Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [60]
“I can prove it, too. Come here, Tessie.”
She looked up at me in alarm. “Now, why you want to make me talk to a man who ain’t there?”
“I’m not. I’m going to teach you to read and write.”
Tessie looked frightened. “What earthly good that gonna do? Don’t you know colored folk ain’t allowed to read and write?”
“No one will ever know except you and me.” I went to her chair beside the fireplace and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Please, Tessie. This will prove it to him. I know I can teach you.”
“This gonna make you happy, honey?” she asked, stroking my cheek. “Because you know I hate to see you moping around here, talking to yourself.”
“It will make both of us happy. You’ll see. Come on, sit down at the table.”
With a good deal of pushing and prodding, I got Tessie seated, then I wrote her name for her in block letters. I explained how each letter had a sound, how the S made a sound like a snake, and so forth. Then I gave her the pen and coaxed her to copy her name herself.
Tessie did her usual share of good-natured grumbling and grousing—“Don’t see what good this gonna do. . . . Don’t see how this make folks happy. . . .” But I could tell she was pleased with herself. She learned very quickly. By the end of the hour, she had filled several sheets of paper with boldly printed lines of TESSIE. She had also remembered how to write it without looking at my copy.
“You a good teacher,” she said when we finished our first lesson.
“This is only the beginning,” I told her.
“Oh no . . .”
“Yes. We’re going to have a lesson every afternoon, and before long, you’ll be able to read and write as good as anyone.”
“If that’s what you want, honey,” she said hesitantly. “But now there something I have to do. And don’t you go getting mad at me for doing it.”
I watched as Tessie carried her work over to the fireplace and solemnly fed every last sheet into the flames.
Jonathan returned to Richmond along with the spring weather. He showed up on my doorstep one sunny afternoon, begging me for another favor. “Sally has agreed to meet me at the fairgrounds for a picnic on Sunday, but her father insists that we be chaperoned. Won’t you please come with us, Caroline?”
“No, not this time. I would hate being a third wheel. Besides, I don’t think Sally likes me very much.”
Jonathan wasn’t listening. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. As he continued to wheedle and beg, telling me all the reasons why I was his only hope, I suddenly remembered the bargain we had made the last time I’d done him a favor.
I interrupted his pleas to ask, “Did you ever read that booklet I gave you?”
“What? Oh . . . yes . . . it was very interesting.” He wore the guilty look of a naughty boy. “Why don’t you come on the picnic this Sunday and we’ll discuss it?”
“You’re lying. You didn’t read it.”
“Caroline, don’t you and I always have fun when we’re together?”
“Well, yes. . . .”
“And you won’t be a third wheel. Sally’s brother is supposed to be arriving home from Washington sometime this week. We’ll ask him to be our fourth. Please say you’ll go out with us.”
“But you know how hard it is for me to talk to strangers. I’m not very good at socializing. And I certainly don’t want to be stuck with some shallow, self-centered brother of Sally’s.”
Jonathan refused to yield. He was madly in love, he claimed, and I was his only means of seeing Sally. As he continued to beg and plead, I remembered my mission—change one person at a time. If Jonathan wouldn’t read my pamphlet, maybe Sally’s brother would. Besides, if Jonathan was further in my debt, perhaps I could bargain on Tessie and Josiah’s behalf.
“All right,” I said at last. “You owe me two favors . . . and her brother better not bore me to tears, or I swear I’ll go straight home.”
“I love you!” he said, hugging me. “When Sally and I have our first daughter, we’ll name her after you.”
“If you want to thank me, read the material I gave you,” I