Rush Home Road (26 page)

The bell for recess rang and Sharla was not surprised when Mrs. Pigot said without even looking up, “Not you, Sharla.” Sharla stayed at her desk and laid her head on her
hands as she was instructed. She waited until Mrs. Pigot left the room to go smoke in the teacher's lounge, then she hurried to the front of the room and snatched a piece of long white chalk from the ledge. She snuck back to her desk and ate the chalk in small bites, pushing it against the roof of her mouth and letting it melt like chocolate. She felt better after she ate the chalk and remembered to wipe the white powder from her lips when the recess bell rang and the children filed back into the class.

Mrs. Pigot entered the room trailed by the odour of cigarette smoke. She went to the blackboard to get her chalk. She looked and looked and scratched her head like she had bugs before she got another stick from the box in the locked-up supply drawer. Sharla thought it was funny that Mrs. Pigot didn't suspect she was the chalk thief, even though a piece was missing each time she was punished at recess.

Sharla knew when she was climbing the bus that Friday afternoon that she'd left the work page in her lift-up desk. She also knew that though she'd enjoy colouring the leaves, she could not fill in any names except Collette's and that only reminded her Mum Addy wasn't her real Mum and made her feel sad and mad at once. She could only hope that her missing page would go unnoticed when the homework was turned in on Monday morning.

It hadn't occurred to Addy that it'd be anyone other than another child causing Sharla's unhappiness, and when she got a call from Mrs. Pigot that Monday evening
saying she'd like a word, Addy assumed it was to discuss what they might do about the other children's teasing.

Addy felt anxious about her visit to the teacher and hoped she wouldn't be asked too many questions, like where was Sharla's mother. Sharla was anxious too. Though she was pleased Mum Addy'd be taking her home in the taxicab and she could avoid the bus ride and the bumpy, sick-making, never-ending country roads back to Lakeview, she knew Mrs. Pigot would tell about the misbehaving and the recesses inside at her desk. Maybe she even knew about the stolen chalk and Mum Addy wouldn't like that one bit.

Sharla was waiting alone in the classroom when Addy arrived, and the old woman felt proud seeing Sharla sit up so straight in her chair with her hands clasped together and her feet crossed at the ankles. She smiled and called, “My, my, Mizz Cody! Look at you! Aren't you the young lady! I thought you'd be out playing with the other children.”

Fear flashed on Sharla's face and she shook her head slightly.

Addy didn't understand. “What's wrong, Sharla?”

Sharla glanced at the door before she whispered, “I'm not allowed to talk.”

“Why?”

“I'll get another spank.”

“Spank?” Addy was shocked, for it was the first she'd heard of a spank. “Why would you get a spank?”

Sharla glanced at the door and shook her head.

“Sharla Cody you tell me right now, why would the teacher
spank
you? What's going on here?”

Sharla whispered, “Nothing.”

Addy shuddered. “Something. Something, and you're gonna tell me what it is.”

Sharla glanced at the door again. “What it is, is I get in trouble. I get a bare bum spank. Mrs. Pigot says when a little girl gets
unruly
she needs a punishment to learn. She says unruly comes from my coloured side.”

Addy was horrified. She never imagined it had been the
teacher
causing Sharla's pain. “Why are you sitting like that? Did she make you stay after school?”

Sharla nodded. “I was singing too loud.”

“Singing too loud?” Addy's heart squeezed.

“Mrs. Pigot said—”

“Mrs. Pigot said she's had enough of your tomfoolery,” the teacher bellowed as she strode into the room. “You may wait outside, Sharla.”

Sharla rose from her desk and marched up the aisle like a soldier, staring straight ahead and not glancing back at Mum Addy before she left the room.

Addy did her best to be civil and thrust out her hand, saying, “I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet each other on the first day of school, Mrs. Pigot. I'm told you were busy getting some things together. I had a taxicab waiting.”

The teacher shook Addy's hand limply and with barely concealed disdain. “Yes well, what was your name again? It's not Cody, is it?”

“Adelaide Shadd.”

“And you're the grandmother, Adelaide, is that right?”

“Yes. I'm Sharla's guardian,” Addy answered.

“And is it Sharla's mother or her father that's a relation to you?”

“Excuse me?”

Mrs. Pigot smiled. “I was just wondering, seeing as she's so clearly
mulatto
, which parent is it that's, well, is it your son or daughter?”

“Not that I see it matters, but it's my son,” Adelaide lied outright.

Mrs. Pigot sighed and blew a gust of something familiar Addy's way. “I suspected as much.”

“I beg your pardon?” Addy cringed, thinking she could not be right about what she thought she could smell or what Mrs. Pigot meant by the remark.

“It's just more typical for—oh never mind, Adelaide.”

Adelaide cleared her throat. “Mizz Shadd, if you don't mind. Now, Mrs. Pigot, maybe you could tell me just what alls been going on here with my Sharla.”

Mrs. Pigot could see now where Sharla got her ways and was sorry she'd asked for the meeting. She only cared to have parent-teacher discussions if the parent was afraid of her.

“Well, Mizz Shadd, if you're the guardian, I'm sure I don't have to tell you about Sharla's behavioural problems.”

“In fact you do. Because I don't have any problems atall with the child at home but I've certainly noticed she's none too happy being here at school.”

Mrs. Pigot did not offer Addy a chair but sat down herself and leaned back, scratching her head. “Sharla has
many
problems here at school.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Are there a lot of slow learners in the family? Discipline problems?”

“No.” Addy ground her teeth. “Sharla is quite a bright little girl and she minds me very well.”

“Yes, well, all parents think their children are bright. I'm sure Sharla told you about the homework she didn't hand in? The last straw, as it were?”

“You giving six-year-olds homework?”

“It was a simple task, a little project for the children to work on with their parents.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Sharla was the only child in the class who didn't hand in her page. All of the other parents found time to help.” Mrs. Pigot gestured around the room, where the artwork was hung over the blackboards.

Addy looked at the pages and the coloured-in leaves of the family trees and the names of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and understood at once. Sharla had no family. How could a six-year-old explain such a thing? She smiled at the teacher and tried not to sound angry. “Sharla's family situation is a little more complicated than some.”

“Well, if the girl's ashamed of her family perhaps that's something you should be addressing. It would certainly explain her behaviour.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the classroom door. A smiling young woman peered inside, saying, “Excuse me, Mrs. Pigot. I didn't know you had a guest. You have a telephone call. Shall I take a message?”

“No. No. I'll…” The teacher rose and bolted for the door, barely remembering to say, “I'll be back in a moment.”

Addy nodded and watched the woman go. She was sure she was right in her suspicion now, for as the woman walked away she detected the faint, though familiar, smell of gin. Addy went toward the hallway, looking up and down to make sure it was vacant. Then she crept back into the room, sat down in the chair behind the big oak desk, and carefully pulled open the first desk drawer. There, at the bottom, barely concealed, was a pint-sized bottle of liquor.

Addy closed the drawer and went to the window, wondering what to do next. She could see Sharla outside, alone, balancing on the bike racks, looking up from time to time to watch a group of children playing dodge ball nearby. The sight made Addy want to cry. But that's life, she thought, some people have love, friendship, and good fortune come easy, some have to work for it, and some never get it at all. Still, she wanted to give Sharla a fighting chance. Something had to be done.

It was a full fifteen minutes before Mrs. Pigot returned. The teacher breezed back into the room and deposited herself in the chair, looking distracted and disturbed. “Where were we?”

Addy drew a breath and surprised herself when she said, “We were just about to talk about the fact, Mrs. Pigot, that you are not fit to be within one hundred feet of a precious child let alone teacher to a whole class of them.”

Now it was Mrs. Pigot's turn to be shocked. “How dare you?!”

Addy squared her shoulders. Her fury made her feel young and strong. “How dare
you
?! How dare you spank my child's bare bottom! How dare you punish her for singing loud! And how dare you suggest that her being part Negro has anything to do with what you call her ‘behaviour' problems!”

The teacher's jaw dropped, for she had hardly expected this. She shifted in her chair and cleared her throat, a little less sure of herself. “Sharla does have a problem with unruly behaviour, Mizz Shadd.”

“It's you who has the problem, Teacher. It's you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Pigot had grown smaller, such as happens when the bully becomes the coward.

Addy was trembling, emboldened by her rage. “Yes. Beg my pardon and beg my patience because if I ever, ever hear again that you were anything but kind and helpful and fair with Sharla, I will have my son and his gang of big,
unruly
Negro friends pay you a visit and make sure it don't happen again.”

Mrs. Pigot was speechless. Addy leaned in a little closer. “And if I ever come into this room and smell liquor on your breath while you are teaching these children I will
march into your principal's office and tell him about that bottle of gin in your desk and I'll make sure you're never hired by this school board or any other. You understand? Mrs. Pigot?”

Mrs. Pigot nodded twice and squeezed her eyes to dam a flood of tears. Addy felt cold. “I ask you if you understand me.”

“Yes,” the teacher whispered without opening her eyes.

Addy nodded and left the room, pausing for a moment in the hall. After she'd calmed herself a little, she went outside and found Sharla still balancing on the bike racks. “I got a surprise, Honey.”

“What?” Sharla blinked against the sun.

“We're going to have our supper in a restaurant tonight.”

“We are?” Sharla said, and clapped her hands. Living out at Lakeview without a car, they had not the opportunity to eat out and no extra money anyway. But Addy thought Sharla deserved a treat today and maybe she herself did too. She had twenty-four dollars in her vinyl purse, which would buy them the fish-dinner special at The Satellite Restaurant downtown and leave enough for the taxi ride home. She knew Sharla'd have a hard time choosing between pudding and Jell-O for dessert, and she smiled to herself thinking how she'd order whatever Sharla didn't and give it to her as an extra surprise.

The restaurant was crowded but there was room for two by the window with a view of the Thames River. The pretty
young waitress took great pleasure in showing them to their table, laying Sharla's linen napkin across her lap and saying, “What would you like to drink this evening, Miss?”

“Coke, Miss,” Sharla answered.

“Milk,” Addy corrected, and winked at the young girl. “
Please.
”

“
Please
,” Sharla repeated in the exact tone and timbre.

The girl winked back and smiled at Sharla, saying, “You ladies should know you have the best table in the house.”

Sharla waited until the waitress had taken their order and walked away before she whispered, “We got the best table, Mum Addy.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Addy said, looking out at the river.

“Ain't we in a restaurant though?”

“Of course we are.”

“But she said best in the
house.
”

“Sometimes we call a restaurant a house.”

“And sometimes we call a house a restaurant?”

“No, Honey. Doesn't work the other way around.”

“Why?”

“Just doesn't.”

Addy had glanced around the room when they came in and noticed an older Negro couple dining on the other side of the room. She'd given them a second look and then a third. There was something familiar about the couple, though she was certain she didn't know them. She couldn't help staring though, and wondering. It was the man, his
nose, and the profile of his chin. She'd seen him somewhere maybe. She turned around again when Sharla's voice rose above a polite octave.

“Mu-um?!” Sharla said for the fourteenth time.

“Let's mind our manners, Young Lady. We don't raise our voices in public. Remember what we said about yelling?”

Sharla nodded solemnly. “Yelling's only for emergencies.” She held up two fingers and counted down. “If the trailer's on fire or if you're cut'n'bleedin'.”

“That's right. Now what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“
Why
doesn't it work the other way around?”

“What, Honey?”

Addy was distracted again and could not bring herself to look away from the profile of the man on the other side of the room. He was around her age, she guessed, maybe a few years younger. Maybe she'd delivered bread to him when she was working for The Oakwood. Maybe he'd even worked at the bakery. He hadn't been on the bread ovens. No. That man was shorter and rounder. But something. Something.