by Joy Callaway
“I understand you’re upset, but that doesn’t mean that he loves me, Lily. Will has never liked Grant. And perhaps he thought that he should dance next to us for our sake, so that we could talk.”
I let out a long breath and sat down on the end of my bed. I could see her silhouette in the dark, her body turned away from me.
“He does. The way his face looked . . .” She stopped. “He begged me to tell him why you’d gone to see Mr. Richardson that night and I did . . . right before you stepped out for the first dance. I thought that if you had the right to tell our secret, so did I.”
I froze, unable to believe her. She was only saying it to hurt me, to teach me a lesson.
“You didn’t . . . wouldn’t do that.”
“He couldn’t understand why you didn’t tell him. He said that he knew he didn’t have the influence Mr. Richardson did, but that he has always supported you, that he would have tried to help us. He swore he’d take our secret seriously. He knows what the repercussions are if he doesn’t.”
I curled my legs against my chest, as though I could somehow shield my crushed heart.
“I was going to tell him. I was going to ask if I could at our meeting tomorrow. After our appointment with the board, everyone will know about it anyway,” I said, stumbling over the words.
“I suppose it’s too late,” Lily said. “I’m sure you’re proud of yourself. In the course of an evening, you’ve shown your two best friends such kindness.”
Somehow I had to make it right. I absolutely couldn’t lose them. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. The echo of the crushing pain that came with the end of a friendship struck me. I’d fallen out with my friend Sarah the month before I left for Whitsitt. Her family was progressive, her mother the leader of our suffrage group, and I’d thought she should go to school with me. Instead, she kept trying to talk me into staying, a measure I adamantly refused and couldn’t understand. As time passed, I came to realize that it wasn’t really about me remaining in Chicago, it was about her wanting my approval. She’d wanted me to tell her that I’d stand by her if she chose to marry her long-time beau and forgo college, but I hadn’t been able to fathom that life—for her or me—and so I’d refused to let the subject drop. I’d wanted her to have everything, to have both, and I’d been too insistent, too callous. Eventually, love won and I lost. I couldn’t lose again. Not with Will and Lily at stake.
Tears dripped down my face.
“Please, Lily. I love you. I’m so sorry.”
“As you should be,” she said. I heard the rustle of her mattress as she lay down. “Perhaps you should go sleep with Mary and Katherine tonight. I don’t want to talk to you now and I need distance before our chapter meeting in the morning.”
* * *
I searched the grass for a stone or a stick, something to throw at Will’s window. It was a little past seven, and I knew he was still asleep. Contrary to Everett Hall’s liveliness at this hour—Miss Zephaniah had made it known that we were all to be up by six-thirty—the Iota Gamma house was still silent save a few men intermittently emerging from the front door to sleepily trek across the quad for breakfast. Unlike Miss Zephaniah, Grant didn’t much care if his brothers missed their morning meal, so long as they were on time to classes, but today was Saturday, and the only requirements were study hours and chapel.
The morning sun washed the white clapboard in soft yellow and pink—the beautiful promise of a new day—but I wasn’t optimistic. My best friends were angry with me. The same sentiments had played over and over in my mind all night. Instead of going to Mary and Katherine, I’d gone down to the gathering room and tried to read my textbook, and later, to sleep, but it was impossible. The moment the first group of girls departed for breakfast, I practically ran down the hill and across campus. I needed to right my wrongs.
The chatter of a few men broke through the quiet of the morning as they stepped down from the front porch and walked toward the arch. I paused in my pursuit of a rock, sure they’d notice me idling, but they didn’t.
Huddling into my cloak, I wandered closer to the side of the house and found a few acorns buried in the frosty grass below an old leafless oak. I could hear Will snoring and tossed the first acorn at his window. It pinged off the pane and I waited. Nothing. I was rewarded by a loud snore, and threw another and another and another. It would take more than one little noise to wake him.
As the seventh acorn hit the pane, the drapes were drawn away and he appeared in the window. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and looked down, his brows knitting at the sight of me. Holding up his index finger, he mouthed, “Wait,” and disappeared. I swallowed, finding the cords of my neck strained, and paced back and forth below his window. Even though I’d rehearsed my apology all night, it wasn’t satisfactory. I didn’t know what I’d say.
“Beth, what’re you doing here?” Will said, coming down the back steps, his hair wild from sleep, his nightshirt tucked into a pair of gray trousers. “You do realize it’s Saturday and that study hours don’t begin until nine. It’s absolutely frigid. Whatever business you’re on better be important.”
He paced over to my place beneath the oak and saw my quivering lip. “Has something happened?”
“My melancholy is my own doing,” I said, blinking back tears. “Please forgive me.”
Will stared at me blankly.
“You know about our fraternity.”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you. I didn’t because if anyone finds out we’ve organized, we’ll doubtless be expelled.”
“I know.”
“Will, if I hurt you, I . . .” I trailed off, not sure what else to say.
He laughed quietly.
“It’s of no matter. I obviously haven’t lost any sleep over it. You know that I would’ve kept your confidence if you would’ve told me, though. I would never do anything to jeopardize what you’ve worked so hard for. Grant . . . well, I can’t necessarily say as much for him.”
Will’s mouth was turned up in a grin, but his eyes were dull as they met mine. He was trying to act as though what I’d done hadn’t mattered, but it had.
“I can. He won’t hurt me,” I said, stunned that I believed it. “Regardless, I should have told you. I only mentioned it to Grant because I thought he had the influence to help us.”
“That, and you didn’t think you could trust me,” Will said. “Judging by my misstep in Professor Pearson’s lecture, I suppose you were right. I’m not the most reliable.”
“I was wrong,” I told him, as a few brothers filtered out of the house and cast an interested gaze in our direction. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Reliability is your strength. You’re the most loyal man I’ve ever known and, beyond delaying coming to my defense in class, you’ve always stood by me.”
I stepped closer and his hand met my shoulder.
“Thank you for that,” he said. “And I hope you’re right about Grant.”
“Do you really question that he’s good? What he did for Lily last night . . . I have to believe that underneath the arrogance, he’s honorable.”
Will chuckled.
“It didn’t cross your mind that perhaps he only did it to win you over, so that you’ll trust him? Don’t tell me that something as meaningless as a kiss has transformed him into your champion.”
“You . . . you saw that?” I stuttered, not knowing what else to say. I hoped no one had overheard—the last thing I wanted was to be the talk of Whitsitt—but thankfully we were alone.
“I was on the other side of the glass, Beth. Of course I did.” Will bit his bottom lip and crossed his arms, likely to keep from shivering. “It didn’t seem as though it would have been all that enjoyable. For you, I mean,” he amended. “Then again, I suppose I have quite a bit more practice than he does.”
“Would you get dressed and accompany me to breakfast?” I asked, choosing not to address his evaluation of Grant’s kissing. I wanted more time t
o apologize as many times as it would take to go back to the way we were. “I’m already late, and I’d love to—”
“I’m quite tired,” Will said abruptly, turning toward the house. “And I’m not too keen on Cook’s boiled eggs. But surely your friends will still be eating. If you hurry, you’ll be able to join them.”
My neck was tight with tension as he disappeared into the house. Regardless of what he’d said, I’d hurt him. He was angry with me. I walked around the side of the house, my feet crunching the frozen grass, blinking back tears. As well-intentioned as I’d been in both situations, I knew that I should have taken more care in thinking them through. Neither slip, telling Grant or kissing him, had been worth the price of my friendships.
The chapel clock tolled eight and I began to make my way down the brick path from the arch to the Iota Gamma house. There would be no point in going to the dining hall now. Breakfast was almost over and I wasn’t hungry in the first place. I heard footsteps coming behind me and slowed, waiting for whoever it was to pass. Misery was best experienced in complete solitude. As I passed under the arch, I felt a hand touch my arm.
“What are you doing here?” Grant materialized behind me holding a briefcase. He situated his gray wool trilby and pushed his hand back into the pocket of his smart black overcoat.
“Oh. Hello,” I said, forcing a smile. “I came to . . . Mary Putnam Jacobi.” The name shot to the forefront of my mind. Why hadn’t I been able to think of her in the coach? “She’s a successful physician with a husband and a dau—”
“Did you come for me?” he interrupted, not acknowledging my victorious revelation.
“No,” I said.
“Have you been crying?” He caught my hand and stopped me in the shadow of the arch. I shook my head, but he withdrew his handkerchief anyway and gently dabbed my cheek. “Please tell me how I can help.”
As he folded the linen, I noticed the initials stitched on the bottom.
“A.R. Did you borrow someone’s handkerchief?”
“Alexander.” He laughed. “I’m a second. I go by my middle name. If you didn’t come for me, then why are you here?”
“I had to speak to Will.”
“This early in the morning? Surely he wasn’t awake.”
“He wasn’t, but I threw acorns at his window until he stirred.” Grant looked skeptical. “I had an argument with Lily and she mentioned that she’d told Will about the fraternity. I’d kept it from him. I had to apologize. I didn’t tell him about it in case . . . in case he slipped and mentioned it to someone. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Is that why you’re so upset?”
I swallowed. I couldn’t cry again. Not in front of Grant. “To make matters worse, I insulted Lily last night. I’ve been terribly unkind to my dearest friends and I won’t be able to bear it if they’ll not forgive me.”
“If they’re truly your friends, you haven’t. I can’t imagine Buchannan being that sore over you coming to me instead of him for something he obviously couldn’t have helped you with.” He tilted his head at Old Main beside us. “Come with me, will you? I was heading to my office. We’ll discuss this business with Buchannan and you’ll see that everything will be all right.”
“You have an office?” I practically laughed the words. He was only a student, but then again, if what he’d said last night was true, and his family truly kept Whitsitt afloat, maybe it wasn’t that odd.
“It’s not much,” he said as we climbed the steps to the entrance of Old Main. The iron rail felt freezing even through my thick wool gloves. “Just a closet, really, but I store all of the fraternity records there for safekeeping.”
Grant withdrew his hat and overcoat and settled them both on the hook beside Miss Bradley’s vacant desk. He turned to me and drew me toward him, undoing the button at the neck of my cloak and slipping it over my shoulders before his fingers threaded through the hair at my nape. My heart pounded. It wasn’t right, but I wanted him to pull me closer. Instead, I felt something give and his touch dissipated as he dropped my hatpins on Miss Bradley’s desk and lifted my wool cap, hanging it next to his on the rack. He dug in his pocket for a set of keys and unlocked a door I’d never noticed before, directly adjacent to President Wilson’s unoccupied office.
At once I realized how quiet it was, how alone we were. The rest of the students would be setting up at Richardson Library by now, or back at their dormitories readying their textbooks for study hours. I glanced at the carved mahogany grandfather clock occupying the wall beside President Wilson’s office door. Eight-twenty. Forty more minutes and Miss Zephaniah would be making the rounds and I absolutely couldn’t be absent.
“Won’t you come in?” Grant smiled at me, and held the door open.
“I—”
“I’ll only be a moment and then I’ll see you back to Everett Hall . . . that is, if you wouldn’t mind my company?” He rounded a plain oak desk and set his briefcase on the top of it. His eyes met mine and remained. Suddenly, the memory of last night’s embrace seemed to settle on both of us, and he looked away, unsnapping his bag. I felt my face flush and turned to the opposite wall, pretending to appraise an old rendering of the town of Whitsitt before the college’s founding, before the Unitarians built the small row of brick buildings that encompassed Main Street. The town had only been an ordinary piece of flat Illinoisan land before they’d given it a name.
“Ah, an excuse to see Miss Zephaniah again?” I asked. The response was delayed, but it broke the awkwardness that had befallen us moments before.
Grant laughed.
“Oh, but of course. How perceptive you are. My talk of her abhorrent behavior must have only been a consequence of a lovers’ quarrel.”
Abhorrent behavior. I sat down in a sizeable striped armchair in the corner of the room, my thoughts drawn back to Will, to Lily, and to the pain I’d caused.
“Something I said reminded you . . . I’m sorry,” he said, sober now. “Do you truly suppose Buchannan won’t recover from your coming to me first? He and I are different, of course, but I can’t imagine he’d be so sore that he’d sacrifice your friendship.”
“He didn’t act as though he cared, but I know he did. I’m sure he took it to mean that I didn’t trust him.”
“You trusted me?” Grant’s gaze met mine.
“Of course not. I didn’t know you.”
“Do you trust me now?”
“You haven’t given me a reason not to,” I said.
He cocked his head.
“But you’re not convinced that I won’t.”
“I don’t trust anyone completely. Not even myself,” I said. “My mother was a saint, but she . . .” I trailed off. I hadn’t intended to bring her up right now and didn’t want to be reminded of the way I’d begged her to leave my father in the years before her death. Despite how scandalous divorce was, how it would affect my reputation and hers, we needed to go. My father had begun to accuse her of infidelity, likely to mask his own guilt, though he’d never actually been found out, and it infuriated me. After one particularly bad row they’d had over my father’s delusions, I’d asked if we could leave him and she’d said we could. I’d waited. Weeks turned into months, and when I asked if she’d changed her mind, she said she hadn’t, but we never left. Somehow he’d kept her tethered.
“Perhaps you’re right, but I trust you—even though that might mean I’m a fool.” Grant rose from his chair and rounded the desk. He leaned down in front of me, steadying himself on a small tea table boasting a half-smoked cigar. It reclined in an ashtray, the head of it wedged in the belly of a cherub. I studied it with great interest, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist if he’d come to kiss me.
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” I said.
Grant took my hand and pulled me to my feet. His arm encircled my waist, drawing me closer, his fingers drifting over my cheek. “I’m yours, Beth. You can trust me.”
The warmth of his touch spread through me, and when his mou
th dropped to mine, I kissed him back, knowing a proper lady wouldn’t. I still had so many doubts about him, but the feel of his hands on my body was nearly intoxicating.
“I want to,” I whispered when we broke our embrace, but Will’s warning still rang in my mind. “It didn’t cross your mind that perhaps he only did it to win you over, so that you’ll trust him?” I backed away from Grant, the pad of my thumb gliding across my lips in an effort to both remember and erase his embrace. He smiled and squeezed my hand before he withdrew to his briefcase, extracting three files and placing them in the bottom of the desk.
“What are they?” I asked, sitting back down.
“Roll sheets from the past forty years,” he said. “One of our brothers has made it his mission to update our library and found them among the books last week.”
I wasn’t excited in the least. I was hoping they were notes from the fraternity’s Historian, something useful to Beta Xi Beta, something I could casually ask Grant to peruse while he tied up the rest of his business.
“I meant to ask you,” Grant continued. “What did President Wilson have to say yesterday evening?”
“Nothing really.” I looked at him, waiting to see a glimmer of victory in his face, but it never appeared. “He gave me an appointment with the board this Tuesday.”
“I suppose that’s a start,” he said matter-of-factly, with a smile I read as pitying.
“It is. It’s promising. I’m planning to tell the others when we meet later today.” I stared at him, daring him to condescend to me.
“Oh good,” he said. “I’m happy for you.” We fell silent for a moment, both knowing he was lying, and then Grant reached into his briefcase and extracted a thin book. “At least two nights each week, I can’t sleep. Last night was one of them, so I went down to our library and found one of Margaret Fuller’s essays. I don’t know how it found its way into our house, but it’s here nonetheless. Women in the Nineteenth Century. I’m trying to understand, Beth.”
