“I missed you so much at Christmas, my heart aches. I’m all thumbs this morning. Oh yeah—it’s Saturday, January thirty-first. This will be quick. I have to get this tape to the post office today. So let me pretend that it’s February fifth.
“Happy birthday, Colleen! Hope you are enjoying a warm and, of course, snow-free day. It’s been so cold here. The wind makes it feel like below zero. Please send me more news about your students. I expect that you have everything under control by now. It’s hard to believe that I had to send your posters and the wall alphabet. Why can’t they get those for you? I’m glad to help—you know that. Anything else? I love you. Signing off. Dad.”
Colleen shut off the tape player, knowing she would play the message again later to relish the sound of his voice. The cassette had arrived just on time. It was the second kindness of the day, but neither one lifted her spirits for more than a moment. She put the tape player away. What could she tell him? Today she was frayed around the edges. If anyone pulled the thread, she would unravel.
Her eyes drifted over to the counter. Now, that was a real surprise—a cake. Colleen had saved the last piece of birthday cake for Miguel. She recalled the confusion when she opened the classroom trailer door as she and her students had returned from lunch.
“Miz Rodriguez, look. There’s a cake on your desk. A big cake!” Linkston shouted.
As she tried to understand what he was telling her, the children all rushed past her and squeezed around her desk. She froze when she saw Cynthia lift a large knife.
“Cynthia! Stop!”
Cynthia turned with the knife still in her hands. “It’s to cut the cake, Miz Rodriguez.”
“Children, please! Sit at your desks.”
“Let me see … What is this?”
“Cynthia, put the knife down.”
Colleen saw Cynthia’s chin tremble and her eyes fill up as she set the knife on the desk.
“I was trying to help, Miz Rodriguez.”
“Why is there a cake on your desk?” Jarrod asked.
“Children, children, you must sit down.”
“Cake? Can we have a piece?”
“Do you have ice cream?”
Only a few students had listened to her. She couldn’t get near the desk because they filled the narrow rows. She was beyond frustration; it was stuffy in the trailer, and she couldn’t reach the air conditioner. It would circulate some air, and the drone would muffle the commotion.
“If you are not in your seats by the time I count to three …”
What? Colleen, what? What will you do?
“One … two … three.”
Most of the children scattered and sat down, but Jarrod still hovered near her desk, looking at the cake.
“Jarrod! God d … bless America.”
I almost said damn. For crying out loud, calm yourself, Colleen.
Colleen watched as Jarrod finally moved to take his seat. She couldn’t understand what had just happened. Chaos? Over a cake? On her birthday? Who could have done this? She hadn’t told anyone, as far as she could remember.
As the children moved away, she was finally able to stand behind her desk. Four rows of faces stared back at her. Then she looked at the cake. It was amazing. It appeared to be at least three layers and bigger than a dinner plate. The icing was in fluffy yellow peaks, spaced neatly around the circumference. The “knife” wasn’t a knife, at least not a sharp one, as it had appeared from the other side of the room. It was a pointed cake server with a china handle. A pile of napkins lay next to a note.
“Happy birthday, Colleen, from Evelyn.”
Evelyn?
At least the children had stopped clamoring. What should she do now? Thirty pairs of eager eyes gave her the answer.
She cut the cake and served it on the napkins. The afternoon was lost. She read them books and let them color on the special manuscript lined paper that she had finally managed to get from the stockroom.
Her father thought she had everything under control. Evelyn had made her a cake. It was all too much to take in. The cake was to have been a treat, but it had only made the students harder to manage. Her father’s message should have cheered her, but all the confidence she’d had back in August had disappeared.
Thirty children came to her every day with hope on their faces. But the pride they’d had in their classroom back at West Hill School was fading as well. Winter in Louisiana meant that they wore light sweaters or maybe jackets. There was no place to keep those garments except on the backs of their chairs. When they pushed in their chairs for reading group, a sweater sometimes fell off and then someone stepped on it. Or it got stuck on the desk because the space was too tight, and they cried that their mama would be mad if it ripped.
The cramped space, the lack of materials, and five hours inside an air-conditioned trailer without windows was challenging, to say the least. Not being able to use the library trips as an incentive exhausted Colleen’s spirit further.
So, give them a piece of cake, let them color away the afternoon. Did it matter? Did anything she was doing matter? Three months in this box already, four more to go. She wondered how she would last.
The next morning, Colleen went directly to Evelyn’s classroom to return the plate and cake server. Evelyn was at the blackboard, which was on the long side of the classroom trailer, instead of on the short side, where Colleen’s was positioned. The room was arranged with the desks in a way that made the space appear more open. Evelyn also had her desk behind the students, not in front like Colleen did. Maybe she should change her layout too. Would it help? It couldn’t be worse.
Colleen saw Evelyn smile as she walked toward her.
First the cake; now what?
“Evelyn, thank you. The cake was delicious, and the children really enjoyed it. But how did you know it was my birthday?”
“You told me. Remember the Sunshine Club we had back at West Hill School?”
Colleen put the plate and server down on Evelyn’s desk. “Yes, of course, but I didn’t realize we were doing it here at Kettle Creek.”
Evelyn placed the cake items in a bag under her desk and looked directly into Colleen’s eyes. “We’re not. I am.”
Colleen thought about some of the teachers in Kettle Creek’s lunchroom. They wouldn’t have eaten a cake baked by a Negro. Well, they would have if it were their maid, using their pans and utensils, in their house. What a coincidence that Evelyn had baked her favorite: a lemon-flavored cake with creamy lemon icing, just like her mother would’ve made.