Judging Cicely

by Pippa Greathouse

  Polly inhaled sharply, turning to her. "There were windows full of girls from the opposing hall watching. I'm sure at least one of them heard her say that."

  "Stop!" The director held up a hand. "I will make inquiries. If what Miss Tuttle says is true, you will return for added punishment. If what you are saying is the truth, this is a serious matter." He looked down at his list.

  "Miss Tuttle says that she instructed you to come back with a towel and clean up the muddy and wet footprints and that you barely did an adequate job."

  Polly stared. "I—don't know, sir."

  "You don't know?"

  She shook her head. "I was so cold and there was no hot water in the bath—I barely remember it."

  Mr. Stenson stared at her for what seemed an eternity, before looking back down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair, finally, and without looking up, spoke. "Miss Tuttle, why was there no hot water in the bath? We do promise the girls they will have heated water available. I myself signed for the purchase of the boilers."

  Miss Tuttle did not look at him when she spoke. "We turn the boilers off after the girls bathe in the mornings, Director. There is no need to waste—"

  "I see." He took his pencil and made another notation.

  There was a long silence in the room, before he turned to Polly.

  "Young lady, I will allow you to tell me, from the beginning, why you were late for curfew and what happened after that, before we proceed with your punishment. Go ahead."

  Polly found she had to stop twice, turning away and coughing, but she managed to get through it. Finally, she was forced to back up and lean against the wall for stability. Then, she waited. Another long silence followed. She closed her eyes.

  "All right. Miss Andrews, I have taken off the punishment for insubordination at being asked to disrobe until further notice. I have taken it off for cleaning up the hallway. However, for missing curfew and trying to get in through the window, you will receive fifteen swats with the paddle. Miss Tuttle will deliver them."

  There was an answering chuckle from Miss Tuttle, and Polly suddenly straightened her shoulders.

  "No, sir."

  A frown planted its etches across his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. "No? Excuse me?"

  Polly took a breath and coughed again. "No, sir. I'm sorry. There was no reason for her to refuse to answer the door when I knocked. Three times! And there was no reason why she should have thrown my quilt out in the mud so I could not use it. You not only promise hot water, you promise adequate heat during the winter." She paused. "I will accept it from you, sir." She scowled toward the woman who was now holding the paddle and smiling. "I will not accept it from her."

  The director stared at her, thoughtfully. When he stood to his feet, he looked larger and more frightening than she had ever seen him.

  "Then you have made your choice. You are suspended, Miss Andrews. I shall wire your father immediately to come for you. If he's unable to come, he should send someone in a position of authority. Until then, you are to wait in the visitor's parlor until they arrive. The person in charge who signs you out will use the paddle and deliver your punishment, before you are dismissed from our charge." He nodded. "Miss Tuttle will stay and guard you until someone comes. Then you will come back in here while Miss Tuttle and I witness your punishment."

  "But I have the women's hall to see to. I cannot be saddled with the responsibility of waiting…" Miss Tuttle trailed off when she saw his face.

  "I have spoken. Show Miss Andrews to the visitor's parlor. I will see her trunks are brought in."

  Polly slid down the wall, slowly, as her energy left her. Suspended? What would Father say? She'd been in enough trouble in her life. How would he respond to this? She wanted to cry, but she was determined not to let them see it.

  "Come, Miss Andrews. I will help you."

  When she opened her eyes, the director was reaching for her hand. Trembling, she took it, and he helped her up.

  The visitor's parlor was thankfully empty. Polly made her way to the sofa and took off her slippers, leaving them on the floor. Miss Tuttle huffed at her in a voice that affirmed her displeasure and ordered her to sit up straight, like a lady. But Polly raised exhausted eyes to hers.

  "Miss Tuttle, apparently, I'm no longer a student here. Mr. Stenson has said so. And that means," she said, staring hard, at the woman standing in front of her. She swallowed. "That means I no longer have to put up with you."

  "Oh!" The woman straightened her shoulders and backed into the doorway, coming in to contact with the school nurse, Miss Darren.

  Oh dear. Not Nurse Dagmar. Polly closed her eyes.

  But a moment later, she felt a hand pushing her hair back and resting on her forehead. There was some conversation but she was too ill to listen.

  She kept her eyes closed and slept.

  A Person of Authority

  Someone was shouting in the distance. No, not shouting. Roaring. A deep voice. It sounded familiar. Polly frowned. It seemed to go on for an interminable amount of time. Why couldn't he speak more softly? A scowl creased her forehead, and she whimpered.

  She felt a hand rest on her forehead and tried to open her eyes.

  "She's ill. Her fever is exceedingly high. Why is no one seeing to her?"

  "I sent the school nurse in, earlier. She seemed to think Miss Andrews was all right."

  "Then you need to replace her with a nurse who has better credentials. This girl is obviously extremely ill."

  Arms gathered her up, and Polly moaned softly.

  "Pollyanna? Answer me. Where do you hurt?"

  Pollyanna. Slowly, she worked to open her eyes.

  "Mr. Wellington?"

  His face was full of fury. But his eyes were kind, as he studied her. Turning to the doorway, where the director stood, he spoke, "I'll be in the office with Miss Andrews in a moment, after I interrogate her. Right now, I suggest you get her something cool to drink, along with some nourishing soup. Polly, when did you have something to eat or drink last?"

  "Yesterday at noon…I think."

  "The kitchen is closed, Mr. Wellington."

  Polly looked up into Geoffrey's face, inches above hers. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at Mr. Stenson with an expression she hoped never to see directed at her.

  "One of the reasons Pembroke supports this school, Director Stenson, is because the Andrews twins chose this one to come to. I am not impressed by the care you are providing, and I must tell you, if I don't see a change in it, you can find another benefactor for your school. Bring this young lady some food. Now."

  Polly looked toward the doorway, but she was too late. Director Stenson had disappeared from sight.

  "And now, young lady," he said gruffly. "I want to know what happened yesterday afternoon. I want every detail. If you are not honest with me, not only will I perform the discipline they are asking, I'll spank you again when I get you home, after you're well. Understand me? But my first question is do you feel up to talking?"

  Her eyes were wide now. Nodding, she began to tell him. He stopped her, when she mentioned leaving to go to the post and mail the letter.

  "Who was the letter to, that it was important enough that you were willing to miss your supper?"

  Her voice was a whisper. "It was to you."

  His eyes softened suddenly. "It was that important to you?"

  She nodded.

  He studied her a minute, and then his expression increased in severity. "And what happened then?"

  She had to turn away to cough, and he sat her upright in his lap, patting her back several times gently. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he handed it to her.

  "How long have you been coughing?"

  She struggled to sit up. "Just since this morning."

  "I don't like the sound of it." His face was forbidding. "But go on."

  She looked up into his face. "I told them all this. This morning."

  "And I've heard their version. But not yours. If I'm ob
liged to paddle you before we leave, I want to know that every swat is deserved. The only way to know that is to hear it from you. So plead your case with me, young lady. Tell me everything."

  She did. When she explained that the curfew bell had rung, and she went back to find the door locked, his eyes blazed.

  "Did you knock?"

  "Yes, sir. Three times. No one came. I didn't think they were supposed to lock the doors for five minutes after the bell. But I know it didn't take me that long, even though I fell."

  He listened, and Polly was thankful. It was when she mentioned that her quilt was thrown out the window that he stopped her, and when she mentioned the lack of hot water in the building, he stood up with her in his arms.

  "But they dropped the charges of insubordination," she said in a soft voice. "That charge shouldn't be on there."

  He stopped, halfway across the room. "I don't believe he mentioned that one." He said, looking down into her face, "Explain."

  Her face turned scarlet, and she looked away. "I disobeyed an order."

  "To do what?" he demanded. When she didn't answer, he brought her closer to his face. "Polly Andrews, I'll spank you right here and right now, if you don't answer me."

  "It's embarrassing."

  "I don't care. Tell me."

  "I was standing on the steps, waiting to get back in, and she ordered me to disrobe."

  His eyes bored into hers. "Outside?"

  "Yes, sir. I refused."

  "I should hope so."

  "There were lots of girls watching from the next hall. I think she thought better of it."

  "My God." His voice was approaching a roar, and she flinched. "I'm not angry at you, Pollyanna. It's this wretched place, for treating you this way. Where is that damned director? And where is your food? Here, let me put you down. Can you walk?"

  "Yes, sir, I believe so." She took a few steps, but when he saw how unsteady she was, he scooped her up again.

  "Apparently not."

  "Wait! My slippers. I took them off at the sofa."

  Geoffrey looked back at the sofa and sat down, picking them up and slipping them on her feet, one after the other. When he looked down at her, he frowned. "I'll spare you all I can, Pollyanna. But I want you to know, I'll be fair. And if I feel you need to be punished, that's what I'll do. Understand me?"

  She met his gaze for only a moment and then averted her eyes. "Yes, sir. I understand."

  Polly's face reddened as he finally tilted her chin upward.

  "All right. Let's get this over with."

  "Geoffrey?"

  He looked down. "I think you'd better address me as Mr. Wellington until I manage to get you out of here. What is it?"

  "I really want to walk in."

  He nodded. Setting her carefully down on her feet, he held out his arm. She took it.

  "Hold on tight." Slowly, he guided her to the outside of the director's door, just as it opened. Mr. Stenson stood inside, looking quite uncomfortable.

  "Come in." He waited until they entered and then closed the door.

  Geoffrey gave him a hard stare. "I have a coach coming to pick up Miss Andrews and her trunks. I expect them to be here before long. It is nearly noon, and as yet, no one has brought her anything to eat. Which means it has been nearly twenty-four hours since she's eaten. Tell me the charges again, Mr. Stenson."

  The director picked up the paper on his desk. "Missing curfew. Penalty, five punishment swats. Trying to enter through her window and tossing rocks up which could have broken the window, ten."

  Geoffrey led Polly to the extra chair in the office and settled her down in it. Turning toward the director, he said, in his deep authoritative tone. "Mr. Stenson, I understand there is a period of time after the bell rings, before the doors are locked."

  Mr. Stenson frowned. "That is correct, Mr. Wellington. And the keepers of the women's halls wait beside the doors for another ten minutes, in order that they might open them for an errant girl who is late. Apparently—" He paused abruptly and looked down at his paper.

  Geoffrey turned his head toward Polly. "How long does it take to reach the women's hall at the speed you were running, Miss Andrews?"

  Polly blinked. "I don't know. Three minutes? Four?"

  "And how many times did you knock on the door, when you reached it?"

  "I knocked three different times, sir."

  "And there was no answer?"

  "No, sir. That's why I tried to get in through the window. It was raining dreadfully, and I knew I couldn't stay out in it all night."

  Geoffrey was standing over the director now, his eyes blazing. "And do you know why, Mr. Stenson, that no one answered? Because the woman who was supposed to open the door wasn't there. She was down inside Miss Andrews' room, waiting for her to try to get in through the window because she would have no other choice but to spend the night in the storm outside. And when she did try to enter the only way she could, she had not only her sheet but her quilt thrown out in the mire outside. Disregarding the fact that she ordered Miss Andrews to publicly strip out in the storm and to come in and bathe in a building where the hot water had been turned off," he said, stopping and putting his hands on the director's desk. "Knowing that, do you feel comfortable leaving those charges in place?"

  The director looked away, embarrassed.

  "I will tell you, Mr. Stenson. I do not feel comfortable delivering the punishment for them. And if you are to continue receiving Pembroke funds, which I am not promising at this point, you will do it without the employ of Miss Tuttle, or that funding will certainly cease to exist. Now. Since there is the matter of the 'suspension' of Miss Andrews without proof of wrongdoing."

  Mr. Stenson's mouth worked thoughtfully. "I shall take it off her record."

  "I will observe, as you do so," said Geoffrey. "And take a copy with me." He stood there, waiting, as Mr. Stenson crossed through the word "suspended" and signed it. Then he handed it to Geoffrey.

  "And now, Mr. Stenson, I shall remove her from school. Where do I sign?"

  The director pulled out two copies of a sheet of paper and filled them out, as Geoffrey stood there, watching. Mr. Stenson signed each paper twice, in different places, and placed them in front of Geoffrey, who signed and initialed them. Handing one back, he folded the other and stared at the director. "And I assume that Sheriff Andrews will have his money for her education this year returned? Now?"

  A scowl settled over the director's face.

  "Or," Geoffrey said firmly. "I can always deduct the amount spent for it from our contribution to the school and just hand it over to him."

  Shuffling ensued, and a moment later, Mr. Stenson handed a checque to Geoffrey. "As you see, it is made out to Miss Andrews' father. "Less the amount for the week she was here."

  Geoffrey stared at it. "Fair enough," he said, nodding. "Now, the only matter is the dismissal of Miss Tuttle."

  The director raised his head. "I will attend to it," he said.

  Geoffrey stood straight, and reached for Polly, who took his hand.

  "See that you do, Director. I will call within three days and check to make sure it's been done. And since I see my coach and drivers arriving through the window, sir, we bid you good day."

  It took all of five minutes to load her trunks into the black carriage outside, with the Wellington Crest on the side, and lift Polly into it.

  Geoffrey leaned forward. "Kimbrow? Stop in town and we'll rest out the horses for a few hours and eat. Isaac, take Knight back for me, please. Then, we'll take a leisurely pace home. Miss Andrews needs to eat."

  The men followed orders, and they were on their way.

  "And you, young lady," Geoffrey said from the seat next to her, "Don't think you are entirely out of trouble. What have you to say for yourself?"

  She looked up, innocently. "I'm still in trouble?"

  "Did I not just say that? You, my girl, have a bit more explaining to do."

  She leaned back against the seat and closed her e
yes. "Father is going to be so upset with me."

  "Your father," he said sternly. "Won't be anything like as upset with you as I will if you ever try another stunt like this again."

  She blinked. "You're angry," she whispered, tearfully.

  He gave a heavy sigh and lifted her into his arms. Instinctively, she leaned her head over on his chest and closed her eyes.

  "What are you thinking right now, Pollyanna?"

  Polly didn't look up. She said softly, "I'm thinking I never, ever want to be in a major argument with you. Mr. Stenson didn't stand a chance."

  She remained quiet, after that, and Geoffrey sat watching her face for a long time before raising his head and staring out the window.

  "And I'm thinking," he said. "That it's going to take a great deal more skill than that to get you out of trouble with your father."

  It was late evening, when the Wellington Carriage stopped in front of the Andrews' house. Abel had tried all day to comfort Cicely but had been unsuccessful and had finally taken her out to the stable to calm her down, away from her family. Everything was under control. He knew Geoff was there by now and had taken the situation over. If Polly was ill, he'd have her to the doctor by now. If she was in trouble, he'd handle it.

  Cicely realized he was right, but she still had worried. When the coach pulled up, she was the first one to run out of the house; even Abel couldn't catch her quickly enough. But her mother and father were not far behind.

  Geoff had stopped them with a finger to his lips and had brought Polly out, sleeping, in his arms.

  "She has been ill," he said softly. "But she'll be all right. Mrs. Andrews, where do you want me to place her?"

  "In the back bedroom, Geoffrey. So we can keep an eye on her."

  Cicely's voice was still full of alarm. "Are you sure she's all right? She looks so pale." Abel put his hands on her shoulders.

  Geoffrey turned to face her. "I promise," he said, with a hint of a smile on his face. Carrying her into the room, he waited until Mrs. Andrews pulled back the bedding and gently set her down, reaching down to pull off her slippers. A moment later, he turned to face everyone.