Free Again by Sharon Cullars Page B

1879
     
    Rachel Chase smiled to herself. The children, a collection of barely contained excitement, were champing at their bits, their faces eager as they watched the minute hand making its final rotation to the three o’clock mark. She had dared them not to fidget during the last minute of the last class before summer break. And they were trying hard to keep still. Yet she amusedly noticed some feet tapping, heard fingers thrumming on desks.
    To tell the truth, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over, either. Even with the windows opened, the small room was a slowly cooking oven. On better days, she had to keep ice water on hand to make sure the children didn’t get overheated and faint. On really bad days, she held the classes outside under a makeshift canopy. Summer brought its ills, and winter wasn’t any more merciful when pipes froze over and burst, flooding the building of eight rooms that soon held floors of ice.
    If it were in her power, she would give her children the best the New York school district had to offer. Ragged books could finally be thrown away, there would be plenty of chalk for each child, shirts and dresses would be brand new, and shoes with cardboard inserts would be a thing of the past. But these were children of laborers, Negro laborers at that. They considered themselves blessed to have a bit of salt pork with their beans at supper.
    At times, she brought food to class, even though Principal Williams discouraged it. He didn’t want the rest of the school to think that Rachel’s class had special privileges. Still, she often snuck in cookies, crackers, and, on occasion, she smuggled in meat and bread for sandwiches.
    Rachel loved her students deeply. They were a comfort in a life that had become desolate since she had no children of her own and now never would. She hadn’t been fortunate to be blessed with a child while George was alive, and she could not see herself remarrying. It was simply that her heart had no place for any other man. It had been too hard won by the struggling attorney who had been her brother’s friend and who had slowly gained her affections with a sweetness and intelligence that had filled her life. There had been laughter, poems and gifts—nothing large, but so dearly given that they were beyond the measure of the fine jewels worn by society matrons. She fingered the heart-shaped necklace against her throat, George’s last anniversary gift to her a month before the fire claimed his life. George’s office had been swamped in flames. Even so, he might have been saved except the white firefighters refused to go in to rescue him. Their lives weren’t worth risking for a Negro.
    Whatever bitterness remained was pressed down hard inside, stored away in some quiet reserve. However, the loneliness was acute, at the surface, a wound that would stay with her a lifetime. Yes, she wanted summer to begin, but she wasn’t sure how to keep herself occupied for the three months, how to thwart the solitude her life was becoming, even having moved in with her brother, whose company was sporadic and not always pleasant. Of course, there would be books and some social functions to keep her busy for a while.
    She wasn’t looking forward to the ball at the end of the month. But Lawrence was insistent that she attend, and to avoid yet another confrontation, she had obliged to go to this one gala.
    Lawrence was so eager to get her back into society, to end her grief. And maybe to end her dependence on him.
    He was hopeful that she would find someone who could ease past the barriers she had erected around her heart.
    But that would never happen.
    “Mrs. Chase, Mrs. Chase, it’s time, it’s time,” Luther’s voice pealed. She looked into the bright eyes of one of her favorites, impish scamp though he was. Always getting into trouble, but brave enough to own up to his misdeeds. Bright, as were they all. Brighter than their futures, unfortunately. But one could hope. One never