going to have a parade this morning just like the ones on the Fourth of July. Quickly now, I need you to gather your things and form a line.”
Concerned faces turned toward her—some black, some white—a fair representation of the families who drew their livelihood from the plantation grounds since she and Jonah had implemented their sharecropping system. “James, you and Charity help Mary and Bobby. I’ll hold Dorcas’s hand.” She pointed Abraham toward his sister. “You and Zipporah will be at the head of the line. Hold hands and march with your knees high like the soldiers do. No running.”
The children followed her directions, their voices hushed and their eyes betraying some fear. Praying that the fire was far enough away to ensure their safety rather than running rampant between them and the plantation home, she nodded toward Abraham. “Go. March to the big house.”
Dorcas’s hand was so small in hers. Would the five-year-old, the youngest of her students, be able to keep up? She was not much older than Amaryllis. Her little legs would not be able to keep up, especially if they had to run for cover. Picking the child up, she settled Dorcas on her hip, glanced around the schoolhouse one last time, and stepped through the doorway.
The heat from the fire was noticeable, but a quick glance around did not reveal the hungry lick of flames. Gray smoke and blackened cinders filled the air, obscuring everything. With her hearing stretched to its limit, she thought she caught the snap and crackle of the fire behind them, on the far side of the cabin. “Follow the path to the big house.”
She could barely see Abraham and Zipporah some five yards ahead. James had picked up Mary, but Charity and Bobby were walking hand-in-hand directly in front of her. Dorcas cried against her shoulder as they picked their way down the path. The walk to her home only took a couple of minutes each afternoon, but today the distance seemed to stretch out endlessly ahead of them, as though they were caught in a nightmare. Finally they topped the rise between the big house and the cabin. The smoke had not yet reached this far, and Camellia breathed a sigh of relief as they half-ran, half-marched forward.
When they reached the front lawn, she saw Aunt Dahlia rocking in one of the chairs scattered across the front porch, Amaryllis in her lap. Camellia rushed up the steps toward them. “What’s happened?”
“Thank goodness you’re safe,” Aunt Dahlia’s voice squeaked. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Someone came to the house a few minutes ago and said the back field is burning. Jonah and your uncle Phillip have gone to see what can be done.”
At least it wasn’t harvest time. Perhaps some of the crops would survive. Camellia set Dorcas on her feet. “I have to go help them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aunt Dahlia stopped rocking. “You mustn’t forget you’re a lady. Besides, you’re needed here. Who do you expect to keep watch over all of these children you insist on coddling?”
“Charity and Zipporah can watch them.” Camellia ignored her aunt’s complaint and waved the older boys toward her. She loved her aunt, but they seemed to disagree on many things these days, including the necessity of educating the sharecroppers’ children. She was beginning to fully understand why Aunt Dahlia and Lily had never gotten along. “I’ll go see what I can do to help control the damage.”
With an expression as sour as buttermilk, Aunt Dahlia shook her head and began rocking once more. “You grow more like your sister with each passing day.”
“Thank you for that compliment.” Without waiting for a reply, Camellia turned and headed back the way she had come. When she topped the rise between the house and the woods, her heart launched itself upward into her throat. The schoolhouse cabin was ablaze. If she and the children hadn’t left right away, they might be caught in that conflagration now.
She
Concerned faces turned toward her—some black, some white—a fair representation of the families who drew their livelihood from the plantation grounds since she and Jonah had implemented their sharecropping system. “James, you and Charity help Mary and Bobby. I’ll hold Dorcas’s hand.” She pointed Abraham toward his sister. “You and Zipporah will be at the head of the line. Hold hands and march with your knees high like the soldiers do. No running.”
The children followed her directions, their voices hushed and their eyes betraying some fear. Praying that the fire was far enough away to ensure their safety rather than running rampant between them and the plantation home, she nodded toward Abraham. “Go. March to the big house.”
Dorcas’s hand was so small in hers. Would the five-year-old, the youngest of her students, be able to keep up? She was not much older than Amaryllis. Her little legs would not be able to keep up, especially if they had to run for cover. Picking the child up, she settled Dorcas on her hip, glanced around the schoolhouse one last time, and stepped through the doorway.
The heat from the fire was noticeable, but a quick glance around did not reveal the hungry lick of flames. Gray smoke and blackened cinders filled the air, obscuring everything. With her hearing stretched to its limit, she thought she caught the snap and crackle of the fire behind them, on the far side of the cabin. “Follow the path to the big house.”
She could barely see Abraham and Zipporah some five yards ahead. James had picked up Mary, but Charity and Bobby were walking hand-in-hand directly in front of her. Dorcas cried against her shoulder as they picked their way down the path. The walk to her home only took a couple of minutes each afternoon, but today the distance seemed to stretch out endlessly ahead of them, as though they were caught in a nightmare. Finally they topped the rise between the big house and the cabin. The smoke had not yet reached this far, and Camellia breathed a sigh of relief as they half-ran, half-marched forward.
When they reached the front lawn, she saw Aunt Dahlia rocking in one of the chairs scattered across the front porch, Amaryllis in her lap. Camellia rushed up the steps toward them. “What’s happened?”
“Thank goodness you’re safe,” Aunt Dahlia’s voice squeaked. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Someone came to the house a few minutes ago and said the back field is burning. Jonah and your uncle Phillip have gone to see what can be done.”
At least it wasn’t harvest time. Perhaps some of the crops would survive. Camellia set Dorcas on her feet. “I have to go help them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aunt Dahlia stopped rocking. “You mustn’t forget you’re a lady. Besides, you’re needed here. Who do you expect to keep watch over all of these children you insist on coddling?”
“Charity and Zipporah can watch them.” Camellia ignored her aunt’s complaint and waved the older boys toward her. She loved her aunt, but they seemed to disagree on many things these days, including the necessity of educating the sharecroppers’ children. She was beginning to fully understand why Aunt Dahlia and Lily had never gotten along. “I’ll go see what I can do to help control the damage.”
With an expression as sour as buttermilk, Aunt Dahlia shook her head and began rocking once more. “You grow more like your sister with each passing day.”
“Thank you for that compliment.” Without waiting for a reply, Camellia turned and headed back the way she had come. When she topped the rise between the house and the woods, her heart launched itself upward into her throat. The schoolhouse cabin was ablaze. If she and the children hadn’t left right away, they might be caught in that conflagration now.
She
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