Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
The reporters crowded around Mrs. Claxton as I peeked out of her office despite the librarian urging me to join her.
The newspaper had been alerted of the success of the evening classes and had come calling.
Camera bulbs lit up as they snapped pictures of Mrs. Claxton and some of the students and took notes.
After about an hour they packed up their equipment, and I slipped back into classes.
“I wish you would’ve joined us, Cussy,” Mrs. Claxton said.
“I don’t want my photograph in the paper for everyone in Louisville and who knows where else to gawk at my peculiarity. I best get back to our patrons, ma’am.”
Understanding, she nodded.
I stood beside one middle-aged man as he declared, “It’s damn time I escape that shaming mark.” He waved the paper. “Here’s my signature written fully. And I done wrote it on my fence and carved it onto my elm. No, sir, ain’t never gonna have to make a shamed mark again!” His eyes shone.
We all congratulated him.
The students were intoxicated, giddy to learn.
A man who’d said he just turned eighty-six the day before crowed, “I’d give up fifty years of my life if I could just read.”
***
On Friday, I searched the crowd for Lizbeth. It was my last night, and I worried the woman had come to great harm.
When she showed up thirty minutes later, I saw the truths in her blackened eyes. The young mother wore a sling made from a yellow-stained bedsheet on her left arm. The room quieted, and the elders shook their heads, dismayed by her appearance.
Mrs. Claxton and the children’s librarian took charge of her two little ones and swept them off toward the children’s reading room.
“I’m ready to get my freedom now,” Lizbeth announced to me and the class, a fiery determination flickering across her eyes.
Steven brushed past me and hurried to clear a spot for her. The young mother called out and motioned for me. “Miss Cussy, I need to get started on the lessons right away ’fore he wakes up and comes looking for me.”
Mrs. Claxton’s hand landed on my shoulder. “You can get started on Steven and Lizbeth’s lessons, and I’ll work with Ardell and Kipple.”
Thirty minutes later Lizbeth had learned to write her name and her children’s. Within three hours, she was sounding out simple words from the newsprint and copying them down.
As we closed the lessons, Irene came up to me with another letter. “I see you have news from your daughter, Miss Irene. Would you like for me to read it for you?” I held out my hand and saw the seal had been broken on the envelope.
Proud, she pulled herself up and shook her head no.
“I got tired of having to wait on my neighbors, so after school the first night, I went out and bought myself a speller at the five-and-dime. I wanted to read Rachel’s letter with my own eyes and write back with my own hands.
Don’t need no help, ma’am. I can read and write plenty good myself. And I’m getting better each day!”
“Miss Irene, I’m mighty pleased for you.”
“I stayed up till midnight every night, sometimes not stopping until dawn! Here, sit with me, Book Woman. I’ll show ya.
” The old woman folded herself into a chair and yanked one out for me.
She slowly read me her daughter’s latest letter.
Then Irene pulled out stationery and a pen from her pocketbook, along with a small Common School Speller First Book.
She lowered her head to the page and wrote her first letter back to her daughter while I hovered near and helped with the spelling, praising her work, nudging her on.
When she was through, she handed it to me to inspect, then dug in her pocketbook and pulled out another piece of stationery.
I read her letter and was surprised to see her wobbly penmanship and simple grammar had spelled every word correctly. She’d crossed every t and dotted each i.
“My first letter is to Rachel, but my second letter is a thank-you to—” She pointed the tip of her pen at me.
Grateful, I read it. And I saw the pride shining in Irene’s eyes.
Ardell and Kip walked past me, clutching their canes. He held her arm as they took careful steps. “Miss Ardell,” he said and cleared his throat once and then again, “my vehicle’s just outside. Uh, wondered if maybe you would like to join me for, uh, for coffee at Shirley’s Diner?”
“Why, Mr. Kipple Culbreath, maybe you’d like to join me. I have an old bottle of scotch at home waiting. Something special I’ve been saving.”
I glimpsed Kip’s surprise and the twinkle in Ardell’s mischievous eyes.
Lizbeth gathered her notes, and two patrons immediately flanked her side.
I caught one of the men’s words as they passed by me.
“We’re going to walk you and the children home tonight, Miss Lizbeth.
Have ourselves a good talkin’ to with that cowardly husband of yours.
And we’re gonna be letting him know that if we have to come back, it won’t be for another talk. ”
Walking between the men, Lizbeth stopped and took her babies from the children’s librarian, then held her head high as she passed through the library doors, something bold and courageous awakening in the young woman.
***
After most of the patrons left, I helped straighten chairs and wipe down tables, then waited for Mrs. Claxton over by a bookshelf.
I studied some of the titles. There were a lot of books written by Negroes, and I couldn’t get over how large the collection was.
I pulled out Rosemary and Pansies, by the Kentucky poet Effie Waller Smith.
Honey had the same copy, and I pressed a hand over the ribbed green cloth on the cover, admiring the gold-stamped title and floral decorations.
I read through the verses and stopped at the last poem, “Good Night,” overcome with grief for home.
Dear earth, I am going away to-night
From your long-loved hills and your meadows bright;
I know I should miss you when I am dead
If a better world came not in your stead.
For the sweet, long days in your woodlands spent,
And your starry dusks, I shall not lament;
For greater than all the wonders you show,
O earth, is the secret I soon shall know…
Steven slipped up beside me. He had his sister at his side, sucking on a taffy stick.
“Hello, Steven. Did you forget something?” I smiled at his sister missing one of her milk teeth, still in awe that the young’uns in the city were only a little bit curious of my color. Not bothered at all.
Once, on the library route back home, my face had spooked a young child picking berries.
“Don’t look at her,” his mother had warned, then shielded the young’un, pulling him off the path.
But not before I’d seen the wild-eyed fright on the child’s face that would cast me as the blame for his coming nightmares.
Steven’s smile was infectious. “No, ma’am, I just wanted to let you know that after our lessons, I applied to Belknap Hardware and Manufacturing this morning.
I start work in a week. And if I can write and read, work on them lessons you gave me, the boss man said I could earn an extra five cents on the hour. A whopping five cents.”
Mrs. Claxton came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Did I hear something about a job?”
He grinned and bobbed his head. “I was just telling Miss Cussy I start in a week at Belknap.”
“Well, look’a there.” She patted his shoulder. “I just grow’d myself another voter. Congratulations, chile!”
“Aim to be first in that line, ma’am.” He grabbed his sister’s hand and said goodbye.
Mrs. Claxton said, “Looks like we got us enough volunteers to make this a yearly summer program. The teachers have pledged to donate their time. Come on, Cussy. You’ve done enough.
The girls can finish up here and close. It’s our day off tomorrow, and I’ve got a special treat for you. A surprise.” Her face lit up.
My last hours of freedom. Still, I would not treat her gracious spirit callously, spoil the surprise by brooding. The least I could do was return it.
I was determined that she would see my gratitude, watch me enjoy every minute of freedom I had left.