disappointment

They walked in pairs, in a line of six. There were twelve of them walking down the dirt road towards their schoolhouse. The hem of Rebecca’s dress slapped against her shin as her black grain leather shoes marched farther away from their farm house and closer to the school building. Her thick wheat-like hair was pulled back into a bun, shrouded by a black handkerchief. Wisps of stray hair danced around her face caught by the morning breeze. A silver lunch pail swung in her left hand with every step; in the other hand she clutched her school books bound by a piece of twine. They are tightly pressed to her breast, hiding a secret.

The little ones in front are giggled and talked. A typically blonde boy tripped over a rock and stumbled to the ground. A puff of dust erupts as his body, pail and books hit the ground. The wind quickly pushed away the dust cloud. The line stopped and the other students rushed to his side. After he is pulled up to his knees, Rebecca reached down and patted the loose dirt off his knees. There is no blood; there aren’t any broken threads or holes in his trousers. He would be okay and they needed to keep walking. They group filed back into line and walked again. She looked behind them to see if anyone had seen the tumble.

Everyone falls but when they fall and someone saw it was a big deal, like just because they were different they were more apt to get hurt. Electricity doesn’t affect their ability to stand up, or make intelligent conversation or decisions but those English always seemed to think it did. She hated that rarely this time of year they walked to school in peace. The older boys were busy at home in the fields and it was the older girls who were to lead the group. She hated that when they needed protection the most they got the least.

The spring brought life-reviving rain, and the smell of trees and grass and warmness. But it also brought the English - tourists and nosy people. It seems like every year they get worse. They were always driving by. They were always stopping. They were always asking questions and snapping pictures. She had even had a grown man touch her dress! At thirteen she was appalled and scared but he just said ‘how nice’ and climbed back into his automobile.

She heard the motor of a car and tensed. She ushered the group onto the edge of the dirt road and hoped that the noise would stop before coming closer or the car would speed by. She used to marvel at the cars. They were so different then the buggies that they took. There were all different kinds and colors. They were so fast and so pretty but soon she realized they all contained gawking people.

The purring of the engine got louder and the eleven faces around her started to turn.

“Turn around.” Rebecca pushed the girl in front of her to turn around.

“Ow! Rebecca, why do you have to be so rude?” A bottom lip jutted out.

The boys in front started to rustle and Rebecca slowly started to lose control of the group. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but she was sure it was like everyday before and there was no real reason to be bickering but right now was not the time to be concerned. She snapped at them to quiet down and hug the side of the road.

Rebecca pressed her chin to her shoulder, attempting to see the source of the noise. A red car came into view. She could tell it was moving pretty fast as the dust spun up behind it; although it seemed to be slowing down. Was she paranoid or was the car coming to a stop? Her pace had quickened hoping to get to their schoolhouse before the car had come but it was all in vain. The car was still slowly creeping up on them, and the schoolhouse was still a hill away.

The kids in front of her were only looking forward out of fear. She knew they wanted to look; they always wanted to look. She could never figure out why. The English just gawked and embarrassed her. She couldn’t imagine going to their homes and staring. The engine was no longer getting closer but she could still hear it. She hesitantly peeked over her shoulder again and stopped in her tracks. The English were always with those cameras as though they were as necessary as bread and water.

She wondered if God would punish her for being in the pictures even if she didn’t want to. She pressed the books tighter to her chest – no one could know Papa had always called those with cameras sinners. They broke the second commandment. It was the same reason English girls had pretty dolls with faces while her dolls were faceless. She wished she could be a doll – faceless.

A flash told her that she was not faceless; she was caught again. She turned ahead again and kept walking. They were almost to school. The car slowly crept past as the faced leered through the glass window at them. The red seemed harsh against the dark solid colors of their clothes, and the green spring life of the countryside.

The silence surrounded their marching bodies again when the English disappeared over the hill. Rebecca’s chin nearly touched her chest as she stared at the ground. She could see tiny black shapes scuttling around in the dirt. By the time she saw them it was always too late to stop from stepping on them. She wondered if God looked at them as though they were ants; would he step on her someday for her secret.

The procession came up to the crest of the hill and Rebecca’s gut sank. There parked just outside her supposed sanctuary sat the car. A man and a woman leaned against it as a small child played on the steps. No one had ever waited for them like that. Rebecca was scared. None of the group in front of her even seemed to notice. Slowly she walked behind the group, no longer was she part of a pair but instead she was awkwardly offset. As they got closer to the invaders of her territory she realized that the woman was still photographing her. Immediately her head ducked down and her breath quickened. She could hear the clicks of the camera in her head. Every click a reminder of a sin, of her secret.

“Stop” she pleaded her head, “just please stop.” The woman’s chunky knees bent as she knelt to get a different angle on them. “What should we do?” She asked Rachel, the other half of her pair.

“About what?” Rachel’s green eyes were never focused and Rebecca wondered if Rachel had even noticed the people.

“Them,” Rebecca bobbed her head towards the photographer “they’re by the door.”

“Becca,” Rachel sighed “we’ll just walk past them.”

Rebecca was so caught up in her own fear and panic of being photographed the she was tangled in her own shoes and falling before she could help herself. On all fours, face inches from the ground Rebecca stopped breathing. She looked up to see the cumbersome woman coming towards her, but instead of helping her up she touched one knee to the ground and clicker her camera.

Rebecca was frozen. God will hate me. Have no idols. Dolls with no faces. She remembered her notebook – her secret. She looked down around her and all of her school books were splayed open and her notebook was compromised. Her secret was exposed. Everyone could see what was in it. Rebecca’s left hand felt the dirt it was smooth and packed – many people had walked all over it, but then her small fingers found a bump. They clawed the dirt away from the rock and as she pushed herself back to her feet she hurled the rock towards the woman. This woman who was making her an idol. This woman that made her feel guilty for her secret. This woman was struck by the rock.

Rebecca turned and ran. In the dirt lay her secret. The notebook was wide open and as the wind caught the pages. Sketches of people flipped back and forth on the crude loose leaf.

Rebecca didn’t hate the woman for photographing. Rebecca hated that woman because she was able to freely do what Rebecca desired most. God would punish her, she was sure.

c

After school Rebecca rushed about her chores. She got the chickens fed, the cow milked, churned the butter while her sister fed the new baby and finally she could be alone. In a family of eight it was easy for her to slip away for an hour.

“Going to the outhouse” Rebecca held her breath behind her teeth as she slowly walked towards the back.

‘Mhmm” her mom just kept working in the kitchen.

As she approached the outhouse she stepped off to the side and quickly behind it. The wood slats pressed into her back as she leaned there for a moment. She wiped her face with her apron and walked into the weeds.

Today she decided to walk towards Samuel’s house. She hadn’t seen him since he graduated eighth grade. She could see the roof of their broad barn peak over the tops of the grass.