Julianne Parker

Julianne followed Millie, hurrying to keep up with the brisk pace. The roads were barely recognizable even on the streets considered busy. Truthfully, there were only narrow, well-worn paths through the trees and grass, leading to the homes of the families who might have school-aged children. Julianne appreciated Millie’s knowledge of who lived where. Without her, Julianne had no idea how to get word out about the school.

As Millie and Julianne approached a canvas tent, Millie whistled a two-note tune that sounded a bit like “yoo-hoo.” When they reached the tent flap, a hand pulled it open and a woman stepped out. Three children stood in the darkened interior, their wide eyes fixed on the visitors.

“Mrs. Schmidt, I brought you and the young ’uns some scones. Would it be all right if I give them one?” asked Millie, pulling back the napkin from the top of her basket. “Or they can keep ’til later.”

“I reckon we got a little time for that. Come on in.” Mrs. Schmidt stepped aside and invited the women to enter the tent. Mrs. Schmidt tied the flap back—in essence leaving the door open and flooding the interior with light.

Julianne glanced around at the sparse conditions. Three wooden boxes, stacked on top of each other, held some clothes.

“You two take a seat on those crates. What brings you up our way this afternoon, Miss Bing? Though your scones are a pleasant reason enough.” The woman and her children settled onto a quilt spread over the top of the straw pallet on the dirt floor.

Julianne sat closest to the children and passed out the scones she received from Millie. Each child had bright eyes and gentle smiles. Their home was tidy and clean, as were the children, though their clothes were worn.

“I came to introduce Miss Parker to the families hereabouts.” Millie turned toward Julianne. “This is Mrs. Schmidt and her three children.”

“How do you do?” the woman asked.

“I’m well. I'm so pleased to meet you,” Julianne said. “And to meet you too,” she added, nodding toward the children. “I've moved to Bachelor to be a schoolteacher, and it looks like your children might be of age to attend.”

At first, Mrs. Schmidt didn't say anything. Her face was solemn, and she stared at the scone in her hand, looking as if she was considering what Julianne had said, and perhaps, trying to control her emotions. The children snacked happily on the scones, oblivious to their mother’s dilemma.

Finally, Mrs. Schmidt answered in a thick voice, “I'd be pleased to have my young ’uns attend school, but we can't afford such things.”

Millie leaned forward and patted the woman on the knee. “Not to worry. The Lord will provide a way. You won't need to worry about paying tuition.”

Julianne noticed that Mrs. Schmidt was suddenly very interested in her apron. A moment later, she lifted it to dab at her eyes. “I never learnt to read, and…I'd be pleased if my children did.”

“We expect our school to start within the next month or two,” Julianne said.

Millie offered, “We’ll start by having the school at the church. We have other families to visit before our scones get all dried out.” Then to Julianne, she said, “Well, we best be goin’.” The woman hugged each of them before they left, then stood and waved to them from the opening of the tent as they walked back up the hill.

Millie linked arms with Julianne as they moved up the trail to the next family. There was no sign of children. Julianne didn’t hear or see a one.

This time when Millie whistled her greeting, a man and woman walked out from behind the one room log cabin, wearing work gloves and having blood splattered across their clothes. Julianne felt her pulse quicken. Taking in their appearance, Julianne noticed fine white chicken feathers stuck to and floating away from the woman’s apron.

“Mr. and Mrs. Baran, this is Miss Julianne Parker. She's come to be a schoolteacher—to start a school here in Bachelor.”

Julianne wanted to get to the point and leave the somewhat grizzly scene. “I'm pleased to meet you. Have you children who might attend our school?”

The man’s lips turned downward, and his eyebrows creased between them. He shook his head twice and said, “Nope.”

Millie took the napkin from the top of her basket. “May I leave some scones for you and your children on the window ledge?”

The woman smiled prettily, making her seem much younger than moments ago, until the man barked out, “No. Good day to you.”

Millie didn’t seem fazed by the rough tone the man used. “Good day to you too,” she said in a friendly way, her face honestly happy.

When they’d walked a ways up the road, Julianne said, “I hope there are more families like Mrs. Schmidt than like this last family. Why didn’t they want their children to attend or even have your scones?” She had a hard time believing that parents wouldn't want their children to better themselves.

Millie answered, “As for the scones, he might not want to be beholden to anyone. But for letting their children go to school, I suppose they need the money. If their children are going to school, they aren't working. It might take every coin this family makes to feed themselves.”

As they walked away, Julianne thought it might be true of most of the population in Bachelor, who looked like they could use more regular meals. If families were to educate their children, they would have an easier time feeding themselves, but that was years in the future, and it wouldn't fill the empty stomachs now.

Millie led her off the road and up a small trail. Julianne wondered how it was possible that everywhere they walked seemed to be uphill. Millie whistled again. This time, they stood in front of a door that was sunk into the small hillside. The door creaked open, and the young girl peeked out.

She was the female version, of the boy at the church luncheon, the one with the missing pant leg. The same copper-brown hair. The same sky-blue eyes. A sprinkling of freckles over her nose.

“Hello, Bekka. Is Willie home? We’d like to talk to him.”

The girl shook her head and started backing away from the door to close it. “I saw your brother.” Julianne spoke up. “He's a hard worker.” The girl paused in the doorway, giving Julianne a moment to extend an invitation. “Our school will be starting in a few weeks’ time. I wondered if you or anyone else in your family would like to attend.”

The young girl nodded once and then shut the door. Millie walked up to the door and tapped. When the girl answered, Millie said, “I brought some scones for your family for dinner tonight.” She counted out enough treats. “Please tell Willie they came from me.” She handed the girl six scones wrapped in the napkin. “He can drop the napkin off at my place when he comes to do chores.”

With a smile, the girl wrapped her hands carefully around the napkin as if it were filled with jewels. Her eyes sparkled at Millie before she disappeared behind the rickety door.

It took all afternoon to visit houses that had children. Julianne suspected she’d walked an inch off the heels of her boots. This whole town was built into the nooks and crannies of the hillside around the mines. Most of the families were doubtful that they would have children attending. Some thought they wouldn't still be living in Bachelor in a month’s time, and others needed their children to work. Several committed to come, and a few others said they would think about it.

“These are poor folks, Julianne, but they have their pride, and they love one another. We'll just keep inviting and hope that they will see their way to letting the children come.”

Julianne was glad that they had come out this early to invite the children because it might take some families several weeks to make a decision, waiting until word spread to convince them. At least, she hoped they would. It wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be to open a school and have a room full of eager minds.

Still, she felt in her heart that it was what she was supposed to do. Lord, direct my path.