The Scandal
Claire ran through the doors which led from the courtyard to the hallway, up the main stairwell and into her bedroom. She began to sob as she hastily flung the skirt of her bed up and reached in, snatching a pretty wooden jewelry box from it’s inconspicuous place. She put it gently under her arm and went back into the hall closing the heavy door quietly behind her. She trotted back down the stairs, tears streaming steadily down her pink cheeks. She remembered the last time she had run down the stairs crying. Her uncle was waiting there with a sad smile and a box and she had become happy again. But now, no one was standing on the stone floor. She heard only her own sobbing and the clack of her heels on the steps. Mr. Rueben caught a glimpse of her as she dashed past his door, but she knew nothing of this and carried on. She went out a side door which opened up into a narrow alleyway between the girls’ wing and the boys’ wing. She briefly remembered her first day at Beekman Boarding School when she had been so worried about which door to walk into. This seemed disgustingly unimportant now. She ran down the alley until she came upon a discarded crate. She flipped it upside down and stepped onto it, put the jewelry box atop the stone wall and then hoisted herself up. From here she didn’t hesitate but put the box under her arm and hopped off onto a grassy slope. She nearly twisted her ankle, but shook off the fright and trudged on. After a minute of walking she arrived at a field. She had walked a quarter mile behind the school, away from the city of Beekman. The wheat field was golden under a low autumn sun. Claire knelt down, her skirts billowing around her small figure, and put the box on the dirt at the edge of the meadow. She opened it up. There in the corner was a little rodent, surrounded by sweet Timothy Hay with a little green vest on and a frightened expression. Claire scooped him out of his nest and petted him on the head before briskly setting him on the ground. She shut the box, and when she looked up again, Cyrano had disappeared. She lifted up her calico dress and looked for him hiding around her shoes, but Cyrano was gone. She suddenly dropped her face into the fabric over her knees, and in a knot of emotion she sobbed loudly. She forgot that she had planned to hasten back to the school. The little mouse had to be released but it was challenging for poor Claire. After a moment she lifted her head to use her handkerchief. Through teary eyes she saw a figure standing in front of her. She gasped and wiped her eyes in a panic. There, a yard from where she crouched was a boy with a concerned frown on his face. The wheat was still rocking in the field behind him where he had apparently come from. Claire estimated that he was seventeen (which was correct) and poor. His patched britches only went to his shins, his feet were bare, his shirt faded and hair rumpled. Claire almost screamed, but instead stood, gathered her skirts and began to walk hastily in the direction she came from.
“Wait!” The boy called. “Your box!”
Claire turned around and saw him offering her the jewelry box with an outstretched arm like a child would offer a goose a handful of grain. She hesitated, considering running away without it. After all, she was supposed to be safe inside the wall of a reputable boarding school, but she was instead alone with a strange young man in the rural unknown. When she didn’t move, the boy came towards her, box first. At this Claire moved forward too, taking the box swiftly from his grip.
“Thank you.” She mumbled as she hurried away.
But before Claire had taken five steps, a wave of nausea swept over her and she stood still. Her vision blinked on and off and then she fell unconscious on the pathway.
As is custom when telling a story, I shall pick up again where Claire “picked up” and leave the part of her story during which she knew nothing of to your ignorance also.
Claire’s eyelids quivered open slowly. They felt heavy. She tried to focus but it seemed to use every cell of her brain to do so. Soon she could make out blurry lines and fragments of squares. What was she looking at? It was a ceiling with large wooden rafters. Suddenly she rolled over. What was that?! She thought she must be dreaming, for their in front of her face was a small, snaggletooth pixie! It had big blue eyes with long eye lashes and rosy cheeks and a head of flaxen curls. Its eyes were very shiny, Claire could tell even in her state of confusion, and its mouth was stretched into a wide smile.
“Mama! Mama!” It called so loudly that Claire’s head hurt.
“Thalaydeezup!” It seemed to scream.
“Thelaydeezup?” Claire thought.
What did that mean?
“Oh!” She thought. “The lady’s up!”
Then the whole room came into focus. The wood paneled walls and the wooden floor boards, a sturdy table with a bouquet of Goldenrod on top, a blond pixyish child on a stool, the sweet smell of something good to eat and the rich smell of earth like her mother’s garden. She sat up abruptly and her head began to throb.
She almost blacked out again but instead she blinked and there stood a woman staring at her. She had on a plain dress with an apron, her hair was in a loose bun and her face was very round and kind. She had round brown eyes like that of a mother cow.
“Are you awake?” She was saying.
Claire tried to smile but she couldn’t tell if she had succeeded or not. She felt very embarrassed…she didn’t even know where she was!
“Yes ma’am.” She said. “Where am I?” ”You’re outside of Beekman New York in my home. I am Mrs. Dawson and my boy; Emit; brought you home from the meadow where you…swooned.”
Claire rubbed her eyes and tried to remember what had just happened, but before she could think a boy appeared behind the lady.
“Is she awake?” He asked in a clear, likeable voice.
“Yes Emit! She just woke.” The lady said, stepping aside.
Claire felt herself blush.
“I don’t remember…I mean I can’t seem to recall fainting.” Claire said.
“Well you did!” Mrs. Dawson said with a laugh.
“Do you remember coming to the field?” Emit asked.
Claire shook her head which was still throbbing.
“Perhaps she was poisoned!” Said yet another voice.
Claire focused her eyes behind Emit and found a spindly girl sitting on a chair looking excited.
“You said she was acting strangely and now she doesn’t remember what’s happened to her!” The girl was saying. “It could’ve been poison! Or a spell!”
Mrs. Dawson rolled her eyes.
“Don’t fret your little thinker over it Love,” She said. “It is normal not remember for some time after you’ve swooned.”
Claire looked back at Emit.
“Did you see me when I fainted or just find me that way?” Claire asked him as she tidied her rumpled hair.
“I saw you faint.” He stated. “I was working in the fields when I heard a noise and I came out and you were sitting at the edge of the field…you were crying. When you saw me, you started to run away but you had left your box…” Emit paused for a moment and picked up a wooden jewelry box. “This box, and so I called to you. You came back and took it but you fainted before you got far.”
The memories flooded naturally back into Claire’s mind. She remembered the boy; Emit; now. She remembered the jewelry box and Cyrano, now a lonely mouse in the meadow wearing an odd green vest. She remembered why she had to let him go, because of the argument about truth. Then she remembered her school.
“Oh!” She suddenly gasped putting a hand to her forehead. “I need to get back to school! What time is it?”
Mrs. Dawson smiled. “It is nine o’clock in the mornin’ dear.” She said, kind eyes peering down at her.
Claire looked around. She was lying on a cushioned window seat in the front room of the house, The Dawson House. She rubbed her eyes again.
“Thank you so much, each of you.” She finally had the sense to say. “And I am very sorry for the inconvenience. I must head back to school now. They must have the constable hunting for me by now!” She said, her voice getting panicky near the end of her sentence.
“Yes, of course!” Mrs. Dawson said calmly. “Emit can take you.”
Claire stood up and suddenly her arm began hurting terribly.
“Oh, no thank you. I-I can walk, only, I have an odd pain in my arm.” Claire said, clutching it to her chest.
Just then she stumbled forward nearly tripping on her skirt and a stool.
“No you can’t!” Emit laughed. “You’re arm is probably hurting because it was twisted underneath you when you fell. Let me take you. You can’t possibly walk.”
Claire only blushed and looked defensive.
“Yes I can! I am only a quarter mile from the school! I go to Beekman Boarding School.” She protested.
“I beg your pardon Ma’am,” Emit said meekly. “But you’re much further than that. You may have been a quarter mile from your school when you fainted, but this house stands on a hill quite a ways from the city.”
Claire’s eyes went fiery with embarrassment when an image appeared in her imagination.
Emit-this strange boy-carrying her-the governor’s daughter-up a steep hill for a mile!
“Oh, well thank you…I guess I’ll go with you.” She mumbled.
“Hitch up the wagon then Emit!” Mrs. Dawson said.
“I already did Mother.” The boy said, eyes not leaving Claire for an instant.
In a moment Claire found herself walking out the front door. She was surprised by the sunlight rolling over the surrounding hills. There was no courtyard wall but a quaint little kitchen garden with herbs and cutting flowers all in bloom, and a well made of smooth gray stones, a chicken coop full of clucking hens and a clump of four fruit trees. There were children everywhere! There was the girl who she had seen in the house reaching into the coop collecting eggs and a boy picking pears and the pixyish baby playing on a swing hanging from an oak tree. There were big lumbering boys with booming laughs sitting on the fence with similar appearances to Emit-dark wavy hair and tan skin like gypsies. There was a little boy, probably eight or nine, with blond hair like the pixie and Mrs. Dawson. He was dropping grasshoppers into a jar. With him was a girl about six or seven, dark hair in two braids, reading aloud from a book of fables. Mrs. Dawson was watching her from the door, an infant on her hip.
Suddenly the booming laughter hushed and Claire felt many pairs of eyes fall on her.
“Are these all your siblings?” Claire asked, still squinting in the sunlight.
“Yes ma’am.” Emit said smiling.
He seemed proud.
They then came to a wagon hitched to two brown mares. Emit helped Claire up to the bench seat and then climbed up next to her, not hesitating to grab the reins and clack his tongue, making the horses trot suddenly forward.
Claire put her hand over her hat and looked back at all the children. They were all smiling and staring, not rudely, but as if she was some fascinating foreigner.
The sun stared as well, right into Claire’s eyes. As the trip progressed, Claire began to be thankful for her circumstances. Now that she knew what had happened to her and had a vague idea of where in the world she was, she felt very adventurous.
“Uncertainty is an ingredient in adventure.” Claire thought.
Suddenly her daydreams were burst.
“What’s your name?” Emit was asking.
“Claire Winters.” She replied.
“How old are you?” Emit’s voice rang clearly over the sound of horse-steps.
“Fifteen.” She answered shortly.
“Oh,” Emit seemed surprised. “I wish I were fifteen.” He added.
“Why? How old are you?” Claire asked, finally turning to face him.
“I’m seventeen and eighteen will mean that if I’m not bringing a man’s portion of bacon to the table, I am a sluggard.” He said this as if he had been planning this speech.
“Bacon?” Claire accidentally sounded bewildered.
“You know, supporting the family.” He said.
Somehow Claire could tell that Emit was glad she had misunderstood.
“Oh, how many of you are there?” She then asked.
“Well, there’s my Mother and the girls, five of them, and then nine of us boys…that includes me.” Emit answered. Claire could almost see him doing the calculations in his head.
“That makes fourteen children then?” Claire asked softly.
“Yes Ma’am. Don’t faint again!” He joked.
“Oh, I am sorry about that.” Claire said, looking at her hands in her lap. “I was sick two days ago and I suppose it just suddenly came back again yesterday.” She said meekly.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” Emit said. “It wasn’t any trouble. You can’t weigh more than ninety pounds, box and all.”
Claire blushed again and pretended to be watching a tree pass by.
“Besides,” Emit added. “You’ll probably have enough to worry about once you get back to school.”
Claire sighed knowingly.
“Yes,” She said. “I will be in quite a bit of trouble. I am afraid to tell my parents most of all. Don’t you go to school? You didn’t all stay home because of me did you?”
Emit laughed.
“Don’t flatter yourself. We don’t ever go to school.” He said, taking the wagon on the first turn that Claire recognized.
“You don’t?” She asked, admiring Emit’s open personality.
“No, not from Baby Benjamin to William we don’t.” He said, almost proudly.
“And William is the eldest I presume?” Claire asked.
Emit nodded.
“The ‘man of the family’ as Mama calls him.”
Claire’s heart twanged.
She thought about Emit as a young boy-fatherless. Then suddenly she remembered Baby Benjamin and realized that their father must have died only a matter of months ago.
The poor dears! Her heart thought.
Emit was looking straight ahead in his serious way, but Claire could see in his eyes some sort of deep pain which must have been grief.
She pursed her lips and looked ahead also.
Suddenly all of her worries shrunk. This boy, who had been so kind to her, had far more worries than she. And think of the worries she might discover if she spoke with him for more than a minute! His father’s grave was probably still covered in soft soil without a sprout of grass, his mother probably cried every night and Emit and his brothers must have to be courageous and comfort the little confused sisters. William was probably not one of the boys she had seen. He was probably off in some desolate place trying to make money. Emit must be floundering in a newly discovered adulthood. She wondered what their father had done for a living and if they had any savings at all, or relations.
“So William is the eldest and Benjamin is the fourteenth. Where do you fit in?” She asked without sounding as sorrowful as she had actually become.
“It goes like this:” Emit said smiling. “Will, Earnest, Theodore, James, Myself, Jonathan, Edgar and Isaac (the twins), Harriet, Beatrice, Ruth, Anna, Betsy and Ben.”
Claire found herself applauding.
“Wow, what a lovely family. Can you remember all of their ages?” She asked grinning.
“Yes! I have them down pat.” Emit said boastfully. “Beginning at Will it is 24, 22, 21, 19, 17, 16, 14 and 14, 13, 11, 9, 8, 4 and 10 months.”
“How wonderful it must be.” Claire breathed.
“What? Having so many siblings?” Emit asked.
“Yes!” She answered dreamily.
“Ah, but that’s the thing.” Emit smirked. “When there are so many, you only like about half of them. You can’t get lucky every time you know.”
Claire looked almost terrified.
“Don’t look so disgusted,” Emit said looking over at her. “I was only joking. I like them all alright.”
From then on Claire tried to be a little less proper. She didn’t want to look “disgusted” every time someone made a joke.
