The Clash Between the Minds Read online

  "That sounds good," Sarah said, "but I don't think the school trustees will let that happen. Remember, Lincoln School was built on the other side of town especially for colored children."

  "Specially for coloreds?" Noah said.

  "Yes. The federal government put up some of the money for it."

  "Ain't that good?" Velia asked.

  "Only if the schooling is as good as what the white children get." Faith made a face. "And I have doubts that it is. But I'm not sure having a separate school means no colored children can attend ours."

  "You're a real optimist, sweetheart." Sarah rose and took her dishes to the counter. She gazed out the window. Dark clouds gathered and gradually dimmed the sunlight. "Looks like rain," she murmured. No wonder her damn leg hurt. It had been throbbing all morning.

  "But Daniel could go back and forth to school with Benjamin and me," Faith said. "That would be a lot easier than taking him all the way across town." She directed her gaze to Noah. "It's possible some families might object to their children being in the same classroom with Daniel, but I'd like to try. What do you think?"

  Noah swallowed the bite of bacon he'd been chewing and laid the fork on his plate. "Worse things been done to us than bein' told to change schools, but I ain't too sure about this. I don't want Daniel gettin' hurt." He stopped and turned his head toward Daniel. "You might get pushed around. Can you handle that without fightin' about it?"

  Daniel's earnest expression left no doubt about his intentions. "I think so."

  "I'll be there, too," Benjamin said.

  "Velia?" Noah waited as Velia took a moment to answer.

  She looked troubled, like she wouldn't agree, but at last, she nodded.

  "Good," Faith said. "It's settled then."

  "The bell has rung." Faith gave the roomful of children her sternest look. "Take your seats, and come to order." The different grades occupied designated benches in the same room, with the earliest grades closest to the front. Most of them sat, but no one except Benjamin took a seat next to Daniel. What had she expected? They had never shared a classroom with a colored boy, and some of them no doubt carried the same prejudices as their parents. Maybe Faith had been too bold in bringing Daniel to class with her. She had pooh-poohed Sarah's warning and ignored Velia's obvious distress. Well, she thought, no one had ever accused her of being shy.

  She believed in facing problems head on and dealing with them. What better way for children to learn tolerance than to present them with a situation that called for it? She wasn't surprised that several of the older boys milled about at the back of the room near the door. "Sit down," she called to them.

  "I ain't sitting in a room with no nigger." Hiram Blanton, son of the haberdashery owner, punched the arm of Roscoe Fields, who glared at him. Roscoe's father worked at the mortuary. The two boys, at sixteen, were the oldest and biggest children in the room, and Faith fought a constant battle to keep them from bullying the others.

  "Me, neither," Roscoe said. He reached for the doorknob and pulled open the door. "Let's get out of here."

  "Rest of you," Hiram said, "better come with us if you know what's good for you. Teacher can't do nothing. My pa will tell her what's what." This was no idle threat. Morton Blanton was head of the Bonneforte Town Council. After previous council meetings, Faith and Sarah had often discussed how stuck in a rut the man was. His ideas, and those of his cronies on the council, seemed to be the only ones that mattered, and any new ideas died for want of sufficient votes. Faith couldn't understand how he'd been elected in the first place. Were people that indifferent to who led them?

  Four children followed the two, leaving nine who hadn't been intimidated. She introduced Daniel to the group and began the day's lessons.

  Just before noon, the schoolroom door banged open and in walked Morton Blanton. "School's done for the day," he said as he removed his derby. "You children go on home."

  "Just a minute, Mr. Blanton." Faith stood near her desk with an open book of Shakespeare's sonnets in her hands. She had been reading to the class.

  "Don't you 'just a minute' me! No nigras are allowed in this school. How dare you take it upon yourself to bring one here? Get him out of here, and don't bring him back ever again."

  Faith laid the book on her desk and folded her arms. "He has just as much right to an education as a white boy. The war freed the slaves."

  Blanton pointed a finger at her. "You know right well that Lincoln School's been built to accommodate them, and the rules set down by the town council say that's where they'll go. According to your contract, you have to follow those rules. If not, you'll be guilty of reneging on your contract. Your work history will carry that black mark with it."

  Black mark? The irony of the designation struck Faith, but she couldn't ignore the truth of Mr. Blanton's remarks. Not that she worried about her work history, but she did worry about being a quitter. Finding a replacement for her could take months, and she had made a commitment to teach these children.

  She uncrossed her arms. "Very well. I'll take him over to Lincoln and get him settled there. But I'm not happy about it."

  "Your happiness or unhappiness isn't an issue. You're lucky to still be teaching here after moving in with that woman who—" He stopped, slapped his hat on his head, and strode out the door.

  Faith shivered.

  "You were right," Faith said to Sarah that evening as Drummer pulled the wagon toward the middle of town. Oil lamps that hung from poles along the boardwalk were already aglow, but they added little to the waning twilight.

  "I'm always right. Ow!" Sarah grunted when Faith punched her arm. She switched the reins to one hand and used the other to rub her muscle. "About what?"

  "I shouldn't have exposed Daniel to that fiasco. I tried to explain that people being prejudiced wasn't his fault, but he's seen so much hatred against his family just because of their color, I don't think I made much headway."

  Sarah patted Faith's knee. "I understand you had to try. Trouble is, you put too much faith in the goodness of people."

  "Most people are good. Misdirected, maybe, but good."

  Sarah rubbed a hand over the scars on her face. A picture of her being stripped and staked to the ground leaped to mind before she could repel it. "I've met a few who didn't have a good bone in their body."

  Faith frowned. "I wish I could have prevented that. Maybe someday you'll be able to forgive the men who hurt you."

  Sarah pulled on the reins to bring Drummer to a stop in front of the Town Hall. "They're dead now, so it doesn't matter anymore." She voiced the words, but every time she thought of the men who had brutalized her, shot her, and left her for dead, she felt pain in her heart and soreness in the pit of her stomach. As Faith said, maybe someday she could forgive them. But not yet. Maybe someday she could accept Jessica as someone she could love. But not yet.

  She climbed from the wagon and lifted a hand to help Faith down. "Let's go stir up the council meeting for a change."

  They nodded to some acquaintances as they found seats together in the crowded room. Sarah looked around. "More people here than usual."

  "Humph." Faith gave a discreet snort. "My little altercation today with Mr. Blanton could be the reason. The news must have spread quickly."

  The council members sat at a string of tables pushed together in the front of the room. Morton Blanton rapped a gavel on a round wooden disk that rested on the table he sat at and called the meeting to order. After a reading of the minutes by Secretary James Melvin and a report from Treasurer Shamus McDuff, Blanton introduced the New Business segment. He shuffled a few papers and looked out at the gathering. "Our schoolteacher, Mrs. Pruitt, seemed to misapprehend this council's rules about school attendance. She brought a nigra to school today and set him in among our own youngsters." A murmur swept through the crowd.

  Blanton raised a hand to silence them. "I explained to her that Lincoln School was built for nigra children, and the boy had to go there. I believe she took him ther
e this afternoon and got him situated. Is that right, Mrs. Pruitt?"

  Faith stood. "I did take Daniel there. Whether it's right could be a matter of debate." Heads swiveled toward her, including Sarah's.

  Uh-oh, Sarah thought. Keep calm, redhead.

  Faith swung her gaze around, making eye contact with some of the attendees. "Our recent war freed the slaves. Why shouldn't hey attend the regular schools instead of being pushed into Huerior buildings with inferior resources? The system's not fair to them." Another murmur spread through the room, and Blanton banged his gavel.

  "If that's the way you feel," he said, "perhaps you should take your ideas to a higher committee where these rules were formed. Our duty is to enforce them. And enforce them we will."

  "Why doesn't the council take them to a higher committee?" Faith spread one arm out and moved it to include the whole room. "We have some freed slaves in this town. Where are they? I don't see a single one here. They deserve representation, and the council should see that they get it."

  Some faces of the other council members had hardened, and most of the men averted their glances. Not one of them gave Faith's words any support.

  Blanton spoke in a condescending tone. "Mrs. Pruitt, no one except the council itself is required to attend this meeting. And if the nigras choose not to come, it's not up to us to chase after them."

  Faith pinned him with her gaze. "Would you let them in if they did come?"

  Blanton hesitated, and several other members squirmed in their seats. "We'll have to give that some thought."

  Faith wasn't about to back down. "I'd like to hear your conclusions at the council's next meeting."

  "We'll see." Blanton banged the gavel again, emphasizing his words. "Let's get back to the issue at hand. According to the government rules, nigras aren't allowed to attend the white schools. If you choose to ignore the rules, you'll be required to step down as the schoolteacher." Now the murmur swelled to recognizable words, most of which sounded in favor of Faith's staying.

  Faith lifted her chin. "I made a commitment to teach the children, and I'll honor that commitment unless told otherwise by the council."

  "Very well, then, the matter's settled." Blanton glanced down at his papers. "Any other new business?"

  As Faith sat down, Sarah rose. "I have a question."

  Blanton looked up and glowered. "What is it?"

  Sarah noted that he had ignored the "Miss Coulter" that would have been the polite address, but she let his arrogance run off her. "The newspaper's been reporting about a group called the Ku Klux Klan. The group's been burning property and even killing people, mostly in the states farther south, but also in some nearby areas."

  Blanton's glower was replaced by a sneer. "So what's your point? Just letting us know you can read?" A few snickers died when Sarah flicked an icy stare toward the area they came from.

  "I want to know," she said, "whether any provisions are in place to deal with them if they decide to cause harm around here. Other places have been caught unawares. Maybe Sheriff Schmidt should have an extra deputy or two to keep an eye out for them." Sarah saw heads nodding, but no one else spoke up.

  Blanton toyed with the gavel. "I hear most of the so-called harm's been directed toward nigras who've attacked widows of fallen soldiers or broken the law in some other way. Maybe we should welcome the Ku Klux Klan and thank them for protecting us."

  Sarah's hands balled into fists. "Isn't that the job of the sheriff and the courts?"

  Blanton gave a sly smile. "You just suggested yourself that Sheriff Schmidt could use more help. Why not take advantage of free help instead of hiring someone we have to pay?"

  Someone in the crowd yelled, "Good idea," and more heads nodded.

  Blanton's glower returned. "Maybe people who harbor nigra law-breakers should be worried, but most of us aren't in that situation. Unless the Klan attacks law-abiding citizens, I see no reason to fear them."

  "So, welcoming the Ku Klux Klan is your answer?" Sarah said.

  "Unless someone else has a better idea than the one you've Proposed." Blanton hesitated, but no one responded. He hit the gavel on the desk. "Next order of business."

  Sarah flicked the reins and hurried Drummer at a trot along the rutted road. The oil lamp that hung from a pole on the wagon swayed back and forth, spreading its glow in splotches on their path. Light and dark. Light and dark. The pleasant aroma of new-mown hay hung in the night air.

  "So much for suggesting the town be prepared for any trouble," Sarah said.

  "I have to admit," Faith said, "I was surprised no one seemed worried. Everyone went along with Blanton like they didn't care."

  "How about his remark with regard to harboring nigra lawbreakers? You know he meant us and Noah." Sarah had explained to Faith all the circumstances of her meeting with Noah at the general store.

  "Noah didn't really steal anything. You said you paid Ed for what he had in his pockets."

  "I doubt Ed Putnam or Morton Blanton would make that distinction. People see what they want to see."

  "Do you think we might have trouble because Noah and his family are staying with us?"

  "I think we need to consider that possibility."

  The women fell silent for the rest of the journey home, accompanied by the creaking of the wagon, the thudding of Drummer's hoofbeats, and the clacking of the oil lamp against the pole.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, after breakfast, Sarah asked everyone to remain at the table for a few moments. As she walked past Faith's chair, she trailed her fingers across Faith's back, bringing an up-tilted face and a smile. She left the room and returned with a Spencer repeating rifle and a box of .52 caliber shells. "I want each of you to listen carefully. A group of troublemakers called the Ku Klux Klan might be in this area. It's a secret organization, so we can't be sure whether any of our neighbors belong to it or not."

  "We's heard of it," Noah said. Velia took hold of his hand. "They hate the freed slaves. They've whupped some of us, even to death, and hanged others for no real reason."

  Faith gasped. "Is that who...?" She touched her fist to her mouth.

  "Yes, ma'am." Noah pushed his lips together.

  "I'm so sorry, Noah," Faith said.

  "Not your doin', ma'am."

  Sarah set the box of shells in front of Benjamin. "Hand some of these to me, please. And everyone watch how I do this." She pointed to a two-inch piece of metal sunk into the butt-end of the stock. "This is the extracting handle. You turn it," she said. She moved it counterclockwise and pulled a long cylinder from the stock. "And this is the magazine that holds the shells." As Benjamin handed her the bullets, she loaded seven into the cylinder. She pushed it back into the stock and twisted the extracting handle clockwise, locking it in place.

  "Here's how you ready the rifle to fire." She pulled down and forward on the trigger guard, which levered open the rifle breech. "Moving this down will eject the spent cartridge, and closing it loads a new cartridge into the barrel." She closed the breech. "Each time you want to shoot, you have to pull back on the hammer." She went through the motions of cocking the hammer without really doing so, lifted the rifle to her shoulder, and pointed it toward a window. "Aim it and squeeze the trigger. Bam," she said and lowered the rifle. "You can shoot all seven shells without reloading. You just have to work the trigger guard and pull the hammer back each time." She set the rifle in the corner of the kitchen.

  "I want everyone to remember that this is loaded and ready to fire. Stay away from it unless you have serious cause to use it. I'll load the one over the mantel, too, and I'll carry one with me on Redfire. If you see anything suspicious, these guns will be handy. Don't be afraid to carry one to the door with you when a stranger comes." She hesitated. "Noah, do you know how to shoot one?"

  "Yes, ma'am, we both do. Massa Brent told us not to tell anyone that he let us help him practice his skeet shootin'. We took turns with him, just like a competition. But we used a musket. I ain't nev
er seen a rifle like that one."

  Sarah retrieved the weapon. "It's called a repeater. I bought three of them last week. They work pretty much the same as a musket as far as aiming and firing." She pointed to the trigger guard and repeated the directions. "Each time you fire a round, you pull down on this guard. The breech opens up and kicks out the spent cartridge. When you close the trigger guard, a strong spring moves the new shell into place in the barrel, and you can cock the hammer and fire again. Understand?"

  Noah and Velia nodded.

  "I ain't never learned to shoot," Daniel said. He looked at Benjamin. "Has you?"

  "Yep. Aunt Sarah taught me."

  Daniel sounded excited as his gaze went to Sarah. "Will you teach me, Miss Sarah? I'm fourteen, old enough to learn."

  "If it's all right with your folks." Sarah looked their way, and they both nodded. "Good. Your first lesson will be after school today. Speaking of school, you all best be on your way. I'll hitch up Drummer while you get your things together."

  True to her word, Sarah spent two hours everyday for more than two weeks teaching Daniel to shoot. He soon became adept, and he and Benjamin competed against each other. The competition sharpened their skills, until both boys impressed Sarah with their abilities.

  On a Wednesday, after school, she took them out to the barn. "How about some horseback riding lessons?"

  Daniel clapped his hands and jiggled his body. "Yes! I helped with the farm horses but never rode any." He glanced around. "But they ain't here. They's in the corral."

  "First lesson," Sarah said, "is mucking the stalls." She usually did it herself, but earlier this morning she had purposely let it go. During the summer and on Saturdays, Benjamin helped. Today, he groaned, bringing a grin to Sarah's face. "Work first," she said. "Pleasure afterward. Grab the shovels and buckets."

  After the boys had cleaned the stalls, she brought Drummer inside and showed Daniel how to saddle him and shorten the stirrups. She whistled and Redfire trotted in next to her. She patted his jaw and rubbed her head against his.

  "Saddle Redfire, Benjamin, while I walk Drummer around outside and let Daniel get a feel for riding." She led Drummer through the opening from the barn into the corral and showed Daniel how to mount and slip his feet into the stirrups. Drummer was broader than Redfire and had bigger hooves, better suited to the work around the property. Redfire, a thoroughbred, went through most of the war with Sarah and wound up in Faith's care for a while. Benjamin rode him almost every day and was very attached to him.