Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Sassyann’s fiery face hovered over mine, her arms reaching out, the flames and sparks shooting from her hands and head, licking at me, her cries folding into my strangled screams. Behind her, Warden Sanders appeared and shot out a damning finger.
The heat warming my flesh, the clanging of prison crash gates ringing in my ears.
Suddenly, I was being shaken, rocked, and I fluttered open my eyes, gasping for air. Mrs. Claxton bent over me, and Daisy’s hot doggy breath hit my face as she stood beside me on the pillow.
“Chile, chile, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. Sit up, Cussy.” She shook my shoulders again, raising me up from my pillow. “Law, you’re drenched in sweat.”
The reverend stood behind her with worry lit across his eyes.
“I’ll go get her a cup of warm milk and a cool rag, Effie,” he said and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Get her a fresh gown from my drawer,” she called after him.
Mrs. Claxton sank down onto the bed and tucked my tangled hair behind my ears. “Only a nightmare, chile. You’re safe now.” She rubbed my back, calming me with soothing words.
Soon, the comfort pulled me back to home, into my mama’s protective embrace.
It was one o’clock when I finally fell back asleep.
***
The nightmare lingered as we walked into the library Wednesday morning.
Shortly after we arrived, the warden called Mrs. Claxton again.
When the librarian hung up, she said, “That woman’s sure anxious to get you back. Hmph. She even had the gall to ask if you could return Friday.”
My breath hitched.
“Done told her the mayor said I could keep you till Sunday. And I planned on using every minute of it. And not to come for you until after we’ve attended church services and laid out our early Sunday supper.”
“I’m appreciative of your generosity, ma’am.”
“Come on, chile, we have more work to do. There’s a few who’ve asked to come to class at noon.
They work at night. One is Otilia—she said Johnna gave her permission—and the others are public servants.
There’s a policeman needing to refine his writing and reading skills and a fireman itching to climb rank. ”
Irene, an older woman who’d been in class the night before, was waiting. Dark circles bloomed under her soft hazel eyes.
“Miss, I was here last night. ’Member? Can ya read this letter for me?
It’s from my daughter. I had nine children, but they all grow’d up and scattered far out west, except for my Rachel.
She went to Detroit and got herself schooled proper-like.
But sometimes, I have to wait a week to find a neighbor to read her letter to me.
That’s why I’m back early today. I need to learn now,” she insisted.
I could see the letters were her only sustenance in life. We went over the words, and I worked with her until noon.
After class, I ate my sandwich with Mrs. Claxton inside the library kitchen. “Irene is determined to read,” she said.
“Irene’s got the stubborn starching her bones, and I believe she will in no time. Right quick study, too, ma’am. She insists on coming back tonight.”
“And to think, those old stuff-coats sitting on fancy boards believed you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Mrs. Claxton huffed.
“Not the Moonlight lady Cora Wilson Stewart.”
“Not my librarians,” she said proudly.
I grinned between bites, suddenly having a hearty appetite. The morning sickness seemed to be fading, and I finished my sandwich and accepted the bowl of blackberry cobbler she pushed across the table.
After dinner, I settled a sandy-haired policeman, two muscly firemen, and Otilia at a table. But the girl grew leery sitting next to the lawman and puffed up.
“Miss Cussy,” she hissed in my ear, “I can’t be sitting by no copper. I’m going over to the other table.”
It weren’t no time when I caught Otilia peeking over, curious of their lessons.
The men were quiet and polite, and after an hour, Otilia plopped herself down in between them.
She even shared her spelling tips with the policeman.
Pleased, I circled the table, bending over each one as they used the paper to trace new words.
Then we sounded out the ones I’d written on the blackboard.
After two hours, Otilia and the policeman were working shoulder to shoulder, the girl intent on sharing reading tips.
I could tell she was eager to learn and even prouder she had bested him by being a quick study.
Wednesday night drew eighty-two patrons, and we were speechless as the crowd piled inside.
I whispered to Mrs. Claxton, “Ma’am, it’s just like the night when Cora opened her first Moonlight School in Kaintuck.
They only expected a handful. But on that first night, twelve hundred mountainfolk climbed out of those hills to walk those crooked paths to attend their first nightly lessons in a one-room schoolhouse! ”
Mrs. Claxton shook her head, astonished, as they kept pouring in.
That night, many mentioned they’d heard the news from their ministers and pastors, and I was grateful that Reverend had contacted the churches. Others had come across it from businesses and neighbors.
Mrs. Claxton called all the librarians back in to work. We carried up chairs and tables from the basement, borrowing from other areas and stuffing the rooms, halls, wherever we could fit patrons best.
The librarian contacted Mrs. Wells for more writing tablets and tracing paper, and the principal did not hesitate to bring them. The woman even insisted on staying to help.
Once we seated everyone, I introduced myself while the other librarians passed around the tracing papers.
Mrs. Claxton’s face glowed as I went over to the blackboard and wrote the letters of the alphabet.
I would miss the ol’ librarian, with her gentle eyes and welcoming spirit.