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Moved by that, she wondered what it might be like to share a lifetime of memories with him. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”
“It’s all I have.” Then, as if needing to change the subject, he said, “Tell me what you plan to teach once the boxcars are ready?”
She mulled the question over for a moment and replied with a request of her own. “When you begin rebuilding, do you think you’d have time to teach some of the students your skills?”
He forked up some gumbo. “Such as?”
“How to use hammers and saws. Lay bricks. Those sorts of thing?”
“I don’t see why not. How often?”
“A day or two a week to start. Teaching them to be employable will be just as important as learning to read and write, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
“Do you think I can convince one of your brothers to teach navigation? Back home, it was one of the subjects the boys got to study along with astronomy.”
“I can’t speak for them, but you can certainly ask.”
“I’d let the girls study the subjects, too, if they wanted. Unlike Mrs. Brown I don’t think it would be a waste.”
“Who’s she?”
“The woman who headed up the school I attended.”
“Is that what you were told? That studying such subjects was a waste?”
“Yes. In her words a woman’s role was to maintain the household, raise children, and support her husband’s endeavors,” Val snarled and his smile made her show him hers. “When I refused to learn to knit, she made me sit outside in the snow as punishment.”
“Sounds like you and Mrs. Brown crossed swords often.”
“There were some days I wished for a sword. I’m not sure who was worse, her or my father.”
“What did your mother have to say about all the ruckus you were causing?”
“To stop being such a troublemaker and do what I was told. My grandmother Rose was the only person who took my side. She said I needed to be more respectful though, and she was correct, because sometimes my sassiness was a bit much.”
“An example?”
“Mrs. Brown once told us that we women should be content letting men make our decisions, and I told her that if my grandmother had believed that, she’d have spent her life as a slave instead of running away from her owner.”
“You had a good point.”
“She didn’t appreciate it. Made me write ‘I will not sass my betters’ one hundred times.”
“Did you learn your lesson?”
“Yes, I learned that Mrs. Brown was a horse’s ass, but I kept it to myself.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine? Maybe ten. In truth, my being such a troublemaker was my grandmother’s fault. She and my grandfather were staunch abolitionists, and when I was a little girl, she would take me to rallies with her. When my father learned of it, he was furious and forbade it, so to get around him, she’d say she was taking me and my sister to the docks to pick up fabric shipments, or to the market. Because of her I heard speeches by Mrs. Frances Watkins Harper, Philadelphia’s Mr. William Still, and the great Mr. Douglass himself. My grandparents also hid runaways in the cellar until they could be passed on to Canada now and then.”
“So, you got your troublemaking ways honestly?”
“I suppose I did. When I crossed swords with Mrs. Brown, my grandmother would remind me that I didn’t have to grow up and be who my teacher or my father wanted me to be. I could be who Valinda wanted to be.”
“Sounds like a wise woman.”
