Kid Cole never walked by a school that he didn't feel a pang of regret.
He paused to watch the carefree children running about the schoolyard, screaming with the laughter of youth. It wasn't that they didn't have problems necessarily; some did, but they knew how to throw them off in the pursuit of play. They knew how to live in the moment.
He envied them, not only for that, but when their play was over, they would return to a schoolroom where they would be given the gift of learning. Oh, he'd learned to read and do arithmetic. His mother had seen to it that he learned all the basics, but there had always been too many things to do around the farm for him to actually attend school.
And he couldn't help but think that if he'd had a proper schooling, he might have had the opportunity to be something in his life besides a gunfighter. He could have been a banker or a lawyer, something that would have paid well and had a lot less stress.
And he bet none of the fortunate children even realized they were being given the opportunity to decide their future through their education.
November 1846
The door swung open so suddenly and hard that it was a wonder it didn't fall off its hinges.
"Mercy Fiona Cole, how many times do I have to tell you to enter through the door like a human being instead of a wildcat?" Sometimes Sister Ruth wondered if her children were unacquainted with door etiquette thanks to all the time they spent in a wagon, but she'd seen children who had lived in a house all their life do it too. She wanted to ask why she was at home at midday, but Mercy answered it for her.
"Sorry, Momma. I'm so excited. I don't have to go to school no more."
She grinned. It wasn't because her ten-year-old daughter had conquered her grammar lessons, but she was more to blame for her double negatives than the school, since it was a perfectly acceptable speech pattern in the south and particularly in southern Appalachia. "You don't? Why's that?"
"Mr. Daly quit."
"Good. I won't have to go to school either!" cheered six-year-old Isaiah, who wasn't looking forward to having to go next year.
Ruth wasn't really looking forward to him going either. He was bound to be as stubborn there as he was at home and get in fights with both teacher and students. And the fact that strangers didn't really understand his speech worried her, but she wanted to try it. She wanted the best for her children and schooling was a part of that best. "You will go to school next year. Mr. Daly won't have nothing to do with it. We ain't even going to be in Yerba Buena next year."
"But I don't have to go to school this year!" Mercy exclaimed, happy as a lark at her newfound freedom. "They don't have another teacher."
It wasn't that she couldn't do her studies here, but Mercy as shy as she was rarely got to make friends because of their constant travel. And then there were the local children. Not all the parents had the time or education to see to their children's learning. Not having a winter term would mean they wouldn't get any book learning at all. "Why'd he quit?"
"Cause the kids are so mean! Especially the big ones. They don't like school."
Mr. Daly, young but experienced, had seemed like a tough enough disciplinarian. And how bad could the children be to make him quit only one week into the term?
"Momma, Momma, play with me," demanded 3-year-old Gideon jumping from foot to foot and tugging on her skirt. "Please!"
She smiled down at him, ruffling his light brown hair. "That please is so hard to turn down, but I need to talk to your daddy. Sissy's home early. Why don't you play with Mercy?"
Noticing his big sister for the first time, he went running towards her just as happy with the substitute maybe happier.
Kid was out back, splitting wood for dinner. The wood pile was small as southern California rarely saw snow.
"The schoolmaster quit," she told him. "Couldn't handle the classroom."
"That's a surprise. I could see it if it was a woman teacher."
"I want to do it."
"Do what?" he asked, wiping his brow before swinging again. "Chop the wood?"
"Teach the children."
He stopped chopping and looked up at her in mild astonishment, but he barely missed a beat before he said, "If that's what you want to do, I say go for it."
"That'll leave you home all day with the boys," she fretted. "And the chores."
He smiled. "We ain't got a lot to do, not living on a farm. I'll manage fine here. Go. Tell the school board you want to do it, so they can tell the parents there'll be school tomorrow."
His ax still lodged in the log, she leaned in to show her gratitude in a kiss. "You're the best husband a gal could ask for."
So excited, she almost skipped back into the house, she told Mercy, "You're going to have a teacher after all."
Her dark blue eyes went wide with surprise. "Who?"
"Me."
