by Joy Callaway
“Fine,” I said under my breath. I glanced up at him and his lips twitched as if he were about to smile, but he thought better of it.
“Good grief, are you really that angry?” I felt his fingers go slack on my arm and slung myself loose.
“Of course I am, you—you ass,” I yelled.
Will’s eyebrows rose as much at the cursing as the decibels and then he laughed. My hands opened and I felt one arm rise to slap him, but stopped myself, balling it into a fist instead.
“Is that the best you can do?” He grinned at me as though I’d just turned into a court jester.
“No,” I spat, my fury returning. “You made me look like a fool. You’re nothing but a disloyal, self-loathing boor. I can’t believe I was so blind as to think you were my friend.”
His dark blue eyes dulled. He looked down at the floor and shook his head. I instantly regretted the severity of what I’d said. “Will. I—”
He raised his palm.
“No need to act contrite, if that’s what you really think,” he said. “Regardless, I’m sorry. Truly. But if you hadn’t interrupted me in the midst of my explanation, you would’ve heard me say that I would never recommend you do anything else, that you’re as suited to be a physician as any of the rest of us.”
He sighed before continuing. “I should have challenged Fredericks immediately rather than allowing him to believe I agreed with him at first. I should have told him that his viewpoints are archaic and offensive, but the truth is that he’s right. I’m on the brink of failing his class. Father will kill me if I do. He’s already threatened to withdraw me once, not to mention that the Iota house can’t survive the slightest misstep from me without losing our charter. The dining hall fire last year isn’t exactly something that can be forgotten.”
I laughed before I could help myself. The edges of Will’s coattails had been intentionally set on fire by one of his brothers at the annual veterans’ memorial candlelight service, though the Iota Gammas all cried accident when the board inquired about it the next day—Grant had sworn that Iota Gamma wouldn’t tolerate anything close to Masonic rituals, after all. The other five pledges had been hazed the same way, but the difference was that the rest of them had taken note of the heat radiating from their backsides before they’d walked all the way across campus and into the dining hall for dinner. No one had said a word to Will—until he leaned against a skillet of bacon grease left over from breakfast—a measure that started a small fire that the cook was unable to stifle before it made ash of half the kitchen.
I composed myself and touched his arm.
“You know that’s not really what I think of you,” I said, conceding my anger mainly because I knew he was telling the truth. “Regardless, I wish you would’ve taken up for me without hesitation.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Oh, and Happy Birthday,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s been so tense. I’d planned to ask if you’d like to meet for dinner before, well, this morning.”
“That would be lovely,” I said. “Thank you for remembering.”
“Of course I did,” he said, offering me his arm as we walked back toward the main hall. “Where would you like to dine? There’s the dining hall or . . . I suppose we could try to fetch a coach to Green Oaks if Miss Zephaniah would permit it on such short notice.”
Downtown Whitsitt was only made up of three establishments—the Five and Dime, the post office, and the soda counter. To dine out, one had to go to the slightly larger Green Oaks ten miles away, which only had two choices—Smith’s or Russell’s, both expensive steakhouses.
“The dining hall it is,” I said, knowing there was no way Miss Zephaniah would agree to my traipsing all the way to Green Oaks in a coach with a man who wasn’t my father or brother. The only reason she allowed women to ride unchaperoned to the Iota Gamma winter ball was because the ball itself was attended by faculty. “I heard they’re serving turkey pie this evening.”
We turned into the crowded hallway and Will squeezed my shoulder.
“Nearly as delicious as filet mignon.” He winked at me, then ducked under a sconce as we wove through the stream of students heading to their final classes.
“Thank you for arranging such a classy feast in celebration of the start of my twenties,” I said with a smile as we joined the crowd.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said suddenly.
I nodded.
“What was so important that you felt the need to sneak into the house in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you come to me for help?”
I couldn’t tell him, not now. My sisters were already angry with me, and Will wasn’t exactly the most discreet.
“It was nothing you could help me with,” I said quietly, and Will stopped in his tracks.
“Wait, Beth. It just occurred to me. You wouldn’t—I mean—he surely didn’t ask you to . . . in exchange for a favor,” he sputtered, eyes boring into mine. I stared at him, open-mouthed, having no idea whether to laugh or find offense in the fact that he’d think I’d stoop that low. “I’d kill him, you know.”
His eyes broke from mine, scanning the students around us as though Mr. Richardson would suddenly materialize.
“No, Will.” I grabbed his forearm. “I mean, no, nothing happened. I only needed his connections for something. I’ll leave the other . . . um . . . things to you.”
“I appreciate it, though know this: I’m always honorable. I would never engage a woman in exchange for anything. That kind of behavior is repulsive and—”
“Hello Miss Carrington, Buchannan,” said a voice behind us. I whirled around to find Mr. Richardson there.
“Richardson,” Will said, extending his hand. Mr. Richardson took it without a glance his way, choosing instead to maintain his gaze at me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Mr. Richardson smirked, but he didn’t look away, causing a mix of embarrassment and irritation to burn my cheeks. We stared at each other for what seemed like minutes before he blinked and turned toward Will.
“Did you get a chance to follow the freshmen I asked you to examine?” He removed his black felt derby and waited for Will’s response. Will shook his head. What a strange question, I thought.
“Regrettably, no,” Will said. “It’s snowing. The last thing I want to do is scour the entirety of campus in the freezing cold to find five men who are likely just doing what we all do with our limited leisure time.”
“What you do and what the rest of us do are very different, Buchannan,” Grant replied. Even the way the man spoke to his friends came off as smug.
“Is that so?” Will asked. “I meant studying.” His gaze wandered over my head, and suddenly a short man with a thin moustache tapped him on the arm.
“Mr. Buchannan, Miss Anne Cole would like a word with you.” He gestured down the hall.
“Certainly,” he said to the man. “Excuse me.” Slapping Mr. Richardson on the shoulder, he started to walk away, before hesitating and turning back. “You enjoy your studies,” he said, “and I’ll be sure to enjoy enough of my leisure for the both of us, Richardson. See you tonight, Beth.” Will winked at me, then flicked a lackluster wave at Mr. Richardson.
Suddenly I couldn’t stomach my proximity to the man who had so callously disregarded me, and found my voice.
“So you don’t trouble yourself with it later, I wasn’t asking him to help me.”
“Ah, I sense that our earlier conversation struck a nerve.” He turned to face me and pushed an ebony curl back from his face. “Please let me explain my behavior, Miss Carrington, when I’ve not been confronted dead asleep and half-exposed.”
“I’m listening,” I said, wondering why in the world he’d wait for an invitation to continue.
“Right. Well, it boils down to the fact that—as you may know—my uncle is a congressman and quite traditional when it comes to his stance on suffrage,” he said matter-of-factly, and then shoved his hands in the pockets of his gray tweed sack coat as though that were the end of
the story.
“Do you share the same brain as your uncle, Mr. Richardson, or do you possess one of your own?” I didn’t mean to, but the question came out in a hiss.
“Touché, Miss Carrington,” Grant chuckled. “However, you have to understand that, regardless of my stance, which is honestly just shy of his very traditional view, I couldn’t help you even if it did align with my beliefs. The college has always supported his political career, you see, and therefore sees me as a sort of representative of him because—”
I held up my hand to stop him.
“You’re not being sincere,” I said. “Your uncle is really quite irrelevant, isn’t he? The truth is that you don’t want to risk losing what you have on campus. It’s clear that you’re rather fond of your pompous reputation and the spoon-feeding by everyone around you.”
Grant shook his head. I knew I should walk away, that the only response I’d get from him now would be curt at best, but something inside wanted to hear Mr. Richardson’s honesty.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “As insufferable as you are, you’ve caught my attention, so I’ll do you a favor. You can accompany me to the annual Iota Gamma winter ball.”
I blinked at him. Surely his invitation was in jest. I’d rather spend an evening emptying chamber pots.
He grinned. “What is it? You don’t suppose this is the first time I’ve heard unfavorable things about myself, do you? Far from it, though you are the first woman bold enough to tell me so. I quite respect you for it, though I still, regretfully, don’t agree. So, what do you say? Will you agree to go along with me?”
“Have you lost your mind?” I managed to say. “Why would I ever accept any sort of proposition from—”
“I suppose I forgot to remind you that it’s a faculty-attended function,” he interrupted. “If you’re so determined to start your beloved women’s fraternity, petition President Wilson yourself. He’ll be in attendance.”
6
It was as if my mind hadn’t had a chance to process the question in time to stop my head from nodding. Finding myself just down the hill from Everett Hall, I’d endured an entire lecture and crossed campus in a daze, unable to explain how or why I’d agreed to be Grant Richardson’s prize pony for the winter ball—though I somehow doubted that’s exactly what I was. I glanced up at my attic window to find candlelight beaming through the glittering coat of ice. Lily was home. I’d have to explain to her that I’d agreed to the ball before word got around.
“Miss Carrington,” a high-pitched voice croaked behind me.
“Yes?” I spun around, shocked out of my thoughts by the sight of Miss Zephaniah coming up the walk after me, with wisps of gray hair sticking haphazardly out of her old war-era spoon bonnet.
“You needn’t startle. I simply saw you and thought I’d say how-de-do. I didn’t see you at lunch.” Her lips pursed for a moment and then she strode past me, huddling her thin neck in the folds of her weathered mink coat.
“I thought I had a touch of a cold. I didn’t feel well, but I suppose I was mistaken because I’ve recovered,” I said, half-running to catch up. “How are you today?” I attempted again. Under the sanctuary of the porch, she dusted the powder from her shoulders.
“To be quite frank, Miss Carrington, I’m a bit frightened,” she said, stomping her black boots and sending packed snow sliding across the wood. I could see a throng of divinity girls through the windows. They were laughing and talking as they tied bonnet strings around their necks, readying for their weekly philanthropy. I couldn’t wait until Beta Xi Beta grew in size. How lovely it would be to be among a large, like-minded group of women.
“I’m sure your roommate has informed you of my visit this morning,” she said.
I shook my head. I wanted to hear it from her, to tell if a summoning from the president’s office for my sneaking out was imminent. Miss Zephaniah never handled matters herself. Instead, she took her grievances directly to President Wilson, usually without mentioning it to the offender. I suppose she figured it would catch us off-guard that way, allowing no time for an excuse. I had to give her credit for the effectiveness of her method, though. Last year, she’d had a girl expelled for repeatedly sneaking a man into Everett Hall after hours.
“I have reason to believe that someone may have compromised our safety,” she said. Her neck crooked my way and her eyes sliced through mine in the flicker of the gas light, as though if she stared hard enough she could worm her way into my brain. “You’re not missing anything, are you?”
“We’re not. At least that I’m aware of.” A gust of wind blew through the narrow passage, and I glanced at the double doors, wishing she’d step inside so that I could follow. “What did you see last night?”
“I can’t be certain. A hooded figure just over the hill. I was jarred awake by footsteps half an hour before, and made a round through the halls, but found nothing amiss,” she said with a sigh. “I opened every door, checked every room. I know it wasn’t the doing of one of you. At least I hope it wasn’t. Expulsion does not please me.” I couldn’t tell if she sincerely believed that we were all innocent, or if she suspected me and wanted to gauge my reaction. She twisted the doorknob, but her palm slipped and the latch slung back into place.
“I’m certain it wasn’t,” I said. “We’re all too serious about our studies to jeopardize our future.” I hoped she would believe me. As much as I thought our fraternity important, as much as I wanted to make a difference at Whitsitt, I also needed to become a doctor. If I was expelled, my dream would be nullified. There weren’t many traditional medical schools keen to admit women and even the few schools exclusively for women would doubtless balk at an application from a student who’d been driven out of her previous college due to poor conduct.
Withdrawing my ungloved hand from my coat, I edged the door open and followed Miss Zephaniah into the open foyer, past the horde of women. I smiled as I passed a group of girls sitting on matching damask longues, but my attempt at friendliness went undetected. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn’t notice me—they never noticed any of us. Some of them were singing Christ the Lord is Risen Today and I couldn’t help but hum along. The hymn was an Easter favorite, sung every year before the benediction at our church, First Unitarian of Chicago.
“The coaches have arrived!” someone shouted, and at once the girls were gone, leaving the foyer suddenly so quiet that I could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock. Passing the floor vents steaming with heat, I started up the stairs, edging out of my coat. I was halfway to the second-floor landing when I heard a throat clear below me.
“There’s one more thing, Miss Carrington.” I stopped in my tracks and my heart began pounding. I clutched the cool iron banister and looked down to meet Miss Zephaniah’s stare, praying she hadn’t decided to accuse me. “Let me be blunt. I was coming from reporting an unseemly incident to the president this morning, when I happened upon you having a private conversation with that rabble-rouser, William Buchannan.” She looked away from me for a moment as she removed her gloves. “It goes without saying that I disapprove of your association with such a man. His influence could have the power to ruin an intelligent woman such as yourself and—”
“He’s an old friend,” I said before I could stop myself. It was instinctual for me to defend him. I only wished he had had the same reaction this morning in class.
“I wasn’t finished,” she snapped, starting toward me but stopping short of the steps. “Did he mention anything that would suggest that the break-in was the doing of Iota Gamma? Everyone knows that they have little to no regard for the college. After last year’s fire—started by your friend, I might add—I’m surprised they weren’t shut down again. The board would have never stood for that kind of behavior if it weren’t for their pet, Mr. Richardson, who is a heathen in the flesh, if you ask me. At the start of my tenure, the college and the church wouldn’t have compromised their morals for anything.” She wagged her finger at
me as though I were contesting her. “Especially to defend an organization with the devil at its core. I told President Wilson he would live to regret allowing it, that he was only encouraging Whitsitt to fall prey to the same sort of scandal brought about by that young man’s death at Cornell. The Bible says, ‘thou shall not kill.’”
“No, he didn’t mention anything of the sort,” I said evenly. Her fear was the same sort of ridiculous panic that had ruffled the feathers of our normally reasonable denomination—most of the others, too—encouraging criticism of hundreds of perfectly devout men involved in fraternities across the nation.
“According to the president’s secretary, Miss Bradley, your Mr. Buchannan is in charge of the pledges this year,” she said. “Rumor has it that they’ve begun recruitment. If I find that he’s put the freshman men up to this, I will go to President Wilson straightaway.”
