Richmond. We simply cannot lose the capital!” he almost shouted.
Carrie hated conflict with her father when he was upset, but she knew she had to face this now before he assumed she was in agreement with him. “No one knows for sure what the North is going to do. It could be nothing. It could be McClellan decides to attack from a different direction.” She paused and then continued. “Regardless, no one can move an army that size without being detected. Am I right?”
Thomas nodded reluctantly, opening his mouth as if to interrupt, but Carrie pushed on. “The plantation is only three hours from the capital. In case of danger, you will be able to notify me.” Then her voice became firm. “I am returning to the plantation, Father. I’m sorry if you will worry about me, but I have a job to do. We have talked about this before. I am no longer a little girl. I promised you I would leave the plantation if things became too dangerous. So far there is just talk. But I will promise you again.” She leaned forward, looked him in the eyes, and spoke softly, but firmly, “I will leave the plantation if it becomes too dangerous. I promise.”
Thomas sighed but just shook his head. “I didn’t really expect to have my way.”
His look of resignation and agony tore at Carrie’s heart, but she felt she was doing the only thing she could.
Carrie left Richmond one week later. She had already told her father good-bye before he left for the office. Janie had just arrived to see her off.
“You’re really not afraid to be on the plantation by yourself?” Janie asked.
Carrie shrugged. “I try not to think about it. I just know I have to go back.” She and Janie had talked it through already. She knew Janie was just making conversation to avoid saying good-bye. Carrie stepped forward and gave her new friend a big hug. “Take good care of yourself.” Then she stepped into the carriage.
Janie waved until she was out of sight.
Carrie could not remember a time when it had been so hard to return to the plantation. Janie was the first friend her age, other than Rose, whom she felt truly understood and accepted her for all she was. She had shared with Janie her dream of being a doctor. Her friend had done nothing but encourage her ever since. She had told of her heartache with Robert. Janie had shared secrets as well. They had agreed to exchange letters. But still it wouldn’t be the same. They spent time together every day since they had first met. She would miss Janie sorely.
Carrie shook her head and tried to force her thoughts back to the plantation. It would soon be time to start plowing and planting the fields. She had a job to do. She was determined to do it well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Pepperpot, righthot!”
All hot! All hot!
Makee back strong!
Makee live long!
Come buy my pepper pot!
Rose smiled at the black woman standing on the sidewalk next to her cart with its kettle of stew. She remembered her amazement the first time she had seen street vendors hawking their wares. The tiny woman who stood on the corner of Washington Street, no matter what the weather, was one of her favorites. Often, she stopped to talk to her. But not today. Today she was in a hurry.
My hoss is blind and he’s got no tail,
When he’s put in prison I’ll go his bail.
Yeddy go, sweet potatoes, oh!
Fif-en-ny bit a half peck!
Rose hurried past the vendor with his sweet potatoes as well. His leering looks made her nervous, anyway.
One look at the sky this morning had told her Philadelphia was going to have another winter storm. She was sure this winter was never going to end. By the first week of March in the South, the air would become warm with the promise of spring. Trees would sprout buds, and the first crocuses would pop up from their winter hiding places. Here in Philadelphia, winter still held the city in its brutal grasp. She ducked her head against a blast of cold air and pressed on.
Finally she reached the Quaker School for Females. She gave a sigh of relief, pushed open the door, and stepped in. She pulled off her heavy coat, scarf, and gloves, adding them to the assortment on the coat stand. Then she hurried into the classroom and took her usual seat on the front row. Today, more than any other, she wanted to be on time and be close to the speaker.
“Good morning, Rose.”
“Good morning, Alice.” It had taken Rose quite some time to become comfortable using her teacher’s first name. She had been taught to always use white people’s titles when she spoke with them. Mr., Miss, and Mrs. were an integral part of her vocabulary. The Quaker custom of addressing people of all ages by their first names was foreign to her, but eventually it was becoming more comfortable. She appreciated the feeling of equality it offered her.
“Are you looking forward to our speaker today?”
Rose turned eagerly. “I certainly am! To actually talk to someone who has taught other blacks in the South. I have so many questions!”
“Questions I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to answer,” Alice said with a smile.
Just then the door opened and another group of students pushed their way in from the cold. Alice went to greet them while Rose opened the book she was now reading. The rest of the room faded away as she once again lost herself in the world of Moby Dick.
It was a sudden silence that caught her attention. She looked up and hurriedly put her book away. The guest speaker had arrived. Rose watched as the matronly looking, middle-aged woman made her way to the front of the room. She was rather unremarkable looking - except for her eyes, which shone with caring and warmth as bright as the sun. Rose liked her immediately.
Alice made the introductions. “Good morning, class. This is Marianne Lockins. I told you about her a few days ago. Until last week she was in one of the contraband camps of Virginia working with the refugee slaves there. She has returned to accumulate books for her school and has graciously agreed to speak with us today.” Alice stepped aside while Marianne took her place behind the simple podium.
Rose leaned forward, determined not to miss a single word. Her eyes were glued to the woman’s face. You could tell a lot by looking at a person’s face.
Marianne’s voice was strong and sur
prisingly deep. “Good morning. Thank you for having me here today. I have indeed just come from one of the contraband camps in Virginia. I can easily say it has been the most exciting time of my life. I hope by the time I’m done talking some of you will decide to take what has been given you here and give it to others.”
Rose could feel her heart rising to the challenge. She knew the camps were where she was supposed to be. But when? That was the answer she didn’t know yet.
Marianne smiled and began her story. “The contraband camp is not my first experience teaching in the South. I have been a teacher for many years. The last ten have been spent in southeastern Virginia, near Roanoke. I loved my job, and I loved the people I worked with, the adults as well as the children. Alas, things changed drastically as the war drew nearer. Many people decided people from the North were there just to brainwash and miseducate their children. People began to watch me suspiciously. Even those I had known for years. As the tensions mounted, there was another campaign mounting - to rid the South of all Northern teachers.” She paused. “Even though they did not have qualified teachers in the South to take our places.” A sad look crossed her face. “I stayed as long as I could. When I was certain my life was in danger because of intense feelings, I decided it was time to leave. I came north hoping to start over again.”
Rose stared at her. She could not imagine anyone wanting to hurt this gentle- looking woman. Then she sighed. She knew reason often fell to the wayside when intense feelings were involved.
“I was in for quite a shock when I moved north, as well. Because I had been a teacher in the South, I was suspected of disloyalties. I refused to belittle my previous students and friends. I believe the South has made grave errors in judgment. That does not mean I believe Southerners are bad people. There are people erring in grievous passions on both sides of this issue, I think.” She paused again. “Anyway, I discovered before long there was no real place for me in the North. Yet all I wanted to do was teach. I began to ask God what I was to do with the gifts he had given me. Not too long after, I heard about the contraband camps.”
Rose resisted the urge to start asking questions. She had to let Marianne finish her story. Alice had promised her some time with the speaker afterward if Marianne could stay.
“Going to the contraband camps was a truly incredible experience. I have always abhorred the idea of slavery, but I think in the back of my mind I held the belief that blacks really were inferior to whites. I wasn’t sure they could learn as well as whites.” Then she laughed, a deep laugh that spread to her whole face. “It’s rather embarrassing to admit that in a room full of very intelligent black students, but I feel I need to be honest with you. If any of you choose to go down there, I am afraid you will find it a rather prevalent attitude.”
Rose found her liking for the woman increasing. Her refreshing honesty reminded Rose of Carrie and Aunt Abby.
“I have never seen such thirst for knowledge as I found in those camps. That seems to be the first thing former slaves want. They want education. They want to read and write. They are eager to make something of themselves.” She paused again, remembering... “My classes were full from the very beginning. Children came during the day. Even the youngest ones were hungry to learn. The adults came at night.” She shook her head. “I have never seen such a desire to learn.”
“And learn they have,” she said strongly. “I have come north to accumulate books. The supplies I have are simply inadequate. Many of my students have already surpassed what I have to teach them with. I struggle to keep them challenged. They are truly remarkable.” She looked down for a moment and then faced her audience again. “I realized quickly how unfounded my prejudices were. My students learn as quickly and well as any white people I have taught. Just like in a white school, there are students who learn more quickly than others and ones who struggle to catch on. It has absolutely nothing to do with color.”
Then her voice grew more serious. “Why am I telling you this? Because some of the teachers going there from the North are not willing to reexamine their prejudices. They assume their students are going to be slow. So, many of them are. Or they drop out. It has broken my heart to see what has happened in some of the classes when mine are going so well.” Then she laughed. “I’m not trying to sound egotistical. I don’t necessarily believe my teaching techniques are better. I think it is simply because I believe in my students. My parents taught me from a very early age to believe in the power of an individual to achieve.”
Rose nodded her head as she listened. She had discovered the very same thing in teaching her students. They achieved because she believed they could. Her belief had transferred to them.
“I truly hope some of you will join me in the camps. The need is great. The number of slaves increases every day. I believe it will just continue to get greater. If indeed slavery is abolished in the South, the need will be phenomenal. There will literally be millions of people who have never had the benefit of education. You, more than anyone else, are qualified to teach your people. You know what it’s like to have to push beyond people’s prejudices to accomplish your dreams.”
Marianne looked out over the classroom with a brilliant smile. “Are there any questions you would like to ask?”
Rose’s hand was already in the air. “What does it take to be a good teacher, Marianne?”
Marianne smiled. “Well, of course, it takes knowing how to teach. But I’d say that is just the beginning. You have to have a heart for what you’re doing. I believe to be a good teacher you have to be passionate about it. Unfortunately, our country is full of women who have become teachers simply because there is nothing else for them to do. Teaching used to be the man’s domain. When our country discovered women would teach for much less pay, the number of women teachers increased tremendously. Now, with so many of our men at war, teaching has fallen almost entirely into the hands of women. That is both good and bad. Many women have become teachers who never should have, simply because it’s more appealing than working in the mills or in the fields. Yet, their students suffer.”
“Because they don’t love to teach?” Rose asked.
“Yes, because they don’t love to teach. You cannot impart a passion for learning if you don’t have both a passion for learning yourself and a love for your students.” She paused. “I don’t want to be too hard on the women, though. Teaching is not just reading and writing.”
“What do you mean?” Rose asked. Then she blushed and looked around. She realized she was giving no one else a chance to talk. But the others didn’t seem to mind, so she turned back around to hear the answer.
“Teachers have a rather difficult place in the community. Especially if they are young women. They are expected to not only teach but to serve the community as well. The restrictions on them are very stern. For some reason towns think if a teacher has fun it somehow keeps her from being a good teacher. I don’t share those feelings, but they can be very difficult to fight.”
“It’s worth it, isn’t it?” Rose asked anxiously.
“My goodness, yes,” Marianne laughed. “I would do nothing else. There is nothing like watching the face of a child light up when they finally catch on to what you’re teaching them.”
Rose smiled. “I know,” she said softly, more to herself than to anyone.
“You’re Rose, aren’t you?” Marianne asked with a smile.
Rose nodded.
“Alice has told me about you. About your desire to teach.”
“It’s all I want to do,” Rose said firmly.
Alice stepped to the front then. “It’s time for math class. Gather your books. I will meet you in the other room.” Then she turned to Rose. “You may stay here and talk with Marianne. You two have a lot in common.”
Rose turned to Marianne as soon as the room was empty. “Thank you so much for coming today and telling us about the contraband camps.”
“Did you know anything of them before?”
Rose nodd
ed. “I intend to teach there.”
“Would you like a place in my school? I would be pleased to have you join me,” Marianne said sincerely.
Rose was startled. “Now?”
Marianne nodded. “Alice has told me about your plantation school. She says you are a very bright student, far above many here in the school. You would be a wonderful addition to our school.”
Rose flushed with pleasure but shook her head firmly. “I can’t go now.”
“Why not?”
Rose struggled to explain. “It’s not time yet. I know I will be teaching in the contraband camps. But there is still so much I want to learn. When I begin to help my people, I want to be as well equipped as possible.” She paused. “I believe my people will be free someday soon. I just feel it in my bones. I agree with you they are going to need black teachers. Teachers who can understand them because they know where they have come from. Teachers who understand their perceived laziness is merely an indication of being told what to do all their lives - of being robbed of any personal initiative.”
She stopped and then looked Marianne straight in the eye. “I don’t just want to be a teacher. I want to be a leader for my people. I want to start schools that will make a difference.” Then she paused, embarrassed at her own honesty. She had never told anyone the full scope of her dream before.
Marianne reached forward and took her hand. “I believe you will do that, Rose,” she said firmly. “You have a vision and a dream. And a willingness to work hard to make it come true. That combination can never be defeated.” She looked at the clock and rose to her feet. “I have to speak at a luncheon in just a few minutes. I’m afraid I must be going. I will count on hearing from you when you’re ready to come to the camps.”
“You can indeed count on it, Marianne,” Rose said.
Rose was walking as fast on the way home as she had on the way to school. She knew Moses wouldn’t be home for a while, but just being in the house, waiting for him so that she could share her news, was enough. Bursting through the door, she was startled to see him rise from the chair by the window. Obviously he had been waiting for her.
