On to Richmond (63 page)

             
Thomas sighed but just shook his head.  “I didn’t really expect to have my way.”

             
His look of resignation and agony tore at Carrie’s heart, but she felt she was doing the only thing she could.

Carrie left Richmond one week later.  She had already told her father good-bye before he left for the office.  Janie had just arrived to see her off. 

              “You’re really not afraid to be on the plantation by yourself?” Janie asked. 

             
Carrie shrugged.  “I try not to think about it.  I just know I have to go back.”  She and Janie had talked it through already.  She knew Janie was just making conversation to avoid saying good-bye.  Carrie stepped forward and gave her new friend a big hug.  “Take good care of yourself.”  Then she stepped into the carriage.

             
Janie waved until she was out of sight. 

             
Carrie could not remember a time when it had been so hard to return to the plantation.  Janie was the first friend her age, other than Rose, whom she felt truly understood and accepted her for all she was.  She had shared with Janie her dream of being a doctor.  Her friend had done nothing but encourage her ever since. She had told of her heartache with Robert.  Janie had shared secrets as well.  They had agreed to exchange letters.  But still it wouldn’t be the same.  They spent time together every day since they had first met.  She would miss Janie sorely.

             
Carrie shook her head and tried to force her thoughts back to the plantation.  It would soon be time to start plowing and planting the fields.  She had a job to do.  She was determined to do it well.             

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

             
“Pepperpot, righthot!”

             
All hot!  All hot!

             
Makee back strong! 

             
Makee live long! 

             
Come buy my pepper pot!

             
Rose smiled at the black woman standing on the sidewalk next to her cart with its kettle of stew.  She remembered her amazement the first time she had seen street vendors hawking their wares.  The tiny woman who stood on the corner of Washington Street, no matter what the weather, was one of her favorites.  Often, she stopped to talk to her.  But not today.  Today she was in a hurry. 

             
My hoss is blind and he’s got no tail,

             
When he’s put in prison I’ll go his bail. 

             
Yeddy go, sweet potatoes, oh!

             
Fif-en-ny bit a half peck!

             
Rose hurried past the vendor with his sweet potatoes as well. His leering looks made her nervous, anyway.

             
One look at the sky this morning had told her Philadelphia was going to have another winter storm.  She was sure this winter was never going to end.  By the first week of March in the South, the air would become warm with the promise of spring.  Trees would sprout buds, and the first crocuses would pop up from their winter hiding places.  Here in Philadelphia, winter still held the city in its brutal grasp.  She ducked her head against a blast of cold air and pressed on. 

             
Finally she reached the Quaker School for Females.  She gave a sigh of relief, pushed open the door, and stepped in.  She pulled off her heavy coat, scarf, and gloves, adding them to the assortment on the coat stand.  Then she hurried into the classroom and took her usual seat on the front row.  Today, more than any other, she wanted to be on time and be close to the speaker. 

             
“Good morning, Rose.”

             
“Good morning, Alice.”  It had taken Rose quite some time to become comfortable using her teacher’s first name.  She had been taught to always use white people’s titles when she spoke with them. 
Mr.
,
Miss
, and
Mrs.
were an integral part of her vocabulary.  The Quaker custom of addressing people of all ages by their first names was foreign to her, but eventually it was becoming more comfortable.  She appreciated the feeling of equality it offered her. 

             
“Are you looking forward to our speaker today?”

             
Rose turned eagerly.  “I certainly am!  To actually talk to someone who has taught other blacks in the South.  I have so many questions!”

             
“Questions I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to answer,” Alice said with a smile.

             
Just then the door opened and another group of students pushed their way in from the cold.  Alice went to greet them while Rose opened the book she was now reading.  The rest of the room faded away as she once again lost herself in the world of
Moby Dick
. 

             
It was a sudden silence that caught her attention.  She looked up and hurriedly put her book away.  The guest speaker had arrived.  Rose watched as the matronly looking, middle-aged woman made her way to the front of the room.  She was rather unremarkable looking - except for her eyes, which shone with caring and warmth as bright as the sun.  Rose liked her immediately. 

             
Alice made the introductions.  “Good morning, class.  This is Marianne Lockins.  I told you about her a few days ago.  Until last week she was in one of the contraband camps of Virginia working with the refugee slaves there.  She has returned to accumulate books for her school and has graciously agreed to speak with us today.” Alice stepped aside while Marianne took her place behind the simple podium. 

             
Rose leaned forward, determined not to miss a single word.  Her eyes were glued to the woman’s face.  You could tell a lot by looking at a person’s face.

             
Marianne’s voice was strong and surprisingly deep.  “Good morning.  Thank you for having me here today.  I have indeed just come from one of the contraband camps in Virginia.  I can easily say it has been the most exciting time of my life.  I hope by the time I’m done talking some of you will decide to take what has been given you here and give it to others.”

             
Rose could feel her heart rising to the challenge.  She knew the camps were where she was supposed to be.  But when?  That was the answer she didn’t know yet. 

             
Marianne smiled and began her story.  “The contraband camp is not my first experience teaching in the South.  I have been a teacher for many years.  The last ten have been spent in southeastern Virginia, near Roanoke.  I loved my job, and I loved the people I worked with, the adults as well as the children.  Alas, things changed drastically as the war drew nearer.  Many people decided people from the North were there just to brainwash and miseducate their children.  People began to watch me suspiciously.  Even those I had known for years.  As the tensions mounted, there was another campaign mounting - to rid the South of all Northern teachers.” She paused.  “Even though they did not have qualified teachers in the South to take our places.”  A sad look crossed her face.  “I stayed as long as I could.  When I was certain my life was in danger because of intense feelings, I decided it was time to leave.  I came north hoping to start over again.”

             
Rose stared at her.  She could not imagine anyone wanting to hurt this gentle- looking woman.  Then she sighed.  She knew reason often fell to the wayside when intense feelings were involved. 

             
“I was in for quite a shock when I moved north, as well.  Because I had been a teacher in the South, I was suspected of disloyalties.  I refused to belittle my previous students and friends.  I believe the South has made grave errors in judgment.  That does not mean I believe Southerners are bad people.  There are people erring in grievous passions on both sides of this issue, I think.”  She paused again.  “Anyway, I discovered before long there was no real place for me in the North.  Yet all I wanted to do was teach.  I began to ask God what I was to do with the gifts he had given me.  Not too long after, I heard about the contraband camps.”

             
Rose resisted the urge to start asking questions.  She had to let Marianne finish her story.  Alice had promised her some time with the speaker afterward if Marianne could stay. 

             
“Going to the contraband camps was a truly incredible experience.  I have always abhorred the idea of slavery, but I think in the back of my mind I held the belief that blacks really were inferior to whites.  I wasn’t sure they could learn as well as whites.”  Then she laughed, a deep laugh that spread to her whole face.  “It’s rather embarrassing to admit that in a room full of very intelligent black students, but I feel I need to be honest with you.  If any of you choose to go down there, I am afraid you will find it a rather prevalent attitude.”

             
Rose found her liking for the woman increasing. Her refreshing honesty reminded Rose of Carrie and Aunt Abby. 

             
“I have never seen such thirst for knowledge as I found in those camps.  That seems to be the first thing former slaves want.  They want education.  They want to read and write.  They are eager to make something of themselves.”  She paused again, remembering...  “My classes were full from the very beginning.  Children came during the day.  Even the youngest ones were hungry to learn.   The adults came at night.”  She shook her head.  “I have never seen such a desire to learn.”

             
“And learn they have,” she said strongly.  “I have come north to accumulate books.  The supplies I have are simply inadequate.  Many of my students have already surpassed what I have to teach them with.  I struggle to keep them challenged.  They are truly remarkable.”  She looked down for a moment and then faced her audience again.  “I realized quickly how unfounded my prejudices were.  My students learn as quickly and well as any white people I have taught.  Just like in a white school, there are students who learn more quickly than others and ones who struggle to catch on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with color.”

             
Then her voice grew more serious.  “Why am I telling you this?  Because some of the teachers going there from the North are not willing to reexamine their prejudices.  They assume their students are going to be slow.  So, many of them are.  Or they drop out.  It has broken my heart to see what has happened in some of the classes when mine are going so well.”  Then she laughed.  “I’m not trying to sound egotistical.  I don’t necessarily believe my teaching techniques are better.  I think it is simply because I believe in my students.  My parents taught me from a very early age to believe in the power of an individual to achieve.”

             
Rose nodded her head as she listened.  She had discovered the very same thing in teaching her students.  They achieved because she believed they could.  Her belief had transferred to them. 

             
“I truly hope some of you will join me in the camps.  The need is great.  The number of slaves increases every day.  I believe it will just continue to get greater.  If indeed slavery is abolished in the South, the need will be phenomenal.  There will literally be millions of people who have never had the benefit of education.  You, more than anyone else, are qualified to teach your people.  You know what it’s like to have to push beyond people’s prejudices to accomplish your dreams.”

             
Marianne looked out over the classroom with a brilliant smile.  “Are there any questions you would like to ask?”