Page 91 of Frankly, My Dear

Then he looked down at her, still bent back over his arm. The erotic glitter in his eyes slowly turned to anger.

“Think about that when you’re riding your broom through time, Scarlett.”

She would.

“You put your right foot in…you put your right foot out…you put your right foot in and you shake it all about…”

Selene and her six pupils—Etienne, Cain, Abel, and three other black children, Daisy, Moses, and Goliath—were doing the hokey pokey three hours later in the schoolroom.

Etienne and all the young children, none older than seven, had touched Selene beyond measure by scrubbing their young bodies scrupulously and combing their hair before coming for lessons. And their enthusiasm for learning was a joy to behold.

Of course, the other children lagged far behind Etienne, never having learned to read or write, but Selene soon found that Etienne enjoyed the role of teacher’s helper. And he exhibited far more patience with his friends than he did with her.

Because their young minds had short attention spans, Selene interspersed the more boring parts of their lessons with games and stories. E.T. and Casper the Friendly Ghost joined Selene’s repertoire. She’d discovered she had a special talent for adapting what she could remember of modern children’s stories to the nineteenth-century bayou. For example, “Kermit, The Bayou Bullfrog,” “Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Snake,” “Goldilocks and the Three Alligators,” and the ever-popular “Green Eggs and Grits.”

Selene had talked to Etienne privately before the lessons started for the day and he’d convinced her of his genuine regret for placing her in danger. He hadn’t even balked too much when she said his punishment would be an early bedtime for the next week, with no desserts.

“Can we have lessons this afternoon, too?” Etienne asked when Selene said it was time to break for the midday meal. The other children chimed in their approval with squeals of delight.

Selene raised an eyebrow with disbelief, but nodded, knowing their fascination for schoolwork would probably soon diminish. She wanted to get in all her licks while she could before her forced departure.

After lunch, Selene’s aerobics class awaited her in a grassy area behind the house. Two more had joined the class, expanding it to ten women, all wearing work shirts and trousers. Like raw Army recruits, they stood at attention next to their rag rugs, awaiting her orders. Mrs. Baptiste sat knitting in a rocking chair that had been pulled over, while Blossom watched from the porch where she was shelling crawfish.

After an invigorating workout, the women sat in a circle and began their first “group therapy” session. At Selene’s urging, each woman introduced herself and was urged to share something private that was bothering her.

Selene started them off. “All my life I’ve been taught that my only asset is my appearance, and I lived with a man for three years who made me feel as if I didn’t have much worth. I need to change my self-image so I can find something else to like about the real me.”

The women nodded, surprising her with their understanding.

Reba spoke next. Blushing hotly with embarrassment, she confided shyly, “I’m the opposite. I need to change my appearance so I can look better. If I were better-looking, I know my life would be better. It already is.”

The women nodded in agreement with her, also.

Iris told how her husband had died before her twins were born, and he had been the only man to see beyond her big behind. “Once I gets rid of this bustle of muscle, I’m lookin’ to take on that Rufus,” she warned the other ladies. “So, remember, he’s mine.”

“I kind of wish I had a bigger bottom,” Reba said.

“Oh, yeah, well, I’ll give you half of mine, and I’d still have enough lard left over to bake fifty pies,” Iris said, shaking her head from side to side at what she considered Reba’s foolishness.

Everyone laughed.

“I’m too black,” Delphinium, one of the new members of the group, complained.

“Oh, Delphy, don’t say that,” Selene said. “Where I come from, black is beautiful.”

“Really?” a number of the women asked in disbelief.

Selene nodded, knowing she had to step warily on this subject, which might reveal her time-travel background. “Black people came to realize…where I’m from…that instead of trying to look like white people in appearance…you know, straightening hair, mimicking clothing…they should take pride in their own heritage. There’s beauty in all cultures, all colors.” Selene shrugged, not wanting to say more.

All of the black women sat a little taller then, pondering her words. Mrs. Baptiste studied her with fascination, then got up to leave, apparently deciding not to participate in the group. She indicated with a motion of her head that Selene should join her later for tea.

After that the conversation seemed to go downhill, in the direction all women’s talk eventually headed: sex.

“Did you know that Jeremiah can keep his…you know…hard for a whole hour?” one giggling woman revealed about one of the new male slaves. It was Lily of the flat chest.

“No-o-o,” the other black women said with a collective sigh of awe.

“How you be knowin’, Lily?” Iris asked saucily.