by Ann Shorey
Now’s the time to make things right, Luellen told herself, but the words froze in her throat. What if she couldn’t trust Belle to keep her secret?
“I got here this afternoon.” She kept her voice polite but not overwarm. “I just returned from registering for the term.”
Belle’s eyes searched her face, the welcoming smile on her lips fading. “I did that yesterday.” Her tone matched Luellen’s. “Would you like to sit with me at supper?”
“I’d be happy to.” A splinter broke away from the wall Luellen had built around herself. She’d risk the friendship for as long as it lasted—but she wouldn’t share the truth about her situation.
Once seated, with a bowl of salted beef and potatoes in front of her, Luellen glanced around the dining hall. “There are fewer girls here than there were last fall.”
“I expect our difficult economic times have forced some of them to miss this term.” Belle cut her stringy meat into bite-sized pieces. “My father is very dour about the prospects for the coming year.” A smile lifted her lips. “At least I was able to come back—and so were you. We still have our same rooms.”
“I wondered about that.” Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to room next to me after I treated you so unkindly.”
Belle’s face softened. “I know you were worried about your mother. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset.”
Shamed, Luellen looked down at her food. Leave it to Belle to forgive before she was asked. She raised her eyes. “That’s no excuse for rudeness. Are we still friends?”
“We’ve never stopped being friends as far as I’m concerned. My visit to your family was a joy. I’m so glad I got to meet your brother. He reminds me so much of you. Smart, amusing, cheerful. His homecoming must have been a special surprise.”
“It was.”
“He sent me a letter just before I left Springfield. He and the lieutenant had an uneventful journey to Missouri.” Belle blushed. “He said he’d like to see me again.”
Luellen choked down a lump of beef. Was Franklin the reason Belle was so eager to continue their friendship?
On Monday morning, Luellen slipped her petticoats over her head and tied them above her abdomen. The baby turned and kicked while she stepped into her wool challis dress. Cupping her hands around the movement, Luellen paused, relishing the sensation. “Good morning, my baby,” she whispered.
When she pushed her arms into the matching traveling sacque, she noted with satisfaction that it covered her from neckline to below her hips. Today would be a test. She couldn’t wear her cloak while teaching in the Model School. Would Mrs. Guthrie notice the difference in her appearance? Nerves twitching, she stepped into the corridor.
Belle joined her on the way to breakfast. “You’re wearing your new outfit. I remember when we selected the fabric.” She stepped back and surveyed Luellen. “That color is lovely on you. The braid trim around the jacket is especially attractive.”
Relieved, Luellen nodded her thanks. “Mama and I spent many days sewing after Christmas.” She didn’t mention that most of the garments had been for her baby’s layette.
“I’d love to have a new dress.” Belle smoothed the pleats on her plaid wool skirt. “But my father told us we’d have to make do until times get better.”
Luellen thought of her friend’s extensive wardrobe. Making do wouldn’t be much of a hardship. Her own challenge would be keeping her two dresses fresh-looking for the next two and a half months.
After breakfast, Luellen threw on her cloak and stepped into the cold, windy morning. Across Chestnut Street students filed into the Model School. She hurried along the path, crossing the road and climbing the steps of the school building.
As she reached for the door handle, a series of cramps jabbed her side. She bent forward, hands resting on her middle. Papa had explained that cramping meant her body was changing to accommodate the baby, but each time they occurred she felt a fresh pang of alarm. She waited several moments for the squeezing sensation to pass before stepping into the schoolroom.
Warmth and the faint odor of burning coal greeted her. Ice crystals etched the windows with feathery swirls, bathing the room in white light. Mrs. Guthrie glanced up from her desk. “Look who’s here, children. Miss McGarvie will be teaching you this morning.”
Luellen sought the faces of the children she remembered from the previous term. Joshua, Elizabeth, Cassie, and nearly a dozen others sent her welcoming smiles.
She unfastened her cloak and draped it over a peg in the entry. With her back to the room, Luellen adjusted the folds of the traveling sacque so that it hung smoothly over her dress.
When she turned, Mrs. Guthrie stood watching her, a quizzical expression on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it and handed Luellen a book. “We’re doing sums this morning. Did you bring your lesson plan?”
“No.” She gulped. What a terrible beginning to the term. “I was preoccupied with . . . I just forgot. I’m so sorry.” She reached for her cloak. “I’ll go get it right now.”
Mrs. Guthrie laid a hand on her arm. “No need. You can show it to me on Wednesday. Meantime, mine’s on the desk. You may refer to that.”
Luellen felt her face flame as she took her position in front of the room. She shouldn’t allow personal distractions to affect her work. She opened the arithmetic book to the marked page and copied a series of addition facts on the blackboard, grateful for the time to gather her thoughts.
Lifting the pointer from the instructor’s desk, she tapped the first problem. “Who can tell me the answer to this one?”
To her surprise, normally eager Joshua sat still while several other children waved their hands in the air.
“I know, Teacher.” Cassie leaned forward.
Luellen darted a glance at Mrs. Guthrie. She sat near the rear of the classroom, writing in a notebook. She didn’t appear to be paying attention.
“All right, Cassie. Please recite the answer.”
“Three plus four equals seven.”
“Correct.” She wrote the number after the equal sign and moved the pointer to another set. More hands shot in the air, but Joshua’s wasn’t among them. Luellen noticed him counting on his fingers. She frowned. By now, he should have these sums memorized.
She called on another child, received the correct answer, and continued along the row until all the answers were written on the board.
“Take your slates and copy these sums for practice.” She checked the lesson plan. “We’ll have reading next.”
While the children were busy scratching numbers on their slates, Luellen walked back to Mrs. Guthrie. “Should I spend extra time with Joshua?” she whispered. “He’s not keeping up with the others in arithmetic.”
“Let’s wait and see. If he doesn’t improve in a week or so, perhaps you could find room in your schedule to work with him after the other children leave in the afternoon.” Sounds of murmurs and muffled giggles rose from the front row. Mrs. Guthrie nodded toward the mischief makers. “For now you’d best regain control of the class.”
Luellen returned to the front of the room, folded her arms, and waited for quiet. To her dismay, one of the boys paid no attention to her and continued whispering to the child next to him. Luellen looked up and caught Mrs. Guthrie watching.
Taking a deep breath, she strode to the boy and picked up his slate. Instead of numbers, he’d drawn a picture of an animal with what looked like a tree growing out of its head. She cleared her throat. “This doesn’t look like your arithmetic lesson, Jackie.”
“It’s a deer, Teacher,” the boy next to him said. “He’s showing me how to draw.”
Luellen remembered her own school days. The schoolmaster would have pulled Jackie from his seat by his ear and whipped him in front of the class. What discipline did Mrs. Guthrie expect? They hadn’t discussed corporal punishment.
She tucked her hand under Jackie’s arm and lifted
him from the seat.
“What’re you going to do?” His voice sounded fearful.
The classroom was quiet, each child watching to see what would happen. Mrs. Guthrie had her head tilted to one side, hands folded in her lap.
“Come with me.” Luellen marched him to a desk with only one child sitting in it—a girl. “You’ll spend the rest of the morning right here.”
Jackie slumped into the seat, looking mortified.
She walked to the board and wiped it clean. “Open your books to page seventy.” Her voice wavered. “Who can read the first sentence for me?”
While she listened to the children take turns reading, part of her mind remained on Jackie. How should she have disciplined him? What would Mrs. Guthrie say?
When the morning’s lessons were finished, Luellen gave the children permission to get out their dinner pails and then hurried to escape, her confidence shaken.
The classroom instructor joined her at the door. “Would it be convenient to meet with me after your classes? Say around five?”
17
Luellen opened the door of the Model School. Lighted lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating rows of empty desks in the chilly room. Mrs. Guthrie leaned the broom she’d been using against a wall.
“Please come in. We’ll sit over here.” She led the way to two chairs in front of the stove. “I let the fire burn down after the children leave to conserve coal.”
Luellen settled into one of the chairs, loosened her cloak, and laid her portfolio over her knees. “I brought my lesson plan if you want to see it.”
Mrs. Guthrie’s blue eyes twinkled. “No need. You did well following the plan I prepared. That’s a good quality if you’re called to substitute for a teacher who’s ill.”
“Then you asked me here because of Jackie.” She clamped her hands together, nails digging into her palms. Would she be denied a teaching certificate because she refused to whip a child?
“I did.” She rested her hand over Luellen’s. “Corporal punishment is favored in many schools. You’ll hear more discussion on the subject in your classes next year. However, I feel it’s rarely necessary. The way you handled the incident with Jackie this morning is exactly what I’d have done.”
Relief swept over Luellen. “I’m not being written up?”
“Not at all. I want to commend you. Children learn better in an atmosphere of trust rather than fear.”
“I worried all afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. I should have said more before you left.” Mrs. Guthrie leaned forward. “I know how hard you studied to be able to return for this term. Finishing the full two-year course was a struggle for me too.” For the briefest moment, her gaze dropped to Luellen’s middle. “Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you need to talk . . . about anything.”
“Thank you.” She could hardly breathe. Was Mrs. Guthrie being kind, or did she suspect? Luellen stood, wanting nothing more than to be alone in her room to think.
The instructor rose and patted Luellen’s shoulder. Her voice changed from intimate to brisk. “See you Wednesday.”
Once outside, Luellen waited at the curb while a carriage passed by, lanterns glowing beside the driver’s box. She’d need to be careful crossing the street in the dark. On the campus, lamps mounted on poles cast yellow circles over the gravel paths between buildings.
The carriage rattled down Chestnut Street, but Luellen remained at the curb. She fought the impulse to run back into the school building and share her dilemma with Mrs. Guthrie. What a relief it would be to have someone to confide in. She shook her head. Too risky.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped across the street. Once on campus she was startled to see Mr. Price appear out of the gloom. His pale face shone in the lamplight. “Miss McGarvie? It’s rather late for you to be out unescorted. May I see you to your residence?”
Pools of darkness spread between each light. Since the Ladies Hall lay on the far side of campus, she’d be foolish to refuse his offer. “Thank you. It is terribly dark tonight.”
“And icy.” He clasped his gloved hand under her elbow.
She moved to her left, opening a space between them. “Do you always work this late?” she asked as they walked toward her building.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. The students at the Model School were dismissed two hours ago. Is Mrs. Guthrie a harsh taskmaster?”
“No—far from it.”
“I remember when she was a student here. Most unusual. She obtained special permission to attend. As a widow, she could be considered a single woman and still be allowed to teach.”
Luellen disliked his gossipy tone. “She told me.”
“Did she tell you she had a child shortly after she graduated?” His voice squeaked with incredulity. “She certainly wouldn’t have been permitted to attend had anyone known that little tidbit.”
“Aren’t you supposed to keep students’ information confidential?” She stopped under a streetlamp. The Ladies Hall was a few steps away.
He turned to her, an ingratiating smile on his lips. “While they’re students, yes. For instance, I’ve said nothing about your conversation with that big redhead on the steps of my building last fall.”
Fear prickled along her arms. “Oh, that? It was nothing. A misunderstanding.” She kept her voice casual.
“It didn’t sound that way.” He moved closer, his greatcoat billowing in a sudden gust of wind. “If you ever have any problems—and you don’t want to trouble Dr. Alexander—I hope you won’t hesitate to come to me.”
Luellen sat on the edge of her bed, quilt wrapped around her shoulders. How much had Mr. Price heard? What would happen if he spoke to Dr. Alexander?
She paced. On the other hand, maybe he was bluffing just to make himself seem important. Flopping back on the bed, she covered her face with her hands. Lord, show me what to do.
If only she had someone to talk to. She couldn’t ask her parents, they’d advise her to come home. Best not to worry them.
Ward Calder’s compassionate face came to mind—he’d invited her to write to him. In the weeks it would take to receive a reply, she hoped her problems would resolve themselves. In the meantime, maybe if she put her worries on paper, she would find her answers while she wrote.
She rose and lit the lamp. Uncorking an ink bottle, she took up her pen.
Dear Ward,
I have no one here in whom to confide. Today has been most distressing as regards two matters, and I pray you will indulge my ramblings. I cannot share my concerns with my family. As you are no doubt aware, they are most unhappy with me for choosing to return to school.
To reassure you, I’m quite well physically—but my emotions are in turmoil. To begin with . . .
Her pen scratched over the paper as she poured out her fear that Mrs. Guthrie knew she was expecting a child.
She said I could talk with her about anything, but I’m afraid whatever I say would go on my record.
Then coming back to the campus tonight, I encountered the registrar’s assistant. He offered to escort me to the Ladies Hall, and on the way . . .
Luellen told Ward about Brendan’s visit to the campus in late October, and Mr. Price’s surprise intrusion on their argument. Paper rustled as she set the completed pages to one side. She concluded with Price’s implication that he’d heard her mention the divorce. Could she be dismissed from school for falsely claiming to be a single woman when she registered? How should she respond, if at all?
I know nothing will happen overnight, but the simple act of writing to you has relieved my mind. Thank you for considering my difficulties. Any suggestions you may offer will be gratefully received.
Please convey to Franklin that I am well, and will write soon.
Yours sincerely,
Luellen McGarvie
She blotted the ink on the final sheet and folded the letter into an envelope. If she posted it in the morning, he might receive it within the next week or two. Until he
replied, she’d go about her days as though nothing had happened. If Mr. Price spoke to Dr. Alexander—well, she’d cross that bridge when the time came.
Ward’s hand fastened on the letter in his mail slot. He seldom received correspondence, and when he did it usually came from the manager of his father’s estate. This one, however, was addressed in unfamiliar handwriting, with “Allenwood, Illinois” written in the left-hand corner of the envelope. He smiled. True to her promise, Luellen had written him.
Once in his room, he flopped in a chair under the window and ripped open the envelope. Several sheets covered with flowing Spencerian script greeted him. He skimmed through the pages, then went back, reflecting on what she’d said. Pleased as he was that she’d trusted him with her concerns, he also felt the responsibility of being her confidant. Two weeks had passed since she posted her news. By now, anything could have happened.
For the first time, he wished he were out of the Army and able to travel at will. He’d go straight to Allenwood. He dropped the letter in his lap, shocked at the thought. Wish himself out of the Army? He’d invested too much in his career.
“Come on, Calder, you’re forgetting yourself,” he said aloud. “All you can do is write back with encouragement. Get on with it.”
He dragged his chair to the desk and opened a drawer, then stopped in midmotion. Someone had been rummaging through his papers. He remembered leaving his military tactics manual squared on top of the maps he’d drawn of proposed railroad routes. Now the book was shoved to one side. The map on top had smudges around the edges, as though it had been clutched in grimy fingers. Two sheets, showing proposed routes through St. Joseph, were missing. Warning Lieutenant Campion had served no purpose.
Ward stalked down the hall and banged into Campion’s room.
The lieutenant leaped to his feet, face the color of paste, and shoved a cluster of papers into a drawer. His eyes darted between the desktop and Ward. “Thought you were the proper officer—never enter without knocking.”
