Chapter 12 Part Two

Holiday Break

That evening proved to be an interesting one for Claire who couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the hubbub over her arrival. Truly, as she sat at dinner, she felt as if Beekman Boarding School’s dinner table was far less populated. The conversation was exasperatingly constant, the food hearty, filling and cornucopias and it seemed as if there were a thousand hands holding one another in a tight circle as the food was blessed and then passing dishes around and around throughout the meal. Over a mound of squash, Claire eyed Will Dawson. He had just returned from some distant town where he had an acute job at a small wood mill. He was twenty-four, but looked far elder. He had a full beard and serious eyebrows and seemed a bit restless on his small stool around that crowded table. He was sitting next to Mrs. Dawson and constantly watching her plate as if worried she wouldn’t feed herself enough. Claire wondered for a moment if that was where Mr. Dawson had sat. Emit was seated next to Claire, or had been that is, but as the children seated themselves, one little bench and two little girls were jammed between them. It was Ruth and Anna and they both ate from one plate. However, Ruth was on Claire’s side and Anna was next to Emit, and he had to constantly dodge jogs to the face by her elbow, as “little lefty” Anna took bites. Claire smiled as she watched this small circus act. Emit seemed to be quite used to it, and though he didn’t speak much, he did tell one story about something that had happened in New York (a dangerous encounter with a pick-pocket) and all the time he was talking, casually swung his head out of the way of the sharp elbow as if he never noticed it. Afterwards, large tin tubs were pumped with water and the dishes were all properly scrubbed. Claire was surprised to see Emit and all of his older brothers (even stern-looking Will) kneel down on the back porch, roll up their sleeves and participated in the job. Will, Earnest and Theodore were all in their twenties and six more of the “children” were over twelve, but this ritual was apparently nothing new, they all did their part. Claire offered to help. She didn’t exactly want to, the whole job looked rather painstaking and busy and she was afraid of bleaching her skin in the lye soap, and so her offer didn’t sound as sincere as she was hoping it would. Even if it had, the children would have denied her the pleasure and hurriedly as they did.

“No, no!” Theodore said (who seemed to be quite the talker.) “We don’t need you to worry about this! We’ve got it taken care of and you’re the guest.”

“Besides,” James added. “We’ve sort of got it worked into a system”

And indeed they had. Even little Betsy pitched in. The only one who didn’t participate was Benjamin who Mrs. Dawson was feeding in the other room.
For a terrible second, Claire wondered what would have happened had it been Mrs. Dawson who died…poor Benny not even a year old! But she quickly forgot these thoughts when Emit looked up at her and said:
“You go ahead and get settled into your room…you’re probably tired.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, smiling a weak smile (for in fact, she was just starting to feel very tired indeed.) “I think I will.”

So Emit omitted himself from his duties to show Claire to her room. It was a very brief room, you could say. On the floor sat two, low beds without frames but enough quilts to make up for them, a dresser, a small wardrobe, two windows looking west and a rug. There was also a basket of knitting needles, dolls and various other miscellanies.
“You’ll be on the bed on the left…” Emit informed her.
He pointed to that of which he spoke, and Claire noticed the carefully pressed sheets and ironed pillow case.
“And Harriet and Betsy share that’n.” He said slowly, pointing to the bed on the right. It wasn’t quite so tidy, but it was cosied up to the window and Claire thought it looked nice.
“We thought we’d give you the warmer one,” He said. “As t’other is near the windowpane. And there’s room made up for you in the dresser if you so desire to take advantage of it…” He rubbed his hair as if wondering what else there was to say, before adding. “The floor cleaned up real good.”
“Well thank you very much,” Claire said, looking livelier than she had since her arrival. The room did please her, somehow. “I think this will suit me fine, just fine. And…which ones are Harriet and Elisabeth?”
“Hm?” Emit looked up from the floor suddenly. “Oh, her name isn’t Elisabeth, just Betsy. They’re fourteen and four. Betsy gets spooked if she can’t sleep with Harriet, you see.”
Claire looked as if she did see. She remembered being four.
“Yes, I know which one Betsy is now…the dark pig-tails,” Claire said, business-like. “But Harriet…I simply can’t remember. There are so many of you…”
“Oh I understand!” Emit said kindly. “She’s got the red-ish hair, down real long. She’s nigh as tall as you are, but skinny as a bulrush.”

There was an awkward staring-at-one-another and then Emit spluttered:
“I mean, not that you’re not thin, I mean, not too thin not too fat. I mean, not fat at all!”
At this moment, Betsy whirled in holding a stack of laundry nearly as tall as the girl herself.
“Let me help you, dear.” Claire found herself saying.
This was a wonderful distraction from the previously awkward conversation. Claire opened up the drawers in the little chest as Betsy plopped the nightgowns and stockings into them, and when the drawer was shut and Claire turned around, Emit was gone. So Claire sat herself down on the quilted bedspread. It was strange, she thought, how someplace so unlike her own home could feel so undeniably homey. Little Betsy was whisked away by Harriet for bath time. When Harriet came in, Claire measured her with one eye and wished for a mirror.
The next morning began sooner than Claire expected. She had presumed that the family would rise early, they seemed none too fond of wasting time, but she wasn’t prepared for just quite how early they did rise. The sun wasn’t even glistening before Claire’s eyes fluttered open. She wondered what had awoken her…surely she had only been asleep a few minutes. She rolled over to see Harriet and Betsy on the other side of the room. They were setting a series of small candles on the dresser and pulling their dresses over their heads.
“What’s the matter?” Claire asked, in genuine concern.
“Nothing, ma’am,” Harriet whispered loudly. “Is something the matter for you?”
“No…” Claire rubbed her eyes but did not sit up. “Why are you two up at this time of the night?” Was all she could think to ask.
She thought she heard the girls snickering.
“Pardon me,” Harriet said. “But it’s morning, Miss Claire.”
Claire rolled over and looked at the window.
“What time is it?” She inquired.
“Four-thirty by now.” Betsy answered with surprising intelligence.
Soon Claire learned that Harriet and Betsy were the last to be dressed. The hustle and bustle of fifteen people is noisy, no matter how polite they are. Claire was glad she hadn’t stayed up late, but still she wasn’t ready to get up. But, lo and behold, there she was at four-thirty-five dressing herself. She felt a strange eagerness to start the day despite her exhaustion, and what an interesting day it would prove to be…

Christmas Card from the 1800's

Chapter 12 Part 1

Holiday Break

Eight days after Emit’s unexpected visit, Claire received a letter from him:

Dear Miss Claire Winters,

I hope that this letter finds you as well as I left you. I would hate to think that you’ve been fainting without me. I went to The City and had very little luck.
I found no occupation (which was my hope) but I did find something which may interest you:

Clifford Rueben
884 Dimitri St.
New York, New York
4581

Sincerely,
Emit Dawson

Claire screamed for Trudy and Trudy was equally excited at the news. They set to writing to him right away. Their letter was brief and cautious but sweet and mailed the very next morning with Claire’s weekly letters to Connecticut. In it they explained that neither of them would be back at school for some time, seeing as it was Christmas break, but the morning that Mr. Rueben’s letter went out, a letter for Claire came in:

Dear Claire,

I hope you’re doing well. Your last report card was so pleasing.
We are all doing well, keeping warm by the new stove your father bought us as a Christmas gift. But, I am dreadfully sad to say, that we cannot bring you home for Christmas break.
It is your father who’s against it. He says that he thinks that if you came home, you would relax and let your grades drop upon your return to school. He doesn’t think you need another distraction, so we’re signing you up for a boarding home in Beekman. That way, you’ll still feel as if you’re at school and will have less time for distractions and more time for good, concentrated studying. I am sorry dear, and I disagree, but you know how your father can be.
Make the best of it and have a merry Christmas for me!

Much love,
Your mother

The message was given to Miss Victory who, in a flurry, told Claire that she was “most likely too late.”
“I believe that all of the families who have offered to be hosts are filled up!” She said.
“But, I will check into it, Miss Winters, if you contact your parents and tell them that I need the funds…immediately.”
So Claire felt like a fish out of water as the other girls packed their things and headed to train stations. That evening, Trudy and Claire hugged and parted, feeling that this week would be a very long one indeed. The next morning, Claire felt special, being the only girl at the long family dining table for breakfast. She gazed out the window and went into a brown study until there was a tapping sound coming from the hall.
Miss Victory appeared with a slip of paper.
“You’re lucky Miss Winters,” She said. “We have a late offer from a boarding home.”
She handed Claire the piece of paper with the address.
“Miss Inches looked into it,” She said flippantly. “They seem religious and kind she says. I haven’t investigated it myself, but I approved them for your special case. They’re probably just ‘in it for the money,’ but it will have to do for today, won’t it?”
Claire nodded, humbly swallowing her porridge.
“Thank you Miss Victory.” She said.
“Hurry up Miss Winters!” Miss Inches said from the doorway. “I am going to take you as soon as you have your things together…it’s our vacation too, ya know.”

Lickety-split, Claire had her few things together. She left her room tidy turned out the light. She sat down in the buggy like an adult, she felt, all alone and independent. Soon, of course, Miss Victory was with her and they were off! At the gate, the buggy took a right, away from town, to Claire’s surprise.
“Do they live in the country?” She asked Miss Inches.
“Of course they do.” Miss Inches said, entirely uninterested in the sights blurring past her window.
Claire enjoyed the view: blue skies against brown, dry fields, frisky deer and wrens and phoebes were flitting about and crisp air blowing in through the crevices. But, after a moment, Claire began to feel nervous. What was it that was bothering her? She looked out her window again, and again she felt that odd feeling. That tree they had just passed looked strangely familiar. That field and that cliff did to, and Claire felt especially odd while looking down one little path that struck her as especially memorable, as if she had, perhaps, seen it in a book.
To her surprise, the buggy suddenly took a sharp turn and began bouncing down that very pathway! Part-way down, as the wheels crunched the gravel, they passed a dried up wheat field with a clearing made in it. At that moment, Claire realized where they were. That was the very place where she had fainted months before! Could they possibly be headed for the Dawson’s house? Surely Miss Victory wouldn’t approve of that, since she did, after all, believe that Claire had been having a scandalous rendezvous with their son. But yet, they were going in that direction, and Claire had never noticed any other houses down this path. She held her hat as they went over a steep knoll and thought about Emit, carrying her up! She blushed at the ridiculous looking picture she imagined.
She craned her head out the little window, clenching her teeth at the cold wind. After a moment, she was rolling down another hill and she could see a house with a courtyard. It was definitely the Dawson’s house, but would they stop? Indeed! The buggy slowed down and wheeled into the gateway.
Claire glanced at Miss Inches, but she wasn’t looking in her direction, only straight ahead, businesslike.
Claire wondered if Mrs. Dawson would recognize her.
“Claire?” Came a voice from outside the buggy.
The door swung open and there was Mrs. Dawson, smiling.
“Yes’m?” Was all Claire could think to say.
“Fancy that! It is you, of all girls!” Mrs. Dawson said.
Fortunately, Claire shut the buggy door before Miss Inches heard this. She walked quickly to the other side of the buggy and bid Miss Inches goodbye and happy Christmas, Miss Inches said to mind her manners and try to learn a thing or two during her break and then the buggy was out of the courtyard and wandering up the hill.
Claire stood, a bit awkwardly, and watched the buggy get smaller and smaller. Then she turned around. She saw many little faces looking at her with what could have been nothing but a healthy combination of curiosity and excitement, but one of them, the face closes to her, was grinning in a sort of knowing way.
“Emit!” Claire exclaimed. “Imagine this!”
“Yes!” He said, satisfyingly happy to see her again. “I was hoping it may be you, but I imagined you’d be in Connecticut.”
“Not this year,” Claire said briefly. “This Christmas, I am going to be a Dawson!”
She then blushed, thinking of how bold she had been, and right away too! But she was surprised by applause and many people taking her arms and opening the front door and saying:
“You look starved. Wouldn’t you like some sugarplums?”

Embroidery

Chapter 11 Part 2

A Lesson Learned

A few dozen students sat in their colorful seats as they had so many times before. Everyone acted normally except for two girls who were sitting side by side at their desks and looking at each other with an expression of sadness, shame and anxiety. Finally, after a painful wait, the door slid slowly open and someone stepped in. A curious hush fell over the children as they saw Mrs. Inches waddling in with her lips pursed bitterly and bags under her eyes.
“Morning students,” She greeted in a hoarse voice. “I am going to be teaching your history class today. Your usual teacher, Mr. Rueben, is taking a day off.”
She paused to glance nervously at Trudy and then continued to study a sheet of paper and say: “Please open your books to page forty-one.”
Throughout the lesson the children became suspicious of two things. One was if Mrs. Inches had ever taken history herself and the other was where in the world Mr. Rueben was. It all seemed rather suspicious since he had promised to reenact the battle at Thermopylae today (using tin soldiers) and now he had mysteriously vanished into thin air. Never, during the entire school day, did either Miss Winters or Miss Richards raise their hands to answer a question. They kept that same ill look upon their faces and glanced in the direction of the other quite often. After class, when the students were supposed to be studying in their own rooms, Claire crept silently into her history class. Lo! Where was everything? The African masks? The faces of famous men? The sketches? The clay sculptures? The enormous tree? The notes of accomplishments? But there in the back was a man, crouching in white overalls.
“Uncle?” Claire choked.
But as the man turned around she saw no familiar face, only a young stranger with a bucket of paint and a brush. He didn’t bother to say anything but simply dipped his brush in the pail and slid it across a chair back, covering the teal with an off white. At this sight, Claire turned and ran out of the room, but as she whipped around the corner with her eyes down, she collided with someone who was walking the opposite way.
“Excuse me,” Claire mumbled. “I was just going up to my room.”
But as she looked up, her eyes met with her own dear uncle and instead of backing away, she wrapped her arms around him where she could reach (which turned out to be around his waist) and hugged him as if he were a father back from war.
“Claire,” He said in a harsh whisper, pulling her away. “Contain yourself.”
Claire looked at him again, now at an arm’s distance and his face scared her. It wasn’t the relaxed, kind face which she had known before, but a distressed, hurt face with eyes on the verge of crying.
“Where are you going?” She demanded, letting him go.
“To the history classroom.” He said briefly, walking on.
Claire tried to keep up with his long stride.
“Where are you going after that?” She begged.
“To room 14 in The Staff Quarters.” Mr. Rueben said, coming upon the classroom which was omitting the smell of paint into the hall.
“Don’t you mean your room?” Claire said, grabbing his arm so that he couldn’t go in. “Aren’t you going to your room, Uncle?”
He looked at the door to the classroom and closed his mouth. Then he looked down at the little woman standing next to him. He laid his big hand on her bony shoulder.
“No, Claire.” He said in a voice which was painfully solemn. “No, it isn’t my room. Not anymore. After I collect the things out of my desk in here I am going up to the bedroom to collect my personal things and then I am going to catch a train.”
Shattered, Claire’s arms fell limply to her side and she didn’t watch as Mr. Rueben stepped into the classroom which used to belong to him and shut the door on the girl who still very much did.

All at once there was a feeling of friction in the air, the bell was ringing from upstairs and Claire was making a mad dash to her room.
“No one needs to be scampering about the hallways.” Miss Inches was saying. “Please remain in your rooms or else you will be punished.”
Claire and Trudy huddled together at their little window sharing a quilt. They had done all of their studying for that day. They looked out the foggy window at one of the first days winter had claimed as its own and examined the decorations which Jack Frost had left on the pane. They didn’t say anything for a long time but then they heard the front doors open and close and they both became rigid, looking out that little window and strangling the curtains to keep them out of the way. They watched for what seemed like minutes, but all too soon a figure clad in a brown coat and hat appeared with a large trunk and walked down that long straight pathway to the gate. He opened it, stepped through and shut it without looking back, and for a moment neither Claire nor Trudy could see the man. After a moment he was visible again walking down the road. Before he turned the corner on his way to Main Street, the poor man did look back. It is probably best that he couldn’t see Claire and Trudy in their window, for his heart already had enough cracks in it and to see their faces probably would have caused the break to end his life.
And so it was that the beloved Clifford Rueben was gone. He no longer held an employment at Beekman Boarding School.

Trudy’s hair, swinging side to side and gleaming like cinnamon tea in the sunshine was the first thing the customers of The Hattery noticed as she approached the door. Stepping inside she removed her gloves and blew out a breath of the crisp outside air.
“Good morning young lady,” Said the woman at the desk. “How can I help you?”
Trudy’s eyes danced from shelf to shelf, her old mischievous self shining out from beneath her lashes.
“Can you give me a telephone number?” She asked, with a softer voice than her friends usually heard.
“Well,” The old woman said. “That depends. Who is it that you need to call?”
“The train station.” Trudy answered.
She rubbed her hands together vigorously to try to rid herself of the sting. It was the first very cold day that year.
“Oh, alright.” The woman said slowly. “Well, why don’t you ask the operator?”
Trudy, who was very fashionable, knew who “the operator” was, and took the woman’s advice.
“Beekman New York Train Station,” Trudy requested of the receiver.
Soon she was speaking to a man who apparently had a thick mustache and a cigar in his mouth. It tickled Trudy just to think about his whiskers.
“Yes,” She said, looking a little less comfortable than a moment ago. “Have you had anyone board your train in the last couple of days by the name of Clifford Rueben?”
She paused for a moment and smiled at the clerk.
“Yes!” She suddenly squealed. “That’s the one! What train did he take? Where did that go?”
By now, every customer had paused, some of them with hats in their hands or on their heads, to hear what the commotion was.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you! Goodbye!” Trudy was saying, bouncing up and down from her toes to her heals like a key on a typewriter.
She hung up the telephone and shook hands with the clerk, who will remain nameless, and galloped out the door into the glaring sunlight.
You see, Claire and Trudy were on a desperate search to find their dear teacher. Claire had been hoping to go to The Hattery herself, but she predicted that Miss Victory would ban her from it and so Trudy, who felt that she needed to redeem herself, offered to do it instead. She rushed through the gate and up the stairs where she had left her beloved Claire, sitting on the floor, surrounded by letters. She was spending the afternoon helping in her own way, searching for clues to where Mr. Rueben may have gone, for they had, over the months, written several missives back and forth.
“Tru!” Claire said, as Trudy popped through the door. “Don’t you think he’s going home for the holidays? I mean, Thanksgiving Day is right around the bend after all. It is a shame we don’t know where his family lives…”
Trudy shook her head.
“No Claire, I don’t!” She said, tossing her scarf on the bed post. “First of all, he doesn’t seem to get along with his old man, and secondly, I’ve contacted the train station and they say he’s off to the big city!”
Claire stood up like a regular jack-in-the-box.
“New York City?” She gasped. “Oh, that’s marvelous. We know where that is!”
“But,” Trudy added. “It is a very, very big city. He could be anywhere in it. He’s like a needle in a haystack there.”
This prospect dampened their spirits a little, but they vowed to persevere until they had obtained an address for him. Time passed and the girls, in a way, went back to their ordinary boarding school routines.
They were both a little more soft-spoken and less involved in the tomfoolery of the other students now, but, for the most part, didn't seem suspicious. Trudy and Jack Cameron drifted apart, Jack being more interested in tennis than in Trudy and Trudy being more interested in locating Mr. Rueben. Claire studied hard, wrote religiously to her parents every week and, for the most part laid low. But she never lost hope for finding her beloved teacher, and, because of this, she never stopped thinking of ways she could make her way to The Big City herself or contact someone who was already there. She never thought of what she would do once she found him, but she knew that this couldn’t be the end of the story, so she persevered. Weeks passed, the students celebrated the first snow and, just when Christmas break was around the bend, there came a visitor.
Claire was sitting outside in the courtyard at this time, totally uninterested in the gossip and skipping rope. She and Trudy had found the quietest corner (which wasn’t very quiet at all) and Claire was embroidering something mundane while Trudy read aloud from a ladies magazine. Claire was just threading her needle with a lavender thread when she noticed something. There was an eerie feeling going up her spine and a shadow falling across her stitchery. She whipped around to see what was behind her and then gasped! There, in an overhanging tree was Emit Dawson!
“Shh!” He was saying, finger-over-mouth.
Claire only stared, mouth open. Trudy, totally oblivious, was still murmuring on:
“…this can be ironed with a warm iron if it is made of cotton. Wool is never to be ironed and never needs to be, seeing as it is naturally smooth, but for cotton, ironing is necessary, especially in the case of a table cloth…”
Claire, finally coming to her senses, leaned over her friend’s magazine.
“Trudy!” She said in an abrasive whisper. “Emit Dawson is here!”
“Where?!” Trudy said, much less quietly than Claire had expected.
“Shh!” Claire scolded. “On the wall!”
Now both girls were looking back and Emit was sinking back into the leafy branches of the tree.
“I don’t want to cause any problems,” He said. “I just wanted to see if you were still here.”
Claire grinned.
“Yes, I’m still here.” She said. “Emit, this is my dear friend Trudy Richards. Trudy, this is Emit Dawson…the one who rescued me when I fainted.”
“I know, I know!” Trudy was saying. “I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Dawson! But I’ve never heard that you were a monkey!”
Claire blushed.
“Trudy,” She said, when she meant “Be polite!”
“What? Don’t you think we should invite Mr. Dawson in? Or over is more like it!”
“We’ve been in enough trouble lately Tru…” Claire couldn’t help saying.
“Oh,” Emit cut in. “I hope I didn’t cause any problems…”
“No, no!” Both girls said.
“It was really just a…misunderstanding.” Claire added, giving Trudy a look of plea.
“Well good,” Emit said, picking a twig out of his curls. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, ladies. I really should go though. I just wanted to know that you were well.”
He looked at Claire.
“Oh, quite well, thank you.” Claire said, looking everywhere at once.
“Good then,” Emit said, looking especially handsome as he prepared to dismount from his branch.
“I guess we’ll see you again soon…?” Trudy said, for no apparent reason.
“Yes…” Emit began. “I mean no! I am actually leaving for a trip in the morning. But I’ll be back in a week’s time.”
“A trip?” Claire said, standing up and shading her eyes (for the sun was setting behind Emit.)
“Yes, to New York City.” Emit said briefly.
“New York City!” Claire said. “How wonderful! I wish I could be there this very moment.”
“Oh no,” Emit said. “It ‘tisn’t a place for ladies…if you ask me. It is rather rough around those parts…purely for business is why I’d linger there more than a day.”
“Oh yes, yes.” Claire said in a rush. “But I have a friend who recently moved there…or at least we think he did, and I just wish I could go and find out where he was living to see him or, at least get his address.”
Emit’s face puzzled.
“A friend?” He asked.
“Yes, a professor who used to work here.” Claire said immediately.
“Oh,” Emit said. “So he’s an…older gentleman?”
“Not so very old…” Claire said, now looking puzzled as well.
“Could be her father!” Trudy burst out, trying to help the situation.
Claire is too naive to ever realize anyone was sweet on her! Trudy thought to herself.
Just then, the voices of a bunch of girls could be heard rounding the corner.
“Quick!” Trudy said. “Jump down!”
“But wait for us!” Claire added, snatching up the discarded magazine.
When Malvina laid eyes on Claire and Trudy, Claire was continually flipping the pages of a magazine, seemingly uninterested in every page, and Trudy was jabbing a needle aimlessly into a handkerchief with no apparent purpose.
“Trudy,” Malvina said scratchily. “I didn’t know you embroidered.”
“Just took it up!” Trudy said, overly casually.
After lingering around for a painful ten minutes, they passed, talking about Jack Cameron’s new hair cut, and left Claire and Trudy alone but on edge.
Trudy, being the stronger of the two, gave Claire a boost, and Claire heaved up to the wall and whispered: “Emit!”
Emit looked up from the ground where he was weaving a daisy chain.
“The friend’s name is Clifford Rueben, he has brown hair and blue eyes and is tall. If you happen to have a chance, please look him up or ask the operator or whatever you do to learn someone’s telephone number!”
“I’ll be sure to!” Emit promised.
“Goodbye then,” Claire said. “Have a good trip!”
“Thank you, Goodbye Claire.” Emit said, pulling a cap over his curls.
“Goodbye Mr. Dawson!” Came the voice from the other side of the wall.
“Goodbye Miss Richards!” Emit chuckled.

From Victory Tower

Chapter 11 Part 1

A Lesson Learned

A week passed “slowly, but well” (as Claire told Marvin in a letter.) Everyday was lengthy and strenuous, but she could see progress every night as she laid in bed reviewing that day’s happenings in her mind. Everyday for a week, it seemed that she was doing better and better. Not so much that things around her were progressing in the direction that she had hoped, but the difficult past was seeping away and the conversations had changed more to the upcoming holiday break instead of “what Claire did.” Trudy acted less harshly toward her, whenever they did come in contact, but this was rarely. They were still roommates, but a new student wouldn’t have guessed them to have been called friends. Judith and her “gang” were secretly jealous of the attention Claire had received and so also resolved to ignore her for the most part and have “great fun without her.” Pete Jenkins however was totally changed from the past. He did the opposite (as you may have noticed during history class) as everyone else. He paid so much attention to Claire, following her everywhere she went and acting like a complete gentleman, that Claire became both annoyed and suspicious.
“Claire! Wait for me!” He called Sunday morning.
It had been eight days since Claire’s “incident” and finally they had eaten breakfast without it being mentioned for the first time since. Claire was walking away from the table with her dish and fork. Every student was expected to take their things to the kitchen after every meal. Claire was all the way to the kitchen doors when Pete called to her. She waited for him impatiently until he arrived, out of breath and quite red in contrast to his black hair.
“Can I take that for you?” He asked enthusiastically.
Claire handed him the dishes quite briskly.
“You could’ve offered before I walked all the way over here.” She noted aloud.
Pete looked heartbroken.
“I’m sorry Claire, I really am. I wish I would’ve thought of that. You always have the best ideas Claire. You really do.” Pete said, so sickly sweet that Claire couldn’t help but reveal her disgust facially.
“That’s fine Peter,” She said, looking a little dizzy after his performance. “It is never too late to be a gentleman.”
Pete’s face lit up now. These days his moods and expressions were as fickle as springtime in Texas.
“Do you really think so Claire Dear?” He asked.
Claire’s eyes lit up.
“Pete Jenkins,” She said taking the dishes out of his arms. “I will take my own dishes. You seem to have mistaken me for someone else.”
Poor Pete was left dumbfounded, recapping every word he had spoken.
“Claire! What did I do Dear?” He asked, following her into the kitchen.
“That!” Claire said, setting her plate in the sink. “You called me “Dear”. I am not your sweetheart.” She explained, head shaking so as her sandy hair swung around like the ears of a spaniel.
“Oh, oh I see.” Pete said jaw still dropped in confusion.



“Good morning class!” Mr. Rueben said cheerfully the next morning.
A few students sighed, noting that Mr. Rueben was nearly always in a good mood before he did something odd.
“I’ve been reading,” He continued. “The Weekly Warble.”
The students snickered as their history teacher held up the newest edition of Malvina Dakota’s weekly newspaper. It was a famous rumor-starter and was “basically just gossip jotted down” as Trudy called it.
“I was reading about Claire Winters and Pete Jenkins.” He added.
Everyone made faces, sounds and turned colors, so numerous that I won’t bother listing them all.
“But,” Mr. Rueben said. “Knowing Claire, Pete and Malvina,” He said, looking mostly at Malvina. “I know that it isn’t true that they’ve been, quote, ‘kissing under the pale moonlight, dancing the night away,’ etc. etc. etc.”
And he tossed the paper in the wastebasket with a look of “beware” as the class burst into giggling.
“Now,” Mr. Rueben said straightening his vest. “Let us continue with the lesson and practice more respectable ways to use ink and paper.”
Judith passed a note to Trudy. Mr. Rueben looked up expectantly.
“Yes?” He asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“We didn’t say anything.” Everyone said truthfully.
“No?” Mr. Rueben asked, scanning the class as he spoke. “I thought I heard a note being passed.”
A few people smirked.
“Ah!” He said after a moment. “What is that in your hand Trudy?”
Trudy bit her lip.
“I note.” She blurted.
“May I read it?” Mr. Rueben asked politely, though everyone knew that there wasn’t an option.
Trudy, who hadn’t even read the note for herself, nodded and got up. As she walked to the desk, she felt as if Judith was going to throw a knife into her back. Luckily she sat back down unharmed.

Tru,

You know how we used to say that Mr. Rueben looked peculiar? Well I’ve decided that he’s rather handsome. He may not be the best teacher…still odd…but he is good-looking, don’t you think?

Judith

Mr. Rueben smiled at Judith, who was hereby, nicknamed “Judith Red-Appleby,” and tossed the note on top of The Weekly Warble. Soon Judith regained her natural color and the class continued.

“Today is an unusual day,” Mr. Rueben began. “Not only is it the first November tenth, 1886 ever, it is also Teacher Question Day.”

Claire’s eyes jolted from her desk to her teacher’s face and a few boys made idiotic faces saying things like “What day?”
“Don’t worry!” Mr. Rueben said, putting his hands up as if to calm a wild dog. “Don’t check your calendar books or think that you were supposed to have anything prepared for this special occasion. Teacher Question Day is simply a day when you can ask whatever question you want. You aren’t all allowed a chance to ask questions during class and sometimes the off topic questions are pushed to the side, so I thought that a day dedicated to those questions might be welcomed.”
A hand appeared in the air.
“Yes Mr. Snow?” Mr. Rueben asked.
Bob fumbled through a history book.
“I have a question, sir; about page…103…paragraph four. What is ‘Black Friday’ referring to?”
Mr. Rueben took some time to locate his own copy of that book and find that particular paragraph and re-read it.
“Mm,” He grunted. “Here it is referring to a gold-speculation financial crisis in ’69. You can see the notes in the back for more information. Thank you for the interest Mr. Snow.”
Mr. Rueben scanned the classroom for more hands.
Another floated up like a hesitant balloon.
“Yes Miss Tyler?” He asked.
“Um, Mr. Rueben, what did you mean the other day when you said that page thirty in this book was wrong?” Wanda asked.
Mr. Rueben squinted.
“I meant what I said Miss Tyler. I don’t agree with page thirty. I told you that you could skip it because it was incorrect.”
Silence fell over the room.
“How many of you read that page after class?” He asked.
Most of the hands in the room were slowly appearing in midair.
“Did you all agree with it?” He asked.
The hands faded back into their laps, nobody wanting to respond.
“But Mr. Rueben,” Came Wanda’s screechy voice again. “The school requires this curriculum.”
“Yes!” Mr. Rueben said. “They do.” He looked frustrated at this thought.
“Anyone else?” He asked. “Miss Yar?”
Poppy who was, as you may remember, a “whiz” asked the next question.
“On page four paragraph one…” She began.
“Doesn’t anyone have any questions besides that involving the lessons?” Mr. Rueben interupted.
Everyone looked a little confused; after all, he was a teacher, not someone to make small talk with.
Finally, after a couple moments, Allen Jacobs, a hefty and blond Scotch boy, raised his hand.
“Why did you want to become a teacher?” He huffed over his plump chest which seemed too close to his chin.
Mr. Rueben didn’t miss a beat. He dismissed the question with a simple:
“I didn’t” And then looked for another hand.
Claire suddenly wondered why she was smiling. She felt proud of Mr. Rueben.
Many of the children raised their hands now like five year olds answering an arithmetic equation which they had memorized.
Mr. Rueben pointed casually to a girl who asked: “Why?”
“Because,” Said Mr. Rueben coolly. “Unfortunately in our modern America, poets are not respected, wealthy or famous. My father told me that I had to at least try to be one of these things…preferable all three. So he sent me to the best schools and told me to become a teacher.”
He was now behind his desk, shoulders and eyelids sagging slightly. He pointed to another hand, suddenly looking as if this class was exhausting him. The conversation went something like this:

Student 1: “You wanted to be a poet?”

Mr. Rueben: “I was a poet.”

Student 2:“My mum says that teaching a fine career.”

Mr. Rueben: “She should try it sometime.”

Student 2: “But aren’t you proud of Beekman?”

Mr. Rueben: “I am proud of each of you if that answers the question.”

Student 3: “Don’t you ever plan to marry?”

Mr. Rueben: “That depends.”

Student 4: “Imagine!”

Mr. Rueben: “Are there any other questions?”

Claire: “Are other classes celebrating “Teacher Question Day”?”

Mr. Rueben (smiling): “Not that I know of.”

That evening Claire sat on her bed and wrote to Marvin, then wadded the letter into a ball and threw it into the waste basket. Sighing, she fell onto her pillow.
“Claire?” Said Trudy, walking into the room.
“Mm?” Claire muttered, a little surprised to be spoken too.
“I want-I want to apologize.” Trudy said with the fearful expression that can be found in the eyes of someone who is repenting on their death-bed.
“What is the matter Tru? You know I’ve forgiven you. You believe my story, I can tell, and I don’t care about how you’ve treated me…we’ve treated each other. You know what they say about bygones…” Her heart was in her eyes, pleading for mending.
“But Claire,” Trudy said sitting down on the end of her roommate’s bed. “I’ve done something terrible.” She poked her face into a cotton handkerchief.
“You weren’t that terrible.” Claire soothed. “You didn’t understand at first…it is alright.”
“Not that!” Trudy said, now crying uncontrollably. “Something just now! I’ve betrayed you…and him.” She looked as if she couldn’t go on.
“What? What have you done? Who is “him”?” Claire asked, inching closer.
“Mr. Rueben!” Trudy wailed. “I’ve told on him…and he was innocent. Jack Cameron asked me to…he said that he and I could be sweethearts if I…if I would be the one to go to Miss Victory. I see now that he was being cowardly and tricking me, but I’ve gone and done it Claire! It’s done! And Miss Victory called Mr. Rueben into her office and I passed him on the stairs…oh Claire! If you had seen his eyes, you’d be crying too!”
Claire looked terrified.
“Has he come down yet?” She asked anxiously.
Trudy shook her head rust-red head violently.
“No, she’s raising her voice at him…shouting. He isn’t saying anything. And Claire…dear Claire! I…I must have exaggerated some things. Jack was listening…I wanted to impress him, show him that I wasn’t a goody-two-shoe. And now Miss Victory is taking it so far…she’s accusing him of things that aren’t true and he’s just, just sitting in there.”
Claire leapt up from her mattress and dashed out of her room, leaving the heavy door ajar.
Trudy followed her only that far, and seeing that she was headed toward Victory Tower, Trudy Richards just stopped in her shoes and cried on the doorframe.
Meanwhile, Claire was running as fast as she could, shoes tapping loudly on the stone steps. She reached the door of the headmistress’ office and stopped, eavesdropping.
“That is all!” Miss Victory was saying. “You are dismissed.”
And so Claire had to dash away again as she heard Mr. Rueben coming toward the door. She ran into her room and pulled Trudy inside before shutting the door. That night they spent a lot of time crying. Claire had cried a lot that semester, you couldn’t blame her, but this time, arm-in-am with Trudy, it was better.