“Now, I don’t understand,” said my mother.
“Giusy, there are other stories about Miss Craney preying on young women and getting rid of them if they didn’t comply. Miss Whitfield’s return could cause a scandal for Miss Craney.”
“So, she’s waiting to see if you can produce Miss Whitfield,” said Katie.
“I believe so. But the mere mention…” said Doc.
“Ah, I see,” laughed my mother. “You beat her at her own game.”
“Yes. He’s a real card.” Katie laughed as she leaned over to kiss her dad.
Doc continued, “Giusy, Joe will publish an article about Miss Whitfield, who will miraculously receive a ‘Teacher of the Year Award’ from whatever institution employs her now. Also, I believe Joe and his dad will track down Dorotea and Alda. And now with Pina’s journal…”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” My mother took out her hankie again.
Doc winked. “They might help, too.”
Doc seemed quite optimistic as he wished all of us “good bye.”
We thanked him profusely, my mother offering to say Novenas for his favorite cause.
Katie and I hung around his neck. “Careful!” He said, “Walls have ears.”
My mother had to pack, but before she did, she presented us with little packages. “Open them, one for each of you.”
She pushed the larger one in my direction. I unwrapped the yellow tissue paper to uncover an owl finger puppet. It was soft, and I could move its wings and rotate its head. I turned it in Katie’s direction to see her unwrap an owlet, which she put under my wings.
I cried, “I really love you, Mom. I know I don’t show it, but I do.” I hiccoughed. “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
Katie was hugging my mom and sobbing as well. My mom was on her second hankie. “I love you, my girls.” She waved goodbye.
Chapter Fifty-four
Pajama Party
We were returning to campus after the departure of Doc and my mother. The weekend had left us intact but different, older, and yet, lighter in a way. The snow felt equally cleansing.
“Now remember what your father said.” I shook my finger at Katie. “You’d better walk ten feet away from me.”
“Doofus!” Katie replied. “I just want to hold onto you, your arm, your pinky. Ach.”
“I hate this, but I think he’s right. They could string us up just for being us.” I frowned.
“Well, for being us, in public,” Katie added.
“It’s still us!” I shook my head. “Not fair.”
“But hey, are you forgetting you’re not expelled?”
“Yet,” I said.
“And you won’t have to have Craney’s paws on you.”
“Yuck!”
“And your mom didn’t disown you.”
“Thank God.”
“Pina. C’mon. That took real guts to stand up to Craney. According to my father, you literally knocked her off her feet.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I am relieved. I am so relieved, most by my mother’s reaction. Not just relieved…” I started to choke back tears. “I mean she really loves me…she’s okay with me. And I’m okay with me!”
“Yeah. She was super. And you, too.” Katie beamed.
I dried my tears on my sleeve and went someplace in my head as I tried to single out the feel of one crystal of snow. The light glistened through it still, even now close to dusk.
Katie smiled her biggest smile at me. She also took advantage of my dreaminess to rub a soft, wet snowball in my face. “I couldn’t resist. I wanted so badly to kiss you, I needed to cool things off.”
“Witch! I’ll get you.”
We ran the last two blocks to Albert and spent the next ten minutes stomping off our boots and coats, as well as smearing each other with wet mittens.
Our rooms felt empty without Dorotea and Alda, and we wanted this weekend of reprieve to continue. Next week would entail new, final school projects to be completed by Thanksgiving.
“What do we have?” I asked Katie, showing her the chocolate chip cookies and salami from my mom.
“My father brought me Italian cookies and nougat from Italy. And we still have Dorotea’s tea and landjaeger. Let’s have a party and invite those girls who wished us good luck the other day.”
“You think they’d come?” I asked.
“Of course! We’re just too cool,” said Katie.
“Uh oh, do you have more snowballs?” I pushed a pillow into Katie’s midriff, and we wound up hugging each other for a long time. I pulled away softly and touched her cheek.
“You really are my best friend.”
She covered my hand with hers and whispered, “I know.”
“So let’s go start a party,” I said.
Armed with our goodies, we were about to open Katie’s door when Jocelyn and Emily and two other girls appeared, blocking the doorway. They seemed to be younger, thinner collegiate versions of Santa Claus in November, minus the beard and the red suit. Actually, two were attired in red sweaters, and they all carried bundles.
Jocelyn was the spokesman. “Hi,” she said. ”We need normal after a weekend of our mothers.”
“I asked my mother for Wise potato chips, and what did I get? A year’s supply of gourmet, imported British Oil Chips. You’ve got to help me eat them,” Emily announced.
“Oh, is it okay? We kind of invited ourselves and some friends, Elizabeth Montgomery and Christa Van Buren.” Jocelyn propelled each girl forward into Katie’s room.
I poked Katie, who finally extended her hand and invited them in.
They all dropped their packages of chocolate and chips and cheese and fruit on the desks, complaining of their mothers’ strange taste in snacks.
Christa started asking me about the visits Katie and I had received, as she poured us all some sparkling cider.
“Did both your mothers come?”
“Just mine. Katie lost her mom,” I said.
“Oh God, I wish I hadn’t found mine in the crowd on the golf course.” Christa rolled her eyes.
“No,” I said quietly. “Katie’s mom disappeared.”
“Oh…oh. I’m a total jerk. Where is she, Katie, I mean?”
My heart seemed to skip a beat as I watched my Katie talking and outshining the other girls. I pointed her out to Christa.
“Do you think she heard me? I really…I didn’t mean to…God, I’m just like my mother.” Christa said.
“You’re fine. I take it your mom’s…” I didn’t know how to finish my sentence.
“A total jerk. Une veritable snob! Right, Jocelyn?”
“What, Christa? Oh, your mom? Not as bad as mine. You all have to hear this. My mom and I wound up getting a hot chocolate in the crummy cafe, you know, Eunice’s. It’s just that it was so cold, we couldn’t wait to get to the Inn. My mother announced in a loud voice that they had only hand washed the cheap cups. I almost died.” Jocelyn pretended to do a Victorian swoon.
“Katie, c’mere,” I said. “This is Christa.”
“Hi Christa,” said Katie.
“Hi Katie. I’m really sorry about your mom. I uh…”
“It’s okay, but thanks. You’re in our science class, right?” said Katie.
“Yeah. Didn’t you just love those esters?” Christa took a whiff of the imaginary smell in the air. “Oh right. I saw you two cut out halfway through the class that day.”
“God, is everybody spying on us?” I asked before hearing how paranoid I sounded. I looked at Katie.
She sized up the situation quickly and announced in a loud voice, “Miss Craney should be awarded the ‘Spook of the Year’ award.”
The crunching of chips and slurps of cider stopped. There was a collective outburst of “What?”
Katie explained, “Well, I think you know Craney’s been watching Pina.”
Emily yelled, “Spying on is more like it.”
“Right,” Katie continued. “Well, they call spies ‘spooks’.”
“You have to admit,” said Elizabeth, “she’s also just plain spooky!”
“So,” I told Christa. “I’m a bit weird when someone says they’ve been watching me.”
Katie winked at me and whispered, “Nice recovery.”
I answered, “Not bad, yourself.”
We decided to hang Craney in effigy with a black sock stuffed and tied around the ankle. We added a monocle on it with white poster paint. Then the ceremony began. We bowed down in front of “Her Spookiness” and pulled imaginary spy cloaks over our faces as we passed by.
They grilled me on where I had hidden Dorotea and Alda and pretended to use a spyglass to search in my ears and up my sleeve. I hadn’t laughed so hard in a long time.
Emily said she had seen my mother. I started to freeze.
“She reminded me of Eleanor Roosevelt,” Emily said.
I gawked. “Really?”
“Yes. She seemed to smile right from the heart,” Emily said.
“Not my mother,” said Elizabeth. “She couldn’t fake ‘heart’ if it meant her death by heart seizure.”
Jocelyn winced and asked how my mother was reacting to my potential expulsion.
“Mrs. Mazzini may have singlehandedly undone Craney,” piped up Katie, winking at me. “And Pina made Craney’s hair curl! We’ll tell you all about it when there’s more time.”
“Craney is postponing her decision until January.” I joked, “To see if I can produce Dorotea and Alda.”
Christa laughed. “It’ll give you time to dig up Dorotea and Alda from wherever it is you stashed them!”
We all pitched in to clean up. I noticed Emily doing a lot of teasing and dancing around the other girls, tickling and hanging on Jocelyn—a lot. Maybe she, too, was uh, that way?
I stayed with Katie a while after they left, both Katie and I grinning big, stupid grins and feeling normal.
“Wow!” Katie said. “We can be one of the girls. Or did you hate them, Pina?”
“No. They were neat.”
“Sure? They’re rich.” Katie smirked.
“D’ya hear what they said about their mothers? They’re not snobs just because their folks are,” I said.
“Hmm.” Katie pushed up her nose.
“Hey, Katie. It really felt good.”
“What?” Katie was playing dumb on purpose.
“To be liked. Like they want to be friends,” I said.
“Uh huh!” Katie grinned.
“You think Emily and Jocelyn are…?”
“Nah. Those girls just do that. It’s just out of friendship,” Katie said.
“Well, we’re friends,” I said.
“Duh.”
“I mean could we grab each other’s arm? No one’s accusing them of being lesbos.”
“Pina! Cool it. Time for bed. C’mon, we both need a gigantic hug after this weekend.”
After a long, long hug, I toddled off to my room. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of angels floating on a lake in Maine. Katie and I were small and fat, Italian-style Cherubim. My mother, more like a grown up Seraphim, was paddling a canoe over to us, and Doc was Michael the Archangel navigating the canoe. They lifted us up and sailed us over to an island filled with lots and lots of sweet girl angels eating gourmet potato communion wafers.
Chapter Fifty-five
First Day of Normal
A fresh carpet of snow paved the way between buildings. Everything seemed new. Everyone friendly and normal.
I didn’t quite know what normal was, but it felt like it had started last night. Katie told me my eyes were seeing differently.
I had lingered over breakfast where another four girls joined Jocelyn, Emily, Christa, and Elizabeth at our table.
Word about the standoff between our parents and Craney had spread. We had earned a reputation for being cool. Because of our parents? Because we hanged Craney in effigy?
What about the details? Did they have a clue why Craney wanted me? I corrected my thoughts—why she wanted to throw me out? No one treated me like a leper. Well, I wasn’t a leper, just a lesbo or a les-bi-an?
I shook myself back to Albert and the patch of ice that had almost caused my downfall. I was approaching my French class. Sacre bleu! I forgot that Mademoiselle Lesage was gone, but I knew we were going to get our mid-term projects today.
I pondered the Eiffel Tower and Mont Saint-Michel when I heard Craney’s familiar hoarse cackle. Every muscle, every ligament, every joint refused to operate my body.
She stood in the doorway, staring at me, saying, “Entrez, s’il vous plait.”
I squeezed my eyes tight. Just practice mind over matter, I told myself. I managed to move forward with a jaunty thrust to my chin. I nodded my head and moved to the desk closest to the door.
Craney smiled. “Mademoiselle Mazzini, bon jour.”
My lips formed, “Bon jour, Maitresse.”
With that, the Maitresse turned to the class and explained in passable French that she would assign projects. She sighed, and in faltering French mumbled something about Mademoiselle Lesage’s family feeling better so that she would be returning. The class gave up a booming, “Bravo!”
Miss Craney was actually ignoring me. I wondered if I had already spent two months at Albert. Maybe I was in a time warp. Had anything really preceded these moments here and now? Nothing, absolutely nothing rang false here. This was not the same Albert I had been experiencing up until now.
I almost sighed to myself. I felt my muscles and my skin loosen and stretch out in relaxed elongation, a kind of Dali-like smear. This was new.
Miss Craney was calling girls by name and giving them packets with instructions for their projects. I heard her poor pronunciation of Gare Saint-Lazare, Tour Eiffel, and Montmartre, followed by oui and merci.
I waited for my name. Would I receive enfer, hell, or were my days in hell truly over? As other girls filed out of the class, I sat among the last few left.
In fact, I was the last. I held my breath. Surely, this was where Craney planned to get me. I sat within three feet of the door; it remained open. I would scream. I would push her down and cut and run!
“Mademoiselle Mazzini,” said Craney. She extended her bony arm covered in ecru silk and thrust the manila envelope at me. “Les Catacombes, Les Catacombes de Paris.”
The catacombs. Was there really such a place in Paris? Weird. At least it wasn’t hell. Underground, but not hell.
I realized I had been standing still, holding the packet. Craney’s cough drew me from my stupor. I was free to go. She smiled a normal smile as I left.
Katie was coming from the opposite direction. As our paths crossed, I grabbed her by the arm best friend style and asked her to sit with me for a few seconds before our next class. I waved the catacomb packet at her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My French project. I just want you here while I open it. Might be weird.”
Katie squinted at the lettering on the front. “Catacombes?”
“Yup,” I said, tearing the packet apart. Names, dates, and the letters RIP on small slips of paper flew out, scattering at our feet.
“Graves?” asked Katie. “I thought the catacombs were in Rome?”
“Guess there are catacombs all over. Shoot. Help me pick these up.”
“The corpses?” Katie laughed.
We sat with all the dead people on our laps while girls walked by laughing and jostling each other. Somehow, I felt we owed the dead some solemnity.
Katie poked me. “C’mon. What do you have to do? Read that sheet.”
“I have to make a model based on these photos and descriptions. Yuck! Look at all the bones. And write a history of how they came to rest here under Paris. Wait. Oh jeez. I have to record a walking tour from the perspective of one of the dead.” I continued to read.
“No?” Katie had grabbed the instructions and read the names of the other cemeteries where the bones had come from.
“Oh man. I don’t be
lieve it. There are bones here from the French Revolution.” I slipped everything in my binder.
“Fun,” said Katie, giving me a sisterly pat on the arm.
“I hate to say this,” I started.
“Then don’t,” Katie added.
We both burst out, “Craney?”
The weird thing was that we were laughing, doubling over laughing our fool heads off.
“I can do this; I mean it.”
“I want to make the bones,” said Katie.
“Let’s throw a bone-making mãché party!”
“What a gas!” Katie said. “Hey, gotta split.”
“Hey, hey. Too cool, huh? See ya.”
Chapter Fifty-six
The Postman Always Rings Twice
My classes went by quickly, and I loved the projects my instructors had assigned. In English, I chose to write a fairy tale about Albert, and in science, to create my version of Canoe cologne. In history, I would write an abridged history of the year I was born, and in math, I would construct a scale model of the Albert’s Memorial Gate. Best of all, girls wanted to partner up with me.
It was a neat day, as if I were breaking in new hiking boots and they felt right from the start. No blisters, no chaff.
I almost didn’t want to read the newspaper or watch the news. I was afraid the other boot would fall.
There was a letter in my glass-windowed brass mailbox. I was so nervous about its origin and its message, I forgot my combination. I asked the student volunteer behind the counter to give it to me.
“Hey Pina, it’s from your mom,” said the girl named Harriet. “Nice handwriting.”
I didn’t even think she knew my name.
“Thanks,” I said.
Hmm. My mother. This could be the kiss of death. I debated whether to wait until I saw Katie to read it.
I really was chicken. How could I believe my mother would take things so calmly? This day didn’t feel like all the ones that came before. My mother’s behavior over the weekend belonged to a different mother, not the mother I knew.
Love and Lechery at Albert Academy Page 20
