One week later, on a sunny Monday morning, Colleen thought of every first day of school in her lifetime. The butterflies were the same as they’d always been—but now she was the teacher.
The dusty gravel road kicked up dirt as the car rolled toward the paved highway. Remembering Jan’s warnings about the job, Colleen almost missed the turn for Tulip Lane. The school was a one-story brick building shaded by huge oak trees. She pulled into a spot in the small parking lot in front. A curved walkway invited her to the main door. Colleen entered and scanned the hallway for some directions. She spotted a sign announcing:
WELCOME BACK!
PARENTS AND VISITORS: PLEASE SEE OUR SECRETARY,
MRS.CORETTA WILSON, IN THE SCHOOL OFFICE.
A middle-aged Negro woman stood behind the counter, sorting papers into rows of mailboxes. She hummed as she worked and looked up when she noticed Colleen.
“Well! Good morning. May I help you?”
Colleen introduced herself as the new second-grade teacher and asked for the classroom keys. Mrs. Wilson chuckled and extended her hand with a huge smile.
“Aw, honey, you won’t need any keys. Our night man opens all the doors before he leaves each morning. You can just go on down to the second door on the right. You should find some paperwork on your desk. Come back to me with any questions. The children won’t arrive for over an hour.”
Every school in New Jersey that Colleen had ever been in had interior hallways. This school was designed for the sweltering days of the region. As she walked out, she was amazed to see covered walkways that created open-air corridors around a central courtyard. Each classroom doorway was decorated with hanging planters blooming with lavender morning glories and the sweet fragrance of yellow petunias.
The size of the classroom was the next surprise. A large teacher’s desk, twenty-four wooden student desks, and two long, low bookshelves filled the room. Cubbies with coat hooks and a storage closet fit comfortably opposite the bank of windows. The desks gleamed and smelled clean and fresh with the lemon scent of wax. In the back of the classroom was a smaller reading room with a half moon–shaped table. Behind it was a wall of shelves, each filled with books.
Jan had been wrong.
Colleen reached to take a book from the shelf. The binding tore away from the spine. Then she went to the desk, opened the large top drawer, and caught it before it hit the floor. Well, Jan had been partway wrong.
A breeze blew down from the hill and through the large windows. The interior walls were brick, and Colleen knew they would absorb the heat. The classroom was cooler than her car and bigger than the trailer she lived in.
As she tacked up the WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE bulletin board, she sensed someone else in the room. Colleen whirled around. In the doorway stood a woman with straight, smooth hair in a pageboy style. She had large brown eyes accented by tweezed, arched eyebrows. Her full lips were a rosy brown, and a white pearl necklace complemented her dark skin. She wore a long-sleeved jacket over a simple sheath dress. The heat didn’t seem to affect this woman. “Calm, cool, and collected” was written all over her.
By comparison, Colleen felt underdressed in her sleeveless blouse, belted A-line skirt, and flat shoes. She knew her hair was frizzing in the humidity. Drops of sweat ran down her back. She prayed that her underarms would stay as dry as the deodorant ad had promised.
The elegant woman walked in without an invitation or introduction and started to speak. “So, I heard that you were just hired. You look young. How long have you been teaching?”
Colleen felt her heart quicken at the curt welcome, especially after the warm greeting from Mrs. Wilson. She swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking. “One year, back home in New Jersey.”
“You must be a military wife.”
“Yes, I am. Are you?”
“No. Except for four years at Southern University, I’ve lived here all my life. Our roots are deep. My mother, grandmother, and aunts were teachers here as well.”
“My name is Colleen Rodriguez. What’s yours?”
The woman gently fingered the pearls around her neck. “Evelyn. I’m Evelyn Glover. My room is next door. How long are you going to stay?”
The question seemed odd. It was the first day of school. Was this school a place people left? Colleen threw back her shoulders and stood taller.
“Why do you ask?”
“This is an army town. People get transferred all the time.”
Colleen stopped holding her breath. That was all Evelyn had meant by her question.
“Until the end of the year. My husband is stationed here till then. He’s a drill sergeant.” A sudden involuntary image of his Smokey the Bear hat brought a smile to Colleen’s face, which Evelyn’s reply wiped away swiftly.
“Ah, not an officer’s wife. Of course. Officers’ wives teach at the white school. Mr. Peterson, our principal, asked me to look after you. He’ll want to meet with you too. We’ll talk more soon.” With that, Evelyn turned on her heel and strode out.
Colleen pursed her lips. Why did she need looking after? She reached into her pocketbook for a tissue and blotted the sweat from the back of her neck.