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A Look of Hope

by Joanne Sher
12/03/2006 / Short Stories

"Now Clara, you stop that chatterin, or Miss Willingston will send you to the corner."

"And Abigail, keep your hands to yourself!"

Cynthia Willingston glared at the ragdolls resting against her bedroom wall. Deciding she had scared them into submission, she returned to her lesson for the day.

"Now class, if you have three apples and then find two more, how many do you have?"

"Miss Cynthia?"

Cynthia turned immediately toward the softspoken, kind voice at her bedroom door and smiled. Margaret had worked at the Willingston homestead for seven years, since Cynthia was a baby. Even though she was a negro, the Willingstons treated her well - not like family, perhaps, but like a human being. Cynthia came the closest to treating the 15-year-old house slave like kin.

"Breakfast time, Miss Cynthia."

Cynthia grabbed one of her ragdolls and walked alongside Margaret as the two descended the staircase of the large plantation home.

"So, Miss Cynthia, what was ya playin?"

"School. I was giving Clara and Abigail their rithmetic lesson. They werent listening very well. I was about to put Clara in the corner!"

"So thats why you lef her behind," Margaret tittered, pointing at the one doll in the girls hand.

Cynthia nodded sternly.

They could smell the wonderful aroma of sausages and potatoes cooking well before entering the spacious kitchen. As soon as Cynthia reached the landing, her stroll became a trot as she followed her nose to the stove, where Beulah shooed her away from the flame and to the table.

"Dontcha get burnt, Miss Cynthia," the plump, middle-aged negro woman chided. "Sit and Magret will bring ya your food."

Cynthia plopped down on the chair Margaret had pulled out for her, and eagerly watched as Beulah served up scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and sausage. As soon as the plate was in front of her, Cynthia ate with gusto.

"Wheres mamma?" she asked between bites.

Beulah sighed softly. "Still sleepin, I figger. Fixin to go wake her right now so she can start ya on your lessons."

"Cant you teach me, Margaret? Then mamma can keep sleeping!"

Margaret began to speak but then hesitated, turning toward Beulah.

"Magret cant read, Miss Cynthia. Slaves aint spose to get no learnin."

Cynthia stood up, banging her hand on the table.

"Now, thats just silly! Why readings the very best, most wonderful thing in the world!"

After a moment of thought, Cynthias face brightened. She did a bit of a pirouette, then walked over and grabbed Margarets arm.

"I know! Ill teach you! You can sit with Clara and Abigail, and you can learn your letters and words and everything! Youll read good as me soon! I promise not to make you sit in the corner - ever! Oh, please, Margaret, please!"

Beulah shook her head, sighing.

"But the Good Book says there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female; for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Why cant Margaret learn to read if were all the same?"

Cynthia, eyes afire, blond ringlets quivering with the tossing of her head, looked straight at Beulah. The woman took a deep breath.

"You ask your mamma, Miss Cynthia."

"Dont you want to learn to read, Margaret?"

Cynthia glanced Margarets way, and for the first time noticed tears running down her ebony cheeks, and a sparkle she had never seen in the eyes of a negro - a look of hope.

"You do, Margaret, dont you? I can tell! Just come upstairs with me, Margaret! We can start with "A" right now!"

Cynthia grabbed Margarets hand and skipped toward the stairway, heading up toward the little girls bedroom.

"Cynthia Miriam Willington, what are you doing?"

Both girls stopped short as the matron of the house appeared at the top of the stairs.

Cynthia took a deep breath. "Im gonna play upstairs with Margaret, mamma. K?"

"Thats fine, dear, but Margaret must get her work done too, and you have your lessons to tend to. Twenty minutes - do you hear me?"

"Yes, mamma."

The girls walked past Mrs. Willingston, entered Cynthias bedroom, and closed the door behind them.

**
Galatians 3:28 KJV

(c) Joanne Sher 2011

Joanne Sher is a Christian writer saved out of Judaism, traveling rough roads with God's strength. She loves to blog, encourage, write, and spend time with her family. Learn more about her at http://www.joannesher.com.

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