Chapter 8 Part 2

Poetry and Dance

Claire had hardly recovered from the cheeky, poorly written poetry when it was time to finish up algebra class and go upstairs to get ready for The Beekman Boarding School Autumn Ball. Claire was to wear her “dear pink satin” for the first time, Trudy an emerald green velvet which, in contrast to her coppery hair made her look “as cute as a Christmas card” as Claire put it. But the usual giddy joy of “ready getting” was dampened by the event of that morning. Claire only smiled to apply her blush and Trudy, who was usually a chatterbox, spoke only to ask for a lending of a pair of gloves to which Claire said:
“Hm? Oh, whatever you wish for Tru.”
But, as it is with some girls, no matter how many mistakes or tears or how little time they’ve dealt with in the process, they arrive looking as if they’d planned this borrowed, mix-matched, ironed twice, third’s a charm outfit for months. And this was the case with Miss Winters and her accomplice; Miss Richards; when they stepped in the doors of the cafeteria (which was magically transformed into a ballroom by the Decorating Committee) looking as stunning and beautiful as models only sweeter and more naïve to their own charm.
“Who’s that?” Said some loudmouthed fellow at the punch table.
“The governor of Connectiut’s daughter-Lady Claire they call her.” Said another boy. “And Tru Richards.” He added.
“Tru?” Said the first. “She looks…” (Catching himself) “Different than I remember.”
Then the second: “Remember? We saw her an hour ago in Algebra dimwit. But don’t bother pointing out how gorgeous she is to me! Move out of my way-I am going to ask her to dance the first.”
And the young man brushed past his friend, leaving a full glass of punch on the table cloth.
“Excuse me Trudy,” He said, less confident than he was a moment ago. “Would you dance the first dance with me?”
Trudy blushed but wasted no time in blurting out that she would, thank you.
Jack Cameron (for that is who it was) meandered meekly away.
Shortly after Claire and Trudy had taken seats, the music began and Jack reappeared as if from nowhere and stole away with Trudy. Claire was immediately alone because Judith and her friends all had escorts who they had come in with and, naturally, danced their first dance with. But before Claire had time to be lonely, she heard a group of boys laughing and she looked to see who it was. There was a little huddle of young men in front of the sandwich table, and who was that in the middle of them all- the one cracking the jokes? It was Mr. Rueben! Claire stood up, nosily trying to get a better view and catch a snip of conversation. Immediately, Mr. Rueben’s sharp eyes caught hers and he beckoned for her to join them. Claire, who was not used to marching into tight circles of the opposite sex, ventured hesitantly toward the sandwich table.
“Hello Claire,” Said Mr. Rueben warmly. “I suppose you know these lads?”
Claire nodded, smiling nervously though she really was only acquainted with their faces.
“Good then! We were just talking about a lovely poem which was informally published earlier today.” And Mr. Rueben merrily.
“Oh?” Claire said, still shy.
“Yes-I do believe you’ve heard it by now. Supposedly you’re the one who took it out of print.” He said with a wink.
Claire blushed. The poem about Mr. Rueben!
The boys chuckled in agreement as if they too had heard about her speech and the bell ringing and all.
The most important thing to remember as you imagine our protagonist in this situation is that she was still quite pink.
“Yes, I am sorry Mr. Rueben. I wanted to apologize personally-my classmates only meant to be funny, they can sometimes be insensitive…” Claire began.
“Funny? That’s not what you said earlier-or so I’ve heard. And you have no reason to apologize. As a matter of fact-I should be thanking you, not that the poem is of any consequence to anything at all, nor was it the first piece literature written about myself.”
Claire just said “oh” and nodded and smiled.
The song struck its last chord and Claire looked up as if she expected to be asked to dance, but all of the boy just sighed and rested their palms on the table until someone started up the conversation again. These boys apparently had no intention of dancing whatsoever and simply wanted to chat with Mr. Rueben. After a while the conversation picked up wind and Claire found herself joining in. To her surprise, her views were much welcomed, though at first she received several glances as if the boys were surprised to see that a female had any intelligence at all. Mr. Rueben looked more and more pleased as time passed, and acted like Claire were some sort of niece of his-as he had when they first met-that he had reason to be very proud of. Soon the conversations actually revolved around her opinions and then she started one herself, and Claire found that she was discussing serious topics including politics and philosophy and yet having a splendid time and feeling very fulfilled. Judith glanced over at them more than once and then pretended not to notice how many gentlemen had gathered around the new young lady. Trudy, though she thought much of Claire, never looked at her once, for she was on the far side of the cafeteria dancing again and again with Jack and having her own conversation. Pete came and joined Claire’s circle after a while, but it was evident that he didn’t know what he was talking about, and soon he left, but not without Claire on his arm. They waltzed around the room gracefully (for Pete was a fine dancer) and Claire, who usually loved the free feeling of the waltz, wished to be back in her seat in the middle of Mr. Rueben and the other boys.
“I’m sure you’re glad to be away from that dull conversation,” Was the first thing Pete said. “So I suppose that makes me your hero.”
And he grinned his crooked, sincere and somehow charming grin. He had a way of looking mischievous and adorable at the same time, always making Claire go back and forth from wanting to slap his face to pat him on the head like a puppy.
“Actually,” Claire said slowly as she spun. “I rather enjoy that type of conversation.”
Pete kept smiling. “Sure you do, you like anything that is polite.” He said, on the edge of an insult.
“No, I am actually interested in what Mr. Rueben and the others had to say, though I am glad to dance also.” She said, not dropping her poker face.
“Oh good, I’m glad to hear it. I was afraid this was a ‘courtesy dance,’ you know, a charity.” Pete said, smoothly spinning away from a collision with another couple.
“A courtesy dance? There’s no such thing. I love dancing really, and I wanted to.” She said, unsure if she were lying or not.
“Ah, I see. So you would dance with any of the fellows here? Any fellow anywhere?”
He asked slyly.
“Of course. It is poor etiquette to turn down a boy the first time.” Claire said, slightly defensively.
“Oh, so it is a matter of manners?” Pete said, signaling at the band behind Claire’s back to keep the song going.
“No! That isn’t at all what I meant. It would be rude to turn you-or any fellow-down the first time, but that doesn’t mean that I would have turned you down if I had the choice. I’ve told you, I wanted to dance.” Claire said irritably.
“Oh, alright then. I am glad you’re enjoying yourself so.” Mr. Jenkins said sarcastically.
Claire said nothing but simply kept the beat and wondered when for heaven’s sake this song would be over.
“I still think that you’re obsessed with right-doing and etiquette Claire.” He said after a silence as if he couldn’t bear the conversation ending that way. He also said “Claire” as if they were intimate friends, and this annoyed his partner.
“If you truly believe that, then I’ll prove it to you!’ Said Claire, raising her voice a little. “Good night Pete, I think I am done dancing for the time being.”
And she released her partner and escorted herself back to her seat (which the gentlemen had saved in hopes of her return) and immediately acted entranced in the conversation at hand. To relate to you the feelings which brewed in the heart of Pete Jenkins or the thoughts in the mind of the same would be rather like explaining the plumbing inside the walls of the cafeteria, for the pipes were there but none of the dancers or chaperones present could see them or know anything of them. So I will simply tell you that Pete shook his head and smiled and went to ask someone else when the song finally died down and another song started up again. Claire perched on her chair and rather enjoyed herself even though she was shaking a little with the anger which Pete had aroused. Soon Trudy approached the huddle.
“Claire, come with me dearest. Jack is making the funniest impersonations and you just have to see him!” She said, ignoring the audience of debaters.
“Wait Trudy,” Claire said, not looking up. “I can’t agree with you simply because I am ignorant to the male mind, but as a female I will tell you that I think that children are less valued in our day and age then when the last generation was young.”
Trudy’s eyes grew wide.
“What are you talking about?” She asked, quite bewildered.
“Oh-sorry Trudy. I was in the middle of talking with Walt about the value placed on children and the effects of modern literature made available these days.”
Trudy, mouth fallen in a dumbfounded fashion just nodded once, very slowly, and returned to Jack. But a moment later she returned to nag her to come again, this time with Jack, but she was still preoccupied and so Trudy and Jack took seats in the circle (though only Claire made any notice of them) and listened in on the conversation as they were “up to giving it a go.”
“Excuse me!” Jack said when one of the debaters scooted into a tighter circle during a heated moment and pushed Trudy quite out.
He was a senior and so Jack couldn’t possibly know who he was, but nobody, no matter what grade they were in was going to be allowed to discount Trudy while Jack was alive!
The twelfth grader didn’t hear Jack.
“Hey!” Jack said, giving the young man (who was a good deal bigger than Jack) a good shove in the shoulder.
Trudy was very relieved at what happened next, for she was very afraid that Jack was going to get into a fight. If it would have been Claire on the other hand, she would have been disappointed otherwise.
“Well!” Mr. Rueben said merrily. “We are at a ball ladies and gentlemen, despite the fact that some of us were required to attend, and by definition a ball features social dancing so let us do that so we may go home and have a cup of tea and a bit of shut eye before class.”
The senior, who’s name was Davy Keats, had just turned around in his metal chair and glared at Jack when Mr. Rueben said this and it became obvious that the teacher was much esteemed by this crowd, for Davy immediately seemed to forget all about the little Freshman behind him and listened intently to Mr. Rueben. Then, all of the boys stood up and stretched their arms, stacked their chairs and asked a nearby, seemingly random girl to dance as if only to obey their elder. For Jack, it was the girl who was gazing lovingly at him. Though whether she had been gazing lovingly or hatefully, Jack would have danced with her for fear that “some other guy” would. Claire took this opportunity to slip off to the powder room, for as she had just established a reputation of equality with the men (and mankind in general it seemed), she felt suddenly awkward at the thought of dancing with one of them and hastened hurriedly to piddle in with the other runaway girls. One was Judith whose unreliable beau had dismissed her at the sight of “an eleventh-grade doll,” and another was a girl who was in tears at the sight of her punch-stained gown. Claire offered her comfort and wisdom to each of them and then returned to the ballroom. Judith returned shortly after and took Claire’s advice by having a good time “despite it all” and dancing with other boys, and then Viola Day (who had been the weeping girl) reappeared with an apron on and served punch in a way which made all of the volunteers wish that they had thought to wear an apron, she looked so busy and important.
The moment Claire returned, she saw to her delight that all of her male companions were still dancing, but right at the door she noticed Mr. Rueben putting something in the wastebasket.
“Why aren’t you on the dance floor?” Mr. Rueben asked, seeming suddenly like one of the “normal teachers.”
“Oh,” Said Claire, a little flustered at the sight of him. “I was in the powder room.” She stammered.
“The powder room eh?” Mr. Rueben said straightening his waistcoat which seemed to disagree with him. “And how many noses did you have to powder that it took you ten minutes?” He added slyly.
“The powder room, Mr. Rueben,” Claire said regaining her confidence again. “Is always a safe haven for girls with damaged hearts or outfits and what goes on there must remain in the confidence of women only.”
Mr. Rueben made one long nod and said: “Ah.”
Claire smiled. She was rather fond of her teacher.
“May I have the great honor and delight of dancing with you?” He asked with a grand bow.
“Yes sir, I believe you may.” Claire said in return.
And so Mr. Rueben took his position and led her gently into a dance which they both knew well.
“I hope this isn’t awkward for you,” Mr. Rueben said. “Dancing with an old man.”
Claire tossed her head back and laughed aloud, for that is often a good way to fend off awkward silences.
“You’re not an old man.” She argued.
“Well,” Mr. Rueben said. “In that case, I hope that it isn’t awkward for you to dance with someone who could be your father.”
Claire frowned as if confused.
“You couldn’t be my father,” She said. “I’ve already got one of those. You’re more like the uncle I never had.”
Mr. Rueben looked pleased.
“Really?” He asked as if this were a new and strange idea. “So you think of me as an uncle?”
Claire nodded.
“Yes,” She said. “I wonderful uncle!”
And they both laughed as Mr. Rueben led her back to her seat.
“I have a niece!” Mr. Rueben announced when the returned to the place where their group had once again formed like debris settling on the bottom of a lake.
“Claire?” Trudy asked, still linked to Jack.
“Yes!” Mr. Rueben said. “And I am so glad! I never knew I had her until just a moment ago, but she is most delightful and I am regretful that I missed the first fifteen or so years of her life.”
“Now I am the only uncle-less one.” Trudy pouted.
“Don’t be selfish!” Claire snapped. “You’ve got Mr. Gooseberry!”

Chapter 8 Part 1

Poetry and Dance

“Two months already!” Said Claire one October morning as she knelt on her bed, marking dates on her calendar.
“Yes! And I feel as if we’ve been friends forever. We have been sharing our things from the beginning, sitting together at lunch and whenever we can in class and we’ve even had an argument and gotten over it again.” Trudy said merrily shining her dancing shoes.
Claire frowned a little at the wall so that Trudy couldn’t see her. She didn’t like to think about the argument. They had “gotten over it,” as Trudy said, only through time. Nothing had been resolved as Claire would’ve preferred and if she were to bring up the topic again, Trudy would probably say the same things.
“Yes, I do feel as if we’ve always been together.” Claire answered frankly.
“Well aren’t you excited for tonight?” Trudy said, not expecting any kind of answer. “My first dance and we can go together! Don’t you feel as if we are really ‘coming out’ tonight? I’m sure all of the boys will ask you to dance-and you’ll sweetly agree-while I am left blow my nose and rummage in my purse as if busy.”
“What ever are you talking about you goof?” Claire asked, spinning around.
“Oh, none of the boys will want to dance with me Claire! You’re the pretty blond-I am the plain brunette. You’re a governor’s daughter and I am from a farm. You’re petite and a perfectly average height and I have flabby arms and big clomping feet and…”
“Oh stop it!” Claire interrupted. “Don’t be so ridiculous. You are average height-I am short. You have shiny chestnut eyes and, and, and a figure to speak of! I am short and scrawny and flail around when I dance like a scared rag doll while you on the other hand have grace.”
Both girls then burst out laughing, for Claire had been acting out everything she said as went along and it was quite funny though everything had a tiny bit of truth behind it.
“We should stop being so worldly.” Claire said with a sigh
Trudy nodded.
“I need to write my letters.” She said.
“To whom?” Claire asked, tossing Trudy’s shoe-shine rag in the hamper in a very motherly fashion.
“Grandmother, Great Aunt Sophie, Mama, Jan, Lilly, Ben and Mr. Gooseberry.”
Claire laughed.
“Who is Mr. Gooseberry?” She asked.
“He’s our postman. I always write to him and he’s really happy to hear from me. I always waited for him at our mailbox back at home and he would come down the dirt road on a wagon just as the sun would appear on the horizon of the meadow like a runny egg and we would say ‘good morning’ and he would say that I didn’t get anything but he couldn’t see why no boys were writing to such a ‘bonny lass’ (for he’s Scotch) and I would laugh and give him a daisy or a sweet roll or whatever prize I had brought with me that morning. I am glad we are writing, but I fear that he uses stolen postage stamps.”
Claire giggled, but could see that “home” was a topic to be reverent about and so cut her laugh short.
“Is he a handsome young postman? Are these love letters you both exchange?” She asked instead.
“Oh heavens no! He’s old and has a beer belly. But I love him bless his soul and wish I could kiss his bald head this very moment!”
And then Trudy laughed, so that Claire knew it was alright.
“I should write to my mother and father.” Claire said.
She sunk a little inside for the topic of letters reminded her that Marvin hadn’t written her back even yet and this worried her.
“Speaking of mail.” Trudy said, raising an eyebrow, for just then a paper had slipped under their door.
Claire rushed to read it and this is what it said:

Old Mr. Rueben,
Nutty as a pie,
Off his rocker and head in the sky.
Old Mr. Rueben,
Will get Victory’s sass,
When she learns that he does voo doo in class!
Dresses like a scholar,
Talks like a loon,
Old Mr. Rueben is a buffoon!
-Anonymous

By the end of this crude lyric, Claire’s voice was trembling and there were tears in her eyes. Already she could hear the girls in the hall chanting the poem to an irritating tune.
“The audacity! The disrespect and ungratefulness!” Claire said ripping the paper into a thousand pieces and tossing it into the waste basket.
“Calm down Claire! It was only a joke!” Trudy said, putting a hand on her sobbing roommate.
“No it wasn’t! It was an untruthful depiction of a great man.” Claire said, grasping for a handkerchief, already embarrassed by her emotion.
“Claire, you have got to admit that Mr. Rueben has his quirks. What’s the harm of a little exaggeration?” Trudy asked.
Claire turned around, her eyes on the verge of fiery.
“It isn’t an ordeal to someone who cares nothing for the truth!” Claire thought of wailing, but instead she bit her tongue and left the room in a huff.
She made a beeline for the bell and rang it five times in a row.
“Quiet!” She screamed. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves! If you are so desperate for something to sing, I shall lend you my old nursery rhyme books but if you are desperate for mischief I suggest you go back to your rooms, throw those nasty papers away and shut your mouths before Mrs. Inches comes upstairs wondering why she heard the bell.”
The girls rolled their eyes and tried to protest, but Claire wouldn’t hear of it and went immediately to her room where she listened intently to learn that (slowly) all of the girls obeyed her, and just as Claire heard the last door shut, Mrs. Inches could be heard on the flight of stairs.
“Who wants to explain the din which awoke me from my nap?” She snapped.
Claire was tempted to remain on her bed, but since she had recently taken to being a strong believer in truth-all the truth and nothing but the truth-she decided that she must go and explain to Miss Inches.
“I rang the bell Miss Inches.” Claire said. “To make the girls hush. They were being very loud, ma’am.”
Miss Inches, who rather liked Claire, nodded and put her hand on the banister again.
“Next time just tell me.” She said before she left.

Chapter 7 Part 2

Cyrano

Claire was blushing when Trudy walked into their room again.
“What is it-a letter from your sweetheart?” Trudy asked,
“No, it is a letter from Mr. Rueben. You remember I left my journal entry at class?”
Trudy nodded, excitedly taking the letter from Claire’s fingers. This is one of the joys of being young- easily forgetting that you are no longer friends with someone.
This irritated Claire for she had never spoken to Trudy about any of her “issues” with the school before, save sneaking out, and hadn’t mentioned what her journal entry had been about. She waited nervously as Trudy’s eyes jumped from line to line in her speedy way.
“Well, I guess it was a nice letter though I don’t really know what he meant by calling you tall. You’re not tall or redheaded…he must have been confusing you with someone else. I suppose he is tall, but why is that worth mentioning? And you can be a little flighty in class…”
Claire snatched the letter back.
“I am not flighty and he didn’t say so!”
“Why else would he compare you to a butterfly?” Trudy said as if this were obvious.
Claire tucked the letter into a box beneath her bed despite the complaints which issued from Trudy about not having finished reading it.
“Well, it is Friday, though it hasn’t been as lovely as we predicted, so we must be off to Literature Class.” Claire said coolly implying that she was quite “over with” the arguing.
Trudy glanced at the clock to differ but was proven wrong and silently they “primped” themselves to go.
“I hope that all of you have read your first chapters of Cyrano De Bergerac.” Mrs. Wake said when the class began punctually.
“Yes Mrs. Wake.” Was the general murmur.
“Good then!” She said proudly. “Who can tell me something about it?”
Several hands took flight.
“Yes-Miss Tyler?” She said pointing to Wanda’s bony hand.
“Cyrano is self conscious of his large nose?” Wanda said.
She was one of those girls who were too self-conscious to ever make a statement. She always had to say everything like a question.
“Yes! Very good Wanda. Anyone else? A boy perhaps?” Mrs. Wake asked, scanning the class with short-sighted eyes.
Mrs. Wake, who was a very fair lady with blond-gray hair and startling blue eyes, was always trying to balance the sexes by calling on them equally and helping them equally and even smiling at them equally. Equality was “all the rage” those days.
A boy’s hand came up immediately, but the face stayed focused on the copy of Cyrano De Bergerac on his desk as he spoke.
“Um, Mrs. Wake ma’am. Um, why does it say that Mr. Burgerack…”
And here the class broke out in such laughter that he ended his question right then and there and folded his arms. Judith leaned over and, in her authoritative way, explained the correct way to pronounce the name. Claire simply pretended (in vain) not to notice the sad mistake, but a moment later she was thankful for the commotion. What was that scurrying near Mrs. Wake’s desk? A field mouse! She knew that if one of the other girls were to see it they would scream out in terror and a lumbering boy would jump up and end its life before anything was said. The mouse had stopped in the shadow of the desk foot and was nibbling something in its tiny pink hands. Claire slipped out of the desk while everyone was still looking at the embarrassed boy (who was, by the way, Garry Hobble) and picked him up by his tail and then dropped him into a mint tin which she had to empty suddenly by pouring six mints into her mouth at once. She then put the lid on the tin and slipped back into her chair.
“Miss Winters! What is it that you are crunching over there?” Mrs. Wake asked, for everyone had settled by now.
“Mimphs ma’am.” Claire said through the cinnamon flavored mouthful.
Everyone giggled and Maria, who said everything that came to her mind, whispered: “That’s unlike her.”
Claire turned pink. The tin remained under her apron all during class where she opened the lid every few minutes, for she was afraid that he would run out of oxygen.
When class was dismissed, she held the tin carefully in one hand and all of her books and things in the other as she walked out to recess. Trudy, who had been sitting beside her, ran up and caught her by the shoulder excitedly.
“What are you going to name him?” She asked in a loud whisper.
“Whom?” Claire asked as if she were innocent.
“The mouse of course!” Trudy said, quite flibbertigibbet-ish. “I saw everything! I will never tell of course and he can stay in our room but you have to name him and feed him bits of your meals, though we can take turns with that.”
Claire couldn’t help but grin.
“Cyrano.” She said in a moment of thrill. “Because of his nose.”
And Cyrano the mouse became a famous secret of Beekman Boarding School.

Chapter 7 Part 1

Cyrano

The sun seemed to awaken with a grin on its golden face the next morning and despite the thoughts which had kept Claire awake until twelve the night before, she somehow couldn’t help but be cheerful.
“Just listen to the birds sing!” Trudy said.
Claire, who was usually the more romantic of the two, looked up with surprise at these words.
“Yes I know! Isn’t it a picturesque day? I think it shall be a lovely Friday, don’t you?”
She smoothed out her quilt and then popped her pillow at the head of her bed.
“Yes!” Trudy said with twinkling eyes. “I think it shall be, Claire darling. Judith invited me-and you too of course-to accompany her and her group to the spa tonight and then we shall do something else-a secret surprise she calls it.”
Claire’s smile faded a little and she walked to the window looking upset, though only the sun saw.
“Do you think it is right to sneak out after we’ve been sent to bed? I know that Judith does it often times-I heard her just the other night outside our door-but do you think we should participate?”
Trudy rolled her eyes behind Claire’s back.
“We’ve gone over this before Claire. I think it is fine. As a matter of fact, I know it is fine. Nobody has ever come to any trouble over it or been expelled or even lost their good grades. Is that what you’re worried about-your grades?”
Claire jerked away from the window.
“No! As a matter of fact I care nothing for them. Grades are only marks on a paper from one imperfect person to another and the only rating I care for is that from our heavenly teacher.”
She stopped here, realizing that she was preaching, and then began again a little less sure of herself.
“But no matter how many times Judith has sneaked and not been caught it doesn’t mean that it is right. God sees us just as he hears our wicked thoughts for which we are never scolded.” And she turned back to the window, half regretful and half proud-just as she had felt when she argued with Malvina.
“Well,” Trudy said after a moment. “I guess I’ll go alone then-I mean-with Judith and the other girls of course. You can stay home if you really aren’t up for fun.”
Claire felt as if she had just taken a blow to the stomach. She turned around angrily and looked Trudy in the eye.
“Not up to the fun?” She said raising her voice. “Then I will find something better to do than linger in the company of those who aren’t…aren’t up to being truthful and good! Someday you’ll learn that there is more fun and satisfaction in being good-even if you aren’t popular in the eyes of Judith Appleby!” And she whipped back to the window and stared lividly at the sun.
After a moment she heard the door slam and through watery eyes saw that Trudy had gone. Schisms happen so suddenly sometimes that the two people don’t even realize what harm they have caused.
An instant later someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Claire called without turning around. She assumed it was Trudy back to have the last word.
“A letter for you ma’am.” Said the unstable adolescent voice which Claire knew to be dear Andrew Orchards. He was a year below Claire in school so she wouldn’t have known him if he weren’t “the school page”-an important boy indeed.
Claire walked to him and smiled, trying to seem happy for his dear little sake and took the letter gratefully.
“I expect it’s from my brother already.” She said, though if she would’ve stopped to think she would’ve realized that it was much too soon for a letter from New Haven.
“No ma’am,” The wiry fellow replied. “It is an internal message.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Claire asked.
“From inside the school Miss Winters.”
And she looked at envelope and lo! It was from Mr. Rueben!
“Oh!” She said. “Thank you.” And she sent him on his way with a peppermint in his cheek.
She then sat down on the window seal and ripped the letter open savagely, breathing hard as she read. Oh! It was only her journal entry. She folded it up and put it in her history note book. But before she threw the envelope away, she realized that there was something written in tiny print on the inside of the flap. Sitting back down she read what it said:

Dear Miss Claire Winters or, the Tall Girl:
I was very curious when I found your assigned journal entry along with my roll sheet. It is unbeknownst to me whether this was a mistake or some sort of girlish flirtation but in either case, I found the entry fascinating. Your example of your feelings as the tall, awkward redhead was exactly what I had speculated when we first met. Actually, what you reminded me of was a scene I saw once in the Amazon jungles. It was simply a branch covered in little green caterpillars in cocoons, but one had hatched and was a brilliant blue butterfly. She flew around aimlessly, waiting for her friends to hatch and not knowing what to do in the mean time, because she was the only one who had matured into a majestic image of beauty. And this is you dear Miss Winters, for though some of your peers are older than you, you are wise beyond your years and though you are now the alien, it is because they have fallen behind. You will learn that the majority is nearly always the worst group to belong to. And dear girl, don’t feel alone, for in some ways I am, as you would say, tall also. I will say that I am sorry you feel so uncomfortable, but I will not say that you should feel any other way. Beekman has her issues, I’ll agree, so let’s stand tall together while others stay placidly in their cocoons!
Good day, Clifford Rueben
P.S. "Those who forget history are destined to repeat it"

1800's-a girls notes on using a sewing machine.

Chapter 6 Part 2

The Tall Girl

Everyone settled into there seats and then the ghost called Hush passed over them.
Mr. Rueben stepped into the classroom, shut the door quietly behind him and then stood at the front of the room with his palms supporting him on his desk. He looked at the boy on the far left of the very back row. He stood there for a moment staring at this boy as if he were going to make an announcement specifically to him. The boy squirmed awkwardly until Mr. Rueben finally spoke.
“Hello John Hampton,” He said with a nod. “Louis Gray, Marie Eager, Quentin Shoe, Iris Lighting, Malvina Dakota, Charity Sourton, Regina Wemberly, Yvette Soaps, Danny Pye, Ogden Leaf, Bob Snow, Trudy Richards, Claire Winters, Judith Appleby, Jacqueline Shiner, Marie Smith, Ronald Poe, Donald Poe, Garry Hobble, John Acton, Jack Cameron, Mable Harris, Wanda Tyler, Tilly Bing, Paddie Jones, David Jones, Walt Shores, Thomas Harp, Luke Rye, Edgar Englishman, Frank Woods, Agatha Rivers, Sara West, Ingrid Ingles, Poppy Yar, Rebecca Payton, Viola Day, Betsy Ram, Pete Jinkins, Opal Divine, Rosa May Barton, Etta Mast, Hurma Schlotskin, Lucile Light, Allen Jacobs, Martin Coins and hello to you too Andrew Orchards.”
There was a roaring applause from every student when he was done. Everyone whooped and cheered and smiled. Mr. Rueben put up one hand but did not smile. Claire thought he looked much less happy than he had the day before when she had first met him.
“Why…” He began, but the students were still loud. When they were calm he began again. “Why is it that that was so exciting to you?” He asked. But at that moment, Mrs. Tops opened the door.
“Mr. Rueben! What ever is going on in your class?” She asked looking ruffled.
“Nothing dear Mrs. Tops. The children were only cheering for the roll call.” He said coolly.
“Cheering for the what? They never cheer for roll in my class…did you bribe them about something Mr. Rueben?” As she asked this she wagged a finger at him and her jowls swung back and forth like that of a basset hound.
“No ma’am Mrs. Tops.” Mr. Rueben assured her. “What I said was true.-isn’t it?” He said looking toward the children. They all nodded and smiled.
“Well then!” Said Mrs. Tops all out of questions. “Carry on Mr. Rueben.”
“Thank you for checking on us Mrs. Tops. Have a lovely afternoon.” He said.
Mrs. Tops shut the door before he was done speaking.
“Well then!” He said with his first smile. “Who wants to answer my question?”
Several hands popped up like weeds.
“Yes! Miss Richards?” He asked looking at Trudy.
“Because all of the other teachers and everyone just call us “class” or “child” and I for one like the name my mother gave me.” She said proudly.
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Yes Mr. Shores?” He said looking Walt in the eye.
“Because now we know that you have a good memory and you won’t forget to dismiss us like Mrs. Tops.” He said smugly.
Everyone snickered except for a few rambunctious boys who laughed aloud.
“Now, now now!” Mr. Rueben said putting up his hand again.
Everyone grew sober and expected him to scold them, but he simply said:
“Let’s move on.”
“Queer teacher huh?” Someone said.
He then opened his desk and pulled out a large stack of papers and began to slip one onto each desk. They were blank.
“Please write a journal entry.” He said. “About you and what you have been doing or thinking about as of late.”
A few students moaned, others were happy to have such an easy assignment and Claire picked up her pen and began to write.

CLAIRE WINTERS 4:10 PM THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 24TH 1886
Dear Diary,
I used to go to Pine Creek Elementary Academy-a school so different than Beekman that one of them must be something that isn’t a school for they cannot belong in the same category. When I was in third grade I was in a play called The Fairy of the Will-o’-the-wisps.
I was an elf so I simply scurried around during the choir sequences but I watched as the some of the other girls (or fairies rather) sang, standing in rows. They were lovely in netted costumes of teal and pink. But, I will always remember one girl who stood on the top row. It was cruel of them to put her on the top row because she was good head taller than all of the other girls. She also had red hair and very fair skin to make her even more obvious and she looked so miserable up there, twisting her fingers and hunching over that I shook as if it were me.
And now dear journal, I feel as it I am that girl. I am participating and nobody is laughing but recently my mind has run mad with thoughts that I am sure nobody else in this classroom are thinking and I am set apart and strange and feel awkward and different just like that tall girl.
I wrote to Marvin yesterday but I am afraid of his reply. I told him about the “groups” as they are called. The unity of Beekman is a myth-I swear. These poor girls think that school is real life-because we live in as if it was. And they think that they are all doing well and going to be successful simply because they are taking these classes and getting good grades. And those who aren’t “succeeding” think they are on death row. Then I wrote to him about th…”

But just then, Mr. Rueben said: “Times up!”
The class continued and Claire was disappointed to find that it was a little more like all of the other classes. He simply talked and taught, but somehow Claire found it easier to listen to him than the other teachers. By the end of the class Claire had grown to adore her history teacher who ended the day with a skit of The Boston Tea Party. Everyone applauded when he chunked “packages of tea” (which looked oddly like volumes of history) into the tossing sea (which grabbed the tea with very human-like arms and fingers and gurgled so loudly, it almost sounded like laughter.) Claire walked out in a brown study, clutching her books to her chest with one arm, her other arm linked to Trudy’s. She heard someone say:
“He’s a quack but at least he’s entertaining.”
She then realized that Mr. Rueben had gone to Africa before this semester had begun and that today was the first time for most of the other students too. She felt a little peace of mind after his class, that is, until that night when she realized that she had given him her “journal entry” along with the roll sheet.

Chapter 6 Part 1

The Tall Girl

Claire backtracked a little to the front of the building and pushed open the door. Ah! What blessed fresh September air! She only breathed it during recess nowadays and that was only for an hour everyday. That period of time felt so scheduled that it was almost like being an actor-pretending to have fun from exactly four o’clock to five every day. By the time her mind was done re-calculating her algebra mistakes and finally beginning to wander into imaginative fantasies, the bell rang and it was time for Science. Casting these thoughts aside, Claire closed the heavy door gently and then trotted down the stone steps, but she only took two ladylike paces before the desire to run overwhelmed her and she was suddenly at the gate. Opening this was like dream. Suddenly she saw the road and “the real world”-something she had almost forgotten as of late. Miraculously, in her state of jubilee, Claire did remember to close the gate before embarking on her mission. She remembered all of Mr. Rueben’s directions and could also sense where to go just by sight and sound and soon found herself safely on Main Street and reading a pale green sign which said “The Hattery-the cherry on top of fashion.” On the sign there was a picture of a tall skinny lady wearing a hat shaped like a big red cherry. Claire pushed the door open and walked to the desk.
“How may I help you Miss?” Said a lady of multiple chins.
“May I please use your telephone?” Claire asked bravely.
The lady grinned and nodded.
“And no charge Dear-heart, as long as you tell your little friends that you’ve been at The Hattery.”
Claire smiled agreeably and went to the strange contraption on the back wall.
And then, suddenly she realized that she had no idea how to use it. Blushing, she looked back toward the desk. The woman was smiling at her.
“I’m-a-coming!” She said kindly. “You didn’t look like you had ever used one before.”
Claire just smiled and nodded, holding the “talk-into-piece” (as the woman called it) in her hand awkwardly.
“This should be very exciting for you dear.” The lady said putting a hand on Claire’s shoulder. She then told Claire how to speak to the operator: “Like you would to your great grandmother.”
“Marvin Winters at Yale University in New Haven Connecticut please.” Claire said in a loud, clear voice.
“Hold please.” The operator said dryly.
Claire nearly dropped the telephone! She looked at the lady (who was standing nearby) and grinned ear to ear. She stood there in this state until she heard another noise. It was an unfamiliar voice but she had missed what he said. Claire glanced anxiously at the hat-shop woman.
“He was just transferring you, dear.” She assured her.
Then there was a nerve racking pause and Claire looked at the square wooden telephone attached to the wall and saw it swirl around and fade a little. She felt as if she were in a dream! She had never done anything so strange in her life! At home her mother had no telephone-she said that she would never have any use for one- and the only neighbor who did was not an acquaintance of theirs. Mrs. Winters had dashed over once to telephone when she received a letter from her mother that her father was ill, but Claire had never used it and Mrs. Winters was so worried about her father that she didn’t talk about the telephone itself.
“Hello,” The telephone said. “Hello?” It said again, sounding slightly irriated.
Claire nearly panicked putting the telephone back up to her ear. The voice was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.
“Oh hello!” Claire said. “M-Marvin?”
“Yes-this is Marvin Winters…who is this?”
“This is Claire Winters-I mean it is Claire, Marvin! Your sister Claire!”
“Claire?! What are you doing using a telephone? I mean-is everything alright?”
“Oh yes! Everything is splendid…well I am fine. I just wanted to talk to you. I am homesick and I miss home…I mean I miss you a lot and school isn’t what I imagined after all.”
There was a short pause.
“I miss you too Pipsqueak. But your letters always make you out to be having a jolly time.”
“Oh but I am! I mean, I was. I have a good time and all but school is just…my opinions of it are just complicated.”
“Everything is complicated to girls. You’ll get the hang of it. You and Judy still friends?”
“Trudy.”
“Oh yeah. Are you and Trudy still friends or is that what this is about?”
“Oh no, it isn’t that at all. She’s a dear but she doesn’t seem to notice the issues with Beekman that I do.”
“Specify Pipsqueak. What issues? I haven’t heard anything but praise about it yet.”
There was the muffled noise in the background of boys being roudy.
“Marv-it was good to hear your voice but could I talk more about it through a letter?”
“Oh I see, someone’s with you. Well I wouldn’t want to think that you wasted any money…”
“Oh no…it has been paid for.”
“Well good then. I’ll be waiting for that letter.”
“Fine. Thank you Marvin.”
“Any time. You’ll get used to school Claire…good bye.”
“If you say so. Good bye Marvin.”
And Claire left The Hattery, unsure if she wanted to get used to it or not.

Early Telephone Operators

Chapter 5 Part 2

Injustice and Mr. Rueben

Claire’s eyes burned and turned pink. She sniffed back the tears. Why was she even crying in the first place? She walked through the yard and into the hall, down another and another until she reached the door to a place that the students called Victory Tower. She opened the heavy wooden door with its iron hinges and bolts all still intact from last century. She then ventured up the narrow spiral stairs, a little more anxious with each step. Was her request too great? What would the response be? But before she could clear this in her own mind, Claire was at the top of the staircase and the second door was looming over her. She clasped the iron knocker, shaped like a lions head and slammed it twice against the door. After a moment Claire could hear a shuffle and then a click as the door swung open. There stood a tall woman whom Claire had only seen twice and had never before been introduced to.
“Good Afternoon Headmistress Victory.” Claire said, bowing her head a little.
“It is not yet noon child.” Said Mrs. Victory. She was a long faced, long nosed woman who was pale and plain and snobbish. She acted so authoritative that you would’ve guessed her to be elderly but she was in fact only thirty-seven. Her grey-brown hair was always in a tight bun and her clothing was long and straight and modest without any curves or patterns or hints of fashion. But she wore closed black shoes with high heels making her seem rather like a long pole. Today her grey dressed matched the bags under her eyes.
“I beg your pardon Headmistress Victory, Good Morning.” Claire said with a quivering voice.
“Yes, what do you need?” She then asked as if Claire had kept her waiting. She didn’t bother to ask for a name and she couldn’t possibly know who she was.
“May I please walk to town and use the telephone to call my brother?”
The headmistress looked shocked and insulted for a moment and Claire almost expected to be slapped.
“Is it urgent? Is there some sort of emergency?” She asked.
“No ma’am. It is only that I miss him.” Claire replied frankly.
“Miss him? How old is he?” She asked.
“Twenty ma’am.” Claire said.
“Twenty? You’ll only be pestering him. He is and adult and adults live their own lives.” Mrs. Victory scolded. Claire felt her eyes burning again.
“No Ma’am! It isn’t that way at all with us. My brother and I are very close, he is my dearest friend.” She said desperately.
“Dearest friend! Hogwash! Little girls are friends with other little girls until marriage. I suggest you choose one of your classmates to be your ‘dearest friend.’ It would be proper and much less expensive.”
Claire then bent her head and began to cry.
“You must not have a brother.” Claire said between whimpers.
“Stop that child! If you really must speak to your brother than you may, but you must be back before next period or you’ll be punished. Now go! I am dreadfully busy.”
So Claire didn’t ask anymore questions. She dashed down the stairs and into the classroom hall. She had to find someone else to ask for directions to Hat Shop. She had decided to go back outside when one of the classroom doors opened and out stepped a teacher. He was tall and lean but not lanky and carrying a cardboard box with both arms. He had dark brown hair which rippled over his head and a matching beard. His eyes were storm blue. “Just like my hat.” Claire thought bitterly that night. Claire wasn’t sure if he had seen her yet.
“What’s the matter?” The teacher asked as if Claire were his daughter or some dear niece. He met her gaze as if he had been expecting to see her there. Claire wiped her eye and smiled a small smile.
“Homesickness.” She said softly. “I am going to The Hat Shop to telephone my brother. Could you tell me the way?”
The teacher set down the box he had been carrying. Claire couldn’t help but glance into it. There inside were several odd mechanisms which Claire decided must be some sort of strange musical instruments. She expected Mr. Rueben to ask if she had permission or not.
“What is your name?” He asked. His sympathy was almost too much-she was only a homesick schoolgirl after all.
“Claire Winters.” Claire said.
“Claire Winters eh? What a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl!” Claire blushed. She didn’t exactly consider puffy cry-baby eyes beautiful. “I saw you on my roll. My name is Clifford Rueben and I shall be your history teacher. I was absent for some time-an urgent trip to Africa actually-but I am back now-at your service.”
Claire’s smile grew a little.
“Nice to meet you.” She said. “But about the hat shop…”
“Ah yes! Walk down that road which goes down hill from here-the one that took you here, and then take a left. Keep walking down that road a short ways until you meet up to a paved street. Take a right there and walk beside the pavement-I wouldn’t want you getting crushed, and soon you’ll find that you’re on Main Street. The hat shop is called ‘The Hattery’ and it is the third on your right.”
“Thank you ever so much!” Claire said in an embarrassing display of girlish excitement.
“You’re…ever so welcome my dear.”