The clanging of the school bell told her it was time to dismiss the class, and she watched with relief as the girls gathered up their books and left the room. Now the real work began. She had two hours before the school was locked up to begin going through the personnel files in Hoffmann’s office. She was starting with the supposition that the anonymous letters, at least about Mrs. Anderson, were from disappointed job applicants. She’d already read through the correspondence relating to her hiring and found it very thin. There were six letters from candidates, each expressing interest in the position, each listing their qualifications. There was a note from Della Thorndike recommending that Hoffmann interview Mrs. Anderson and a Mr. Frazier, but that was all. Fortunately, Hoffmann had asked Miss Thorndike to stop by and visit her in his office this afternoon.
Understanding that Annie wanted to keep the real reason she was at Girls' High a secret, he’d told Miss Thorndike that Annie had friends who were looking for a private arts instructor for their child. This was a very clever ruse, since it gave her a reason to ask Della Thorndike to expand on her impressions of the rejected candidates.
When she got to Hoffmann’s office, Annie found it empty. He’d given her a key and told her he had moved into Swett’s office that morning since the Principal was already on his way back east for the annual National Education Association meeting in Boston. She put down her copy of Mayhew and notes and was just sitting down at the desk when there was a knock on the door. A handsome middle-aged woman peeked in, saying, “Mrs. Fuller, I presume? I hope I’m not interrupting you, but Mr. Hoffmann told me about you agreeing to help out with the bookkeeping classes, and I wanted to welcome you. Oh, how silly, I didn’t tell you who I am, I’m Della Thorndike.”
By this time, Annie had gotten up and come around to shake Miss Thorndike’s hand and ask if she would like to sit down for a minute, an invitation that was promptly accepted. What ensued was a lively conversation in which Annie discovered a great deal about Miss Thorndike…or rather, Della. She had insisted that Annie call her Della, which of course required that she give Della full use of her own Christian name. She learned that Della had been born in a small town in Ohio, lost her fiancé at the battle of Bull Run, and come out west to dedicate her life to the profession of teaching. She had first taught in a number of rural schools in Nevada and California, then moved to San Francisco in 1869. She had been teaching at Girls' High as one of the English and Composition teachers ever since. Her pale blue eyes flashed, and she smoothed back her neat-as-a-pin blonde hair when she talked about how much she enjoyed working with the students in the Normal class. Annie could see why both Hattie Wilks and Laura had taken a liking to the friendly Miss Della Thorndike.
Della also proved a skillful interrogator, drawing out of Annie an abbreviated version of how the loss of her husband, like the loss of Della’s fiancé, had forced Annie to make her own living running a boarding house. Madam Sibyl stayed safely unmentioned.
“And Mr. Hoffmann tells me you are also interested in getting my advice on someone to tutor a friend’s child in the arts?” Della asked.
Annie, glad that her work as Madam Sibyl taught her to improvise, went on to embroider the storyline Hoffmann had started. She described how one of Mrs. Stein’s grand-daughters was proving to be unusually artistic and that she’d been commissioned to find someone to give the child personal lessons. Annie assuaged her conscience by telling herself that surely one of Esther’s numerous grandchildren was actually talented in music or drawing.
Finally, Annie said, “Vice Principal Hoffmann mentioned that you had recently interviewed some promising candidates for the arts position here, so I was wondering if you could tell me about them. Perhaps one of them would be a good fit.”
“Well, three of the candidates were young ladies without an iota of real teaching experience,” Della replied. “They seemed to think that singing in their church choir and cultivating a taste for water colors were sufficient qualifications to teach here at Girls' High. One of them had gone to a Normal school in the Midwest, but as far as I could tell, she had never actually been in a classroom. We insist that our Normal class students have practical teaching experience before they graduate.”
Annie murmured, “Yes, I can see how important that might be,” which seemed all the encouragement Della required to continue.
“There was a young man with excellent references. He came from a very prominent family in Philadelphia, studied art abroad in Paris for a year, and then made his way to California to make his fortune. When I asked him if he would be able to take over the music as well as the art classes, he admitted he had no experience in that realm at all. Such a shame. But I do think that Mr. Weld, that was his name, might be just the person your friend is looking for. So refined. He is currently engaged in teaching art at one of our local private female academies, and I imagine he would welcome the additional income.”
Annie dutifully wrote down the name of the refined Mr. Weld and then asked Della if she could think of anyone else, just in case her friend, Mrs. Stein, wanted someone who could teach both music and art.
“Well, I forwarded two names on to Mr. Hoffmann. Mr. Jonathan Frazier and Mrs. Dorthea Anderson, whom he subsequently hired. I’m not sure why Mr. Hoffmann chose Mrs. Anderson, given her lack of the appropriate level teaching certificate, although she certainly did have adequate teaching experience. It is just that…”
Here, Della Thorndike’s voice lowered. “You see, Mr. Frazier has the right level certificate, and he has worked with older students like our girls here. I would have thought…well, but then I wasn’t there at the interview, was I? Mr. Hoffmann said that the deciding factor was that Mr. Frazier had no background in teaching theater, but I had already volunteered to teach the dramatic arts class. I always assisted the former teacher, Miss Rochester. Perhaps it was just as well, given how busy the Normal class has kept me. And Mrs. Anderson is very charming, a favorite with her students. I expect that Mr. Hoffmann may have taken into consideration her situation.”
“Her situation?” Annie asked.
“Her little boy. Children can be such a worry financially when you are a widow. We have several other women who are trying to juggle the demands of teaching with motherhood,” Della said, a slight frown appearing. “Some of the single teachers feel they may take advantage…you did say you don’t have children, didn’t you?”
Annie said, “Yes, I did, but Mrs. Hewitt, Barbara Hewitt, your English Literature colleague, is one of my boarders, so I know how difficult it can be to work and raise a child.”
Della looked surprised. “Oh my, I didn’t know. Then young Miss Laura Dawson must also be one of your boarders. Such a lovely, competent young lady. I am quite in her debt, since she has taken in hand one of my students who needed to get her practice teaching done this term.”
Annie, aware that time was passing quickly, wanted to get back to the failed candidates. She said, “Yes, I have become quite fond of Laura, and she speaks very highly of you. But this Mr. Frazier you spoke of, do you think he would be interested in tutoring my friend’s granddaughter?”
Della responded with enthusiasm. “Oh, he would be a splendid choice. Do ask Mr. Hoffmann for his address. You see, I did wonder if Mr. Hoffmann took into consideration that Mr. Frazier also has family responsibilities. I know for a fact he has four children to support, and the salary he is currently making as part of the California Theater orchestra isn’t nearly sufficient.”
“Do you think he was very upset at not getting the job?” Annie asked.
“Oh, I really couldn’t say,” Della replied hastily. “It was really Mr. Hoffmann’s decision; I just tried to help out.” Standing up, she said, “Well, this was pleasant, but I really must go. Do let me know, however, if there is anything I can do to help make your time with us at Girls' High more pleasant. I would be glad to bring you around the teachers’ study and introduce you next Wednesday.”
Annie, feeling she had gotten a good deal of in
formation to work with, thanked Miss Thorndike warmly and then casually added, “There is one thing. Could you tell me the best way of finding Mrs. Washburn? Mr. Hoffmann said that I should ask her about getting into the supply cabinet. He seemed to indicate that she might be difficult to track down.”
Annie crossed her fingers under the table, Mr. Hoffmann having said no such thing. But she did want to get someone else’s impression of the relationship between Hoffmann and the janitoress since Barbara had mentioned some strain between the two. Having worked as a domestic for a few weeks, Annie was well aware of how invisible women could be who did menial work of any sort. She wondered what Mrs. Washburn saw as she cleaned the classrooms and offices of Girls' High and whether she would have any reason to use that knowledge to redress a personal grievance.
Della bristled. “Oh, Mrs. Washburn, the dear, of course she is hard to find. She is run ragged taking care of this huge building. As little as six years ago, there were only about four hundred students attending Girls' High, and now the number of students has doubled, which means double the workload for that poor woman. If she is hard to find, that is Vice Principal Hoffmann’s own fault. Such inconsideration! You would think a good administrator would figure out that one person can’t take care of this whole building, all by her lonesome.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Friday afternoon, January 30, 1880
"No good reason can be given why the Principals of the Boys' and Girls' High Schools should be paid $333.33 a month...when it is thought more than sufficient to allow an educated teacher of ten years experience $70 per month..."––San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Laura decided that this would be the day she would confront Andrew Russell. She needed to return the letters he had written Hattie since both she and Annie had read them. Her plan was to bring up the anonymous notes they’d found among Hattie’s correspondence and see what he had to say. She had left a note in his box in the teachers’ room first thing this morning asking him to come see her in her classroom between three and four-thirty. Normally she would have gone home with Barbara and Jamie at three on a Friday, but Annie was working late at Girls’ High and had said she would stop by on her way home.
As soon as classes were over, Kitty Blaine left, but two of the girls in her class asked to stay after to clean the boards. They then hung around for a few minutes chatting with her. Hoping this friendliness wasn’t just an attempt at buttering her up, she repressed her irritation at their obvious attempt to find out if the “tall man” who had been seen talking to her the previous week after school was her beau. Laura finally sent them on their giggling way, noticing that the janitor, Mr. Ferguson, was mopping outside her door as the girls left. She had found that it took very little encouragement for him to move on into her room after classes to “have a wee chat,” so she busied herself putting up the next day’s assignments on the board, hoping he would take the hint and go on with his work.
She hadn’t heard from Seth Timmons, and she rather wished she’d never told Annie about his visit. Annie, of course, had to tell Nate. Too embarrassing. The events of the past few months certainly confirmed her belief that nothing good came from having any sort of relationship with any man. Hattie’s pregnancy was a stark reminder of the consequences of romantic entanglements. Once she was satisfied that she knew exactly what had happened to Hattie and had held to account whoever was responsible, she would move forward on her career path, depending on no one but herself.
“Miss Dawson. You asked to see me?”
Laura turned around swiftly, her heart pounding. Over two weeks had passed since Hattie’s death, and she was shocked at the change in Andrew Russell’s physical appearance. He’d lost an appreciable amount of weight; his hair, never very neat, was long and untidy; and there were dark circles showing below the bottom rims of his glasses. She pushed away the brief spurt of compassion she felt, reminding herself that he was alive and Hattie wasn’t.
She took a breath, then said, “Yes, I did. As you requested, I am returning the letters you sent to Miss Wilks.”
Russell made a small noise in his throat and stepped forward precipitously, bumping into one of the school desks, but he stopped when she held up her hand.
“I will return them to you, under one condition. You must tell me what you know of the anonymous letters Hattie received.”
“She saved them?” Russell whispered and then hid his head in his hands.
“Yes. And I need to know when they came and who you think sent them.” Laura stared at him, wishing she could tell whether or not his distress was real. And what caused it? A guilty conscience?
Russell looked up at her and said, “Why? Why do you want to know? What does it matter? You must know that they were all lies. Just malicious gossip.”
“Gossip that forced Hattie to quit teaching and give up her dreams of the University.” Laura felt her bitterness rise in her throat.
“That wasn’t what I wanted. I would have done anything to make sure she continued on with her plans.” Russell shook his head slowly from side to side. “I even offered to find another position in another school so she could continue teaching at Clement. You have the letters I wrote; you know I offered. But Hattie insisted that she be the one to quit. She’d turned in her resignation letter before I even knew about the anonymous notes.”
“And do you know who sent them?”
“No. She showed me the first one, and I didn’t recognize the handwriting. She never would show me the others.” Russell shrugged. “She said that they were all written on lined composition paper, which you know we use in the schools, but she had compared the hand-writing to all of her students’ work, and she didn’t believe the notes came from any of them.”
Laura hadn’t thought of this possibility. Thank goodness Hattie had already eliminated the students, or she would have found it difficult to go into class on Monday without looking at all them in a suspicious light. Poor Hattie, what she have suffered. And she hadn’t written one word of all this to Laura, or Seth for that matter. It sounded as if she hadn’t even fully shared all she had been going through with Russell. If he was telling the truth. He could be playing a double game.
“Did Hattie say who she thought might have sent them?” Laura asked. “Was there another teacher, for example, who could have resented her getting the job at Clement? Or anyone who saw the two of you together outside of work?”
“I don’t know!” Russell stood up straighter. “There were the Girls' High students who attended the small group I tutor in Greek and Latin, but once Hattie and I…well, she stopped coming. Otherwise, we didn’t do anything in public that would invite criticism. However, even if someone suspected, I can’t understand why they would write an anonymous letter in that fashion. Slipped under the door to her room…”
“The letters were delivered to her boarding house,” Laura interrupted, “not at the school?” Russell nodded in assent.
She thought quickly, This means that they could have come from anyone, might even be politically motivated as Nate has suggested. But to what purpose? Laura asked Russell, “You didn’t get anything similar, did you? Or hear that Mrs. Dubois, the principal, had gotten any sort of communication concerning your relationship to Hattie?”
“No, no, nothing. And the letters stopped as soon as Hattie’s resignation became public. But I still don’t see why you are pursuing this. She wouldn’t want you to. We determined that we would not let someone’s disordered mind destroy our happiness. And it didn’t. When she agreed to marry me, well…the next few months were the most wonderful months of my life.”
Laura watched impatiently as Russell took off his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. It was his fault, whether directly or indirectly, that Hattie had died. Bled to death. She walked away and went to her desk, taking out a small key from her pocket and unlocking the desk drawer where she kept her purse. She pulled out Russell’s letters and other memorabilia that Hattie had
tied together.
When she was back standing in front of Russell, she held the ribbon-tied bundle to her chest and said, “If the love for Hattie that you professed in these letters was real, then you would want to know who was responsible for the notes. You would want to hold them accountable for what they did.”
“It’s been my impression you think I am responsible in some fashion,” Russell replied, putting his glasses back on and staring unwaveringly at her. “And I take full responsibility for the fact that my love for her made her the object of those anonymous letters. But don’t you see, if you pursue this, you will be the one who ruins her reputation. Imagine what it would do to her parents if they found out that there had been the slightest hint of impropriety in their daughter’s behavior. For what purpose? The letters don’t have anything to do with her accident.”
“How do you know that? Do you know why she fell?” Laura could feel herself losing control, and she stopped.
“What are you saying?” Russell stepped forward, clearly agitated. “Are you saying that those letters are connected to her death? Based on what? Did she say something to you about them? Had she gotten some more that I didn’t know about? Tell me.”
“She didn’t have time to say anything to me about the notes. You interrupted the one conversation we had together. Until the night she fell. Then, as she lay dying, she said that her fall was no accident. How would you interpret that?”
“You can’t be saying she took her own life?” Russell shook his head in a sharp negative. “That is ridiculous. She had done as the notes asked. She had resigned. We were getting married. And if the letters had continued, even if they were made public, I had already promised that at the slightest breath of scandal, I was willing to move out of the city. She didn’t want to move away…because of you. She was so looking forward to the two of you being together again, pursuing your degrees.” Again, emotion overcame him.
Bloody Lessons: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 19
