Innocent Darkness

by Suzanne Lazear

  No matter what, he’d lose Noli in one way or another.

  But she was never his to have in the first place.

  Her face contorted in puzzlement.

  He pulled her close, savoring the scents of her—the soap she made from herbs in her garden coupled with auto grease and earth. “Jeff ’s money comes from the wrong side of the law. That’s why your mother doesn’t want to use illgotten gains. Instead, she saves it for you—her hope for a better life.”

  “He flies cargo vessels.” The light in Noli’s eyes went out completely, her shoulders rounding in defeat.

  “That he does—vessels of stolen cargo.”

  “I can’t believe he’s an air-pirate,” she sobbed into his arms.

  Noli was sheltered, naive. He often wished he still lived in an innocent world. But this way he could protect Noli and his little sister. It was one of the few duties he didn’t mind. Even here, in the wilds of Los Angeles his father insisted they uphold their ways.

  He, too, was his family’s hope for a better life.

  Finally, her sobs slowed. Putting her forehead to his, he looked into her amazing steel-colored eyes for what would probably be the last time. “Go on inside, it’s growing late.”

  “I still have to pack.” She hiccupped.

  “Be careful, please? Watch for aether and don’t talk to strange faeries.” He smiled.

  She smiled back. “Faeries? You’re such a fussy old bodger and I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too. Goodnight, Noli.” Would she ever call him a fussy old bodger again? Would they sit in the tree house discussing philosophy, history, or her favorite—botany? Probably not. The idea both saddened and angered him.

  “Goodnight, V.” With a wave, she climbed down the tree.

  “Goodbye, Noli,” he whispered as she went inside. “May the Bright Lady keep you safe.” With all that lurked in San Francisco, she’d need it.

  Four

  Findlay House

  Noli looked out the window of the hired, horse-drawn carriage into the cobblestone streets filled with cool, gray mist. Why did people still use these when much more interesting conveyances existed? She, her mother, and Officer Davies made the long and tiring journey from Los Angeles to San Francisco by steam train. Her mother didn’t like autos any more than she liked airships, just one more indication she was stuck in the past.

  Officer Davies came with them for two reasons, one to make sure Noli didn’t give her mother any trouble, and two because respectable women never traveled alone. Even cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco held to outdated conventions of propriety.

  “We’re nearly there.” Her mother’s voice held forced cheer. She believed she always needed to have a sunny disposition no matter what—except when she scolded Noli.

  Noli didn’t respond, continuing to stare out the window and play with her gloves as a steam trolley puffed by. She couldn’t believe they were sending her to school in San Francisco.

  Did her mother secretly hope she’d disappear, too?

  No. It was coincidence. That’s all. Her father would return. He had to.

  “This is a good opportunity, Noli,” Officer Davies told her.

  Ignoring him, she continued to brood in silence as the carriage slowed to a stop. Their nice lunch at the train station sat in her belly like a lump of lead. She squirmed in her seat and played with her gloves until her mother reached out and put a hand over hers. Scenarios about cruel headmistresses, dreadful condition, and mean girls pulled from every book she’d read about boarding schools danced through her mind like a zoetrope.

  The imposing gothic house sent shivers down her spine. The yellow paint did little to make it seem cheerful. The spires and large windows reminded her of spiteful eyes watching her every move. A tall, wrought-iron fence surrounded the house like a prison. Her stomach sank all the way to her toes. Next she’d spy a sign reading “Findlay School for Wayward Hoydens.”

  The entire street looked gray and worn, though its previous opulence remained evident from the fine homes to the brass gas lamps and cobblestones. Once, this neighborhood of mansions probably held society’s elite. According to her teacher, the city changed when it was rebuilt. Slums gave way to vibrant arts districts, poverty gave way to wealth, the old industrial ways, polluted and dirty, gave way to new innovation and ideas. San Francisco was now a true modern city of progress—much more than any other city in the nation, even Los Angeles.

  The driver opened the door and helped her mother out. Mama looked like a fine lady in a rose-colored travel gown, complete with corset, bustle, hat, and gloves. The driver gave Noli a hand next, and she tried to remember her manners. Most of the train journey, when she hadn’t been sleeping, proved a refresher course on a lady’s manners.

  “Regardless of our current situation,” her mama had lectured in her Boston clip, “we are Braddocks. The Braddocks and the Montgomerys are fine families. Your breeding shows in every word, every move. I hope you haven’t forgotten everything.”

  “Yes, Mama,” she’d murmured softly, eyes on her lap, shoulders rounded. What choice did she have? Though truly, was being a lady so awful?

  Yes. As a child, she’d been discouraged from thinking, reading, questioning. “Oh, Magnolia, a lady doesn’t need to worry about such things,” they’d told her over and over. Her mother’s beautiful face softened when she noticed Noli’s expression as they stood outside the carriage. “Noli, I understand that you don’t want to go. I don’t want for you to go either. But the court … ” Tears pricked her eyes. “Afterwards, I’ll send you to Boston and no one will ever know about your many … adventures in Los Angeles.”

  Biting her lip, Noli gave her mama a hug. She was the shameful one, sent elsewhere so no one would learn what she’d done. Noli didn’t entirely regret her many “adventures,” but she regretted the pain they’d caused her mother.

  Noli pulled her cape closer. Her mama had quickly altered one of her own gowns for Noli since she didn’t possess anything “suitable for traveling.” The blue traveling suit had crisp blue braid and shiny brass buttons and a matching short cape. The cream gloves on her hands were kidskin and butter soft. The uncomfortable corset and bustle made her fidget even more than usual.

  “I’m so happy the bustle is still in fashion. It does wonders for a lady’s figure.” Her mama adjusted Noli’s hat. The little blue derby with the feathers and a tiny bird had always been Noli’s favorite.

  “You look every inch the lady. Now act like one.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Even though dread pressed down on her chest until it became hard to breathe, she’d grit her teeth and bear this dreadful place. As her mother often pointed out, she’d shamed her family enough. Hopefully, by the time she finished with Findlay, she could talk her mother out of ball season and Boston and into something more practical—like allowing her to build steam sewing machines for the shop to increase productivity.

  Officer Davies got out of the carriage, handing them their valises. The driver carried Noli’s steamer trunk. Her mama insisted she pack her nicest things, which included the two new dresses her mama had made her for her sixteenth birthday, and a ball gown Mama thought would fit with a few tucks in the bust, waist, and hips.

  A ball gown? Did her mother honestly expect her to attend balls at this place? Not that she’d want to attend such dreadful things anyway. Society boys were so boring.

  A few other possessions hid under the clothes, placed in the trunk when her mother wasn’t looking—books, letters from Jeff, and a few photographs, including one of her father.

  Officer Davies took her mother’s arm. The building looked lifeless, abandoned. Though in excellent repair it lacked the warmth inhabited homes possessed. The school seemed to have large grounds. Hopefully they were allowed in the gardens. If kept indoors she’d go mad.

  They passed through the gate and walked down the path, her heart growing heavier with every footfall. When they walked up the front steps to the por
ch, Noli noticed the polished brass sign. “Findlay House.” That was all. Perhaps Findlay really was a boarding school.

  But her stomach wouldn’t loosen; her fists wouldn’t uncurl.

  Something about this place made her want to run away and hide in her tree house.

  Officer Davies rang the bell. A young woman about Noli’s age opened the door. She wore a green day dress, though not nearly as fine as the ones her mother made. The girl’s blonde hair hid under a white lace cap, a piece of fine embroidery in her lily-white hand.

  She smiled listlessly. “May I help you?”

  Officer Davies replied, “I’m Franklin Davies and this is Mrs. Braddock and her daughter Magnolia. I believe Miss Gregory is expecting us.”

  “Of course, please come in.” She showed them to the sitting room and went to get Miss Gregory. Her blue eyes didn’t sparkle, her step held no bounce.

  “What a lovely young lady. This looks like such a nice place.” Her mama beamed as they sat down on the uncomfortable, overstuffed furniture in the stiff and formal sitting room which reminded Noli of a museum they’d visited once in Boston. The stale air smelled of bleach, supper, and a scent she couldn’t quite identify.

  Noli stifled a snort at her mother’s comment. Back when she associated with girls like that, she’d hated them. She sat next to her mother; Officer Davies took a matching chair.

  “They have an excellent success rate, and I’m sure Noli will acclimate quickly.” Officer Davies gave her a pointed glance.

  A woman entered. “Good afternoon. I’m Miss Gregory.”

  Miss Gregory looked every inch the archetypal evil headmistress from her tall, thin appearance and shapeless gray suit, to her stiff walk and beady eyes, and her prim, graying bun.

  Officer Davies stood and led the introductions. Miss Gregory took a seat in another uncomfortable looking chair and Officer Davies sat down.

  “Do you require anything else, Miss Gregory?” the girl in the green dress asked from the doorway of the stuffy sitting room.

  “Thank you, Rosemarie. Please ask Claire to bring in a tea tray before you return to your sewing.” Even Miss Gregory’s smile looked pinched. Rosemarie curtsied and left.

  “Rosemarie’s one of our very successful girls.” Miss Gregory folded her pale, boney hands into her non-existent lap. “She came to us in such a state, suffering terribly from bouts of hysteria. She’s much better now and will return to her parents soon. Rosemarie may even be ready for ball season this fall.”

  “How lovely.” Her mama smiled. “Perhaps Noli will attend ball season in a year or two. I have family in Boston willing to sponsor her.”

  The headmistress’s beady eyes focused on Noli. “How lucky you are, Magnolia.”

  She simply smiled, trying not to fidget or blurt anything out even though she wanted to. Ladies were silent, quiet, demure. She didn’t want to go to Boston and was secretly glad they hadn’t been able to afford school. Of course, her mama didn’t tell Grandfather Montgomery that, afraid he’d make them return to Boston. Mama also refused his money, saying Jeff supported them. If they moved to Boston, they wouldn’t be at home when her father returned.

  Miss Gregory took a sip of tea. “Here at Findlay House, we take special girls dealing with many difficulties and teach them to be dutiful daughters, good wives, and productive members of society. Usually these things aren’t entirely the girl’s fault.” She looked at Noli’s mother. “It’s not entirely their parents’ fault either. Sometimes parents need help, sometimes special girls need extra attention. That’s what we do here at Findlay. We give girls what they need in order to live up to our and society’s expectations. Many of our girls go on to make good matches, bringing their parents great pride.”

  Ugh, enough with the marriage already. Why couldn’t being a scientist or inventor be considerable a respectable profession for a woman?

  After a soft rap on the open door, another girl entered. This one had neatly plaited, wheat-colored hair, topped by a white fabric cap. She wore a blue, high-necked dress with white lace, buttons, and a starched white apron. The dress hung to the floor in soft folds and held the appearance of a uniform. That wasn’t what they wore … was it?

  “Your tea, Miss Gregory?” The girl carried a silver tray set with a tea service and was shorter, younger, and plumper than Rosemarie had been. Her strong and slightly calloused hands did more than embroider and wave a fan.

  “Thank you, Claire,” Miss Gregory replied.

  Claire set the tray on the table and turned. “Anything else, Miss Gregory?”

  Miss Gregory stiffly smiled. “We have little in the way of service staff here at Findlay House. Instead, the girls assist in upkeep. This provides discipline and teaches them how to run a household efficiently.”

  “Even manual chores?” Mama’s lips pursed in disapproval. Although fine ladies did many things around the house, manual chores weren’t among them. Noli privately wondered who would clean the house and do laundry. Not only was her mama too tired at the end of the day, but such tasks were below women like her. She might be distressed gentry and forced to work, but she’d never stoop to scrubbing her own floors and would never admit Noli did.

  Miss Gregory poured the tea. “Here at Findlay we find hard work good for the soul. It pushes out impurities. The harshest of household tasks are usually meted out for punishment. Girls do equal parts work around the house, schoolwork, and lessons on decorum, spending free time sewing, playing an instrument, sitting in the garden, and for some, learning skills to make them productive in society. Claire is learning to cook.”

  Noli didn’t mind hard work, but her stomach still wouldn’t unclench. Something about this place just felt wrong. What, she didn’t know.

  “How long have you been here, Claire?” Officer Davies asked.

  “Nearly a year, sir.” She didn’t meet his gaze.

  “Do you like it here?” Concern lurked in Mama’s eyes. Good.

  “Findlay’s a wonderful place.” Her words felt rehearsed and insincere.

  Miss Gregory gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Claire. You may return to the kitchen now.”

  Claire curtsied and left. She seemed nice enough, unlike that stiff, mindless Rosemarie.

  “Claire is one of our girls making very good progress. Being unmarriageable, we’re teaching her to cook and bake so she can get a position at a fine house.”

  What made her unmarriageable? Plumpness might be unfashionable, but some men liked women with certain large parts. She didn’t seem brain-addled.

  During tea, Miss Gregory went over the curriculum and expectations. Noli sat up straight, not that her corset permitted her to slouch. Ankles crossed demurely, she kept her gloved hands folded in her lap when not holding her teacup. Every time she bit her lip or twisted her hands her mother glared. Nothing about this place seemed to put her at ease.

  “Would you prefer being assigned to mending and sewing, Magnolia? Being a dressmaker’s daughter, I expect you’re quite accomplished already. Do you wish her to be trained?” Miss Gregory asked her mother.

  Mama took a sip of tea. “I’m a dressmaker out of necessity, since my husband disappeared, which I explained in the cable. I’d like to have Noli educated as a lady in order for her to make a match and carry on our family’s good name.”

  “I see.” Miss Gregory looked down her nose at Noli as if she found it to be preposterous but wasn’t about to say it out loud.

  “May I work in the gardens?” Noli asked softly. “I’m fond of bo—” Botany probably wasn’t ladylike. “Flowers … and flower arranging.”

  “Noli grows lovely roses.” Mama smiled, pride radiating in her voice. She always kept vases of them in the shop.

  Miss Gregory sniffed again. “For now, you may.”

  Since she had to be there, and had to do hard work, she might as well do something she enjoyed. Noli could hardly picture a girl like Rosemarie working in the gardens. Hopefully, not all the girls here were like that.

/>   After tea, Miss Gregory gave them a tour of Findlay. Rosemarie and friends sat sewing in a parlor. The halfdozen thin and pale girls held vapid expressions, and wore lovely dresses, though nothing half as nice as what her mother made. They chattered inanely the way polite ladies should, sewing or working on complicated embroidery samplers.

  A web of unease wound around Noli as the tour continued. Everything at Findlay was immaculate, from the perfectly straight photographs on the walls to the polished hardwood floors. There wasn’t a cobweb in sight.

  Yet it lacked something.

  A soul. Yes, Findlay House lacked a soul.

  “When can Noli come home for a visit?” Mama kept looking around, as if trying to absorb the austere sobriety of Findlay House.

  Didn’t she see what a horrible place this was?

  Miss Gregory looked down her pointed nose at them. “I’m afraid we don’t do home visits. They interfere with the continuity of our curriculum. If Magnolia takes to the program, she should only be here two or three years.”

  Startled, Noli curled her fists and opened her mouth to protest, closing it when her mother glared. Two or three years? She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Boarding school lasted at least that long. Longer. Still …

  “I understand. Continuity is central to your program?” Her mother’s voice softened.

  “Continuity, order, and discipline are the pillars holding up Findlay House.”

  Discipline? Noli’s stomach knotted.

  “When Magnolia shows good progress, she may write letters,” Miss Gregory added.

  “May I visit? What about Christmas?” Mama’s face creased with worry.

  Good. Maybe Noli wouldn’t have to stay. Something just didn’t feel right about this place. Though if she told her mother, she’d say it was just Noli not wanting to leave home.

  Maybe it was. No. Maybe?

  Miss Gregory shook her head. “We believe new girls adjust best with no initial contact from their friends and families. Only our very successful girls get family visits on Christmas and their birthday.”