A kid named Reagan showed up late to class. The child had been knee-deep in mud from the stains on his legs that his rolled-up pants revealed, and he was getting the mud all over the clean floor. "I was hunting for worms to go fishing with, but, well, the worms won."

"I can see that." They were expecting Sister Ruth to be angry she could tell, but she started to laugh. She couldn't help herself, he sounded so disappointed, and the class began to laugh with her.

The collective laughter sounded musical. If not smiling was some kind of hidden rule for successful teaching, she couldn't imagine where laughter would get her. She believed, however, that laughter was good for the soul. The Bible said a merry heart did as much good as medicine. There was a time for sternness and discipline, and there was time a time for fun and joyfulness.

"Go out and clean yourself off at the pump, and in the future, save your fishing for after school."

"Yes'm."

While she'd been talking, three more tardy students had shown up. To be perfectly honest, it wouldn't have hurt her feelings if they'd stayed home. Ruth hadn't told Kid about the encounter with the boys as she feared he would overreact. She wondered if that was a mistake. The boys were late on purpose to goad her and show her how little they respected her or learning in general.

She should have let the tardiness slide after yesterday. Most female teachers would have, but she couldn't, not if she ever hoped to have control of this classroom or these children. "Ya'll are late and disrupting students who are trying to learn their lessons. You all can spend your nooning hour with me, catching up on missed work and helping around the classroom."

"That's not fair. You just let Reagan off the hook," Walter pointed out with his typical smug expression.

"He's a child of 7, who's not normally late I might add. You boys are making it a habit. I'm not going to change my mind."

They sat down sullenly and were as disruptive as ever through the morning and only a handful of children didn't get sucked into misbehaving with them. She wondered if it would be breaking any rules for teachers if she hogtied them.

Focusing on a student she might actually be able to help, she said, "Mercy, I need you to go get me a bucket of water and the dipper. It's hot today; we won't stop lessons, but we'll give everyone a chance to get water. Take Teresa with you, and she can carry the dipper, so you don't lose it."

Mercy motioned for the younger girl to follow. She wasn't dumb; the day was very warm, but the water was an excuse to get her alone with Teresa. Outside, she gave it a try though she didn't expect it to meet with success. "Hello," she told her shyly.

A nod of acknowledgement but no more.

"It's so pretty outside." It was only a handful of words, but it was painful for her to say every one of them. She was used to any friends she had making the first move. This was awkward and out of her comfort zone going first. Teresa merely blinked and looked away. She had known she was no good at making friends. Now if only her mother knew it.

"I wish the well was full of lemonade," Mercy said it out loud but to herself, having given up on conversation with Teresa.

"Me too."

It was accented and soft but definitely English. "You speak English." She couldn't help stating the obvious even though her mother had suspected it.

"Yes," she said that one word full of so much regret. She had surely seen the folly of revealing it to the teacher's daughter in hindsight.

"Why have you been hiding it?"

Mercy almost thought she wasn't going to answer, she took so long in responding, but she admitted at the last, "The last teacher made fun of me. Of my English."

"Mr. Daly?" Mercy asked, frowning as she tried to recall that incident.

"The teacher before I moved here. When I had to recite, he would laugh and repeat my words for the class to hear, so I thought it better if I pretend not to speak it at all. I hate school, and I hate teachers."

"My mother wouldn't make fun of you."

Teresa looked at her with incredulity written all over her face.

"I mean it. She wouldn't. I've never heard her make fun of anybody even when they maybe deserved it."

"The other children would."

That she couldn't argue.

"Promise you will not tell your ma that I speak English."

She agreed as she didn't have to; she already knew. She didn't even have to tell her mother she'd gotten her to talk. They'd taken too long at the pump without it being obvious. Armed with the knowledge now, she wondered what her mother could or would do with a child who refused to speak or do her work because that would mean admitting she understood the language.

sss

Ruth had a feeling the nooning had been more of a punishment for her than the boys as she put up with their grumbling and sloppy work, and she didn't get her usual one hour break from them.

By the afternoon, it had become blazing hot, which made it tough to concentrate. Sister Ruth wasn't even doing any mental exercise, and she having a rough time. She could only imagine how hard a time the children doing lessons were having.

"Let's have class outside," Ruth declared. At least outside they could maybe catch a cool breeze.

Her words were met with cheers and a few skeptical looks as if they doubted she'd really let them have class outdoors.

One of the youngest girls grinned up at her. "I like you, Mrs. Cole. I'm going to keep you in my wardrobe forever and ever."

She couldn't decide if that was sweet or creepy. "Thank you, honey, but I'm not sure I'd like living in a wardrobe."

A man she recognized as one of the members of the school board appeared over the hill during their unorthodox lesson time. Curious, she got up off the ground and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I had a parent complain to me that you aren't keeping the class under control. She's been told Burr, Walter, and Lemuel are the worst. They been giving you a hard time?"

"A little, but it takes time to get used to one another."

"We don't tolerate no disrespect to teachers. Nor do we allow misbehaviors. For all they've done, they need at least 10 lashes." He'd brought along a cane, the purpose was not for walking but inflicting punishment. He called them up one at a time and had them bend over in front of everyone while he struck them.

Sister Ruth cringed at the sound of the birch lashing into their backside, imagining the fiery pain created with each lick. She tried to communicate her sympathy in her expression, but she failed. They blamed her rather than the man that was giving the actual caning. She could see it in the cold looks of hatred they gave her. Their gazes had been menacing before, but now they looked downright murderous.