Secret Sisters

by Joy Callaway

  “Don’t be. You can look at me if you start to feel tense. I’ll be in the front.” I looked through the door at the mob of students already jostling for the space at the front of the gallery. The room was set up like a courtroom—mahogany railings separating the students from a semicircular grouping of chairs on a small riser. I still didn’t see my sisters and hoped they were only hidden by the height of the men. “They’ll move for me,” Grant said, following my eyes.

  “Did you come to stop the alcohol proposal? I thought you wanted me to fail,” I blurted.

  “My brothers came for that,” he said, gesturing to a grouping of Iota Gammas occupying the entire left-hand side of the room. I caught a glimpse of Will at the front of the crowd as he turned, finding me immediately, as though I’d called his name. He smiled, and then Mr. Stephens circled an arm around his neck and pulled him to an area directly across from the President’s bench.

  “I came for you,” Grant said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I may not agree with you, Beth, but I do care for you. I want you to—”

  “Order!” someone called, followed by the banging of a gavel. Most of the voices stopped at once and the roar of the room lowered to a murmur. “Sit down,” President Wilson boomed. “All of you.” Chair legs screeched as everyone found a seat. Grant squeezed my hand and let go, snaking through the crowd to the front. I watched him walk away, studying his tailored black jacket in an attempt to forget that I’d be presenting my proposal in front of what appeared to be the entire student body, though I knew that the room couldn’t actually hold three hundred and thirty students.

  When Grant reached the front of the room, a brother stood and immediately relocated. I scanned one more time, finally spotting the crow’s feathers in Mary’s hat, and then I saw Lily leaning against the wall, arms crossed against her chest. Katherine had taken a chair directly across the aisle from the Iota Gammas. She looked less nervous than smug, no doubt pleased with the turnout. I hadn’t figured they’d separate given the crowd. Then again, it was probably smart to do so. There were only two other women in the room—at least that I could see.

  President Wilson sat behind his desk at the end of the row and rapped his gavel again.

  “Board members, please enter.”

  The door behind me opened and a line of gray-headed men followed by one hunched-over, elderly woman filed down the center aisle. As the board settled into their chairs, President Wilson shuffled some papers on the front of his desk and cleared his throat.

  “The board calls Miss Beth Carrington,” he said.

  I felt paralyzed, remaining in the shadows at the back of the room watching the morning sun filtering through two stained glass windows behind him. “Miss Carrington?” he said again, sounding as though he were speaking through a funnel. Finally, I forced myself forward.

  “Now, before we go on,” he said, “I should let all of you know that Miss Carrington’s proposal has nothing to do with banning alcohol from this campus. At least that’s my understanding.”

  The students began to stir behind me.

  “You’re correct, it doesn’t,” I said as loudly as I could, and the room silenced once more.

  “Miss Carrington is the only student on the docket today, everyone,” President Wilson said, rising from his chair. “If you’re here to show distain for a proposal to proscribe liquor from this campus, I’m sorry to say that your presence isn’t needed. It seems that you’ve all been baited by a rumor.”

  I heard a chair screech across the floor, followed by another, and suddenly the room was alive with the sound of students filing out.

  “Best of luck.” Will’s voice cut through the noise behind me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Professor Michaels posted a notice allowing us to be tardy to his Sociology examination if we were attending the proposal to ban liquor. ‘Participate, observe the behavior,’ it read,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “But now that the liquor ban isn’t in question, I suppose we’ll have to take our exam straightaway. Of course I’m not exactly prepared. I should probably skim the textbook on my way over there.”

  “That would be a good idea,” I said, my chest tightening with nerves.

  “I wish I could stay and support you, but I doubt you need it,” he said cheerily, though he knew that his presence would help settle me.

  “Good luck on the exam,” I said, casting an eye at the board. They were all looking at me. Will reached over and squeezed my arm. In the next instant, he was gone.

  “Now that the mob has dispersed,” President Wilson boomed. Everyone was gone, save Lily, Katherine, and Mary scattered intermittently about the room, Grant in the front, and five other men who’d likely remained out of boredom.

  “Let us join together in prayer.” Everyone’s heads bowed.

  “Father, today as we gather, give us wisdom. In your name.”

  I opened my eyes and found President Wilson staring at me. “Now to the matter of our student proposal,” he said. “Miss Carrington, I dismissed the others as a favor, to save you some embarrassment.”

  “Why would I have been embarrassed? I’m here to propose an idea,” I said, refusing to let fury rise.

  President Wilson set his fingers in a bridge beneath his chin.

  “Is that so?”

  “As I mentioned at the ball, women outside of the seminary often feel lonely, as though they don’t have a place to belong,” I said. “When Patrick Everett helped found this college, he fought to integrate the sexes. I can’t help but think that when he did, he did it intending for all females to be treated fairly. Whether or not you’re aware of it, we’re often mocked in our classes by professors as well as fellow students, and unlike the divinity girls, who have several outlets to know each other socially, we don’t. We need support from each other, we need camaraderie, and right now we absolutely do not have it.”

  “Is that all?” The old woman’s voice cut me off. Her jowls shook as she spoke. “You’re allowed to attend this college, dear. Isn’t that enough? In my day, we weren’t permitted to occupy the same building as the men, let alone learn beside them.”

  I wanted to argue that although society had certainly progressed since her time, it wasn’t nearly enough. Instead, I nodded.

  “I’m not here to suggest anything new for the classroom . . . although reform would be nice,” I said, forcing my voice to be steady. “I’m simply asking permission to start a women’s fraternity. And . . . and I’d eventually like to gain a charter to encourage women on other campuses to—”

  “No. You’re not asking permission,” Wilson said, setting his glare on me. “You’re asking us to allow you to continue it.”

  I felt heat wash my face.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow your meaning.” I shifted my eyes, just slightly, to free myself of the President’s stare and found Grant instead. He was looking down at his hands, and at once it was clear. He’d told President Wilson about Beta Xi Beta. This time, he hadn’t just hoped I’d fail; he’d made sure of it. I wanted to wring his neck. Lily stood and began to walk out of the room. I couldn’t blame her. She shouldn’t have to risk expulsion along with me. My thoughts raced, trying to come up with a way to explain, to free myself of whatever consequence was to come, but I knew nothing would work. I was stuck.

  “Your beau won’t be able to help you this time,” President Wilson said. “Miss Carrington, one of the professors’ aides made a trip down to the basement of Old Main yesterday to find a place to deposit a few old desks. Do you know what he came across?”

  I shook my head, having no idea if he’d unearthed the fraternity creeds and bylaws and the four bottles of Kentucky rye that Mary had insisted we keep for our contribution to Katherine’s cause. I closed my eyes, trying to call up the image of the papers we’d drawn up. I saw my name clearly on the top of the second page, officially identifying me as president. No one else held an office yet, I realized, relieved that they wouldn’t be able to prove that any of my
sisters had anything to do with it.

  President Wilson reached into his desk and extracted our creeds and bylaws.

  “Beta Xi Beta. Clever,” he said. He leaned down and righted with the four bottles of rye, setting them on the desk in front of the papers one by one.

  I could feel eyes on the back of my head and knew Mary and Katherine were trying to decide their next move, whether they should remain in their seats and risk being called out for involvement or disappear as Lily had. Without a word, President Wilson flattened the paper on his desktop.

  “Beth Carrington, President,” he read, tapping his index finger on my name. “I’d say that it’s clear you’ve already begun your fraternity. Who are the others? Them?”

  He tipped his head toward the chairs behind me, but I looked straight ahead.

  I shook my head.

  “No, sir. I hadn’t sought membership yet.”

  He laughed.

  “You mean to tell me that you decided to create what appears to be a fraternity chapter room and procure four gallons of illegal rye for yourself?”

  I nodded, and he stopped laughing. His nostrils flared, and he lifted his hand, smacking it hard on the top of the desk. “Who are the others?” Each word came out in a low staccato.

  “I told you, sir. It’s only me.” My stays felt as though they’d turned to iron.

  “Secret societies are forbidden,” he barked. “Do you know why?”

  I remained silent, gritting my teeth in concentration, as though I could make myself disappear. Of course I knew that after Mortimer Leggett’s hazing death at Cornell in ’73, Whitsitt, like nearly every other faith-based institution, banned Greek fraternities on the grounds that their practices were seething with the plots of Lucifer. Stating that fact would only make my idea seem purposefully disobedient, which I suppose when it came down to it, it was.

  “Of course, the whole country knows what set the ban in motion—the treacherous death of that boy at Cornell who fell into a gorge while on a midnight initiation walk in the woods—but almost no one knows that Mr. Leggett’s death was only the final straw, that another incident preceded Whitsitt’s decision,” he said. “In ’Fifty-five, a new, secret fraternity almost ruined this college.”

  “The Saviors,” the old man next to Wilson warbled. “Or at least that’s what they were called when the scandal broke.”

  “They were a fraternity founded on the idea that excessive wealth was despicable, so they’d do things like steal livestock from well-known farmers who’d lived peacefully in Illinois since the beginning of the century, sell them, and give the money to various almshouses,” President Wilson continued.

  I’d never heard of this. In fact, it sounded a bit too much like the legend of Robin Hood to be real.

  “Whitsitt was quite unaware that these robberies were initiated by gentlemen on our campus until one of the brothers was shot in the side breaking into a barn in Green Oaks. He recovered, and while he was away, told his father that he had only been compelled to steal onto the property in order to prove his worth to a group he was keen to join. His father reported the incident to Governor Bond, who nearly shut Whitsitt down.” He cleared his throat. “Greek fraternities—save Iota Gamma, which I assure you has gone through a vigorous screening process complete with random visits from our board—seem to be drawn to darkness, to the allure of Masonic hazing. Quite frankly, Miss Carrington, groups like that are contrary to our faith. We cannot risk life lost to demonic ritual.”

  “We absolutely cannot,” the old man said, chiming in again. “We were only saved then by proving that we had no knowledge of the group.”

  “As terrible as that sounds, sir, it’s clear that I wasn’t planning on doing anything of the sort,” I said.

  “The Saviors were begun on a simple contrary idea—the same sort of idea you’re proposing. Would any of you oppose me on this point?” President Wilson asked, glancing down the line of board members.

  Every head shook except one—a slight man who appeared to be his early forties, nodding enthusiastically.

  “A woman’s place is in the home,” Wilson continued.

  “You’re acting like a blasted fool, Wilson,” the man said. “Have you gotten into the liquor again? You’re a traditionalist, sure, but you’re usually reasonable. This woman wants some company, some friendships. She’s not trying to stage a revolution.”

  Before I could stop myself, I laughed out loud.

  “That’s enough, Miss Carrington,” the president said. “And, Torrey, regardless of her intent—innocent or not—a women’s fraternity would be a revolution. There hasn’t been one permitted in the entire state of Illinois and I don’t intend on leading the way. Whitsitt will not be a beacon for frustrated suffragettes.”

  Torrey must be the slight man, I realized. I recognized the name, but couldn’t place it. Regardless, I loved him in that moment.

  “You say that, and yet you don’t vote to repeal Everett’s mandate when it’s addressed,” Torrey said, glaring across the semicircle. “Which is at least once a semester.”

  “We’re not here to argue about my voting habits, Torrey,” President Wilson said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t vote for it because I don’t figure it would make a difference. It’ll never be repealed. We need his money. Anyway,” he said, pinging his index finger across the necks of the rye bottles. “Miss Carrington, it really doesn’t matter whether you’ve organized or not. Your guilt or innocence in arranging a secret society has been negated by the fact that you’ve vandalized our property and have obviously been in contact with a bootlegger. I have no choice but to expel you.”

  “No.”

  “It was me.” Two voices rang out in tandem and I whirled around before I could fully process what he’d said.

  Katherine and Mary were both on their feet. Mary yanked her black hat from her head and crushed it against her chest as though she were about to beg President Wilson for my life.

  “The writing on the wall was my doing, sir, as was the—”

  “The liquor is mine,” Katherine said. “My father is a—”

  “Corn grower,” I said quickly. “Thank you both. You’re my friends, but you can’t take the blame for the things I’ve done.”

  The fraternity had been my idea. I’d brought them into it, and couldn’t have them expelled. I felt sure of this, but as the realization of my fate dawned on me, my vision blurred and I reached out to clutch the railing behind me. What would I do now? No college would admit a woman who’d been dismissed. My father would be furious, our family name tarnished with my scandal. I’d have to move home and either find a position doing something menial or a husband with both liberal views and pockets deep enough to send me back to school—about as likely as finding a hen with teeth.

  “Don’t you think that expulsion is a bit extreme, President Wilson?” Grant asked as he rose from his seat.

  “I’m afraid I do not,” Wilson said.

  “I’m a traditionalist like you, sir, but as much as I agree that Miss Carrington’s actions deserve some type of repercussion, I have to point out that she’s one of our brightest female students and the only one studying medicine.”

  President Wilson didn’t respond, so Grant went on. “You can’t expel her. Must I spell it out for you?”

  “I suppose,” Wilson said. I didn’t understand where he was going with his argument either.

  “When you review applications in the spring, how many females must you admit to retain Everett’s funding?” Grant asked, his tone suggesting that the president was his fraternity brother instead of the man who occupied the highest position on Whitsitt’s campus.

  “Five percent of each class must be female,” the old woman answered for President Wilson.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Smithfield, five percent of each class, freshman to senior. And what else does his trust mandate?” Grant asked.

  He was met with silence.

  An exasperated sigh escaped from his lips b
efore he continued. “That of that five percent, there must be at least one female per class enrolled in each non-traditional major. You know that, Wilson.”

  This was news to me. I’d had no idea, though it did explain why I was the only woman in my classes.

  “Of course I don’t,” President Wilson said. “Mr. Stout is in charge of applications. It’s his job to know the particulars. I’m simply charged with voting on them.” He balled his hands into fists on the desk top. “And you’ll address me properly, Mr. Richardson.”

  “Apologies,” Grant said, the corners of his lips rising. “Miss Carrington is the only female student studying medicine.”

  President Wilson shrugged.

  “So we’ll obtain another woman to take her place.”

  “Ask Mr. Stout how many applications Whitsitt receives from women desiring a sophomore medical placement,” Grant said. “Actually, don’t bother. The answer is zero.”

  “Then what’ll you have me do, Mr. Richardson?” President Wilson sounded annoyed at being treated like a fool. I didn’t blame him. Perhaps he should remember the feeling.

  “You’re the president. Find another way for Miss Carrington to pay for her sins and let her get on to class,” Grant concluded. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a silver watch and opened the clasp. “I have several brothers in her physics course. It begins in eight minutes.”

  Behind me, I heard Mary snicker, no doubt amused by the exchange.

  “I apologize to all of you for drawing you from your homes unnecessarily,” President Wilson said to the board.

  “Don’t bother,” Torrey said, smiling. “The only appointment I had today was lunch with my wife’s childhood friend and her husband. The man is a bore. This has been much more entertaining.”

  “Very well,” President Wilson said. “Miss Carrington, you’ll report to your course, but immediately following, you’ll go directly to Miss Zephaniah. She’ll be instructed to monitor you closely.”

  I nodded, relieved, the notion of being trailed by Miss Zephaniah a much more appealing option than expulsion.

  “And in the meantime,” he went on, “I’ll be on the lookout for a suitable student to take your place if you decide to disregard our rules again.”