Six

That afternoon, Ruth sat down at Mrs. Jackson’s kitchen table to compose a letter to send out to potential students. Mrs. Jackson, who rented them the upstairs rooms in her house, had not returned to Springfield as yet after the cholera epidemic. She sent notice for the rent to be paid to her representative at the bank. She obviously didn’t know about Peter, since she had addressed the letter to him, but Ruth saw no reason to inform her landlady about his death. Not as long as she could pay the rent.

Her throat tightened a bit at the thought. She had counted her remaining money before she came down to the kitchen to write the letter. Enough for two more months’ rent if she was very careful about what she bought to eat. At least Mrs. Jackson had lowered the rent amount since she wouldn’t be supplying their breakfasts and evening meals. She had told Ruth she was free to cook her own meals, but Ruth hadn’t bothered to build a fire in the fireplace. She had little appetite, so the apple and cheese bought at the store on the way home from the schoolhouse would suffice.

She stared down at the sheet of paper in front of her. The letter was easy enough to write, but then what? She had the list in the drawer at the school but shrank from the idea of sending a missive out to parents of a child who may have succumbed to the cholera. Mrs. Jackson could have helped her. The woman seemed to know everyone in Springfield and their business, but according to her note, she didn’t plan to return until September.

Justice Franklin might be able to help with the names. Or perhaps Louis, George Sanderson’s slave, could tell her which children had not survived the cholera epidemic. When she saw him at the cemetery, he had claimed to remember each person he buried.

She shut her eyes and tried to recall some of the names on the list. The Starr child’s name was there. She had survived, but who knew what her situation would be. She might not even stay in Springfield. Ruth pushed the thought of the girl away. She didn’t want to remember how forlorn the child had looked, staring down at her family’s grave. Ruth had prayed for her. She would remember to pray for her again. What more could she do?

She would have to fetch the list of names from the schoolhouse and then make a call on Justice Franklin. If he couldn’t help, she would approach George Sanderson about speaking to Louis.

After she copied the letter ten times, she stretched her fingers to rest her hand. She wasn’t sure how many copies she might need, but the list had held at least twenty-five names. She finished off the apple and wrapped up the remainder of the cheese. Perhaps tomorrow she could boil some cabbage for her dinner with a bit of cornbread. She could buy what she needed when she walked to the schoolhouse in the morning.

Using any of her coins brought on a bit of panic, but she did have to eat. Unless she wanted to lie down and die like Peter. Even with her heart heavy with grief, she didn’t want to do that. Peter would say the Lord numbered a person’s days.

Oh, Peter. Her every thought kept circling back to him. If only they had both managed to escape the cholera. But what good did it do to think “if only”? That changed nothing. She brushed away her tears and picked up the pen to copy another letter.

A knock on the back door made her jump and smudge the word she was writing. She blotted the ink before she stood up to answer the door. Someone looking for Mrs. Jackson, no doubt.

When she pulled open the door, Louis was standing on the small stoop, holding his hat with his eyes cast down respectfully.

“Louis.” Ruth frowned a little. “Are you looking for Mrs. Jackson?” Perhaps he was bringing whatever he carried wrapped in a cloth to the woman.

“No, ma’am. I come to see you.” He held out the parcel. “Matilda, she had an extra loaf of her raisin cinnamon bread and she thought, well, we thought you might have use for it. The little missy helped her make it.”

Louis nodded his head toward the wooden fence that lined Mrs. Jackson’s narrow backyard. Only then did Ruth notice the girl standing several feet behind Louis. She was clutching a rag doll to her chest and staring straight toward Ruth. When Ruth looked her way, the child stepped forward, but Louis held up his hand just a bit and she stopped.

Ruth took the bread and sat it on the cabinet inside the door. “I thank you and Matilda. And the child too.” She kept her eyes on Louis and not the girl. Even so, Ruth could still feel her watching her.

“Adria,” Louis said, as if he thought she needed to be reminded of the child’s name. “Adria Starr.” He didn’t turn to leave.

“Yes.” Ruth wasn’t sure what the man expected her to do or say next. He just stood there as though waiting for something. “Is there something I can do for you, Louis?”

“I’m pleased you asked, ma’am. As a matter of fact we’ve come with a hope in our hearts.”

“Oh?” She hesitated. She could tell him to leave. She should tell him to leave, but instead she asked, “What hope is that?”

“It’s about little missy back there.” Again he dipped his head toward the child. “She tells us, Matilda and me, that your husband, the schoolteacher, was kind and caring to her and all the children.”

Ruth didn’t say anything. Her throat suddenly felt too tight.

“Well, and then the news is goin’ ’round town that you is gonna take his place. Teachin’ and all. Folks is happy about that. Little missy is happy about that.”

“That’s good to know.” Ruth swallowed back her tears and pushed out the words. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“No, ma’am, I guess it don’t. I might as well be out with it. Massa George, he’s saying Missy Adria can’t be staying at the hotel no more. He’s thinkin’ on findin’ her a place, but we’re, Matilda and me, we’re a mite worried that the place won’t be one to the little missy’s liking. She might end up little better than a slave like the two of us. Made to work for her keep.”

Louis shot his eyes up to Ruth’s face and as quickly back down. He twisted the rim of his hat and went on talking fast, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get the words out before Ruth stopped listening. “Not that the missy ain’t a good worker. Even if she is just a slip of a girl. She’s been a fine help to Matilda in the kitchen and does whatever anybody tells her. Don’t hardly cry at all except at night when she don’t think nobody can hear. Poor little thing. Ain’t got nobody but that rag doll now.”

“And you and Matilda,” Ruth said.

“But that’s just it. We’ve grown mighty fond of her in the time she’s been with us, and we’s hopin’ to find her a place where we know she will be treated like a girl child should be treated. And so . . .” Louis let his voice die off.

Ruth stared at the top of the man’s head. She couldn’t take in the child. She couldn’t. “Louis, I can’t. I barely have enough to buy food for myself.”

“I knows things is hard for you and that teachin’ don’t overstuff a body’s pockets with money, but that’s where the little missy can help you. Her family had a house. A right nice place over on Elm Street not far from the schoolhouse. You could move in there with her and save whatever you’re paying for these rooms here. I can bring you over some of the leavings from the hotel from time to time, and Matilda would be obliged if you let her come cook or clean for you now and again so’s she could see the little missy. Matilda, she ain’t owned by Massa George. She belongs to Mistress Williams, who hires her out to Massa George, but her mistress ain’t countin’ up every hour of the day for Matilda. She lets her take her ease now and again.”

Ruth swallowed and told herself not to look at the girl, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding across the yard to the child. Adria Starr stared back at her. What was it Ruth had prayed at the cemetery? That the Lord would help the child. How many times had she heard Peter say that sometimes a person had to put feet to his prayers? Or her prayers.

Ruth looked back at Louis. “Why are you so intent on helping her?” She kept her voice low. “It would seem that you have enough worries of your own without taking on hers. Or mine. Trouble is all around us after the cholera.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He twisted his hat again and shuffled his feet. Then he surprised her by looking straight at her. “I ain’t denyin’ that plenty of folks is in need, but this little girl is the one the Lord set down in my path. I don’t reckon he expects me to help ev’ry hurtin’ body, but he does expect me to help them I can.” He turned his eyes back down to the ground then. “So’s I’m doin’ what I can.”

“The same as you buried all those people.”

“It needed doing.”

“So it did.” Ruth shut her eyes again and blew out a long breath. Had the Lord shoved this child in her path? She opened her eyes and looked over Louis’s head toward the girl again. “What does she want?”

“I guess you needs to ask her that.” He turned to smile at the child and beckon her over to the door.

Adria was almost afraid to breathe while Louis talked to the schoolteacher’s wife. She listened hard, but she couldn’t make out enough words to know what they were saying. She wanted to run to Louis and grab his hand. Somehow holding Louis’s hand made her feel safer, but Louis told her she couldn’t. Not even when they were walking over to where the schoolteacher lived. Louis said she needed to walk a little in front of him now that so many people were back on the street.

Her legs trembled, but she did what Louis said. Aunt Tilda said Louis always knew the best thing to do. That must be why Adria felt so safe when his big hand was wrapped around hers.

She’d been scared of him when she first saw him at her house, but as soon as he picked her up, she knew he meant her nothing but good.

He meant her nothing but good now too. That was why he was talking to Mrs. Harmon. Trying to see if she would take Adria’s mother’s place. Not that anybody could do that. Not ever. But Adria needed family. Or Mr. George would find her a place. A place, he said. Not a family. Just thinking about the look on Mr. George’s face when he said it made Adria squeeze Callie a little closer.

She hoped the schoolteacher’s wife needed family the same as Adria, but the woman didn’t smile when she looked across the yard at Adria. The schoolteacher, Mr. Harmon, had always been smiling. He was like Louis. You knew he meant good for you. But maybe Mrs. Harmon wasn’t that way. Maybe she didn’t like children. Maybe she wouldn’t like Adria.

Where before she had wanted to run the short distance over to where Louis stood in front of the woman, now her feet were like clumsy bricks.

“Come along, missy.” Louis held out his hand toward her.

“Is she afraid of me?” The woman sounded surprised.

“Not of you. More of tomorrow.”

Adria wasn’t sure what Louis meant by that, but she felt braver when his big hand wrapped around hers. Brave enough to look back up at the schoolteacher’s wife.

“I’m not afraid.” The words came out weaker than Adria expected. She did sound afraid. She swallowed hard and repeated. “I’m not afraid.”

“’Course not. Mistress Harmon is wantin’ to ask you something.” Louis tightened his grip on Adria’s hand a bit. “You answer her right.”

Adria hoped she would know the right answer as she looked up at the schoolteacher’s wife, who still wasn’t smiling. Maybe that was because she was missing the schoolteacher the way Adria missed her mother and father. That could make it hard to smile. Especially if she didn’t have anybody’s hand to hold. Adria hesitated, but then she laid her doll down beside her feet and reached over for the schoolteacher’s wife’s hand. At first the woman’s fingers were stiff, as though she couldn’t bend them, but Adria just kept her fingers wrapped softly around her hand. After a minute, the woman’s hand curled around Adria’s.

“Louis said you wanted to ask me something. Did you forget what it was?”

“No, I didn’t forget.”

The schoolteacher’s wife stared down at Adria as though she were searching for an answer without asking a question. Adria’s heart started beating a little faster. The woman still wasn’t smiling. The question was going to be hard.

“What do you want, Adria?”

At first, Adria thought the question wasn’t hard after all, but then the answer that came swelled up out of her sad heart. “I want my mama.” That looked like it scared the schoolteacher’s wife, so Adria blinked away her tears and added, “But I know I can’t have her. She’s gone on to glory.”

“That’s right, missy.” Louis squeezed Adria’s hand. “So what is it you want now?”

Adria looked up at Louis and then over at the schoolteacher’s wife. “I want family. Aunt Tilda and Louis say they can’t be my family no matter how much I wish they could. Because I’m white.”

The woman just kept looking at her without saying anything.

Adria pulled in a breath for courage. “Will you be my family?”