carpetbag. “Here they are.” Marianna smelled the pigments. “Why not take them to your room, as your mother suggested. We’ll join you in a moment.”
Grace nodded approval and the child skipped off.
“I asked you to come because—”
“You want me to take her.” Dorothea was breathless, pressed her hands over Grace’s. “I understand. It would be so much easier for you both. I’ll take very good care of her, I will. She is an adorable child, and my looking after her will give you the chance to truly get better.”
Grace leaned back in her chair. “No! No! Nothing like that. I asked you to come to tell you that Marianna may attend only two days now at your school. I need her here.”
“I … Of course.” Dorothea’s face warmed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only want to help. You suffer so.”
“I haven’t forgotten your … offer, Miss Dix. But, for now, your being her teacher is what I need, just not as many days.”
“She’ll be missed.”
I’ll miss her so much
.
“Then enjoy her today as much as you can.”
Eleven
Tumbling Down
Dorothea’s first book came out in the spring of 1824. The publisher held a small party for her that summer. The Heath girls attended, along with some of the Harvard students. Mary charmed the room; her dimples and tinkling laughter were a magnet for the men. Dorothea wore a sable-colored linen dress with a feather-like bustle and matching collar, as dressed-up as she ever was. She allowed herself a moment of pleasure looking in the mirror before entering the room where all turned and applauded. Sales were rapid. Parents as well as teachers purchased it. As a result, an educational reformer approached Dorothea to teach at the Female Monitorial School in Boston. She would lead an afternoon session of needlework for seventy girls—if she accepted.
“Quite the sugar in your tea,” Anne said when Dorothea shared the news.
“Madam Dix said I was a novice for professor-level work.”
“So will you do it? It means your days will be totally filled.”
Dorothea wondered if she should. She would teach OrangeCourt classes in the morning, the monitorial classes in the afternoon until supper—if she took the position—and then her carriage house classes in the evening. She wanted to resume the latter. On Saturday mornings she helped Cookie wash the laundry at the cottage, and maybe, if Grace consented, she might tutor Marianna in the afternoon. She’d have Sundays for church services and visits with the Heaths. Not to mention she was already working on another book, writing in the early morning. Full days would relieve her soul of loneliness.
George Emerson led the school. He was a fatherly man with white hair, oozing wisdom and soft words. His new approach for instruction used schedules and activities as a way to prevent student disruption and restlessness. Assistants drilled small groups of younger students, moving quickly from one drill to another. In this way, Dorothea could manage seventy girls at a time while she supervised numerous assistants. She would be training future teachers and thus expanding the moral influence of education. She decided to accept.
In her own school, Dorothea noticed the older girls achieved more success with the students than she did. She found herself relying on the placard for discipline, and she was sharper with her words. “When you work with the girls, they seem more … attentive,” Dorothea whispered to an assistant at the Orange Court school. They were eating goat cheese and Mrs. Hudson’s fresh bread in the corner of the library. “You’ve never brought out the placard, have you?”
“I have not.”
“Why is that?” The girl hesitated. “You don’t have to be afraid. Just tell me what you think.”
“They see you as playing favorites, Miss Dix. I’m careful not to do so.”
“Favorites? I don’t think so.”
“Marianna.” She whispered the name so the child wouldn’t hear.
Grace nodded approval and the child skipped off.
“I asked you to come because—”
“You want me to take her.” Dorothea was breathless, pressed her hands over Grace’s. “I understand. It would be so much easier for you both. I’ll take very good care of her, I will. She is an adorable child, and my looking after her will give you the chance to truly get better.”
Grace leaned back in her chair. “No! No! Nothing like that. I asked you to come to tell you that Marianna may attend only two days now at your school. I need her here.”
“I … Of course.” Dorothea’s face warmed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only want to help. You suffer so.”
“I haven’t forgotten your … offer, Miss Dix. But, for now, your being her teacher is what I need, just not as many days.”
“She’ll be missed.”
I’ll miss her so much
.
“Then enjoy her today as much as you can.”
Eleven
Tumbling Down
Dorothea’s first book came out in the spring of 1824. The publisher held a small party for her that summer. The Heath girls attended, along with some of the Harvard students. Mary charmed the room; her dimples and tinkling laughter were a magnet for the men. Dorothea wore a sable-colored linen dress with a feather-like bustle and matching collar, as dressed-up as she ever was. She allowed herself a moment of pleasure looking in the mirror before entering the room where all turned and applauded. Sales were rapid. Parents as well as teachers purchased it. As a result, an educational reformer approached Dorothea to teach at the Female Monitorial School in Boston. She would lead an afternoon session of needlework for seventy girls—if she accepted.
“Quite the sugar in your tea,” Anne said when Dorothea shared the news.
“Madam Dix said I was a novice for professor-level work.”
“So will you do it? It means your days will be totally filled.”
Dorothea wondered if she should. She would teach OrangeCourt classes in the morning, the monitorial classes in the afternoon until supper—if she took the position—and then her carriage house classes in the evening. She wanted to resume the latter. On Saturday mornings she helped Cookie wash the laundry at the cottage, and maybe, if Grace consented, she might tutor Marianna in the afternoon. She’d have Sundays for church services and visits with the Heaths. Not to mention she was already working on another book, writing in the early morning. Full days would relieve her soul of loneliness.
George Emerson led the school. He was a fatherly man with white hair, oozing wisdom and soft words. His new approach for instruction used schedules and activities as a way to prevent student disruption and restlessness. Assistants drilled small groups of younger students, moving quickly from one drill to another. In this way, Dorothea could manage seventy girls at a time while she supervised numerous assistants. She would be training future teachers and thus expanding the moral influence of education. She decided to accept.
In her own school, Dorothea noticed the older girls achieved more success with the students than she did. She found herself relying on the placard for discipline, and she was sharper with her words. “When you work with the girls, they seem more … attentive,” Dorothea whispered to an assistant at the Orange Court school. They were eating goat cheese and Mrs. Hudson’s fresh bread in the corner of the library. “You’ve never brought out the placard, have you?”
“I have not.”
“Why is that?” The girl hesitated. “You don’t have to be afraid. Just tell me what you think.”
“They see you as playing favorites, Miss Dix. I’m careful not to do so.”
“Favorites? I don’t think so.”
“Marianna.” She whispered the name so the child wouldn’t hear.
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