Welcome to my Wednesday feature
God is So Good. Here I will share stories - true and fiction, mine and others' - of the Lord's presence in the midst of trials, struggles, and difficulties.
In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33b
One thing I've learned through my writing journey is that I enjoy writing historical fiction. This piece - written for the FaithWriters Writing Challenge, was my first try of it once I got saved. I hope you will see God's presence in this difficult time in America's history, and in the lives of the characters.
A Look of Hope
By Joanne Sher
"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, whatall was ya playin?"
"School. I was giving Clara and Abigail their ‘rithmetic lesson. They
weren’t listening very well. I was about to put Clara in the corner!"
"So that’s why you lef her behine," Margaret tittered, pointing at the one doll in the girl’s 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 Ma’gret will bring ya yo’ 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.
"Where’s mamma?" she asked between bites.
Beulah sighed softly. "Still sleepin’, I figger. Fixin’ to go wake her righ now so she can start ya on yo’ lessons."
"Can’t
you teach me, Margaret? Then mamma can keep sleeping!"
Margaret began to speak but then hesitated, turning toward Beulah.
"Ma’gret can’t read, Miss Cynthia. Slaves ain’t ‘spose to get no learnin’."
Cynthia stood up, banging her hand on the table.
"Now, that’s just silly! Why reading’s the very best, most wonderful thing in the world!"
After a moment of thought, Cynthia’s face brightened. She did a bit of a pirouette, then walked over and grabbed Margaret’s arm.
"I know!
I’ll teach you! You can sit with Clara and Abigail, and
you can learn your letters and words and everything! You’ll 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 can’t Margaret learn to read if we’re 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 yo’ mamma, Miss Cynthia."
"Don’t you
want to learn to read, Margaret?"
Cynthia glanced Margaret’s 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, don’t you? I can tell! Just come upstairs with me, Margaret! We can start with "A" right now!"
Cynthia grabbed Margaret’s hand and skipped toward the stairway, heading up toward the little girl’s 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. "I’m gonna play upstairs with Margaret, mamma. ‘K?"
"That’s 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 Cynthia’s bedroom, and closed the door behind them.
**
Galatians 3:28 KJV
Do you have a story you'd like to share about God's goodness in your struggles? Drop me an email and we can talk!
Traveling Rough Roads With God's Strength