Chapter 72

College

Two years after the Gettysburg trip, Chance writes a letter saying I should go to college. Me! College!

He shows one of his teachers some of my stories about kin, and the teacher says I can take an examination. If I pass, I can go to college. That examination scares me witless, and learning how much college costs and how much learning I need beforehand grinds my mind to dust.

Mama helps with the learning part. She borrows books from Dr. Foster, and asks him a peck of questions about what to teach me. Geometry comes easy. It’s like figuring the size of a field or barn. But Algebra and Physics plumb wear me down. What keeps me steadfast is the thought of those smart women at Chance’s college. I hanker to be one of them.

The expense part is powerful daunting.

Just before winter melts into the hard work of spring planting, I challenge Grandpa to a game of mumblety-peg. We sit on the creek bank and I watch as he flips his jackknife off the back of his hand.

“You know that money you earned three years ago to catch me a husband?” I ask as my knife lands ramrod-straight beside his.

“Ya fixin’ ta look?”

“You still got the money?”

“Ya got yer eye on somebody?”

I take time setting up my next shot. “Jess Willoughby’s grown now.”

“Willoughby.” Grandpa spits. “Your ma mighta friendlied up with Harmon’s wife, but ain’t none of ‘em I’d give ya a nickel fer. They’s hankered after our land fer more’n a hunnert years. I’ll be dogged if they’s gittin’ it on your account.”

I flip my knife. “There’s Chance Canberry. He’s in college now.”

“And his letters say he wants ta marry ya?” Grandpa’s knife slides into the ground as if it’s buttered.

I retrieve my knife. “He thinks I could go to college.”

“College.” Grandpa spits again. “College ain’t no place fer a girl.” He flips his knife from the top of his ear.

I take off my bonnet and line up my knife. “You befuddle me, Grandpa. You believe women should be allowed to vote same as men. How can women do anything the same as men if they don’t get the same education?” I flip my knife too quickly and it flops on the creek bank with a thud.

“Ya sure cain’t flip a knife like a man.” He wipes my knife blade on his sleeve. “Just what are ya a-peckin’ at?”

I fetch the book Chance sent about his college. “I truly pine to go. Florence says I can live with them since they don’t have dormitories for women. But it costs a bushel of money. Might be I could use that husband money.”

Grandpa doesn’t even look at the book. “I been savin’ it fer your dowry. It ain’t so’s ya kin traipse off fer some high-falutin’ book-learnin’. Might be ya’d think ya was too smart ta come home ta your kin.”

“If I don’t go to college, what then? All I see for me here is Jess Willoughby winking at me after Sunday service.” I don’t mention that Jess also winks at Ruthie Pender, Callie Neal, and any other feminine eye he catches hold of.

“I see what ya’s a-tryin’ ta do.” Grandpa squints at me. “Ain’t no need ta settle fer no Willoughby. I kin still take ya on a husband-findin’ trip.”

“But I truly want to go to college. I want to get educated like Chance.”

Grandpa grunts. “Gittin’ educated don’t mean he’ll marry ya.”

“Mama’s educated, and Daddy married her.” I don’t tell Grandpa or anyone about the words in Chance’s letters. I never asked Mama what love feels like. I feel it every time I see Chance’s handwriting on a letter.

Grandpa goes to his house and fetches back a wad of paper money thick as a beaver’s tail. “I earned it fer you. Take it.”

I look from the money up to his eyes. “I have your blessing?”

“I think ya’s foolish. How can I give blessin’ ta foolishness? It’s your money. You decide what ta use it fer.” He storms up the hill to Crutchers’.