An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [48]
"I could do that," Myra said.
"Myra," Carol Johnson whispered, "don't be silly. We don't know them!"
"Mind your own affairs," Myra retorted.
Was a tattletale the worst thing one could be? I thought not. There were worse things, far worse, although I couldn't think what at the moment. I ran to Mrs. McQuade and told her that Myra was about to go off with three young men from Maryland.
Myra was already well started on going off with them. Mrs. McQuade had to run and push her way through the crowd. "Hold on there, Myra, you're going in the wrong direction," she said.
Myra turned around, a sneer on her face. "I can take care of myself."
"Not while I am commissioned to do it," Mrs. McQuade answered.
I stood directly behind her to offer what support I could.
Myra glared at me. "You'll pay for this," she threatened.
"If anyone is to pay for anything," Mrs. McQuade said, "it is you, Myra. For disobeying. I told you I did not want my girls talking to strangers. Is there some problem, gentlemen?" She looked at the young men.
"We thought the young lady was alone and were looking to assist her."
"She does not need assistance. She is with my class. I am her teacher." Mrs. McQuade grabbed her arm and started to pull her away.
Myra tried to jerk free but couldn't. "I'm only telling people what I know, Mrs. McQuade. What's the sense in knowing things if you can't tell?"
"You can tell all you want tomorrow, back in the schoolroom. You may write an essay for me. Five hundred words on today's doings. Then perhaps next time I take my class out in public you will mind my words." Mrs. McQuade pulled her along.
"The funeral train is to be eight coaches long," Myra called over her shoulder, "draped in black. And they're taking the coffin of little Willie Lincoln along with that of his father's. They dug it up. Can you imagine that? It's going back to Illinois."
"A thousand words!" Mrs. McQuade said. She grabbed Myra by the ear. It did my heart good to see it. As we walked away, I heard the three young men laughing. Myra looked at me and saw me smirking. "You'll pay for this," she said again.
Somehow I knew I would.
14. Our Enemies Make us Strong
I LIFTED THE KETTLE of hot water off the small stove in Mrs. McQuade's office and poured it into the basin at her feet, to warm up her foot bath water.
"Don't burn yourself, child. You shouldn't be doing this. You'll scald yourself."
"I did a lot more for Mama." I set the kettle back on the stove. "Can I pour you more tea?"
"No, thank you. Get your things together now. Your ride should be here shortly."
Robert was fetching me. Mrs. McQuade would not let any of her girls walk home alone this day.
The funeral procession was over. It was four o'clock. All that could be heard on Washington's debris-laden streets was some muted talk as crowds of people walked by the front of our school on their way home from the proceedings.
The day had been sunny but now was clouded over. It was starting to drizzle. I stood back and eyed Mrs. McQuade as she soaked her feet in the basin of water.
"Such a day! I'd have forgone it if not for the honor," my teacher said. It was humor. She'd told us this was what a man once said when he'd been tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town in the American Revolution.
"Mrs. McQuade, can I ask you a question?"
"Ask away. As long as it hasn't anything to do with Abraham Lincoln. I loved the man as much as anyone, but if I hear any more conjecture about the number of coaches on the funeral train or why a Negro regiment was allowed to take the lead in the funeral procession, I shall die."
"It isn't about Lincoln."
"Good."
"It's about body snatching."
She had been fanning her face with a handkerchief. She stopped fanning. "Body snatching. A good subject. An excellent subject. Worthy of consideration."
"Is it against the law?"
"Of course."
"Why do people do it?"
"To make money. They sell the bodies to medical schools, where they are used for experimentation."
"But why do the medical schools need to buy bodies from such people?"