Chapter 21

A month after Gemma turns five, she and Mirlee Bee go to the one-room schoolhouse that Lula Mae says started out as a tool shed. “Our oldest went to kindergarten there, and the Board of Education acted like they was doing us a favour adding a room for each grade, up to eighth. They stopped at fifth until us parents threatened to sue.” Tazia says she’s seen two-storey brick schools downtown, many brand new, and asks why Negroes can’t go there. Lula Mae tosses her head. “Ain’t no rule says they can’t, but it’s understood children are supposed to learn close to home.”

Gemma is one of only three white students at Harrison School. The other two, twin girls a year older, are orphans and rumored to have “nigger blood” in the family. There are two hundred desks for three hundred students and the books are twenty or more years out of date. On the first day, when Tazia goes to meet the teacher, she can barely read the chalkboard. A hole in the slate swallows the second “L” in “HELLO” and cracks divide “CHILDREN” into three words.

The second week, when Tazia picks up Gemma at the Wrights’ after work, the child bursts into tears. Tazia cups her soft chin in calloused hands. “What’s wrong, Cara?” she asks.

“No one will play with her,” Lula Mae says.

“Mirlee Bee ...” Gemma’s sobs increase, and she cannot finish the thought.

Lula Mae completes it for her. “Even my daughter sided with the other children.” Mirlee Bee stares at the floor and draws small circles with her foot. “I told her that she was not to treat Gemma different at school than at home.” Lula Mae waits for Mirlee Bee to look at her. “Mirlee Bee is a natural born leader. If she plays with Gemma, the others will too.” Lula Mae slams the lid on the pot. “If Mirlee Bee refuses, she can also play by herself from now on.”

Mirlee Bee fetches a doll and tentatively holds it out to Gemma who, still sniffling, accepts it. The girls sit on the couch and make doll clothes from fabric scraps. Mirlee Bee brushes a piece of flannel across Gemma’s tear-stained cheeks. Tazia watches a moment, then thanks Lula Mae.

Lula Mae doesn’t accept her thanks. “I don’t see why you won’t send that child to a white school.”

“How would I get her there?” Tazia says. “I can’t take her on the wagon because we leave too early, and if I wait to take her on the trolley, I have no way to get to the farm. Besides, you yourself said that children have to live near the school they attend.”

“Exactly.” Lula Mae shoots her a look that says it’s about time Tazia moved to live with white folks, and work with them too. Tazia can’t tell her why she wants to stay here; she doesn’t fully understand it herself. But she does want Gemma to get a better education. Her dreams won’t come true if her daughter attends a school where children aren’t expected to go past fifth grade.

“Maybe I should talk to the teacher, or the other parents, about helping the Negro children get along with Gemma. Adults set the example. Our neighbours already know I’m on their side.”

“Do you really think they give a goddamn about a poor little white girl?” Lula Mae’s skin burns the colour of hot bricks. “All they care about is that their children are going to leave school after a few years barely able to read or add. You can walk out of this mess. We can’t.”

The girls’ eyes dart between their mothers. Tazia folds her weary body into a chair. Lula Mae comes over and kneads her shoulders. “I ain’t got nothing against you, although there’s days I want to shake some sense into that stubborn Italian head. And you know I love Gemma like my own.” Tazia does. Lula Mae returns to the stove and says again, “Negro lives are a struggle. It makes no sense why a white woman would choose to make things harder than they need to be.”

The reason eludes Tazia too. Whether she fears the past will catch up to her or wants to be part of a future where people don’t judge one another, she can only do what feels right at the moment. Sometimes that means running away; at other times, like now, it means staying in place.

***

Hoeing and weeding the next summer, Gemma’s schooling weighs even heavier on Tazia’s mind. In the fall, her daughter will start first grade, when serious learning begins. One afternoon, while Tazia ponders what to do, Nellie, trailed by Alvar, appears with water for the farmhands. As the men step aside and pull out their pipes, the women pack down a flat place on the ground to sit.

Nellie is a schoolteacher during the winter, which gives Tazia an idea. She could bring Gemma to the farm two mornings a week and pay Nellie to teach her reading and arithmetic. What better way to spend the little money she’s saved during her three years in Topeka? Tapper’s son could bring Gemma back to the Wrights’ at midday, when he ran errands in town. Alvar insinuates himself into Tazia’s lap as if to reward her for her good idea. She rewards herself with a gulp of cold water. Nellie asks where Gemma goes to school and what she’s learnt so far.

“Harrison,” Tazia says, at once defiant and guilty. “She’s learnt almost nothing there, but I’ve been teaching her letters and numbers at home, and she can write her name.”

“Do you read books to her?”

“Only the Bible. I can’t afford to buy other books, especially ones she’ll soon outgrow.”

“If she can write her name, she can get a library card,” Nellie explains. “The public library, near the State House, is free. Let her pick out some books, like the Bobbsey Twins, to bring here. We’ll start next week. A dollar a lesson?” Tazia nods. Alvar’s motor vibrates against her thighs.

At first, Gemma is reluctant to leave Mirlee Bee, but she soon enjoys the early morning wagon ride. Even the men, groggy at that hour, smile at her patter. In the evening, Gemma reads aloud from the Bobbsey books. “I wish I had a twin brother like Freddie,” she says with a sigh. At least, Tazia thinks, she’s stopped asking for a father. One morning however, Gemma startles Tazia by asking, “Is it because Mirlee Bee is dark that you don’t want me to play with her so much?”

Tazia’s heart lurches along with the wagon. “No, Cara. It has nothing to do with the colour of her skin. It’s because you’re so smart that Mama arranged these extra lessons over the summer. Aren’t you happy that Nellie is teaching you?”

Gemma clutches the book to her chest. “Mirlee Bee is smart too. If she came with me in the morning, we could practice reading to each other in the afternoon. And race to see who adds numbers faster.” She’s right, Tazia realizes. Mirlee Bee is as clever as her daughter and deserves the same opportunity. The Wrights can’t spare the money, but Tazia could offer to pay as a way to compensate Lula Mae for babysitting the rest of the time. “I’m sure it would be all right with Nellie,” Tazia tells her daughter, “but I’m not sure Lula Mae will give her permission.”

Gemma regards her mother with hope, and trust. “But you’ll ask?”

Tazia promises and is surprised when Lula Mae agrees. “Not because I expect to be paid for watching Gemma,” she hastens to explain, “but to make a better life for Mirlee Bee.”