Cod liver oil

Chapter 9 Part 1

The Scandal

“Claire! Wake up!” Trudy said, shaking her room mate mercilessly. “I know that we stayed up late last night but Mr. Maboni will murder us if we’re late!”
Claire finally rolled over, and when Trudy saw her face she wished she had never bothered. Claire was the color of a black eyed pea and looked rather like one with dark circles under her eyes. When she looked at Trudy her eyes were bloodshot and when she spoke her breath was hot and her tongue discolored.
“Trudy, I’m ill.” Said Claire, pointing out the obvious.
“I see that!” Trudy exclaimed, standing up. “Shall I call the nurse?” Trudy asked.
Claire moaned in agreement. Off Trudy dashed to the nurse’s office. From there she went straight to class, worried about her friend all the while. In science class Trudy cringed as she heard Malvina’s voice behind her back.
“Looks like Little Miss Perfect is playing hooky today.” She said with a shrill laugh.
Trudy whipped around, her hair seeming to be redder than usual in order to match her temper.
“Claire is ill!” She snapped.
Malvina, who obviously hadn’t noticed Trudy, just looked irritated and walked away with her cronies.
Mr. Rueben was disappointed to see Claire’s empty seat in history class.
The day passed at a snail’s pace. The nurse was a big-hearted lady, and she rushed to Claire’s room and took her temperature in a jiffy. Claire was soon feeling well enough to go to class, but Nurse Knife (pronounced Kah-nee-fee) insisted that Claire not leave her room all day. This depressed Claire, who, after sleeping in, felt as frisky as a foal and wanted to leap out her little window and run through the woods.
“No, no, no no!” Mrs. Knife shushed Claire’s arguing. “You must stay in bed little one and get your rest!”
So Claire moaned and rolled over so that Mrs. Knife would leave and then, once she had, Claire got up, made her bed and took to busying herself within her room. She was very good at busying herself, never was she bored, always was she organized. As a matter of fact, Claire was so good at managing her things that the other girls almost envied her. She wrote to her family and then even to her old friend Cybil for one last time. She washed their little window and ironed their little curtains. She then read over the history pages for today and then looked over her science book and algebra problems. Half way through the day, Trudy appeared (to Claire’s utter delight) with lunch and a stack of papers.
“This is your chicken casserole and all the things which we were given in class so far. There’s an awful lot from Mr. Maboni and several odd things from your uncle, but luckily Mrs. Tops didn’t remember to give us anything!”
Claire grinned, looking perfectly healthy.
“Well great! Now I have something to do all day. Nurse Knife won’t let me out of the room today. I’ve already done all of my letter writing and tidying up. Tell the girls I said ‘hello’ and that I am feeling much better.” Claire said, taking the food and the schoolwork and putting them on the little desk.
“Fine then,” Trudy said with her hands on her hips. “I better go now. I will miss you at recess though. I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to jog with.”
Claire made a sort of a sad smile like a mother showing sympathy to a silly child.
“See you tonight!” They both said, and Claire was left to do her lessons “at home.”
At one o’clock she set to work after putting her dishes outside the door, but at three o’clock she was surprised to find herself sitting bored once more. Her assignments were all completed and she felt quite certain that she would make good grades on each of them. That afternoon, Trudy returned that evening quite exhausted by her day and found that her ceiling was strung with seven different strands of paper chain people. The strands of paper which had been folded and snipped to look like dozens of children holding hands were taped from one side of the papered ceiling to another like decorations for a child’s birthday party. Claire was sitting at her desk surrounded by a new chain, this one was made to look like butterflies but they were quite lopsided.
“I got a little bored with the people after a while.” Claire laughed. “I am bored with the whole business now!” She gushed, lifting up her childish endeavor.
Trudy rolled her eyes, slinging her books onto her bed and shutting the door behind her.
“I am glad you’re feeling better Claire,” Trudy said, suddenly serious. “But I would’ve expected you to be getting some school work done.”
“I did,” Claire said. “I finished it all earlier today.” She stood up and pushed her chair in as a sign of completion.
“Really?” Trudy asked with her usual hands-on-hips position.
“Yes Tru, I am done. Actually, I am ahead.” She said flapping a complete paper on Germany which had been assigned just that day.
Trudy’s jaw dropped. “Now I feel like I’ve been wasting my day!” She said, taking the paper and looking it over as if she wondered if it were genuine.
Feeling suddenly embarrassed by her accomplishment, Claire changed the topic.
“Did anything interesting happen today?” She asked as she fell to her knees on their little rug.
Trudy flopped down on her bed and sighed.
“Yes!” She gushed. “There was quite the fiasco at recess.” She reported.
Claire slid a pretty wooden jewelry box out from under her bed.
“Really? Do tell.” She said as she opened it, revealing Cyrano, scampering around at the sight of sunlight. He was wearing a felt vest which Marie had stitched him and was nibbling on bit of cheese which Jacqueline had sent in secret for the “little dear”.
“Well! Word was out that Judith-our Judith Appleby-and Tom Kimble have been holding hands and talking to each other like sweethearts! One girl said that she thinks it is sinful, another girl said that she thought it perfectly ‘natural’ and then Rebecca Payton said that it wasn’t for any of us to judge…and that I should ask you.” Trudy finally took a breath and looked at Claire expectantly.
“Ask me what?” Claire asked, surprised by the sudden end to the story.
“What you think. Is it or is it not proper for two sixteen-year olds to be holding hands-courting like.” Trudy said seriously.
Claire sat down and slouched, Cyrano cuddled in her cupped hands.
“Why would you ask me?” She finally said.
“Claire-don’t be ridiculous. You’re always the peacemaker. You know, the keeper of the laws and the know-it-all goody-two-shoes…”
“Alright! I understand. I try to do what’s right.” She abridged.
“Exactly.” Trudy agreed. “The girls are always seeking your advice. It’s the best on the market.”
Claire suddenly blushed and then chuckled at Trudy’s lingo.
Trudy’s strawberry colored lips curled into her adoring smile.
“Really? I didn’t have any idea what sort of respect I had gained.” She said grinning.
Trudy nodded.
“Well, with that cleared, what shall I tell the girls?”


The next day, Mr. Rueben came into history class looking melancholy, but he cheered up with one glance at the roll sheet.
“Ah!” He said, scanning the tops of student’s heads. “There you are Claire Winters! It is wonderful to have you back.”
Claire bowed her head politely and smiled.
“Good morning Mr. Rueben.” She said, tempted to call him “Uncle Clifford.”
“Today we will discuss civil wars.” Mr. Rueben said.
Sighs flitted through the air.
“That isn’t history!” Malvina complained.
“Yes it is,” Trudy said. “Anything that happened in the past is history…even if it wasn’t very long ago.”
Mr. Ruben smirked. “If you think that The American Civil War is too fresh on your mind Malvina, perhaps you would like to tell us what years it took place during?”
Malvina looked disgusted.
It was a cruel joke, but everyone knew what Malvina would say.
“I don’t know sir.” She said.
“Oh? Then I think I’ll continue the class.”

When the class was over, Claire felt very out of sorts. She hated wars and didn’t like to think about them, though if her uncle knew that she ever refused to think about anything he would be ashamed of her saying that someday someone would take advantage of her ignorance. Ignorance is never an excuse! Ignorance is a murderer! The ignorant punish themselves! He would say. But Claire couldn’t help it-wars made her depressed. Nevertheless, she had to admit that the lesson was interesting. All of this was floundering in her mind as she walked out of class and into the courtyard for recess. Still in her daze she sat on a bench while Trudy chattered with Marie and Jacqueline. Then suddenly, her daze was shattered by a call.
“Claire!” Trudy said, beckoning her impatiently.
Claire stood up and walked to her friend, all the while still dreaming, eyes fixed on the sky above the tall courtyard wall. When she arrived at the place where Trudy was standing, Claire looked down and found that a crowd of girls was encircling her.
“Claire,” Trudy was saying. “Talk to the girls.”
Judith was looking defensive. Looking back, Claire always imagined her with her fists up, but this was slightly exaggerated. Rebecca Payton, a scrawny fourteen year-old looked relieved at the sight of Claire while Etta Mast looked wide eyed and Iris Lighting rolled her eyes as if she thought the whole thing babyish.
“Oh, about Judith?” She asked. All of the girls nodded vigorously.
“Of course!” Trudy whined.
“Well, Judith,” Claire said, looking less nervous than she was in fact. “Did you and Tom hold hands and treat each other as sweethearts?”
Judith blushed.
“Yes,” She said. “Tom and I are fond of one another.”
Claire nodded slowly.
“But was it not Tom who “broke your heart” at the ball the other night and gave all of his attention to another girl?”
Judith looked a little angry, but not at Claire, at Tom.
“Yes, but Tom hasn’t done it since then. The eleventh-grade girl won’t have him and so he is entirely devoted to me.”
Claire thought for a moment.
“What is that you like so much about Tom?” She asked.
The girls giggled.
“Are you blind Claire? Tom is angel-faced!” She gushed.
Claire frowned. “But shouldn’t there be more to a relationship than looks?” She snapped back.
“What are you referring to?” Judith said, hands perched on her hips.
“Lots of things! Love for one.” She said.
“Oh, but of course I love Tom!” Judith said, almost offended.
“Does he love you?” Claire asked.
“Of course! If he didn’t he would be sweethearts with someone else.”
“Oh? Would Tom be satisfied with many other girls? With that eleventh-grader if she’d have him or the next student who catches his eye?” Claire said, making even Trudy nervous now.
Judith squirmed a little.
“Now, I can’t blame him for wanting to dance with that girl…she was very pretty.”
“But you aren’t unique to him Judith!” Claire burst. “He likes you but he doesn’t love you…not anymore than he loves that other girl or another girl or a model in a magazine! You’re a beautiful girl Judith and you aren’t stupid! Don’t give your heart to someone who hasn’t given it back, or someone who will take his own heart and relocate it at any given moment! This won’t last, and if it doesn’t last, what good was it? Your heart has been played with and broken and before you’ve repaired it, you’ll toss it to another little boy to do the same. It is unhealthy and foolish and wrong Judith and for your own sake you should get out of this silly, childish game before damage is done.”
Claire, eyes aflame, took a deep breath.
Judith was breathing hard also.
“Claire! You’re right-I am not a stupid girl. I am smart enough to know that you can’t be what you seem. You try to pretend to be perfect and you try to act like you care only for virtue and decency but you must have loved a man before!” Judith said, her voice roaring with drama toward the end.
Claire shook her head and look of sympathy entered her eyes. It was the same look she had given Pete Jenkins when she asked for her hat, but just as Pete had run away in his own display if foolishness, so would Judith Appleby.
“They aren’t men,” Claire said. “They’re only boys and boys are only a vague prediction of what they may be as men. And Judith-please. I don’t try to set myself above you, I don’t even try to offer advice, but I do believe that things such as love and truth are much more important than you seem to think…more important than escorts to a school ball or, or even grades on a test!”
Judith looked to her friends for support.
“Ha! Don’t try to lead us on Claire! If love is so important to you, then why did you break Pete Jenkins’ heart? And if it is truth you believe in, perhaps you have some explanation for the pet you keep under your bed and out of the sight on inspection day?”

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.