History Lessons

by Fiona Wilde

  Lucy frowned. She got the message loud and clear and after less than two minutes in Warren Ellis' office, silently pronounced him a Complete Ass. But still, she knew she had to try harder.

  "I do," she said. "I have no problem with rules, Mr. Ellis, and from what I understand there will be many more soon. But I do believe you should let us know what those rules are before you punish us for violating them."

  Warren, who had picked up a TV Guide off the desk and was looking at it like it was a filthy porn magazine now stopped to regard his visitor.

  "Are you telling me, Miss Primm, that you were unaware of the prohibition on adornment, makeup and visible tattoos before you showed up for work this morning?" He tossed the TV Guide into the trash.

  "No, no sir." she admitted, angry at herself now for misstating the question. "I mean, yes, I was aware that we're not allowed to wear jewelry. But this morning my son was being contrary when I was trying to get him on the Pre-K bus and...."

  "What happens outside of Hartford House isn't my concern," he said abruptly. He turned to her. "Miss Primm, I want to be very clear about something. I do not strive for excellence, I demand it. And I will brook no disobedience from those under my charge. And that means you. Now, you may have found amusement in my disdain for your breaking of the rules this morning, but I assure you I found nothing honorable about such a dismissive reaction. Even without being told, you should already know that laughing in the face of authority is wrong. Or did your parents never teach you that?"

  "My parents died when I was a baby," Lucy replied.

  Warren stopped mid-diatribe. "Well," he said. "I'm quite sorry to hear that."

  Warren sighed and put the trash can down on the floor. "Perhaps you are right, Lucy. Prior management here was permissive, too permissive. You and the others here will find in me a stern head of operations who expects excellence and authenticity in everything. The demerit system is a good tool and I probably should have let you all know what the new penalties would be for breaking the rules."

  "So you'll remove the demerit?" she asked hopefully. "Because, Mr. Ellis, I can't afford to lose my job..."

  He paused, considering. "I will if you acknowledge that you erred doubly by mocking me."

  Lucy did not feel that she had mocked him, but had to admit to herself that she had screwed up by laughing.

  "Yes sir," she said.

  "Very well." He stood and walked to the door, opening it. "The demerit is removed. And you are free to finish out your day."

  Lucy curtsied, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. "Thank you, sir," she said and moved to the door. But as she was exiting, he stopped her.

  "Miss Primm."

  She turned back. "Sir?"

  "You should know there is a price for my generosity. I see in you a streak of wilfullness that bothers me. Please be advised that I will keep my eye on you, and do whatever it takes to quell that streak should you reveal it again. Do you understand?"

  Lucy felt a chill go through her - chill mixed with kind of tingly, fluttering buzz that felt strangely like a perverted excitement. Her cheeks colored up at the sensation and she used her final curtsy to turn away so her blush would go undetected.

  "I do, sir," she replied and, hearing the click of his office door shutting, scurried off on shaky legs to find Missy.

  Chapter Two

  "So what's he like?" Missy looked at Lucy as if she expected to relish the information far more than the sandwiches they were eating on the bench under the towering oak tree by Hartford House. "Is he as creepy in private as he was in the front hall?"

  It was the day after her encounter with the new director of Hartford House, and Lucy swallowed the grape she was chewing as she pondered the question.

  "Creepier," she said, and then felt guilty for the slight. Mr. Ellis had, after all, removed the demerit even if he did accompany the gesture with a cryptic threat of what future disobedience would bring.

  "No, that's mean," she said. "He's not creepy so much as quirky. Maybe it's a historian thing."

  "Mrs. Steelman wasn't like that?"

  Lucy shook her head. "Mrs. Steelman wasn't a historian," she said. "This guy has a Ph.D. or something. When I was in his office I saw his diploma."

  "Dr. Quirky," Missy said, pretending to sound impressed. "Wow."

  Lucy laughed in spite of herself, then turned serious. "Whatever his reasons, though, he is a stickler for details, Missy. So we'd better watch ourselves."

  "That's right," Missy said, dropping her voice to imitate their new boss' deep tone and shaking her finger at Lucy. "Because if you get one more demerit, young lady, it'll be to the woodshed with you."

  Lucy laughed again, this time nervously, her mind wandering back to her visit with Mr. Ellis. He'd said he'd see that she obeyed, no matter what he had to do. What in the hell had he meant by that. She had a sudden image of the new director dragging her by the arm to the woodshed and the image was so silly she was soon laughing along with Missy.

  "That's what's going to happen if we don't finish up." Lucy said, and stood to make sure that none of her lunch things were left lying around. She could only imagine Mr. Ellis walking by to find the Spongebob sandwich box she's accidentally stuck in her back instead of Kegan's lying on the bench.

  "So what's next?" she asked Missy.

  "Bayberries."

  "Bayberries?"

  "Yes." Missy stood, brushing bread crumbs off her apron. "Apparently Mr. Ellis almost had a full-out stroke when he found that paraffin as being used to make candles. He wants us to do it the authentic way for the next demo, so get ready to be covered in deer fat and bayberry wax, because that's what we're making the candles from."

  "You're kidding," Lucy said.

  "Nope," Missy replied. "Karen Dawson heard him tell Jenny Tesh."

  "Ugh," Lucy said. "That'll smell good."

  "At least you won't go home blue," Missy said. "The spinners are going to have to use natural dyes, including indigo."

  "Wow."

  The women walked up to the house, ditching their lunch sacks in the barrel that discreetly served as a trashcan by the door. Lucy nearly jumped when she saw Mr. Ellis standing in the doorway. She felt a stab of nervousness. How long had been standing there? The bench was just a few feet down the path. If he'd been standing there for more than a few minutes he would have overheard everything they said.

  Missy and Lucy dropped into a rapid curtsy, adherence to another new rule. "Live as if walking through the doors of Hartford House were equivalent of walking through the door of a time machine," he'd told them at that morning's meeting. Mr. Ellis' eyes had lingered on each staffer as he'd passed them by, looking - and probably smelling, she thought - for anything out of the unusual whether it be the tiniest ear studs or a tell-tale whiff of Obsession or some other now-forbidden scent.

  His eyes had lingered longest on Lucy. "One of your colleagues appealed to me yesterday to lay out the rules in advance before I handed out demerits for breaking them," he'd said, and while he didn't name Lucy she guessed that everyone knew she was exactly who he was talking about. "So to avoid misunderstanding I've had the rules printed. There are some new ones among them, including one banning cell phones from the premises. So please advise anyone who may need to contact you through work hours to go through the receptionist. And, of course, it should go without saying that such calls should be for emergency purposes only."

  Lucy and Missy had cut eyes at one another before Lucy turned her gaze forward again. This, she thought, was patently unfair. As the only staffer with a small child, it gave her some measure of comfort to know that Kegan's daycare could call her immediately if there were a problem. Now she'd have to rely on Judy, the ditsy receptionist, to get her the message.

  "This new rule starts now, this instant," Mr. Ellis said. "After our morning meeting you'll go back to your vehicles and put your phones up. If I hear one ring, it will be two demerits."

  His eyes scanned he line of employees and intern
s. "Understood?"

  Everyone nodded and when the meeting broke up they all walked to their cars.

  "Insane," Lucy had said as she walked to Missy's car and watched while her friend tucked the pink Hello Kitty phone into the glove box.

  "Yeah, but I'm not taking any chances," Missy said. "I'd probably get five demerits for having a Hello Kitty phone."

  "Actually a Hello Kitty phone with a Fort Minor ring tone gets you ten demerits." The women were giggling again, but as they walked back, Missy stopped.

  "Aren't you going to put your phone up?" she asked.

  "Hell no," Lucy said defiantly. "I'm not about to trust that Judy the Bimbo to get me my messages. What if something happened to Kegan?" She began walking back to the house. "Besides. For all we know by the time we get back in he'll have banned the office phone, too."

  Missy ran to catch up with her, clutching Lucy's arm. "Wait a minute. Think this through. If he catches you and adds two demerits to the one he said he was conditionally removing then you're..."

  "...screwed." Lucy finished. "Yeah, I know. But I'm going to keep it on vibrate inside my apron where no one will know it's there but me."

  Missy looked doubtful. "Alright," she said in a tone that clearly indicated it wasn't. "Just don't get caught."

  Lucy smirked. "Don't worry," she said, her voice brimming with forced bravado. "I won't. Besides. I'm not afraid of Mr. Ellis. Not in the least."

  * * *

  The bayberry bushes were loaded, and Lucy relished the chance for her and Missy to get out from under the attentions of Mr. Ellis and some of the other staff members who were clearly already seeking to ingratiate themselves into his favor.

  Mrs. Steelman had been so painfully lenient that everyone had gotten in the habit of doing what they pleased, but Mr. Ellis' management style spawned both order and fear. She could already see the effects of that fear as her co-workers began watching each other, hoping to observe some infraction they could use to deflect attention from themselves should they be caught in violation of his growing list of rules.

  Missy wasn't as thrilled with their assignment. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled. "If the colonists wanted candles why didn't they just buy them like normal people."

  Lucy grinned and shook her head. "They couldn't just run to Wal-Mart, remember?"

  "I can't believe how many buries he wants us to pick. We have to fill this whole basket!" Missy indicated the large round basket at her side.

  "It takes something like eight pounds of berries to make a pound of wax," Lucy replied by way of explanation.

  "Couldn't we just buy the wax from a supplier?" Missy asked and Lucy sighed. She adored her friend, but sometimes her whining became tedious.

  "I think watching re-enactors dump a block of wax in a pot wouldn't be quite as instructive as watching them skim wax made from real berries," Lucy replied.

  Missy was about to say something else when Lucy stopped her. In her pocket, the phone was vibrating.

  "Hold on," she said, and took it out and looked down at the screen. It was the daycare center.

  "Hello," she answered.

  It was Kegan's teacher, reminding her that the next day was picture day and that she'd need to dress her son in something nice. The center was good about keeping in touch with parents, realizing that they sometimes forgot to look at the monthly calendar or that kids sometimes forgot to bring home the reminders. Lucy asked the teacher how much the photos would be, since parents were required to pay up front, and was told she'd get back to her as soon as she found out.

  Lucy thanked the teacher and put the phone back in her pocket.

  "You ladies having fun?" She turned to see Flora Nesbitt, standing behind them. "Mr. Ellis sent me out here to help you pick."

  Lucy and Missy glanced at each other. Neither liked Flora, whom Missy had termed "a total suck-up" to Mrs. Steelman until her dismissal. Afterwards Flora practically fell all over herself to criticize their former boss.

  "I could have told you how this would end up," she said to Lucy and Missy in obvious earshot of Warren Ellis. "Mrs. Steelman never should have been hired in the first place. Thank God we now have a consummate professional to restore this house to its proper status."

  Then she'd turned her saccharine smile on the new director as her companions had rolled their eyes in disgust.

  "This is so exciting," she prattled on now. "Making real candles out of bayberry wax. That Mr. Ellis is an absolute genius, even if he is a bit hard on the slackers." She glanced at Lucy, the implication obvious.

  "Better a slacker than a backstabbing gossip," Nancy muttered.

  "What?" The older woman stood up and looked at her, hands on her hips.

  "You know, Flora, we've about stripped this bush," Nancy said bluntly. "But there are some over there that are loaded. It doesn't make a lot of sense to all pick from one bush."

  She and Missy regarded her, sending the silent message that her presence was neither welcome nor appreciated.

  "She'll hate us now," Missy said as the woman stalked off.

  "I don't care if she does," Lucy said, sucking on a finger she'd stuck on the spiky end of a branch. "It's like Mr. Ellis said. 'You're here to work. Not to make friends.'"

  Missy smirked. They'd heard him make the comment several times whenever he'd seen a gaggle of women socializing instead of working.

  Fifteen minutes later Flora was moving back to the house with her basket half full of berries.

  "I guess she got tired of picking," Lucy said and continued to pick, going further into the woods with her friend.

  Their baskets slowly filled as they talked and Lucy was just thinking how heavy it had become when she felt the vibration of her phone again. Putting the basket down, she reached into her pocket.

  "It's probably Kegan's teacher again," she said, remembering that she'd promised to call her back. Without looking, she flipped open the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "I'm surprised you can get cell phone reception out there in the berry patch."

  The voice was male, and slightly angry.

  "In the...how do you know where I am? Who is this?" But no sooner had the words escaped her mouth than Lucy figured it out for herself.

  "I think you probably know," Warren Ellis said. "When one of your co-workers told me you were on the phone, I was sure they were mistaken given our little talk yesterday. I can't tell you how disappointed I am," he said. "But you'll now soon enough. I'd like you to come to my office after work."

  "My son..." she said.

  "Make arrangements for him. You obviously still have your phone so that shouldn't be hard to do," he replied. "If you don't keep this appointment you don't keep your job."

  Lucy heard the line click and knew he'd hung up and for a moment she just stood there, her feelings swaying between fury at Flora Nesibitt and fear over the prospect of facing Mr. Ellis.

  "What's wrong?" Missy asked.

  "Everything," Lucy replied numbly. "Everything."

  * * *

  The daycare center had after-hour cares, for an hourly fee. Lucy muttered that she'd pay it when she picked him up after her appointment.

  She sighed as she looked in the bathroom mirror where she'd just washed her face as if that could cleanse it of the worried expression that still stared back at her.

  "You're toast," she said to the girl in the mirror. "By this time tomorrow you'll have spent much of the day filling out applications for crap jobs that can't pay the rent. You and Kegan will have to beg on the streets if you don't end up in debtors prison first."

  Of course, that was silly. There was no debtor's prison anymore and Lucy glibly thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to get away from this time warp of a job if, of course, she had a backup job to go to. Which, of course, she did not.

  She could hear the cars in the back lot leaving the grounds of Hartford House down the back employee entrance road. Hers would be the only one left now, hers and Warren Ellis'. Unless, as she suspect
ed, he rode a horse to work.

  The house was quiet as she re-entered after leaving the detached building that housed the restrooms. She'd never been inside when it was this empty, and it felt strange and eerie to her to imagine all the people who'd once lived in the rooms, who'd sat and slept on the furnishings that now stood as curious testaments to a bygone way of life.

  "Miss Primm?" Lucy jumped and turned to see Mr. Ellis, still in his period outfit, standing behind her. She'd always found the colonial garb of men effeminate, but had to begrudgingly admit that the historical fashion did not at all detract from her boss' masculinity.

  He was holding his office door open, his hand gesturing for her to enter. She walked, head down, past him, and into the office.

  She barely recognized the place now; it looked nothing like it had when Bea Steelman had occupied it. Gone were the cutesy cartoon plaques, gaudy curtains and modern office equipment. She imagined the computer - if he had one - was housed in the reproduction bureau she'd never seen before. It certainly wasn't on his desk, which now contained a few books, a tablet and a quill and inkwell. A table topped with a hammered metal pitcher and mug stood in place of the water cooler. A glass cabinet, which looked to be a genuine antique, held a treasure trove of books, some old and some new, covering all things historical.

  "You've done a lot of work," she said.

  She heard the door click, then his voice. "Yes, Miss Primm. I have. Honoring a place's tradition is a labor of love. I have no patience for people who make a mockery of it by flouting their crass modernity within its bounds."

  Was he talking about her or the former director? Lucy couldn't tell. And she didn't want to ask so she just stood there, wondering whether he was going to offer her a seat.

  "I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I was when I realized you'd violated my rule about cell phones," he said.

  "You're lucky to have so many spies in your camp," Lucy shot back. "I suppose historical accuracy is far more important than morale."

  She knew the comment was reckless, but figured if he were going to fire her the least she could do would be to let him know what she thought of the atmosphere he was fostering.