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.

Chapter 10 Part 2

Beekman Astir

Mr. Rueben looked up from a stack of manila papers at the sound of a light knock.
“Yes?” He asked, head turning slowly to the door while his eyes remained on paper he was reading.
“It is Claire.” Said she.
“Oh, come in my niece.” He said taking one long step from behind his desk to the door which he opened politely.
“Please take a seat and a piece of chewing gum.” Mr. Rueben said suavely pointing to a chair.
He then walked over to his desk and retrieved a jar.
Claire dragged the petite wooden chair from one of the student’s desks and sat in it directly in front of Mr. Rueben’s desk.
“Oh, I can’t chew gum.” Said Claire, lustfully eyeing the sticks of peppermint flavored rubber.
Her eyes traveled up to Mr. Rueben’s face which looked confused and was moving up and down with the motion of his own chewing.
“No? Why not?” He asked, straightening up.
“Because my mother says that it is unhealthy.” Claire said, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.
“How so?”
“It will make my intestines stick together.” Claire said immediately before turning pink.
“It will do what? That’s ridiculous. The innocent little piece of candy never leaves your mouth!” Mr. Rueben laughed.
“But if you swallow it I mean…” Claire said, rather embarrassed.
“But are you going to do that?” Mr. Rueben asked.
“No…not on purpose. I mean, not at all since I won’t chew it.” Claire answered, eyes traveling from Mr. Rueben to the jar and back all the time.
“But that’s silly. It isn’t at all true that it will make your intestines stick together.” Mr. Rueben said, looking around for the lid to the jar.
“I’ll have one, thank you.” Claire said suddenly.
“What?” Was the bewildered response.
“I will have a stick of gum please.” Claire said firmly (though she knew it was odd and was avoiding eye contact because of it.)
“What did I say that made you change your mind?” Mr. Rueben asked as he pulled out a sweet-smelling stick.
“That it wasn’t true of course. I don’t stand for things that aren’t true.” Claire said coolly taking the gum and acting as if this were obvious information. This was a bad habit of hers, making something she said seem like “elementary knowledge” when it was really very uncanny. When she did this, Pete always mumbled something about women and how he couldn’t stand them.
“Alright then,” Said Mr. Rueben as he watched Claire pop the gum into her mouth. “But didn’t you say that you weren’t allowed to chew gum?”
Claire looked a little uneasy, but the first taste of gum hadn’t disappointed her and this soothed her mind.
“No…” She began, slurring a bit between chews. “Because Mother wouldn’t tell me things unless she thought it was best for me…and she did think that, but she wouldn’t have told me if she had known the truth.” She then looked at her finger tips, the floor, and the desk and everywhere but Mr. Rueben’s face before he spoke again.
“You don’t have to sit like that.” He said, going to his seat.
“Like what?” Asked Claire, uncrossing her feet.
“Like you are going to be scolded.” Mr. Rueben said, making a wave toward her whole appearance.
Claire didn’t know quite what to do, but in the end her chair was off center and looked much more natural.
“You know,” Mr. Rueben then said. “I just realized that you haven’t put cards on the tree.”
Claire glanced toward the twisted dead tree against the wall and remembered when she had first seen it and what Miss Inches had said:
“Mr. Rueben has his pupils write down all of their accomplishments and put it on that tree.”
“Oh,” Claire said, rubbing the back of her neck as if it were sore.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Rueben said pulling out from his desk drawer small white cards and envelopes which matched the “leaves” of the tree. “Write down some of your many accomplishments.
Claire took the cards and admired them.
“But I don’t know of anything to write.” She said, almost sadly.
“What? You must be joking.” Mr. Rueben said with a laugh. “There are cards up there that say everything from ‘Finished a book’ to ‘Learned to fish’ to ‘Forgave a friend’ or what not.”
Claire swallowed loudly and made a miserable looking smile.
“All I’ve done is…caused problems.” She blurted out, eyes fixed on the note cards in her hands.
“What are you talking about? If that’s true then I wouldn’t be surprised if, if your intestines were all stuck together.” Mr. Rueben said.
Claire smiled a bit more naturally.
“I have lost my reputation. My parents are going to see my report and know that I have made a mistake. They will call the school and Miss Victory will tell them about my running away from school in the worst possible way. Then my parents will come down here themselves and scold me silly and I’ll have some sort of punishment. But no punishment will be worse than seeing my parents disappointed faces.” And with these last words, Claire’s throat began to burn and she stopped talking all together because she knew that if she went on she would surely cry. And already, how many times had she cried since she arrived in New York? Too many to count.
“It is November first,” Mr. Rueben said. “Just over two months since you and the other freshmen arrived. But today is a new beginning.” He paused for sometime as Claire sat staring at his desk, her face splotched with red.
“Did you mean to disappoint your parents?” He then asked, very softly like an uncle should.
Claire shook her head vigorously.
“Of course not.” She squeaked.
“Tell me exactly what happened.” He then said.
Claire’s first thought was that this would be a long and painful story, but as she began, she felt more and more relieved to have a listening ear. She hadn’t talked to Trudy; all she wanted was to hear “juicy secrets” as Judith called them. And Claire had none of these to offer. She had wished for someone to listen without judging her or trying to be entertained…just to listen as Mr. Rueben was so intently doing from his desk.
Ever so often Mr. Rueben would ask a question very gently, but mostly he just pulled his dark eyebrows over his eyes and put his chin in his fist and listened.
“And I just wanted to get rid of the mouse,” Claire was explaining. “I liked Cyrano, but it was wrong to keep him and I wanted to show the girls that I wasn’t afraid to do what was right and to give up what was wrong. It was just a little mouse, I know, but he was sort of a symbol. I thought that the girls would…turn around when they knew what I had done for them, but they didn’t. They just wanted to know if Emit was my beau and if I was going to be expelled. I think that everyone would be better off if I was.”
And just when Claire was explaining how much she loved her parents and her brother and that she really was trying to make them proud, the bell rang.
“Is that half-time?” Claire asked, mid-sentence.
Half-time was thirty minutes into recess when the students were allowed drinks.
“No,” Mr. Rueben said. “The bell doesn’t ring at half-time. Recess is over.”
Claire’s jaw dropped and she slid out of her seat which she had been wadded up in.
“An hour already?” She said unbelievingly.
She scooted her chair back to its desk and hurriedly spat her gum into the waste basket.
Mr. Rueben scurried from his desk and opened the door for her.
Claire slid out with her things but then stopped halfway and put a hand on the door so that Mr. Rueben wouldn’t shut it yet.
“Mr. Rueben,” She said slowly. “What did you want to talk about?”
Mr. Rueben smiled.
“All of the things that we did talk about Dearest.” He said.
For a moment, Claire felt as if he meant that he had known beforehand what she would say, for sometimes Mr. Rueben did seem like some sort of magic man like the Indian men with turbans and monkeys in books, but then she realized with a smile that Mr. Rueben just wanted to talk to her about all of the things that she needed to talk about.
“Good afternoon Claire.” Mr. Rueben said.
“Good afternoon Uncle.”

Civil War Medicine Distributor

Chapter 10 Part 1

Beekman Astir

Claire rather enjoyed her trip back to school until the conversation died down on the last leg of the journey and she began to think about what she would say to Ms. Victory and her parents and all of the questions that the students were bound to ask.
Seeing her anxious frown, Emit said:
“Do you want me to take the long way around?”
Claire gave him a worried smile and said “no.”
She had no choice but to face her punishments and she preferred to have them over with as soon as possible.
“Here we are,” Emit said. “Do you want me to walk you to the door?”
Claire was surprised that country boys even knew about this custom, but as sweet as it sounded, she refused.
“No, somehow I think that you would only worsen things. I mean, not you personally, but the idea of you. Anyway, thank you very much for your hospitality and thank your mother too. I wish I had some money or something to repay her with…” Claire said, fumbling through her pockets.
“That isn’t necessary.” Emit said hastily.
“Well,” Claire said shrugging. “Would she like a wooden jewelry box?”
Emit grinned. “She may.” He answered smugly.
“Then please give this to her with my sincere thanks.” Claire said, handing over the box so generously, she almost looked glad not to have it.
It did have mixed memories after all.
“Good luck!” Emit said cheerfully.
“Thank you!” Claire called over her shoulder as she hopped off her seat and approached the gate. She looked back once to see him ride away and she thought about what a merry place he would soon arrive at and what a grim one she was walking into. Then she chided herself, remembering Mr. Dawson, and pushed the gate open.
Normally the front courtyard was totally bare without even so much as a gardener, but as Claire pushed the gate open, she saw a whole congregation of people standing stock still in front of the girl’s wing and staring coldly at her.
At least the tall, slender figure in the middle of them all was staring coldly.
Claire had the strange feeling that Ms. Victory was going to lead a stampede of students to trample her before she even reached the doors which they were so solidly blocking.
It seemed minutes before Claire could walk into the courtyard, push the gate closed again and latch it before turning to face her peers and teachers and, most of all, Headmistress.
“Good morning Ms. Victory.” Claire said with a bowed head. She was careful to check that it was still morning.
“I suppose you have had a good morning, gallivanting around the countryside with a strange man! Spending last night at his house! Running away from your boarding school without so much as leaving a note so that we could know that you weren’t kidnapped!”
Heat rose up Claire’s neck and onto her face.
“No Ms. Victory! It wasn’t anything of that sort…” She protested.
“Shut your mouth little girl!” Ms. Victory snapped, her bony finger pointing at Claire like a distant spear. “Do not speak to me that way! Do not try to contradict what I am saying! You have no right to voice your untrustworthy opinion to me! Now! I don’t need to know why you committed the sins which you have, it is irrelevant. I already know everything I need to which is what you have so cruelly done to us. Now all you are expected to do, since obeying is so difficult for you, is to go to your bedroom and sit on your bed. You will find that your door will be locked behind you. I am telephoning your parents immediately.”
Claire’s eye trailed along the faces of her peers and then she pushed through them, meeting no eyes and tried not to hear their murmurings.

Time passed like molasses in December. Claire, who hadn’t had dinner the night before or breakfast or lunch that day, was agonizingly hungry. She was also exhausted, so after thinking about everything which had happened in the past two days and listening to the clank of the other students luncheon plates and forks for a few minutes, Claire got in bed and went to sleep. When she woke up again it was to a rattling noise. The room was dark, but as Claire sat up, she could see the gleam of her brass door knob, twisting and shaking. After a moment it stopped and the door opened. In stepped Trudy and Judith and Marie and Jacqueline and a dozen or so other girls.
“Hullo Claire!” They were all saying in scratchy whispers. And “There you are!” and “We’ve missed you so!”
They were all grins and whispers but Claire was quite overwhelmed, still twisted in her covers.
They all filed by and gave her a hug-even Judith Appleby who had seemed so hateful a day ago-as if Claire were some dear old bedridden aunt.
Then they all took to petting her hair and sitting all over her bed and smiling at her in a way that Claire defined as either pity or jealousy but couldn’t tell which.
“Well?” Judith said, handing Claire a roll and a peach. “Aren’t you going to tell us about your adventure? All that Mrs. Dawson said on the telephone was that you were on the way over with her son and that he; the boy; had seen you faint and brought you home where you spent the night. Oh Claire! Do tell us right off! You wouldn’t believe the serious sort of constables that came and interviewed us all! And after having to tell them of the argument, we all began to cry and miss you and wish that we had been nicer to you before you ran away. I felt sure that I was the cause of your rebellion, what else could set such a good girl on the wrong path but the betrayal of a friend? And we’ve all made up about the whole ordeal and want to tell you that we’re sincerely sorry and love you like a sister and want to know every detail of your escapade now that you’re home safely!”
Claire, wide-eyed, had already bitten into the forbidden dinner, and was staring at Trudy in shock.
“Please Judith, it wasn’t like that at all…” Claire began.
“Oh Claire!” Judith cut in. “We know that you didn’t do anything sinful with that boy, but now we at least know that you have a romantic side after all.” She said with a wink.
“No! I mean, this isn’t about romance at all. I didn’t run away, I am not in love with Emit and…”
“Emit?” Jacqueline asked. “Is that the boy’s name? It is plain but will have to do! I am sure he’s perfectly charming Claire!”
“Yes-I mean no.” Claire stumbled over her words and handed her peach and roll back to Trudy. “Yes his name was Emit but I don’t even know him and am not in love with him! I swear I wasn’t trying to run away!” She said, raising her voice.
“Please Claire!” Trudy said. “The girls are supposed to be in their own rooms. Don’t give them away. Now what do you mean you didn’t run away? Are you saying that Emit kidnapped you?”
A wave of excitement went over the girls.
“No! Not at all!” Claire said very frustrated. She got out of bed and stood on the floor to address the girls more authoritatively. “I left the school to run to the field and return in a matter of minutes, but I became ill again like I did the other morning and fainted on the pathway…”
“Wait a moment,” Marie interrupted. “I don’t understand-why were you going in the first place if it wasn’t to meet Emit?”
“I was going…I was going to release Cyrano.” Claire said seriously.
All of the girls gasped and looked at each other for comfort.
“Did you? Did you let him go Claire?” One girl asked desperately.
Claire nodded and the girls gasped again.
“Claire!” They were all saying at once. “You didn’t have to! We didn’t mean it!”
And they were all sobbing again.
Claire felt suddenly frustrated and disgusted.
“Of course I had to!” She said, her eyes darting from one girl to another. “It was dishonest to keep him a secret. It was disobedient.” Her eyes were fiery.
“But Claire, we were only being nit-picky because you were giving us a hard time. Even though you were arguing with Judith, you always make the rest of us feel bad about things we do. We didn’t really mean it Claire…we all loved Cyrano. He was like our mascot.” Jacqueline said.
She looked at Claire almost as if she were angry all over again for obeying.
“I loved Cyrano too…I loved having a pet just as much as you did. But this isn’t really about a mouse is it? It is about truthfulness and deceit.”
A few girls sighed, one even rolled her eyes.
“Don’t start that again Claire.” Marie said. “We were all trying to be friends again…we all had the best intentions when we came in here tonight. We wanted to hear of your adventures. We thought that finally we could relate to you, that you sometimes disobey too, but no! All we get is another sermon.” And Marie stood up and left the room.
A few girls followed suit.
“Please Trudy, you understand don’t you? Help me explain!” Claire pleaded.
“We can’t all be as perfect as you Claire,” Trudy said. “But I can’t help but say that I know you must sometimes sin or fail. And if you lead us on this way, hiding whatever it is you do, than you are just as deceitful as you convict us all to be.”
Claire paused, mouth open, for a moment.
“Trudy, you know I am not claiming to be perfect! I am not convicting you either. You asked me for help and I said what I believed. I was keeping a secret, but I rid myself of it now…”
But before Claire could finish her sentence, there was a loud startling noise which tossed each of their stomachs into a flip. The bell!
Five rings and then silence, Ms. Inches’ face appearing in the doorway like a gargoyle.
“What is the meaning of this Miss Winters?” She asked sternly.
“I am sorry Ms. Inches.” She said, her head drooping.
“Everyone out!” Mrs. Inches barked, more fiercely than anyone expected.
The girls scurried out rapidly, leaving only Trudy and Claire wearing their nightgowns and ashamed faces.
“I brought the girls in.” Trudy admitted when the door closed. “I am sorry too.”
Ms. Inches still looked frightful.
“Miss Winters,” She spoke very slowly. “Ms. Victory decided not to telephone your parents. She decided to simply wait until your report card arrived and then let them call us, wondering why on earth their star student had a string of zeros in every class.”
Claire bit her lip and stared at the floor. This was a painful message.
“I am sorry Ms. Inches. I am very, very sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you and Ms. Victory, my teachers, peers and parents.” Claire offered bravely.
“Don’t you have any explanation?” Ms. Inches snapped. “I understand Trudy slipping up now and then, but you are known for your trustworthiness, and now I am told that you were fighting at recess, ran away from school and spent the night with a strange boy?!”
Claire shook her head, but her tears chose this moment to flow out.
“No ma’am, it wasn’t like that.” She sobbed.
“Then please inform me of which part of your story did Ms. Victory lie to me about!”
Claire sniffed and wiped her eyes, trying to speak in vain.
If she would’ve looked at Trudy, she would’ve seen a very pitiful expression, kind sad eyes gazing in her direction.
“No part Ms. Inches.” She finally whispered.
“Precisely!” Ms. Inches declared coldly. “I understand that we all make mistakes Ms. Winters, but to deny them red-handed is preposterous! Is there anything else I need to know about?”
Claire thought about telling everything. She considered telling about Judith and Tom and Cyrano and the Dawsons but she simply could not. Ms. Inches wouldn’t understand about being a tall red-head or the girlish temptation of hording a secret mouse, or even her inward constitution of honesty which caused her to escape and release this mouse. She wouldn’t understand the struggles she had had with the girls or how much she loved them and pitied them more each time they fought. Ms. Inches wouldn’t understand any of this, so Claire kept silent and shook her head.
Mrs. Inches left saying that Claire was expected to participate in class as usual starting with the first class the next morning and throw out that food at once.

The next morning Claire woke up feeling extremely tired and not at all like getting up and facing the world again.
“Good morning Claire Winters,” Mr. Rueben said as Claire filed by his desk to receive her assignment. He acted as if he hadn’t heard that anything had happened, but along with her assignments Claire also found a note which read:

Niece,

Please meet me in my class room during recess to talk.

Yours, Uncle



For the first time in some time, Claire almost smiled.
All through class Trudy and the other girls pretended to ignore Claire and Pete Jenkins did the complete opposite. He watched her more than he watched Mr. Rueben, studied her more than his book and turned to her to whisper while the other students turned their pages. Claire tried to ignore him and was embarrassed by his conduct, but finally she did lean over and speak to him.
“Pete! Leave me be. You’re going to fail this class.” Was all she said.
Her stomach lurched when she sat back up and caught Mr. Rueben’s gaze, but he said nothing.
Mr. Rueben was talking about The Civil War. Most of the students were “Yankees” but a few were from the south. It had happened only a few decades ago and people were still talking about it. Claire became uncomfortable as she felt tension rising within the classroom. Then, two boys; John Hampton and Luke Rye became angry and began to argue. John’s family had been for The Union and Luke’s for The Confederacy.
Claire became thankful for her long dress that day, seeing as it went all the way to the floor and hid her shaking knees. She was afraid that one of the boys would ask her to “back them up” seeing as she was now included in their political debates. A few other boys joined in, faces beamed red and the backs of necks burned. Fists were clinched and Luke was now standing up at his desk looking down at John. John was raising his voice. A few girls were pale, one clinging to the edge of her seat.
Trudy kept trying to say something, but all she ever got out was: “I think that slaves, I don’t know about you but slaves, slaves were, I think that…” But the boys paid her no heed.
All this time, Mr. Rueben leaned against his desk and smirked, occasionally straightening a stack of papers by tapping them on his the desk or scraping away at a pencil with a pen knife. He looked, as Claire later described him, as cool as well water.
Finally John stood up too and both edged out of their places.
Everyone could feel what was about to happen.
Finally Luke broke the last straw by saying that he hoped his ancestors had killed John’s ancestors during the war. Now, this was a very immature thing to say, but nevertheless, it hit John like a bullet, and in the same way John’s fist hit Luke’s jaw and Luke’s hands grabbed John’s neck and John’s boot kicked Luke’s shin and so on.
After a moment, Judith said: “Mr. Rueben! Do something!”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” He responded.
“They could kill each other!” Was Judith’s panicky reply.
“And then we would have two less troublemakers wouldn’t we?”
Judith gasped and Mr. Rueben continued.
“Most likely, they wouldn’t both be dead so the weaker would be dead and the stronger would learn his lesson by being sent away to some remote prison cell. And then what?”
Judith was on the verge of tears now.
“But their parents!” Said Judith, taking everything very seriously.
“Judith Appleby! They’ve hardly drawn blood!” Mr. Rueben said with a laugh.
And so it was, for though they were knocking into chairs, tearing across the room and rolling on the floor, only Luke’s lip was busted.
“Ah!” Mr. Rueben said in a louder voice, causing the tussle to pause. “Thank you boys for the wonderful example. What we have just witnessed is a civil war. The Beekman Civil War.” And to everyone’s surprise he began to applaud, and the two boys stood up, very red in the face and took their seats again. Judith ran and fetched ice for Luke’s lip and then the class continued as usual. As Claire watched Mr. Rueben talk, she began to think that she had begun this civil war and that the fight between Luke and John wouldn’t be the last battle.

Chapter 9 Part 2

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.

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