Julianne Parker

Four wooden pews lined up one behind the other like soldiers marching in a parade. Julianne had wanted the first day of school to be perfect, and wondered if she should have waited until everything was ready before starting—desks and chairs, books, slates and chalk. All of that might have moved back the starting date for classes. Maybe she should have a least waited until the wound on her face healed, and she looked more respectable.

She shook off her worry. Mankind might judge her for any one of those things, but the Lord looked upon the heart. It would be fine.

A few parents with children in tow stepped into the church. They clustered near the door, the children shy, and the parents wary.

“Please come in.” She gestured toward the benches in the middle of the floor. “Sit …anywhere. We’ll start soon.”

Julianne felt as nervous as bees buzzing through her veins. What had possessed her to begin a school without books or slates? She was wholly unprepared.

She calmed herself with a deep breath. They’d spend some time getting to know each other, counting with rocks, and learning to sing the alphabet. Everything will be fine. I can do this.

As more families arrived, the women she knew from church gave her hugs and sat with their children to wait. It warmed her through. These people cared for her as much as she cared for them. Together, they would make a school.

Just as she decided to start, Ruby entered the church, stick in hand. “I’m here for my writing lesson.” She ran to Julianne and hugged her around the waist. Her large brown eyes looked up and with enthusiasm lighting her smile, she added, “I’ve been practicing my name.”

That simple thought took root in Julianne’s mind—teach them their names. It was the most important word to each child.

“Ruby, will you take us out to find our own writing sticks?”

Ruby’s face was alight with joy as she ran to the door. “Come on. They’re outside.” Then she disappeared through the doorway with eight other children and four mothers following. On the riverbank, Ruby waited for the rest of the students to arrive. With confidence in her voice, she said, “You want one like this.” She held up her stick.

The group scattered and reconvened, sticks in hand. Ruby reminded Julianne that each stick needed a fine point. Julianne pulled the knife from her boot and prepared the sticks.

As they walked back to the church, Millie and Mrs. Parker stood near the door.

“I wondered if I might help,” Mrs. Parker asked.

Julianne flung her arms around her mother’s shoulders. “Yes. Thank you.”

“This is a fine work you’ve set your mind to, Julianne.” Her mother’s eyes glistened. “I’ll help you see it started.”

Millie stood nearby. “I’ve a mind to help you too.”

With a smile from Julianne, all three women joined the class.

“Ruby, will you show us your name?” Julianne asked.

The mothers and children circled around Ruby to watch.

The young girl squatted down and thought. She looked up at Julianne, who smiled encouragement in her direction. Ruby put the pointed stick to the ground and began to write. In the dust, a skiwampus R took shape. Pride shone brightly on her face as she looked to Julianne.

“Well done.” Julianne knelt and hugged the girl’s shoulders. “Practice this today.” She wrote the rest of the name as she said the letters. “U-B-Y.”

Each child and most of the mothers, with sticks in hand, waited patiently for Julianne, Millie, and Mrs. Parker to draw their names in the dirt.

The students bubbled with excitement at their accomplishment, chatting and showing each other their names. The joy of learning burned in Julianne’s heart. Something as simple as a string of letters captured a name, a person, a friend.

A quick little fantasy flitted through Julianne’s mind. She turned so her back was to the group and drew a heart in the dirt, then wrote “JP loves HF” in the center. She dashed an arrow through the middle. She felt a little poke of pain across her own heart—Hugh hadn’t come to see her since the brawl.

Julianne swished her hand across her drawing, sending dust into the air. If she was never meant to have the love of a man, at least she could love her fellowman. She shook her skirts and rejoined the school.

When the last of the children left, Willie rode up. He jumped down from the wagon and began unloading crates. “Mr. Fontaine asked me to bring these books over.”

Julianne was torn between the excitement of having books, and sorrow, knowing Hugh decided not to bring them.