by Joy Callaway
Grant’s hand gripped mine. His eyes were warm with a sadness I’d never seen. I blinked back the tears stinging my lids.
“I’m sorry for your loss, my dear. I’m sure your mother would have been proud of you,” Mr. Stout said.
“It’s all right. She died four years ago. Her only request was that I make something of myself, that I strive to be more . . . more than she was.” I could barely articulate the last words, and by the time I said them, Mr. Stout had swiveled to engage in conversation with someone on his other side.
“‘All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother,’” Grant said, squeezing my hand and then letting it go. “Though I doubt angel is accurate for mine, it seems that Abraham Lincoln’s sentiments are perfectly fitting for yours.”
* * *
The rest of the dinner passed in relative calm—at least when it came to our end of the table. Grant listened and chimed in on topics ranging from the tenderness of the meat to the speculation that a Chicago tailor was thinking of occupying a storefront in Green Oaks to the regimented schedule of the average Whitsitt student, but we didn’t speak directly to each other. After our earlier words and the emotional exchange about my mother, there was little left to say. I licked the remaining cream cheese icing from my fork and took a sip of coffee as I eyed Will and Lily still smiling and laughing with the other guests at their table. Will’s arm was casually draped across Lily’s shoulders as if he did it often. Perhaps something had sparked, or perhaps despite their differences they were getting along much better than I’d thought.
I finished my coffee and noticed Grant looking at me. His gaze jerked away as I met it and he reached for his wine, finding just a thimble’s share of purple liquid in the bottom of his crystal goblet.
“There’s nothing—”
“You’re out.” We spoke at the same time, and he laughed.
“Isn’t it a cardinal rule? That a glass should never be empty?” I asked.
“You’re right. Sam,” he muttered, leaning into the gap between our tables. Mr. Stephens bent his long neck toward him.
“Chief?”
“Where in the world did you acquire these waiters? They’ve left my glass dry.” Grant laughed and Mr. Stephens chuckled, gesturing to the woman next to him.
“Meet Miss Anne Rilk,” he said, letting the front two legs of his chair clatter back to the floor. “They’ve been graciously poached from her father’s and grandfather’s estates in Green Oaks.”
Miss Rilk was quite pretty, with hair nearly as black as mine and a petite, plump frame. I’d heard her name, but couldn’t quite place her. It was almost a given that I would have seen her before, but she didn’t look familiar either. Perhaps she lived at home with her family.
“That’s not all true,” Miss Rilk piped in. “Some of them were recruited from other area estates by our employees. I obviously can’t vouch for them, but I assure you that ours are the best in Illinois. I should know. I trained them.”
Suddenly, it dawned on me. She was one of our potential pledges. Katherine had invited herself to dine with a table of freshman women one afternoon, and had mentioned she’d been impressed with a woman who had enrolled in business administration, but been forced to resign her place and enlist in secretarial science at the insistence of her father.
“Very well. I’ll take your word for it,” Grant said. “Any way you could beckon one my way for a splash?”
“Certainly, Mr. Richardson,” she said and raised her hand to a young man balancing several discarded plates.
Grant turned back to our table. “Will you dance with me? I mean, once the instruments have a chance to set up.” He nodded toward the door, where I saw a line of musicians in black filing toward Mary. “If you can bear it.”
The waiter Miss Rilk summoned appeared at once, pouring Grant a sizable glass all the way to the rim. Grant held his hand up. “Thank you, sir. I doubt I’ll be in need of more all night.”
“Of course,” I said. “How else will we cut in on the Wilsons?”
He nodded and leaned toward me with a half-grin.
“We have nothing in common and the lion’s share of what we’ve said to each other has been shrouded in argument. I doubt you’ll find the need to seek me out after tonight, so if we never speak again, Miss Carrington, know this: for as strange as knowing you has been, I’ve actually had quite a time.”
The small orchestra struck an opening note and he stood quickly, extending his hand. “I’m the president. I’m required to dance first,” he said as I stood, nodding at those seated at the tables around us as we crossed to the dance floor.
“And if I’d said no?” I asked, but my question was lost to the music.
“A grand Iota Gamma welcome from Mr. Grant Richardson and Miss Elizabeth Carrington,” an old man holding a horn in one hand boomed. I caught Mary’s smirk as Grant spun me around, and nearly did a double take. Her expression was almost identical to the one Grant had given me before he’d led me out to dance.
“My name is Beth,” I stuttered. I hadn’t danced with a man alone—save being matched in a quadrille—since I’d taken a turn with Will at one of his friend’s balls in Chicago two years ago.
“I apologize. I just assumed it was short for Elizabeth,” he said, extending his hand out to where President Wilson sat with his wife. “President and Mrs. Gregory Wilson,” Grant shouted, and the room erupted in applause. Professor Helms was turned the opposite direction from the rest of the guests, staring at Lily, whose face had drained of color. She started to stand, but Will caught her arm. He leaned over to whisper something to her. The roar of cheering and clapping died down as Mary started to trill on the keys.
“Thank you! Thank you all for coming,” Grant bellowed, bowing over his one free arm. “It goes without saying that the brothers of Iota Gamma are forever indebted to every one of you for your sacrificial commitment to our future excellence. Now, let the true celebration begin! May your glasses remain full and your feet never stop.”
He turned from the guests to face me.
“Grant, I-I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered. I could feel the whole room looking at us. I wasn’t even sure of the steps. I started to pull away, but Grant held me tighter.
“It’ll only be a moment,” he said, his breath warm on my ear. “Once the song begins, others will join us.” He pressed me closer to his chest. At once, I was acutely aware of the weight of his palm on the small of my back.
“Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,” a baritone voice sang. “Long, long ago, long, long ago.”
“Sing me the songs I delighted to hear, long, long ago, long ago,” Grant sang along, drawing his cheek next to mine. Like he’d predicted, others slowly filed away from their tables towards the dance floor, but in the moment, I was barely aware of anyone else.
“Who taught you to waltz like that, Carrington?” Will’s voice behind me drew my cheek from Grant’s.
“Let me guess. You?” Lily asked, swatting Will on the arm. Will didn’t respond, staring at me as if my eyes could tell him if my association with Grant had gone beyond whatever transaction we’d arranged. In fact, I was wondering the same.
“I’m sure she’s rather enjoying the improvement in partners then, Buchannan,” Grant said, not bothering to adjust our steps to meet theirs. Will laughed, drawing Lily’s golden waist closer to him before dipping her dramatically. I remembered how it felt to dance with him—his sure steps leading me around his parents’ sitting room to the scratch of a gramophone record playing Bach’s Waltz from Swan Lake. His younger sister had been somehow bribed to operate the hand crank, but had given up after nearly an hour of my missteps.
“I’ve no doubt she’s in the arms of a superior dancer,” Will said, turning around us. “However, her enjoyment of it is yet to be seen.”
Grant chuckled under his breath, pulled back and looked at me, as though to make sure I hadn’t taken to crying or scowling in disgust.
“I’m
having a fine time,” I said, meriting a triumphant smile from Grant.
“I thought we’d be seated next to each other. I feel as though I haven’t seen you all night,” Lily said to me.
“I thought so too. We were, however, seated next to Mr. Stephens. I was introduced to his date, Anne Rilk. She’s quite lovely,” I said, meeting Lily’s eyes. She grinned, catching my meaning. She danced on her tiptoes for a moment, scanning the room for Mr. Stephens and our potential pledge.
“We aren’t allowed to be placed with our Iota Gamma families. It’s in the bylaws so that we’re given the opportunity to converse with brothers whom we don’t see as often,” Grant said, interrupting my thoughts. My face must’ve exhibited my confusion because he chuckled. “Buchannan’s my little brother. You see, each year, an older brother has the option to adopt a pledge, to help bring him up in the Iota Gamma way. Guide him.”
I looked from Grant to Will and back again, wondering how in the world Grant had decided on Will. They were completely different.
“Grant was paired with me quite by default,” Will said, grunting as he dipped Lily again and then drew her upright. “His first choice, Cyrus McCormick of the International Harvester McCormicks, withdrew to take over his father’s company.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, glaring at Will. “I chose you. I was impressed by your—”
“Ability with the ladies?” Will’s eyebrows rose and Lily snorted. “We both know I wasn’t chosen by the others and so, when Cyrus withdrew, you were forced to adopt me. You are the president, after all. Your role requires the noble task of clutching the hand of the outcast.”
“I’m sorry,” Grant whispered, as though Will’s boldness was new to me. It was clear that he wasn’t a man who spoke of things that shouldn’t be mentioned, things intended to remain as quiet as issues dealt a real family. I respected that and hoped my sisters and I would follow suit. We were all searching for a family—each one of us hoping to remedy the absence or disappointment of our kin with Beta Xi Beta.
Grant spun us toward the Iota Gamma letters, in the direction of the president and his wife, who were dancing in relatively the same place they’d dined. Will and Lily followed closely, and then the crowd parted to allow us through, forcing us to pass Professor Helms sitting at a table alone. He looked up from his empty dessert plate as we went by and lifted a glass filled with what looked like bourbon to his lips. I glared at him, but he didn’t notice, choosing to stare instead at Lily.
“Are you all right?” Grant asked me.
“Of course. I just saw—” Before I could get the last words out, I heard a crash behind me and turned to find Will on the floor behind Professor Helms’s chair. The instruments kept on, thankfully, but the people around us fell silent.
I looked around for Lily, but couldn’t find her anywhere. Will stood up, dusted himself off, and thumped Professor Helms hard on the back. The old man choked on his drink. His eyes watered as he coughed and he lifted his hand to draw what remained of his scraggly gray-brown hair back across the top of his head.
“Watch where you place your chair,” Will barked, and started into the crowd of dancers. I began to walk after Will, but Grant caught my arm, seeming not to have registered the confrontation.
“It’s almost time for the next dance.”
I looked at him blankly and his brow furrowed.
“With President Wilson?”
“Oh. Oh, yes,” I said, attempting to compose myself.
“Your friend will be all right,” he said. “She just jerked Buchannan the wrong way and tripped him. I’m sure she’s simply embarrassed.” I forced my mind to focus on my impending conversation with President Wilson rather than satisfy the impulse to run after Lily. She wouldn’t want me to miss this opportunity.
Suddenly, the horns and the violins stopped as Mary’s fingers began to trip up and down the keys to a mazurka I recognized instantly as Chopin’s E Flat Minor. The piece wasn’t long. I’d only have six minutes at most to convince President Wilson to accept my proposal. Grant spun me out to face Professor Wilson and his wife. I glanced toward the dance floor, hoping to catch the steps. I couldn’t remember past the first glide.
“Mrs. Wilson, may I have the honor?” Grant’s hand clamped down on my arm. “You’re losing time,” he muttered to me before leading Mrs. Wilson away.
“Thank you for agreeing to dance with this elderly man, Miss . . .”
“Carrington,” I said, taking President Wilson’s outstretched hand. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, reminding me of my paternal grandfather—a soft-spoken man who was nothing like his son.
“Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Carrington.” At once I was filled with warmth, as though his resemblance to a man I found most dear was an omen that he’d grant my request. I heard Mary’s fingers slip on the piano keys and knew she was watching me instead of the music.
“What are you studying?” President Wilson asked, hopping lightly on his left foot.
“Medicine,” I said, echoing his step on the incorrect foot. “I’m sorry. I must admit that I’m not well versed in the mazurka.”
“I don’t mind. I remember your application.” His kindness seemed to dissipate in that moment. “Beth Carrington from Chicago. The board decided to honor your request seventeen to fifteen. I was on the losing side. I didn’t find the major fitting for a young woman, but the progressives won out in your case.”
I wanted to explain, to argue as I did with every other person who questioned my aspirations, but I’d already done it once and didn’t have the strength to do it again in the span of one night, especially with a man who had the power to breathe life into Beta Xi Beta. “Regardless of my opinion on the matter, are you finding your studies fulfilling?” he continued.
Lily and Will danced by and her eyes widened as they passed. I shook my head at her and President Wilson laughed.
“You’re always able to change your concentration, you know,” he said, mistaking my gesture as an answer to his question. “In fact, in your case, I would celebrate it.”
“Oh, no. I’m quite happy with my studies,” I said. “It’s . . . something else.”
“Please. Tell me,” he said, crossing his left foot behind his right.
“The women here—how do I put it—find themselves feeling quite alone at times.” My stays felt like they were suffocating me, but I had to do this.
He grunted.
“And how is that? There’s an entire dormitory filled with forty-three women just up the hill.”
“Living together is one thing, but we don’t know each other. Thirty-three of the girls are studying divinity and the rest of us have such rigid schedules that there’s no room for camaraderie, or even a conversation,” I said. “I only know three other girls, one of whom is my roommate. It’s a shame that those of us outside of the seminary aren’t peers. Quite honestly, we need the support. It can be quite challenging to be the only girl in a classroom full of men. Even the professors make it clear they think us jokes.”
He snorted as if I’d said something humorous.
“Some of our professors are traditionalists, Miss Carrington. I’ll give you that. But, they don’t play games with their students.”
Either he was naïve to the matter or had decided to ignore it. I was guessing the latter.
“In any case,” I started again. “I have a proposition that I think you’ll be interested in hearing. It’s a—”
“I don’t intend to be rude,” he said, staring over my head, “but I’m a guest. I’ve come here to enjoy myself. And, as a policy, I don’t hear presentations from students outside my office or in the absence of the board. I’m certain you understand.”
“I do,” I said, narrowly stopping myself from begging for an exception.
“But if you’d like to bring your idea to the board next Tuesday at eleven-thirty in the morning, we’ll hear it . . . we have to hear every student case.” He pressed his lips together in a fo
rced smile. “I happen to know that we’ve just had a cancellation in that time slot. You’ll need to confirm with Miss Bradley, but as far as I know, it’s still available. The one after that is sometime in June.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling my desperation ease.
“You’re welcome,” he said, pulling away as the music concluded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retrieve my wife from that dashing date of yours.”
President Wilson turned and disappeared into the mass of black jackets and pluming hats either idling on the dance floor waiting for the next dance or making their way back to their seats. I searched the room for Grant, eyes pausing on every small gathering of guests, figuring that wherever he was, he’d drawn a crowd.
I slogged back toward my table, half glad for his absence as I knew he’d ask how my conversation had gone and I couldn’t bear to see his satisfaction when I told him that I’d been put off. Will stood next to it, talking to Mr. Stephens and Miss Rilk. He clapped Mr. Stephens on the back, and his eyes lifted to the dance floor, likely looking for Lily. I waved, but he didn’t see me. He took two steps away from Mr. Stephens and then started to run toward the door, disappearing into the hallway next to it.
Without thinking, I took off after him. Will hadn’t dawdled. He’d run toward whatever he’d seen, and if his reaction was any indication, he was about to do something he’d regret, something that could jeopardize his future at Whitsitt.
He was nearly down to the end of the hall by the time I spotted him.
“Will,” I called, but he didn’t stop. I ran faster, gathering my skirt in my hands.
“Get . . . off of her.” Will’s growl echoed down the hall and I heard the hiccup of a woman’s sob before something heavy crashed into a wall. My heart was drumming quickly by the time I reached the last room. I glanced into the vacant office. Inside, I saw Will, his back to me, leaning over a limp figure on the floor. I froze. With one swift movement, he slung his fist down. I heard the dull crack of knuckles meeting cartilage, followed by a guttural yell from the man on the ground.
