Emma Field Book I - coming of age in the changing times of the mid-19th century

Chapter VII - Vera Comes to School

It took everything Emma had to walk into the wind and toward the schoolhouse the next morning. She looked over her shoulder to see if Jane was coming around the bend.

"Forward, girls!" The wind carried the voice of Mr. Brown toward her. She kept her eyes on her feet picking their way over the frozen nubs of soil and looked up just as a pair of rag-bound feet disappeared around the door into the schoolroom. A putrid smell hit Emma's nose as she went inside.

It was odd having a new girl on a colder day – boys yes, but never girls. It was as though every five-degree drop in temperature reached through another layer of clothing and took one more girl off the benches of the schoolhouse.

The girl was standing just inside the door, looking at the coat pegs. Her lips were blue. Her whole body quivered like a carpet being beaten during spring cleaning. Emma shook her head and pointed with her chin toward the benches on the right-hand side of the room. The door slammed shut and Mr. Brown marched to the front of the room, his heels pounding on the wooden floor. He spun around in front of his desk, slapped his palms to his thighs, and barked, "You! Who are you?"

Emma already knew.

The girl looked up. She swallowed. "Vera Plank," she said, her voice trembling as much as her thin hands.

"You don't look as if you own enough clothes to come to school in weather like this! Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Can you read?"

"Jus a little."

"Another idiot! Take a seat. Right there. Move along!" He pointed to the spot where Emma usually sat. Vera slunk to the bench. "Stand for 'God Save the Queen,' everyone!...God save our gracious Queen, Long live our noble Queen...," he intoned, the children joining in nervously.

Emma glanced at Vera, whose lips remained closed. She wanted to bundle up this poor, smelly child to keep her safe from their awful teacher. There was no telling what Mr. Brown might do to someone so frightened and unfamiliar with the customs of the schoolroom. They finished singing. Emma nodded to Vera to sit, took her own slate and pencil in her hand, and buried her nose in her palm to avoid the stench. She silently prayed that the wood stove behind her would get no hotter.

"You! Yes, you in the rags. What's your name again?"

"Vera Plank."

"Vera Plank! Come here! No – take this book of lessons and read aloud lesson IV, page 10. You can read, can't you?"

Emma dared not look at Vera but she could hear each page being methodically turned.

"There ain't a lesson 4 on this page, just a lesson I-I-I and a lesson I-V..."

"Read lesson I-V then I see we need to teach you about Roman numerals as well as make you use proper grammar."

In the silence Emma could feel Vera's concentration piercing the page.

"'Bog. Cot. Dog. Fop. Pot. Top.'" the girl said. Tom has h-I-s top. A d-o-l-l, a doll is a fop.'"

The acrid smell of fresh urine mixed with the staleness of the room. Emma's body went as stiff as her pencil. Without moving her head her eyes reached low into their sockets and saw a darkened spot on the earthen floor.

"Very well. Next, lesson V – that's V – work on that. Write out the words on your slate. 'Cub, fur, sum, cup, gun, and sun.' The vowel – "

Mr. Brown suddenly shifted his attention. "George Robertson, what are you doing? Read out loud what you are writing!"

Emma closed her eyes and slumped forward as much as she thought she could get away with. She stole a glance at Vera, who was biting her lip. Emma glanced again, in horror. Vera was holding her pencil in her left hand. Her left hand! No one but the devil held their slate pencil in their left hand! Quickly Emma passed her pencil to her own left hand and cleared her throat. She looked at Vera and cleared it again. This time Vera looked her way and Emma quickly passed her own pencil to her right hand. She held it with exaggerated tension above her slate.

Mr. Brown had stopped talking to George Robertson and Emma was suddenly aware of the tense silence. She kept her eyes on her slate, not daring to look at Vera. The floor creaked behind the girls.

"Just as I thought," hissed Mr. Brown. "Just as I thought!" Whack! The ebony stick smashed against the knuckles of Vera's left hand. She screamed and slumped toward Emma. "The devil's hand shall not be used in this school – ever! Do you have that straight or do you need me to reinforce that idea?" he shouted, holding the stick ready to bring down on the whimpering girl's hand again.

"No!" Vera pushed herself off Emma and stumbled toward the door, her left arm against her chest.

"Make certain you don't come back here until you can behave as a Christian should!"

Emma closed her eyes. The wind blasted through the open door and whipped around her feet. She shook in rage.

Mr. Brown stomped to the door and pulled it shut on Vera's muffled sobs. All that remained of Vera was her smell. All that remained of Mr. Brown was his venom.