"I had no idea."
"Now you do. But women in the law are still rare. And they are not exactly being welcomed with open arms." Kit looked out at the ocean. "It's a fight," she said quietly. When she turned back she noticed Ted staring at her with an intensity she felt all through her body.
He said, "Then you fight, Miss Shannon. You fight for your dreams, and I'll fight for mine."
A bracing gust of sea air blew past them. "And what are your dreams, Mr. Fox?"
He smiled and spread his arms out wide. "A glider!"
Oh yes! At the party he had talked about "soaring." Did he really mean to fly? It was a dazzling thought.
"They've got gas-powered buggies," he said, "and so I'm going to build a gas-powered glider. I want to launch from here."
Kit felt a strong kinship with Ted Fox then, as if they were the only two people in the world who understood each other.
"You know," he said, "those of us who dream about doing what hasn't been done are bound to ruffle feathers. Well, let 'em ruffle. We make our own way in this world, Miss Shannon." There was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes then. But the look passed, replaced by a sparkling aliveness. "Tell you what," he said. "As soon as I get my flying machine up, I'll take you for another ride."
"That," Kit said with a smile, "is a pleasure I think I will forego."
He smiled widely and stepped toward her, as if drawn to her. Kit wanted something—his touch. She wanted to feel his arms around her, and she was frightened. He belonged to another woman! She barely knew him anyhow. And her heart was not set for love, not yet, not with so much to accomplish in her career.
Thoughts jumbled around in her mind as Ted took one more step and was nearly touching her. His blue eyes seemed as deep as the ocean itself, full of the same mystery and power.
She was sure he would kiss her now. She was frozen, wanting to turn away and yet not wanting to.
An agonizing moment labored past, then Ted drew back. "Come along," he said. "Let's ride a little further."
They did. At various points along the way Ted would stop and tell her something about the sights. He was a perfect gentleman. But Kit could not shake the feeling that he held something in reserve, something secret and deep. And she wondered if she would ever truly know him.
Chapter Ten
BACK AT HOME, still managing to avoid Aunt Freddy, Kit took a long bath to remove the dirt of the day's adventure. She bathed alone, with Corazón away on some errand or other. But it gave Kit the opportunity to think and to pray. She knew she had a decision to make. For some reason, Aunt Freddy had turned against her. She wasn't sure why, but remaining under her roof was apparently not an option. Should she simply return to New York? She had a teaching job waiting for her, a safe and secure position with a future.
But one thing Ted had told her—about fighting for her dreams—resonated inside her. It sounded much like her father. He had been a fighter his whole life, too. He'd faced tough opposition in his quest to preach the Word of God, persevering under conditions that might have crushed a lesser man.
Thinking of him, Kit reached under the bed and pulled out her father's Bible. The rich, brown leather was starting to fade a bit, but it still felt solid in her hands. She began reverently flipping pages.
How she loved the notations in Papa's Bible! Papa had heard the great D. L. Moody speak once and adopted his method of Bible marking—red ink underlining passages about the blood of Christ and symbols to mark important doctrines.
Now she was reading for devotion and direction. Papa had taught her that Scripture always came first when seeking God's will.
Kit thought back on the dark time at St. Catherine's when she had to read her father's Bible in secret. They had taken it from her when she first arrived. "No one can understand Scripture without the infallible Church to guide us," one of the nuns had told her. Thirteen-year-old Kit had cried when they took it, but a rap across her bottom put a stop to any hope of getting it back.
Hope, in fact, was in short supply at St. Catherine's. Her memories of the place always began with a vision of Sister Gertrude, the severe nun with a German accent and narrow eyes—eyes that seemed always to be watching.
After her arrival in the pounding rain, when Sister Gertrude had taken away her father's Bible, things only got worse. She was issued a uniform, housed in a room with four other girls, and assigned work. Her life became regulated, routine, and difficult. The only times she felt hopeful at all were in her classes. She found she had an insatiable love of learning, and she couldn't get enough.
The only exception was in Sister Gertrude's language class. It was clear Sister Gertrude had singled Kit out for her particular brand of torment. If Kit made even a single mistake, the entire class would know about it as a "warning" of what "dull minds" do. The other girls seemed to enjoy the sideshow, with one exception—a girl named Martha. While not overtly friendly, Martha at least never raised her voice in ridicule against Kit, nor laughed when the other children did.
Kit had determined not to crack under Sister Gertrude's heavy hand. In her mind, the sister was no different from the lawyers who had cheated her mother. She wore a habit, but it was power she wielded unjustly, just like the lawyers. That was what steeled Kit against the sister and everything she represented. There was nothing she could do about it except remain strong.
It wasn't easy. Kit's hands bore ugly welts and bruises from the canings she received from her tormentor. Still, she refused to give the sister more excuses to beat her.
Then one day the full force of her indignation poured out like the bursting forth of a dam. Sister Gertrude had been leading the class in grammar and pronunciation exercises when Kit felt a sting on the back of her neck. She looked behind her, knowing that someone had thrown something at her—a bean? a pebble?—with the intent to get her to commit some breach of classroom decorum.
"Kat'leen!" she heard Sister Gertrude say. "Eyes front!"
Turning back, her cheeks red, Kit felt a smoldering in her that was both frightening and, in a small way, exhilarating. She remembered how her father's eyes sometimes burned when he spoke of an injustice or of an insult to God. There was a time for anger.
As Sister Gertrude droned on, turning her head toward the blackboard, Kit felt another sharp pain on her neck. And the dam broke.
"Stop it!" Kit screamed, hot tears rushing to her eyes. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
"Kat'leen Shannon!" the Germanic bellow came. "You vill step here!" Sister Gertrude pointed a bony finger at the floor in front of her.
There was only one thing that meant—another caning. In Sister Gertrude's class there was no jury, no judge, no appeal. As the nun reached behind her for the cane, Kit screamed, "No!"
A hush fell over the class as ominous as the silence of a graveyard. Even Kit, her head pounding, knew she had stepped over a boundary that none of the girls had ever dared come close to.
Sister Gertrude's eyes widened more than Kit had ever seen them. Raising the cane she slammed it on her desk, sending a loud crack echoing off the walls. "Now!" she screamed.
"No," Kit repeated, but this time in a trembling voice that matched the scattered stream of tears on her cheeks.
Sister Gertrude seemed to swell then, becoming somehow twice her size, like the gathering of storm clouds before the issuing of thunder. Kit saw a hatred in the eyes of the sister, something for which there was no explanation. It was simply . . . unjust ! That was the word. There was no justice here and never would be.
From one side of the room, a voice said, "She didn't do anything, Sister!"
Kit, as if awakened from a dream, looked over and saw Martha, her angelic face now serious, sitting bravely in her seat.
For a moment Sister Gertrude's wrath was diverted. "Martha Milligan, you vill be quiet!"
"But, Sister—"
"No!" This was accompanied by another loud whap on the desk with the cane.
Martha stopped then and looked at Kit. Kit saw a look of ap
ology in her face, and in that instant Kit loved Martha Milligan more than any other person in the world.
"Kat'leen Shannon! This is last varning!"
Knowing that the awful sentence could not be avoided, Kit slowly stood. Her legs wouldn't move for a long moment, then finally they began taking her forward. It was as if she had a ball and chain on her ankles.
And then she was in front of Sister Gertrude.
"Hands!" the nun demanded.
As if trained to act by themselves, Kit's arms raised in front of her, her palms upward. Her thoughts screamed that this wasn't right, wasn't fair, but fairness was no consideration here.
The nun raised her cane in the air.
The cane swished downward . . .
Kit pulled back her hands. "No!" she cried.
Sister Gertrude's cane hit the floor with such force that it flew from her hand. The nun yelped in surprise and what must have been pain, for she grabbed her right shoulder with her left hand.
"You Protestant devil!" Sister Gertrude screamed.
And then she slapped Kit across the face.
Kit grabbed her cheek, now stinging hot, too stunned even to cry. Sister Gertrude grabbed the cane off the floor and began to rain blows all over Kit—legs, head, shoulders—shouting all the while "Devil! Devil! Devil!"
Crumbling to the floor, Kit put her hands over her head. The pain became unbearable and Kit prepared herself for death. Surely God would use death to take her away from this terrible place!
Then the blows stopped and Kit, a heap on the floor, heard another voice shouting, "Sister, no!"
Kit recognized the voice of Sister Agatha, the overseer of schooling. Kit had always thought of her as a distant observer, not fully involved in the daily operations of the school. But she was here now, and Kit felt a comfort and a hope that soon everything would be all right.
The caning incident resulted in a series of events that Kit, now looking back with the benefit of time, could only conclude had come from the hand of God.
Sister Gertrude was transferred to another convent. It was all done in silence—Sister Gertrude was not seen by any of the girls before news of her departure was disseminated. Rumors spread that she was actually going to a convent where sisters were "looked after" for various reasons. There was also a rumor that Sister Gertrude had once been assaulted by an Irishman who was a convert from Catholicism. That explained, for Kit, the irrational hatred the sister had for her, the daughter of an Irish Protestant.
Another benefit that occurred was a friendship with Martha Milligan. The girl with dark blond hair, worn always in twin braids, proved a godsend. She had been at St. Catherine's for ten years and knew things about the place. She also had influence among the other girls, and life became more bearable for Kit.
One night she was awakened by Martha. "Do you want to see something secret?" she said. They sneaked out of the rooms, and Martha took Kit to a stairway that Kit had never seen before. It was dark and mysterious, but also exciting.
Martha guided them through another door and hallway, and then through a door into a chamber lit only by moonlight. In the silvery glow Kit could see what it was—a library! A wonderful library with shelves filled with books, just waiting to be read. "It's Sister Agatha's private study," Martha explained.
To Kit, it was wonderful. Then Martha showed her a cabinet that was filled with still more books, these seemingly discarded or stored. "Sometimes I take one," said Martha. "Then put it back later. Want to?"
Kit had trembled at the thought of being caught. Canings weren't restricted to Sister Gertrude for violations of the rules. "No," Kit said, "but I'd like to feel them."
It was like a treasure chest for Kit, and she pulled out books and held them, opened them, ran her hands along the smooth pages. If only she could read them all, if only they'd let her, if only . . .
Kit stopped at the touch of the book in her hands. She knew instantly what it was. Her father's Bible! This is where they had put it!
"This one," Kit whispered to Martha. "This one I'll keep."
And she did. Martha took her to a secret place to hide it, under some loose floorboards in a classroom for the younger girls. No one apparently missed it, and Kit would read it sometimes in secret. It was a balm to her soul through the dark days at St. Catherine's.
It was perhaps a year after the beating by Sister Gertrude when Kit got the impression that Sister Agatha knew all along what Martha and Kit sometimes did at night, and even about her father's Bible. But for some reason, the nun said nothing. Instead, one day when Kit was fourteen, Sister Agatha asked Kit if she'd like to be in charge of cleaning her study. In return, she could read any of the books in it, so long as her work was done.
It was the one ray of light in this otherwise drab world where Kit lived. From that point onward, Kit was never without a book.
But first and always was the Bible, even though she had to read it in secret. One verse she returned to over and over was one that her father had underlined: Psalm 32, verse 8. I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.
It was to that verse Kit, sitting in her bedroom in Aunt Freddy's mansion, now turned. She read it again and prayed.
Lord, I ask you to show me the way. I will trust in you, wherever you lead. I ask you for a sign, Lord, a sign of your will. Show me!
Chapter Eleven
THE SIGN POINTED BACK to New York.
Aunt Freddy was a rock of resistance the next morning. Kit couldn't help but wonder about the influences on her aunt—Sloate, Madam Zindorf, and who knew what else. But one thing was clear: Aunt Freddy controlled her destiny in the form of sponsorship. And that was to be withdrawn.
Now too many things were against her. Aunt Freddy insisted Kit be on the afternoon train. And so the morning was spent packing and engaging in tearful good-byes with Aunt Freddy and, in secret, with Corazón. Oh, how Kit would miss the sweet friendship they had shared, though their time together had been so short.
Then, with a heart split in two—her desire to stay against her perception of God's will—Kit had Julio drive her to Earl Rogers' office before taking her to the depot.
With a sigh, Kit entered the building. With each step up the narrow wooden staircase, Kit tried to reassure herself that there really was no choice in the matter. God had spoken.
Hadn't He?
Gripping the banister in one gloved hand and holding tightly to her linen skirt with the other, Kit topped the flight of stairs. She looked down the hallway of glass-paneled doors, one of which had gilt-and-black lettering stating: EARL ROGERS. Nothing else, not even a designation of "Attorney-at-Law." It was as if Rogers were saying that his name alone would be enough in the years to come.
Kit forced her steps forward. She put her hand to the brass doorknob. There was still time to change her mind. Perhaps Mr. Rogers would have something to tell her. Some way to make it all work out. But remembering the trunks of clothes already packed and ready for her departure, Kit knew it would take a miracle to alter her course.
Inside the door was a large waiting room. The room seemed to suit Earl Rogers' character. The furniture consisted of two leather divans and a half dozen wooden chairs, all painted dark green. Brass spittoons were placed in every conceivable location, and two hat racks stood sentry near the door. It seemed very serviceable and businesslike. A reception desk sat by a door on the opposite side of the room.
Oddly, the room was empty, giving Kit the chance to peruse the many framed photographs on the wall. One she recognized as former President Grover Cleveland. Another was of a dashing young boxer in pose. She saw writing on this one. It was autographed by someone named James J. Corbett.
On the back wall was a beautiful painting of a cowboy on a bucking bronco. It seemed to sum up perfectly the aura of Los Angeles. The artist's signature simply said Remington.
"Miss Kathleen Shannon," a voice boomed out.
Looking up, Kit found Earl Rogers beami
ng her a smile from the doorway. "What do you think of it all? Would you mind working in such an environment?"
Kit smiled but felt no enthusiasm for the question. "It looks just as it should."
This reply made Rogers laugh. "Spoken neutrally enough. Come into my office. Let's get down to business."
"Well, I suppose that is why I'm here," Kit replied. Her heart raced as she forced herself to continue. "I needn't bother you by taking up time in your office. I can't stay."
Rogers' eyes narrowed, and he studied her as he might a witness in one of his trials. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I can't accept the position. I am returning to New York."
"May I ask what has brought this about?" He folded his arms across his chest and waited for her response.
Kit had wrestled with the idea of whether to give Rogers the full truth as she knew it or to make up some flimsy excuse. Standing in front of him now, she knew she would level with him. He had a way of drawing it out of her with nothing more than a glance. Was that how witnesses felt upon his cross-examination?
"My aunt is far from pleased with my desire to practice law. She is my sponsor and as such, she is exercising her right to withdraw her support."
"I see. So society has reared its ugly head, and the grand dame is dismissing you from view. Is that it?"
"I suppose you could say that."
"And you're giving up?" He snapped his fingers. "Just like that? Bah!"
He stepped back into his office as if to dismiss her. Kit, without even thinking, followed him inside.
"She's withdrawn her support, sir. She's putting me from her home, and I have no other place to live."
Rogers sat at his desk and raised his gaze to Kit. "It doesn't seem likely to me that a young woman who has constantly stood up in the face of proper decorum and regulated society should so easily give up on her dream. What is this really about?" He motioned her to a chair. "Sit down and tell me the truth."
Kit did as he suggested. Her face grew hot. "I'm not wanted here. My aunt is facing social upheaval if I stay. I have no money with which to secure a place of my own, and even if I did, it would hardly be an acceptable solution. My aunt would still face a great deal of discomfort."
City of Angels (The Trials of Kit Shannon #1) Page 10
