Barkley Cove had one school for whites. First grade through twelfthwent to a brick two-story at the opposite end of Main from the sheriff‘soffice. The black kids had their own school, a one-story cement blockstructure out near Colored Town. - P28
Kya sat down fast in her seat at the back of the room, trying to disappear like a bark beetle blending into the furrowed trunk of an oak.
Yet nervous as she was, as the teacher continued the lesson, she leanedforward, waiting to learn what came after twenty-nine. So far all MissArial had talked about was something called phonics, and the students, their mouths shaped like O‘s, echoed her sounds of ah, aa, o, and u, all of them moaning like doves. - P29
Kya never went back to school a day in her life. She returned to heron watching and shell collecting, where she reckoned she could learn something, "I can already coo like a dove," she told herself. "And lots better than them. Even with all them fine shoes." - P32
Months passed, winter easing gently into place, as southern winters do. The sun, warm as a blanket, wrapped Kya‘s shoulders, coaxing her deeper into the marsh. Sometimes she heard night-sounds she didn‘t know or jumped from lightning too close, but whenever she stumbled, it was the land that caught her. Until at last, at some unclaimed moment, the heart-pain seeped away like water into sand. Still there, but deep. Kya laid her hand upon the breathing, wet earth, and the marsh became her mother. - P34
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