by Marta Acosta
I observed how Lucky placed the plates, cloth napkins, glasses, and silverware on the long rectangular table. I memorized the arrangement: two forks on the left and on the right were the knife, spoon, and napkin.
“What year are you?” Lucky asked.
“I’ll be a junior.”
“Me, too. What’s your favorite subject?”
“It’s a tie between math and science. They make the most sense.”
“I hate science. I’m stupid that way.”
Mrs. Radcliffe placed a basket of bread on the table. “You’re not stupid. You simply don’t apply yourself. In fact, I thought that Jane might like to tutor you in chemistry to earn some pocket money. Would you consider that, Jane?”
I waited to see how Lucky would squirm out of this situation, but he said, “That would be cool,” as if it were the most normal thing in the world for some geeky poor kid to teach the headmistress’s son.
“I could tutor,” I said quickly. I was thinking, money and Lucky, instead of paying attention to what I was doing. The knife slipped and sliced into my finger. I cried out more in anger at my carelessness than pain, which registered a second later.
I was watching the blood ruining the food when suddenly Lucky was standing right beside me. His voice was hoarse and low when he said, “Let me see.”
I held my hand toward him. He stood so close that I smelled the same fresh, herbal scent that his mother wore. He seemed mesmerized at the blood dripping from my finger and his finely curved lips opened slightly. I felt the whisper of his exhalation on my cheek.
“Lucian!” Mrs. Radcliffe said sharply. “I’ll take care of that.” She put her hand on my wrist and inspected the wound. “It looks worse than it is. Let’s rinse it off. Lucky, get a Band-Aid. Your brother has a box in his bathroom.”
Lucky rushed away, and Mrs. Radcliffe turned on the faucet and washed the cut with soap. Her manicured fingernails with their clear polish made me embarrassed about my chewed-off nails and bitten cuticles.
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Radcliffe. I should have been careful.”
“No apology necessary, Jane.” She didn’t take her eyes from my hand. “Most accidents happen in the kitchen. I should have a first-aid kit here.” She folded a paper towel and handed it to me. “Apply pressure.”
I was pressing down on the cut with the towel when Lucky came back with a box of Band-Aids. Mrs. Radcliffe reached for the box, but Lucky held it away. “I can do it, Mom.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I’ll put it on.”
“You’re the patient.” Lucky shook a Band-Aid out of the box. “Hold out your hand.”
I put the blood-splotched paper towel on the counter and held out my hand. “It’s only a small cut.”
Lucky tore the waxy envelope from the Band-Aid and peeled off the slick white backing. He gazed at the cut again before carefully wrapping the bandage around my finger. His fingers were as pale as his mother’s, and his nails were clean and squared off. Again, I felt his breath on my cheek. He made me so anxious that I could barely stand it, but then he stepped away. “There you go. You can thank Dr. Lucky.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lucky.”
Mrs. Radcliffe said, “Thank you, Lucian. However, you’ll have to put a little more energy into your studies if you intend to earn a medical degree.”
He shrugged and offered the plate of cheese straws to me. I took one and bit into it. It was warm and buttery. Lucky ate several, then held the plate toward me again. I accepted another and ducked my head, uneasy with his thoughtfulness.
Mrs. Radcliffe opened the oven and brought out a roast chicken with shiny, golden skin that made my mouth water. A whole chicken, not frozen wings in ten-pound bags with packets of hot sauce. “Lucky attends Evergreen Prep, the all-boys companion to Birch Grove.”
“Jack graduated from public school last June.” Lucky said public school the same way college-track kids at Helmsdale City Central said youth correctional facility. “Now he’s slacking.”
“You’ll give Jane the wrong impression.” Mrs. Radcliffe gave Lucky a stern look. “The local public school has an outstanding music program, and Jacob is a talented guitarist. He’s taking off a year to focus on his music, perform with his band, and consider his options.”
“Now my brother has options like sleeping in late or sleeping in really late.”
“Jane, now you can see why I’m happy to work with my Birch Grove girls. I know you’re especially interested in the sciences, but you test extremely well in the language arts. I’m sure you’ll enjoy our wonderful literature courses.”
“I don’t really care for literature, ma’am. I prefer subjects that teach useful information.”
“But literature has many lessons we can apply to our daily lives, Jane.”
“Now you’ve got her started,” Lucky said, and he was right. Mrs. Radcliffe talked for another ten minutes about the importance of fiction and poetry. I pretended to listen while I peeked at Lucky slouching against the counter, gazing out the window. His nose was long and straight and he had a small cleft in his chin.
When I carried my glass to the sink, I looked for the bloody paper towel so I could throw it away, but it was already gone.
Then Jack, wearing a cleaner version of his previous outfit, returned with a handsome older man by his side.
“Right on time for dinner, dear,” Mrs. Radcliffe said to the older man. “Jane, this is my husband, Mr. Radcliffe. Tobias, this is my new student, Jane Williams.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jane.” Mr. Radcliffe flashed the briefest of smiles. His blond hair was threaded through with silver, and his eyes were the light blue of the early morning sky. He was almost as tall as Lucky, but thin, and there were dark circles under his eyes. On his wrist, a heavy steel watch slid loosely, as if it was intended for a bigger man.
The dinner was more lavish than Christmas dinner at the group home. We had roast chicken, crisp green salad, red cabbage slaw, buttery mashed potatoes, and warm crusty bread. It would have been perfect, except that when I cut into the chicken, blood seeped at the bone. I tried to eat around the raw part and then hid the barely eaten meat under lettuce leaves.
Mr. Radcliffe was pleasant but caught up in his own thoughts, often staring into the distance. Mrs. Radcliffe chatted with her sons and me about weather, the neighborhood, school. They said things like “Allison’s sister is visiting from Duluth,” things that weren’t special in any way, except that there was no animosity or nastiness.
The oddest thing about the family was Jack, who looked so different from the others. He wasn’t a caveman, but there was something a little wild and unpredictable about him.
When Lucky finished telling us about the new basketball coach at Evergreen, he turned to me. “Jane, what sports do you play?”
“Jane doesn’t like to be asked a lot of questions,” Jack said.
I wanted to stab him. “I don’t do sports.”
“We’ll have to find one for you,” Mrs. Radcliffe said. “We’re happiest when we engage both our minds and our bodies in vigorous activity.” She watched her husband as he refilled his glass to the brim with red wine. “Tobias, what do you think?”
His eyes skimmed over me. “I don’t know. Golf?”
Lucky hooted. “The clubs are bigger than she is! I’ve still got my kiddie set, though.”
“I’m not interested in golf.”
“Get a bike,” Jack said. “It’s a sport and transportation and it doesn’t spew toxic fumes. You can build your own. I’ll show you.”
“These hills are too steep for a beginner,” Mrs. Radcliffe said. “Jane, you can talk to the sports clubs at registration on Wednesday and see what interests you. If you don’t want to join a team now, you can do it later. We have something for every girl.”
“Anyone can ride a bike,” Jack said. “Even an elf.” The corner of his mouth went up in amusement. “She can ramble through the grove, her natural habitat, and visit her animal subjects.
”
I fiddled with my knife in a way that only Jack noticed, but he just smirked more.
“Jacob, stop teasing,” Mrs. Radcliffe said. “Jane, did you see much of our campus?”
“I walked all around the buildings and sports fields and I saw that clearing with the benches.”
“Our amphitheater. The clubs use it for events, like the Drama League’s annual sonnet recital. The faculty sometimes holds informal meetings there.”
Then Mrs. Radcliffe served dessert—strawberry shortcake oozing with ruby-red juice and topped with whipped cream. At first I thought this must be a special meal for them, but they acted like it was no big deal, and that amazed me. I wanted to shovel down my shortcake before anyone snatched it away, and I wanted to nibble it in tiny bites so that it would last forever. The brothers wolfed down their desserts, but I matched my pace to Mrs. Radcliffe’s.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Radcliffe. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Jane. I’m so glad to have you join our family.”
Mr. Radcliffe finished eating the berries out of the dessert, leaving the rest. “Very nice meeting you, Jane. If you’ll excuse me…” He ruffled Lucky’s hair as he walked by him, but Jack ducked away from his hand with a laugh.
Mrs. Radcliffe said, “My husband likes to relax in his study in the evenings.” She glanced out the window. It must have been sundown because the overcast sky was dark. “How the evening has passed!”
“I better get going.” I watched how the boys set their napkins on the table and copied them. “Thank you again.”
Jack stood when I did. “I’ll walk you home, pixie.”
Something about Jack set my nerves on alert. “Isn’t your knee supposed to be shattered?”
“I’m recovered. It’s a miracle!”
I peeked at Lucky, who was serving himself seconds of dessert. “It’s a short walk. I’ll be fine.”
“Jacob, don’t try to get out of cleaning up,” his mother said. “Boys, clear the table. Jane, I’ll see you out.”
We went to the front door and she said, “It’s best to stay on the path and go straight to your cottage. The wildlife here forages at dusk. There’s nothing dangerous, though Jack has an unfortunate talent for surprising skunks. Tomorrow I want to take you into town. We’ll pick up a few things you need, and you can open a bank account and deposit your stipend.”
The school gave me a stipend for living expenses. I couldn’t believe I’d be getting an allowance and had a chance to earn more money. “Okay.”
“Shall we meet in front of the school at ten?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night, Jane. Sleep well.”
I was glad to be alone so I could mull over the evening and play back memories of Lucky bandaging my finger. I wanted to memorize the way he’d smiled when I first saw him in the doorway and how he’d winked. I wanted to think of the way his lips had parted when he held my hand and his loose-limbed grace as he’d leaned against the counter. I cupped my hand over my cheek, wishing I could preserve the feel of his breath there.
Images of smirking Jack kept intruding on my reverie, though, and I unwillingly recalled the slyness on his face when he’d said “ask” and called me stupid names. I didn’t want to think of grimy, grubby Jack, but of gorgeous, sweet Lucky.
I said his name softly to myself. “Lucky. Lucian Radcliffe.” His name must come from the Latin lucianus, meaning light, and that’s what he was, golden and bright.
I didn’t care what Jack’s name meant. Probably jackass. I ignored the memory of his gleaming eyes and the heat of his hand on my shoulder, and I focused on Lucky again.
Tutoring him meant that we would spend time alone together, and the idea of being near him again made me so excited that I was partway down the path before I realized how dark it was in the grove.
Shadows shifted with the movement of the branches in the wind and there were so many noises, so many creaks and swishes, that I got spooked and started running. My feet slid sideways in my too-big sandals, so I paused to pull them off and ran barefoot the rest of the way to the cottage.
Once inside, I shut the door quickly and locked it.
As the night got later, the wind increased and branches swept against the roof. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed that the branches were stretching around to encircle my cottage. They were squeezing tighter and tighter, bringing the walls close in on me. I tried to get out, but the doors were jammed shut as the small house began cracking under the pressure.
I awoke gasping for air, and goose bumps covered my arms.
I was not frightened, for I was one of those happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, of fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when the door creaks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the shadow of a bed-post dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces …
J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla (1872)
Chapter 5
The next morning, when I met Mrs. Radcliffe at the school’s front steps, she was dressed in navy slacks and a long-sleeved white blouse. A white canvas hat shaded her face. “Good morning, Jane. Are you ready?”
Her car was an older model cream Mercedes with a Birch Grove Academy emblem in the rear window. I sank into the burgundy leather seat and Mrs. Radcliffe drove down the hill and told me about the town. I nodded and kept hoping that she’d say something about Lucky.
She pointed out the stop for the shuttle uphill, and we went to a tailoring shop, where a seamstress marked and pinned uniforms for alterations. My school wardrobe consisted of navy V-neck sweaters, a navy cardigan, navy slacks, navy-and-tan plaid skirts, and white cotton blouses. The jacket bore an embroidered Birch Grove crest on the pocket.
I felt sweaty and itchy by the time we went to the bank, where Mrs. Radcliffe opened an account for me and deposited my first stipend check. Fifteen minutes later, I was given a bankbook and checks. A debit card would be sent in the mail.
Our next stop was a shoe store, and I came out carrying a big bag with loafers, flats, tennis shoes, slippers, and flip-flops. I’d never expected shoes. I kept bending down to pry open the box lids so I could see them nestled in crisp white tissue.
We had lunch in an old-fashioned drugstore, sitting at a counter. Mrs. Radcliffe suggested a roast beef sandwich and raspberry lemonade. The meat was so rare that the juices soaked through the wheat bread, but I was hungry.
In the mirror over the counter, I watched three teenage girls come into the store, arm in arm, giggling. They stopped when they spotted Mrs. Radcliffe and exchanged whispers. They were pretty, with nice figures, shining, long hair, and smooth skin. Two wore shorts and tank tops, and the third wore a long gauzy white skirt, lilac blouse, and a straw hat.
The girls approached in that friendly yet wary way that you do with people you like who have authority over you. “Hello, Mrs. Radcliffe,” they said in unison.
“Hello, girls. How has your summer been?”
Even though they tried to be subtle about checking me out, I was acutely conscious of my hand-me-down clothes and I resented the girls as they described their vacations in a jumble of words, tumbling over one another’s sentences. One had been sailing, and one had traveled to Italy. The prettiest, the auburn-haired girl in the skirt, had spent the summer in Montreal with relatives. She was as pale as the headmistress, and I caught a whiff of the same herby scent. I glimpsed into the overhead mirror to make sure that I was keeping my expression friendly.
Mrs. Radcliffe said, “This is Jane Williams. She’ll be joining us this term.”
We exchanged hellos awkwardly and then Mrs. Radcliffe said, “I won’t take up any more of your last precious minutes of freedom, girls. See you on Monday at registration.” When the trio had drifted off to the cosmetics section, out of hearing, she told me, “I know transferring during your junior year isn’t easy, but I think you’re going to adjust smoothly, Jane. Now let’s pick up a few basics.”
She took me to a prissy women’s clothing store, but I wasn’t going to turn down free clothes. I let Mrs. Radcliffe pick out shirts and tops, a skirt, cargos, and jeans. She plucked simple but pretty underwear from racks. Then she called over a clerk, and soon I was in the dressing room holding my arms out while a salesgirl used a measuring tape to find my bra size. She had me try on a lace-trimmed bra that made me look like I had a shape.
Mrs. Radcliffe popped her head through the curtain and nodded to the salesgirl. “That’s quite nice. We’ll take three white, two beige, one pink, and one black.” She waited until the salesgirl left the dressing room. “Jane, no more tattoos, please. They are unseemly and unhealthy. You can get a blood-borne infection, and we wouldn’t want that.”
“I was careful and I’m fine.”
“Still, we don’t want you catching anything. We want you as healthy as can be.”
When she’d left the dressing room, I ran my finger across the tattoo and wondered what Hosea would think if he could see me at Birch Grove. He wouldn’t be impressed by the money. He wanted me to be a kinder person, not a richer person.
Our last stop was Greenwood Grocery, where I stocked up on cheaper store brands of foods that would fill me up.
Mrs. Radcliffe went to the entrance while I waited at the register with my checkbook. When she turned to chat with a store manager, I scooped up a dozen candy bars and threw them in my basket.
The clerk was a cute Latina, about twenty and wearing a neon pink shirt under her Greenwood Grocery apron. “I got a sweet tooth, too. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I’m new. I’ll be starting Birch Grove.”
“Good on you. See you around.”
* * *
After saying good-bye to Mrs. Radcliffe, I walked along the path to my cottage, my bags of new clothes bouncing against my legs. The birch leaves fluttered in a faint breeze, revealing the pale green on the reverse side. Even in nature, there was one side that was shown to casual observers, and another side beneath.
