Enduring

by Donald Harington

  The school desks, they learned, were made to hold two children side by side, so Every and Lawlor always sat together and did their readings together and shared their one book, which was called McGuffey. The only book that either Latha or Rindy knew about or had heard tell of was called the Bible, so Rindy asked Every how come the book to be named McGuffey. Every said that must’ve been the name of the feller who wrote it. He explained that before you could read it you had to learn the alphabet, which was mainly what him and Lawlor had pegged away at so far during the fall part of the First Reader. Every took a stick and scratched into the earth a figure that looked like a house with a gable roof. “Now that there is a A,” he said, “which is the first letter of the alphabet. By itself it just means a thing, like you say “a hat” or “a cat.” But with other letters it makes a word, like it’s the middle letter of hat and cat both!” Every’s face lit up with a big smile as if he had imparted some marvelous wisdom, and Latha realized he had indeed said something that was worth remembering, and she figured she could hardly wait to get aholt of a McGuffey for herself.

  As that winter dragged on, sometimes Every would ride his stick horse over to Latha’s house when school was let out, just so he could tell her what all he had learned in the second part of the First Reader. More often than not, Rindy would be with Latha and they would be inside the house keeping warm by the stove and playing with Rindy’s doll and Latha’s rag doll. Every was reluctant to enter the house, so they would sit on the porch as long as they could stand the cold, which wasn’t too long. Every would tell them what had transpired at school that day, how the McGuffey was starting to tell stories, like one about a girl named Kate and her dog named Ponto, which was a funny name for a dog, but ole Ponto was a pretty peculiar dog.

  One time Rindy wasn’t there, and Every said that suited him just fine, on account of he liked Latha a lot more than Rindy, who was plenty purty but wasn’t nearly as purty as Latha and not half as smart. Latha could feel herself blushing when he said this. She thought Every was very smart but he just wasn’t anything to look at. Of course she didn’t have many other boys to compare him with, but Rindy had told Latha she thought Every Dill was “pickle-pussed,” not just on account of his last name. Still, Latha was glad to have him ride his stick horse over to visit whenever he could, and one fine day he had her ride behind him while he took the horse on another imaginary tour to Jasper, just up the road a piece and back. Latha’s mother was waiting on the porch when they got back and she told Every to get on home and then she gave Latha a real talking-to. Didn’t Latha have any better sense than to go off with a boy? Latha couldn’t ask questions but she wondered what was wrong with going off with a boy. “I go off with Rindy lots,” she observed.

  “But Rindy’s a gal,” her mother said. “That’s different. In my day, gals and boys couldn’t never be alone together without some grown-up watching every move they make.”

  Latha was desperate to ask “How come?” but she could never ask questions. She managed to figure out that it might have something to do with wickedness.

  Chapter five

  Her sisters sure weren’t much help getting Latha ready to face school. And since she couldn’t ask questions, she couldn’t even ask them for their opinions of this man McWhorter, who was in charge. Mandy was already in the Third Reader and Barb was in the Fifth Reader and in bed at night they whispered and they whispered to each other about the goings-on at school that day, but Latha could hear only a word or two that teased her because it was just by itself and didn’t mean anything. As the new school year drew closer, Latha discovered that every day she thought of something that she had to know to keep her from being too nervous about going off to school. Did Mr. McWhorter eat his dinner by himself at his desk or did he sit with the children? Did they have to wait until Mr. McWhorter had done finished eating before they could eat? Where did the children sit for dinner? Was there any water to drink, or what?

  In time Latha came to realize that while she must keep her solemn vow never to ask anybody any questions again, there was a way to get around that. Instead of asking a question, she could simply announce, “I wonder me if….” So one night in bed she declared, “I wonder me if Mr. McWhorter eats his dinner all by himself or with the kids.” And not only did Barb and Mandy answer (that he ate by himself) but they filled in lots of details, such as what he usually had for dinner (a couple of boiled eggs, a sweet potato, a biscuit, and for dessert another biscuit with sugar on it.) He had a toothpick made out of ivory. Sometimes he burped, which made the little kids giggle. And he always went off into the woods to do his business after dinner. There was only one outhouse at the school, and that was for the girls only. The boys, and Mr. McWhorter, had to use the woods. Yes, the girl’s outhouse had two holes in it, although you weren’t supposed to go with a buddy except in an emergency. That simple “I wonder me if…” proved very useful to Latha in finding out whatever she needed to know about the school.

  Her grandmother made Latha a new dress of her own to wear to school. All her other dresses were hand-me-downs from her sisters. This one was made from the calico cloth that had been a flour sack, and it had bright colors of yellow, pink and orange. It was finished weeks before school was due to start, but Latha was so impatient that she tried it on for Rindy, and Rindy nearly died of envy. Latha’s grandmother also helped Latha get ready for school by telling her all of the beliefs she needed to know for good luck and bad luck: If you should ever drop your McGuffey, be sure to kiss it when you pick it up or you’ll have bad luck. Hearing the school bell ring is always good for warding off evil spirits. If you should happen to see a white cat on the way to school that will bring you very bad luck unless you turn around twice and then spit.

  Latha and Rindy discussed these. They didn’t know offhand of any white cats around Stay More, but you never could tell, so it would be a good idea to learn how to spit. Neither Latha nor Rindy could do it, but Every showed them how. In fact, Every was real good at spitting, and could hit a mark from several feet away. He pointed out to them that there was a certain kinship between spitting and whistling, and since neither of the girls knew how to whistle, Every patiently tried to teach them how to do that too. Rindy never could get the hang of it, but before long Latha was even able to whistle a tune, “Little Brown Jug.” And thereafter she whistled all the time, even in bed at night, which annoyed her sisters and made their whispering inaudible to each other. I’d rather whistle than whisper, she told herself.

  When the big day came, Latha’s grandmother made Latha’s dinner and put it in a dinner bucket, a tin lard pail with a tight lid and wire handle: there was a pair of roasting ears, one for her to give to a friend, a biscuit with a piece of pork, and for dessert a chunk of cornbread with molasses. Her mother brushed her hair and washed behind her ears. Her father said, “My, aint you a big gal now!” and then he said he was sorry he couldn’t’ve bought her a pair of shoes to wear. But Mandy and Barb were going barefoot anyway, and if Latha would do her best to keep up, she could follow them to school. They set off. The dog Rouser wanted to go with Latha, and she let him, but told him he’d just have to sit outside the schoolhouse all day long.

  “Here comes the hard part,” said Barb, as they passed through the village and took a path down to Swains Creek. It was the first time Latha had ever seen a stream of water, and there was a lot of it, all blue-green, and it was running fairly brisk. Latha said, “I wonder how we’re going to get across that,” and dreaded the thought of having to get her new calico dress wet. But downstream a bit, the path led to a kind of swinging foot-bridge, a pair of cables anchored up high on either shore with wood planks laid across them and two more cables up above to hold on to. “This is the hard part,” Barb declared, and Latha was so scared of crossing the bridge that her sisters had to take each of her arms and practically drag her up the steps that led to the bridge and then tug and shove her to get her to walk out onto the planks.

  For all of the eager dream
s that Latha had had about going to school, she decided on the spot that it wasn’t worth the effort of crossing that bridge, and she would just as soon go back home and stay there for the rest of her life. But Rouser had other ideas. He went prancing across the bridge, reached the other side, woofed once, and came prancing back, as if to demonstrate how easy it was. He had four legs, though, and Latha decided the only way she could cross the bridge was to get down on her hands and knees and crawl across. When she tried to do this, Mandy and Barb on either side yanked her back to her feet and practically carried her out onto the bridge.

  They’d hardly reached halfway when some boys at the far end of the bridge began to jump up and down and swing and sway and made the whole bridge start shaking like crazy. Latha closed her eyes and began whimpering. Barb hollered, “You boys stop that!” The boys laughed and went on making the bridge shake. Latha had both hands gripping one of the cables as tight as she could. But she lost her grip on the dinner bucket that Grandma Bourne had fixed for her, and it fell into the creek and went bobbing off downstream a ways before it sank. Not the loss of the food but the loss of what her grandmother had so carefully prepared for her made Latha begin to cry.

  “Shush,” Mandy said. “You can just eat some of ours.”

  The bridge kept on swaying and bouncing until one of the boys cried “OUCH!” and then another one hollered “OW!” and Latha saw that Every on the other shore was throwing rocks at the boys. He was hitting them too. The boys climbed down from the bridge and one of them said, “Let’s git the bastard!” and they took off after Every, who easily outran them.

  When the bridge stopped swaying, it somehow seemed not so scary, and Latha was able to go on across it, although tears were still running down her face from the loss of her dinner bucket, and she needed to blow her nose but had to keep her hands holding tightly to the cable as she walked on across the bridge.

  The path went on for a far little piece on the other side of the bridge before it reached the schoolhouse, which struck Latha as the mostest building she’d ever seen. It was white! None of the other buildings she’d ever seen was white. Steep steps led up to either side of a high porch that ran along the front, under which a number of dogs were lolling. Then there was a pair of tall doors that hadn’t been opened yet and had many children lined up waiting to get in, girls at the left door, boys at the right. There were tall windows with many panes on either side of the doors and all along both sides, more window lights than she’d ever seen or could have even imagined. There was a little tower up on the roof that had a bell in it. Latha had often heard that bell from afar, but now she was up close to it, so that when the man began to pull the rope that made it ring, it sounded full and loud and grand. The doors were opened and the children began to march into the building.

  The man was nearly as tall as the windows of the school, and skinny, probably because nothing but sweet ’taters and hardboiled eggs for dinner wasn’t making him fat. He looked down at Latha as she climbed the steps and said, “Now here’s a real purty ’un. Come right on in. You’re number eleven. Don’t forget it. Just leave your dinner on that bench yonder. Wait a minute. You don’t have any dinner!”

  “She drapped it in the creek,” Mandy said. “But she’s my sister and she can eat some of mine.”

  Inside was the biggest room Latha had ever seen, bigger even than the inside of the general store, and it was all filled with desks. The desks at the back were bigger and they got smaller toward the front. Rindy was already sitting in one of the front desks. Although she didn’t know which way to turn, Latha was so happy to see her buddy Rindy that she gathered up enough nerve to walk down the aisle and say howdy to her. Rindy patted the seat beside her.

  “I reckon we git to sit together,” Rindy said.

  Two by two all the other desks began to fill up, girls to the left of the aisle, boys to the right, until the whole room was filled. She had never imagined that the world contained so many children, but the only one she recognized apart from Rindy and her sisters was Every, who was sitting right across the aisle from her, with a boy she guessed must be Lawlor Coe, his buddy.

  Mr. McWhorter mounted the platform at the head of the room, and clapped his hands once and said, “All righty, time o’ books is done hereby declared in session. Let’s stand and recite the Lord’s Prayer.” Latha didn’t know the words but she listened carefully and figured she could learn the words by and by. Mr. McWhorter motioned for them to sit. “Now, for any of you’uns who is here for the first time, and for them that has bad memories, I will refresh the rules. One, don’t never talk unless you are called upon. Two, don’t stare out the winders; the view is real purty but it gits stale. Three, this here table has two water buckets on it; this’un’s for boys and that’un’s for gals; be sure you know which is which and don’t never touch the dipper in the other’n. Four, if you just have to go out, although I hope most of y’uns have the sense to do yore business afore ye come in or wait till recess or dinner, hold up one finger iffen you just need to go out to see how high the moon is but hold up two fingers iffen you have to bowel off. Now, number five, the last of the rules, is don’t never fall asleep. That there high stool in the corner yonder is for dunces, and anybody that falls asleep has to sit on that stool and wear that pointy hat for the rest of the day. Billy Duckworth, stand up and recite for us what it’s like to sit on that stool all day.”

  A boy stood up and said, “It aint ary bit of fun, sir.” Then sat down.

  “Okay now,” Mr. McWhorter said, “we’ll commence with the First Reader. Second through Eighth Readers already know how to read, or ort to, so y’uns just read while I start off with these least’uns.” He handed a book to Latha. It was the first time she had ever held a book, because she had not been permitted to handle the family Bible, which supposedly was filled with the names of all the Bournes going back for generations. “That there is McGuffey,” Mr. McWhorter said. “Open it to the first page and tell me what you see.”

  Latha opened the book and beheld a whole bunch of characters. Except for the “A” which Every had taught her, she couldn’t identify any of them. “I caint read it,” she admitted in a small voice.

  “‘I caint read it, sir,’” he said. Latha wondered how it came to pass that her teacher didn’t know how to read either. She hoped maybe he would ask Every to read it for him. He repeated again, “Sir.” And when she failed to respond, he said “Sir. Sir. Sir!” It sounded almost like the way her father spoke to the cow when he was trying to calm the cow. When she still did not respond, he took his ruler and smacked it into his palm and said, “You’re supposed to say, ‘I caint read it, sir.’”

  She finally got it. “I caint read it, sir,” she said.

  “Correct!” he said. “You caint read it. Do you know why you caint read it? Because you haven’t been learnt how to. Next page.” She turned to the next page, which contained a picture of a dog running. “Can you read that there pitcher?”

  “It don’t say anything, sir,” she said. “It just shows a dog, sir.”

  “Correct! But on this page it has three words. This word says, ‘dog.’ This word says, ‘the.’ And this here word says ‘ran.’ How would you put them three words together?

  “‘The dog ran?’” she said. And added, “Sir?”

  “Good gal!” he said, and patted her on the top of the head. Then he took the book out of her hands and passed it to Rindy. “Now you try it,” he said to Rindy.

  “Try what?” Rindy said.

  “‘Try what, sir?’” he said.

  “That’s what I just ast ye,” she said.

  “That’s what I just ast ye, sir,” he said.

  Rindy couldn’t seem to get it. “What was it ye wanted me to try to do?” she asked.

  “See if you caint read them words.”

  She pointed at one. “Dog?”

  “No. That’un says ‘ran.’”

  She pointed at another one. “Does this’un say dog?”

&n
bsp; “‘Does this’un say dog, sir!’” he said.

  “That’s what I want to know,” she said.

  “‘That’s what I want to know, sir!” he said. “No, that’un says ‘the.’ Gal, I think you’d better go sit on yonder stool and put that hat on yore head.”

  Rindy seemed pleased at the privilege of wearing the hat and sitting on the stool, where she grinned real big but then stuck out her tongue at Latha. Latha stuck out her tongue back at her. Rindy crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue again. Latha had been told by her grandmother never to cross her eyes because they could get stuck that way, so she had to be content with poking her tongue out at Rindy again and again.