Child of the Storm (3 page)

Her
sixth birthday would stand tall enough in her memory to be seen, clear as could
be, from decades after. She
’
d look back on that
three part
day from low valleys of days that weren
’
t so good.

In
the morning, Celeste sat on the porch with her mother, stringing beans. She was
good at that and as thorough as she was with weeding because a bean with the
string left in by carelessness was an awful thing to chew and could ruin the
rest of the dinner for her. Marie
’
s hand settled over
Celeste
’
s where they busied themselves among
the beans. That settling said,
Be
Still
.
Then her mother
’
s long pointing finger told Celeste to
look up.
Look out there beyond the Climbing Oak
. Celeste did and saw a
bear standing plain as day in a break in the underbrush where the woods began.
The bear was looking at them but set off again once it caught Celeste
’
s eye. Celeste might have let loose a
stream of excited chatter but Marie
’
s touch said,
Wait.

A
cub appeared and came to a shuffling stop where its mother had just been and it
likewise took a good look at Celeste. But its mother grunted and the cub
remembered to keep up, and was gone. The cutest thing Celeste had ever seen.
Nothing could ever be as cute as that cub, but she would never get to keep it
for herself.
“
Yours to see but not to own,
”
her mother reminded her.

Later,
she sat in the Climbing Oak with her brother and told him about the bears,
knowing he had seen them before. She climbed up without help, just to tell him.
He was thirteen and would retreat to the branches of the tree to dream and look
far off to a future he wanted. When Celeste came climbing up, he cautioned her,
but she wouldn
’
t be scared off by talk of nasty falls
and broken necks. She had something to tell him, and having done that, was
cautioned again.
“
Don
’
t go near the bears,
”
he told her.
“
Especially not a cub when its mama
’
s around.
”
She agreed, though
she also imagined there was wiggle room in that agreement.

They
climbed down when they saw Bernard roll an empty barrel into the yard below. He
set it out like a table and gathered up three stand-ins for stools and set them
around it, but rather than set it for a meal, which it was too small to hold,
he slapped a deck of cards down in the middle. His friend John Stone was coming
around and they liked to play cards.
“
For pleasure. Not for
money,
”
he liked to say,
“
since neither of us has any.
”

Celeste
knew John Stone and knew he was an Indian, though she
’
d never seen him wear feathers or
paint. He dressed and talked like anyone else. A Red Man, she
’
d heard him called by someone in town,
though he didn
’
t look very red to her.
A nice red man who lived down the road away from town with a nice
black lady, Sandrine, who was her mother
’
s only friend.

With
Augustin and Celeste hovering around the barrel, John Stone asked if they would
like to join in, and they said they would. Bernard asked if Celeste knew how to
play poker and she said that she did. Augustin had taught her.
One of those valuable life skills.
Marie stood on the back
porch with her arms crossed, not sure about her little girl playing poker, but
she relented, since it was Celeste
’
s birthday, and she
let her use one of the chairs since the ground was dry.

As
they played, Celeste was always drawn to the Jack, particularly the one-eyed
kind. She managed her cards well and never bothered to sort them since she
could see that sorting in her head. So no one could judge how she felt about
her hand. When she looked up to find John Stone trying to read her face, she
just looked back without expression, offering nothing.

“
Don
’
t bother trying to tell anything from
that child
’
s face,
”
Bernard told him.
“
It won
’
t show you a
thing."

A
movement in the woods caught Celeste
’
s eye but it was only
someone
’
s dog out exploring, but it brought the
bears to mind so she told John Stone about them.

“
Celeste likes the
bears,
”
Augustin explained. He tossed out one
card.
Confident, but wanting to improve his position.

“
As long as she likes
them from a distance,
”
Bernard said. He dropped three cards
onto the barrel. Not a good sign, but he was a hopeful man and didn
’
t give up easily

John
Stone enjoyed the game but mostly for the company it offered. His hand wasn
’
t taking him anywhere and he folded it
onto Bernard
’
s discards; more interested in what
Celeste held.
“
My grandfather told me that the bear
was a great dreamer,
”
he explained to her.
“
She is not afraid of the dark and
sleeps the long sleep through the winter, hidden in the earth. Dreaming.
”

“
What does the
bear
dream about?
”
Celeste asked him.

“
I was never told, or
never thought to ask,
”
he said.

“
Maybe you could ask
him now,
”
she offered.

“
He is gone.

“
Then if I find out, I
’
ll tell you.
”
She spread out her cards across the
barrel. Three threes and two Jacks.
Both of them one-eyed.

That
night she dreamed she watched her father working at the forge. As her father
shaped the iron, her eyes drifted to the fire and the shapes in the red heat.
She wondered if he saw those shapes and fashioned them into the iron. But the
shapes she saw were meant for her, and what she saw was a bear.

She
didn
’
t go into town very often, but on that
unfortunate day she walked in with Augustin to see their father at work.

“
Three things,
”
her father explained to them without
looking away from the fire.
“
That
’
s what you need to turn this bit of
iron into something useful or something beautiful.
”

“
What three things?
”
Celeste asked, though she already
knew. He had told her before.

He
jostled the coals and they hissed.
“
The fire.
”
He raised his hammer.
“
Me.
”
He touched the anvil
with the hammer.
“
And my little black companion here.
”

They
watched him until Augustin said it was time to go. Augustin checked his long
stride to allow her to keep pace with him, but also to give himself time to
think. Occasionally he would stop to consider, and she would pause beside him
to wait. He stopped once to read a posted sign, tracing the lines of small type
with a finger and occasionally whispering unintelligibly to himself before
huffing and moving on again with Celeste beside him.

Near
the middle of town, her brother drew up in front of a window and looked in. It
was Mr. Jeffers
’
store, where you could get just about
anything you needed, even if it had to be ordered special. Augustin scuffed the
sole of his left foot slowly forward and back again. He was deep in thought,
wrestling with something and a bit nervous. She could read all of his little
habits.

Across
the street, some kids were coming out of the schoolhouse her brother had wanted
to attend when he was younger. It bothered him passing it, even now, especially
if there were kids around, kids who went to school there. White kids who knew
he wasn
’
t allowed to. Because of this, she didn
’
t like the look of the building even
though it wasn
’
t much different than any of the others
on the street. Peeling white
boards,
lapped one over
the other and well dusted.

His
left foot came down squarely beside the right and she looked up at him, waiting
for word.
“
Stay here,
”
he said.

“
Where
’
re you going?
”
Somehow she expected him to say the
school, and it would lead to something.

“
In here. Just for a
few minutes.
 
Just don
’
t go too far, okay?
”

He
stepped into the shop and she saw him walk off toward the back until she couldn
’
t see him. Then she looked back to the
school. The door stood open but there were no kids to be seen. No one was
around, so she crossed the street and paused outside the door, listening before
she went inside. She imagined she heard voices. Then she heard a woman
’
s cough from further in.

Celeste
walked through the next set of doors, through the outer vestibule and into the
schoolroom proper. There were desks and two unhappy looking kids sitting there,
one on one side of the room and one clear across at the other, each bent over
book work as a woman with a face like an axe watched them and looked just as
unhappy as they did. And then the woman noticed Celeste, and the two kids
turned and looked at her too.

“
Yes?
”
she asked, and Celeste felt a cold
chill.

The
kids stared at her. One smirked and the other looked blank, confused.

“
You have a message?
Did someone send you to tell me something?
”
the teacher asked.

“
No, ma
’
am.
”
Then she thought of
her brother and bumped up her courage.
“
My brother asked to
come to school here and you told him he couldn
’
t. You were mean
about it.
”
 

“
Well that can
’
t be helped,
”
the teacher said and gave a sharp nod
to the two kids, signaling them to put their noses to their work.
“
Your brother can
’
t attend here, and he knew that when he
marched in. I
’
m not likely to forget that. I know who
he is and I know who
you
are.
”

Celeste
didn
’
t know what she expected the teacher to
say, but it wasn
’
t that. It struck
her
as mean and her face grew hot. Her toes curled up in her shoes like hidden
fists. Soon, she knew she would turn and run out. She could always feel an
angry run coming on, but she would have time to get in her parting shot before
she left.

“
Someday, I hope
someone
’
ll
hurt you, worse than you hurt him.
”
She spoke through clenched teeth. Her
words rang out in the little room like a curse.

The
kids looked up, but not at her. They were looking at the teacher and waiting
for her reaction.
 
It came quickly
and was totally unexpected. Her own face had gone red and she drew herself up like
a snake preparing to strike a field mouse. And she coughed. It came by surprise
and she barely brought her hand up in time to cover it. There, on her knuckle,
was a drop of blood perched like a jewel. She held her hand farther out, the
better to focus, and smeared the drop across the top of her finger, studying
it.

Celeste
took a step backward and the movement drew the teacher
’
s focus back on her again. With
frightening speed, she surged from behind her desk and bore down on Celeste,
who backed into the wall, aiming for the way out. The teacher
’
s pale hand snatched Celeste
’
s arm at the wrist as she brought her
arm up to ward of an expected slap. The
blood smeared
finger was right there at eye level. It was all she could see.

“
Speak to me that way,
girl? You get out!
”
the teacher hissed,
“
and don
’
t you
ever
set
foot in my classroom again! I
’
ll know if you do. I
’
ll have an eye out for you, girl. As
long as it takes.
”

She
released Celeste
’
s arm and straightened, glaring down at
her. Celeste took a
breath,
nearly a gasp and the
teacher mistook it for something else. She snatched Celeste by the upper arm
and drove her stumbling back into the vestibule, out of sight of the two
students, then cast a glance at the open door to the street. Seeing no one, she
crouched down, eye to eye with Celeste.

“
Don
’
t go following in your brother
’
s footsteps, girl. Think what you like,
but I did him a favor sending him away in no uncertain terms. Behavior like his
will get him cross-wise with the wrong people and dangling from a tree. You
understand?
”

Celeste
understood enough to hold her tongue this time. She slipped the teacher
’
s grip and spun to her left, slipping
out the door and across the street, back to the spot where her brother had left
her. She peered in through the window but saw only her reflection. Dark and
frightened eyes stared back from inches away. Her brother was nowhere to be
seen so she entered the shop and waited just inside the door where she couldn
’
t be spotted from the street. No one
saw her and she peaked across the street toward the school. In a little while,
the two kids came shuffling out and headed away in different directions. The
door remained open but there was no sign of the teacher, which was fine with
Celeste. It was strangely quiet and she could hear her own rapid breathing and
see her breath fogging the glass.

“
You okay?
”
her brother asked from right behind
her.

It
startled her and she turned
wide eyed
to look up at
him.
“
Where were you?
”

“
I
’
ve been talking to Mr. Jeffers about a
job working here.
”

“
Why?
”
she shot back.

“
You
’
re shaking. What
’
s wrong?
”

“
Maybe I
’
m cold.
”
She turned her back
on him and looked out the window again. There was still no sign of the teacher,
but the door was now closed.
 
Celeste scanned what she could see of the street, but there was no one
to see.

“
It
’
s a hot day Celeste. What happened? Did
someone say something to you?
”

“
No.
”

“
You ready to head
home then?
”

She
swept out the door, again glancing up and down the street and at the
school.
 
He followed her and they
walked home without speaking and nothing was said at home. But at night, the
dream brought it all back.

Her
feet couldn
’
t reach the floor but she didn
’
t dare swing them back and forth. Not
in this place. Flies buzzed around the room and she could hear the whispers and
giggles of the kids behind her. Celeste was seated at the front of the class,
in a desk in a row of its own.

The
teacher rose from her own great desk and walked a dreadful path. All of the
whispering from the other kids stopped. The teacher continued her slow walk and
slower drone of disapproval and disgust over something Celeste couldn
’
t follow, but somehow knew was about
her. And then she was standing before Celeste.
“
Look at me girl,
”
she said.

Celeste
tensed and turned her eyes up where she could see the woman
’
s face. There was no anger there. Just
the look of someone regarding something they didn
’
t want or need.

“
Open your book and
read aloud, so we can all hear.
”

More giggling from somewhere in the
back of the room.
Celeste opened the book. She flipped the first empty pages slowly, until she
reached the beginning of the story. She placed a finger under the very first
word and tapped the page nervously. Seconds passed.

“
Read aloud,
”
the teacher said.

Celeste
’
s face grew warm and then hot. She squinted
at the first word, trying with all her might to squeeze the meaning out of it,
but under the cold eyes of the teacher there was nothing there, nothing the
words would say to her, like they were afraid to speak because the teacher
wouldn
’
t allow it.

After
a short silence, the teacher
’
s voice came down on
her again, low but not soft.
“
It
kills
something in me to see a child who will not learn. A child who
chooses
to be ignorant.
”

Celeste
saw the teacher
’
s finger tracing across the lines she
had failed to read. The teacher
’
s finger traced the
lines as she spoke as if reading them herself. But as the finger moved across
the page, it left a smear of blood.

“
But for you,
”
the teacher continued, and her slow
but steady voice became rasping,
“
the ignorance is not
a choice. It is simply who you are. I might as well bring in the dog from the
street or the mule from the field and expect the same. You weren
’
t meant to be here, because this is not
your place.
”

Celeste
was burning hot and she could feel the sweat on her back where it was pressed
against the chair. Though she did not want to, she began to raise her eyes,
following the teacher
’
s pale hand and up her long, thin arm
to her shoulder. In a moment, she would be looking into the teacher
’
s face again, and she did not want to
do that. She fought, but her eyes insisted that she see it, and she knew it
would be a terrible thing.