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The students, who usually teased me relentlessly, were on my side. They began explaining, “She never talks, Miss Williams, never.” Bailey was nervous. He began to stutter, “My…Maya can’t talk.”

Miss Williams said, “You will talk in my classroom. Yes, you will.” I didn’t know what to do. Bailey and the other children were trying to persuade her to allow me to write on the blackboard. I did not resist as she took the chalk out of my hand. “I know you can talk. And I will not stand for your silliness in my classroom.” I watched her as she made herself angry. “You will not be treated differently just because your people own a store.”

“Speak, speak.” She was fairly shouting. Her hand came up unexpectedly and she slapped me. Truly, I had not known what to do when she was winding herself up to hit me, but I knew what I had to do the second her hand landed on my cheek. I ran. I ran out of the classroom with Bailey following shouting, “Wait, My, wait.” I couldn’t wait. I was running to Momma. He caught up with me on the porch of the store.

Momma, hearing the noise, opened the screen door.

“What happened? Why aren’t you in school? Sister, why are you crying?”

Bailey tried to answer her, but his brain moved faster than his tongue could form the words.

I took my notebook and pencil and wrote, “Miss Williams slapped me because I wouldn’t talk.”

“She slapped you? Slapped? Where?” Bailey said, “Fa …fa…fa…face.”

Momma told Bailey to go back to school. She said she and I would be coming soon.

Momma’s calm voice and unhurried manner helped Bailey to settle down enough to speak.

“You want me to tell Miss Williams that you are coming?”

Momma answered, “I want you to go back to school and get your lesson.” He looked at me once, saw that I had stopped crying, so he nodded and jumped off the porch and headed back up the hill.

“Sister, go to the well and put some fresh water on your face.” I went around behind the store to the well.

When I returned to the porch Momma had put on one of her huge freshly washed, starched, sun-dried, and ironed aprons. In her hand she had the board that was slipped into pockets closing off the front door. We had a similar plank for the store, which we used every night to let customers know we were closed. I don’t remember there being a lock for the house or the store.

Momma dropped the board into the slots, and in a second she was striding up the hill to the school.

I hurried beside, hoping to read her intentions in her face.

She looked as she always looked, serene, quiet. If she planned something unusual it did not register in her face.

She walked into the school building and turned around to me.

“Sister, show me your classroom.”

I guided her to Miss Williams’s room. She opened the door and Miss Williams walked up to Momma. She asked, “Yes? May I help you?” My grandmother asked, “Are you Miss Williams?” Miss Williams said, “I am.”

Momma asked, “Are you somebody’s grandbaby?”

Miss Williams answered, “I am someone’s granddaughter.”

Momma said, “Well, this child here is my grandbaby.” Then she slapped her. Not full force but hard enough for the sound to go around the room and to elicit gasps from the students.

“Now, Sister, nobody has the right to hit nobody in the face. So I am wrong this time, but I’m teaching a lesson.” She looked at me. “Now find yourself a seat and sit down and get your lesson.”

Momma left the room and it was suddenly empty and very quiet. Miss Williams left the room for a few minutes. Not a word was spoken. Miss Williams reentered and said, “Students, turn to lesson one on page one.” I looked at Bailey and he gave me the smallest nod. I turned to page one, lesson one.

No one spoke of the incident on the way home, and when I returned to the store Momma and Uncle Willie were sitting on the porch.

Uncle Willie said, “Sister, there’s something on the kitchen table. Bring it out here please.”

I went into the kitchen and on the chopping table stood the most wondrous Caramel Cake looking like paradise, oozing